Kiss My Boots (Coming Home #2)

I hook my hands on my hips and drop my head to look down at my boots, feelin’ tired as hell from my drive. Lifting my gaze, I give him a nod and stretch my road-tired body. “At least let me get my shit inside and make sure I have a clear path to a bed when I end up stumblin’ ass-backwards in here later. Hell, for all I know the housekeeping service I hired to make this place livable didn’t do their job.”

“It’s just fine,” he says, shock painting his words. “Like I would let some city folks come in here and do that shit. Managed to get some of your paw’s shit out before your parents got their stink all over it, came back in when those idiots you hired to fix this place up left and put it back to rights. Well, kinda.”

His words cause a sharp pain to slice through my chest. “Fuck, I can’t believe they’re both gone. I know they understood my distance, but still cuts me up knowin’ I won’t see them again. Paw seemed lost as hell without Gram, that’s the only consolation I feel about him bein’ gone—at least he’s with her now.”

“You’re back, Tate. That’s all that matters. Shocked the shit outta me when I saw this place go up on the market. Didn’t think your parents had it in them. I know your paw would be mighty proud that you stepped in and bought it.”

Rage fills me when I think about them tryin’ to sell this place. They would have succeeded, too, if I hadn’t called to check on things at Paw’s old practice a week after he passed. My paw, God love him, was stuck in his ways. He always prayed his daughter—my mother—would come back to her parents. He hated my father. Hated what my father had turned his daughter into, but still he held onto that hope. Which is why he never changed his will. My only guess is that he hoped she would want to come home, eventually. I guarantee he never thought she would remain the evil bitch she’d turned into, that she’d have a come-to-Jesus moment of some kind. But that moment had never arrived, and the day he died she had this place listed for sale. The same fuckin’ day.

I thank my lucky stars for the trust fund my father’s parents had set up for me, which they turned over to me when I turned twenty-five. I have more money than I know what to do with now because of them and probably will for the rest of my life, but I also now own the twenty acres of land that my maternal grandparents’ home sat on because of it.

And with that land, I’ve bought back part of my life, too.

It’s a damn shame I hadn’t been able to get my hands on that money before then, otherwise I would have traveled an entirely different path than the one I had taken.

“Help me get some of this shit inside and then we can head out,” I say to Mark, hoisting a bag over my shoulder. Suddenly, a drink sounds like the greatest idea in the world.

- -

An hour later we’re pullin’ Mark’s truck into the crowded gravel parking lot of the Dam Bar, which he claims is still the best bar in town. I didn’t feel like pointing out that, as far as I could remember, it was the only bar in town. Pine Oak wasn’t exactly a hotbed for partying back in the day, even if we had been old enough to do so legally, and I’m guessin’ that hasn’t changed much since.

“Are there even this many people who live here?” I ask as we climb down from his jacked-up Ford. I knew without askin’ who had done all the work on his truck. A little QD was etched in cursive on one of the back brake lights. Not noticeable to anyone that didn’t know to look for it, but that girl wants to mark her creations and always has the back left brake light cover sent off to get etched.

He smirks. “Last time you lived here we’d party down in the fields with whatever beer we could snatch from our houses without gettin’ caught. That crew grew up and now this place pretty much fills up all weekend, every weekend.”

“You make it sound like everyone I knew back in the day is still here.” I laugh. “Last field party I was at had almost the whole damn high school there. No way they’re all still here.”

“Pine Oak isn’t a place you wanna leave, Tate. You know that.”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond, stompin’ through the parking lot and pulling open the door to the bar, sendin’ music spillin’ into the night air around us. He knew I couldn’t contradict him. Pine Oak isn’t even where I grew up, but all it took was a few months out of each year for it to be a place I never wanted to leave. I shake my head, not wanting to bring the mood down with the way my thoughts keep wandering back to that shit, pull the old Dallas Cowboys baseball hat I have on a little lower, and follow him into the loud, rowdy bar. With Mark, I know to just go with the flow and hang on for the ride.

Three steps in I’m assaulted by people I instantly recognize, even with the years of maturity on them. Twenty minutes later my own face hurts from smiling so much and my throat is sore from yellin’ over the country music blurring through the air, but fuck if I don’t feel like this is a welcome-home.

True to Mark’s promise, the next few hours pass with us drinking so much beer I get a damn good buzz going on. But no buzz would keep me from feeling her the second she walks into the bar. Even with my back to the door and a bar full of people between us, I know that, just as sure as I’ll wake up tomorrow with the world still spinnin’, Quinn Davis has arrived.

I can feel it, but I can’t see her yet and it’s drivin’ me crazy. I grab my glass and pour the last half of the cold, bitter brew down my throat. I don’t even wait until I’m done swallowing before standing from my stool and looking through the room to find her. The dim lighting and crowded room make it impossible.

I have to force myself to not go rushing off through the damn room to find her. I’ve waited this damn long, a little longer won’t kill me, especially since I’m not going anywhere this time. And in all honesty, I’m not sure I’m ready to come face-to-face with her. If I see her with another man, I’m about fairly certain I’ll turn green with envy, and that mixed with my swirling head wouldn’t make for a pretty picture. I’m sure it would be great marketing for Pine Oak’s newest—and only—gynecologist to be getting in bar fights his first night in town. Nothing screams, Trust me with your health, pregnancy, and future like a drunken bar brawl.

“Gotta piss,” I call out to Mark, slapping his shoulder on my way to the back hallway. I take my time, splashing some water on my face, and pausing outside the bathroom to give the room a quick once-over.

And wouldn’t you know it, but my eyes collide right with those of the Davis men.

Well, this should be fun.