“You remember how hard it is to fix a broken axle?”
“You don’t pay Tyler and Garry for nothin’,” says Roman, repeating a line he’s heard me say a dozen times.
“Yeah,” I say, looking out the window and tracing the hills beyond with my eyes. I grin back at him. “Good point. We can go.”
I arrive at the town square with Roman about an hour after the festival starts. It’s a town tradition. Jason Tills and Cameron Stillwalter were local kids about my age who always used to put on impromptu country concerts at the town square for free. A few years later they made it big, and now their faces are all over television and magazines. Tickets to see their shows cost hundreds, but once a year they come back on the Fourth of July and give us a personal concert for free. They even pay to have it catered and bring their stage crews to set the place up.
Pretty much everyone in town is here, and everyone is a few drinks in by the time I arrive. I scan the crowd, eyes searching for Sandra’s dark curls. I only stop to wonder why I’m looking for her a few moments later. I’m looking for her because I can’t stop thinking about her. It has crossed my mind a few times that I might just suddenly be opening up to her now because the need to save my shop is looming. Getting hitched would solve all my problems, assuming a baby came shortly after, but if that’s the only reason I want to be with her, I can’t. Maybe before I started to get to know her, but now, I can’t do that to her. I won’t do that to her.
Only problem is I still don’t know for sure what has me so up the wall about her.
One thing I do know is the contract on my shop. If I get full ownership, there’s no way my brother can touch it. The shop is on private land, unlike Sandra’s bakery. The only way it’s coming down is if I’m not married with another kid when I turn thirty-five. My grandfather’s will passes the shop on to my brother if that happens.
I rake a hand through my hair, nearly bumping into a young teenage girl as I lead Roman down the path. She doesn’t notice though as she smiles up at me. “Hey, Mr. Riggins. And hey there, Mr. Roman,” she says, kneeling to ruffle Roman’s hair.
He clutches my leg and peeks out at her. My little man has a huge crush on Lyla Stevens. She’s fourteen though, so I think his chances are minimal at best, even if he does have Riggins blood in him.
“Hey Lyla,” I say, fishing in my back pocket for my wallet. I slap a twenty in her hand. “Mind watching Roman tonight? I was thinking I might indulge some. You’d need to get him home when he’s done and tuck him in.”
She smiles down at the twenty. “Sure! Come on, Romeo. Wanna go up to the stage and see Cameron?”
Roman scuttles out from behind me and grabs her hand, not even looking back as she leads him through the crowds. Little traitor, I think, smirking after him.
A crowd of people are dancing near the stage, where Jason and Cameron are already strumming out an upbeat tune perfect for dancing. Jason’s raspy country twang punctuates the beat as he drawls a story about lost love and fried chicken into the microphone. I recognize almost everyone. Our town isn’t middle-of-nowhere small, but there are only just above a thousand residents. Of those thousand, a little over half come to things like this. It doesn’t take long until everyone’s face starts to look familiar.
I see Landon Taylor dancing with Amy Stalls. He’s trying far, far too hard, and she’s politely trying to avoid getting bumped by his gyrating hips. There’s the Waverly’s, who are watching with a judgmental seriousness from the sidelines as usual. Their gray eyebrows seem permanently drawn down in a look of disappointment. Roxy Pierce is swaying and slowly dragging her hands over her young body as she dances by herself, completely ignoring the feel of the music and opting for something more sexual.
I catch a glimpse of Timmy Page and his girl, Becca Stipe, arguing behind the stage. From the looks of it, Timmy fucked up again and he’s trying to talk his way out of it. Becca is stony faced and doesn’t seem to be budging. They’ll be hand in hand sipping milkshakes at Red’s by tomorrow though.
I sigh, making my way through the crowd toward the coolers where I know I’ll be able to find some beer. Jason and Cameron always bring more than enough booze for everyone.
I twist the bottle open and turn, surveying the crowd as I swill down a few gulps. I spot Tara and Mark. Seeing them doesn’t strike up any feelings of jealousy. The only feeling is protectiveness for Roman. My brother isn’t the kind of man I want in my son’s life. Mark and Tara are dancing toward the edge of the crowd. Mark is behind Tara. His hands are pressed to her hips, fingertips inching toward her crotch as she presses her ass into him, swaying her hips and closing her eyes.
I grunt in disgust and down another gulp of the beer.
“Real nice, isn’t it?” asks a voice beside me.
I turn to see Sandra. She’s holding a beer by the throat and looking toward Tara and Mark too. Sandra wears a turquoise dress that is just tight enough around her ass to make me want to stare. There’s a chill in the night and it has her nipples hard. Looking at the bulge of her tits and the perfect point of her nipples is almost too much. I’ve been able to resist seriously considering fucking her so far, but I feel like I can practically picture her naked. And fuck. I’m tired of imagining. I want the real thing. It was only a few days ago that she moved in, and I’m already almost out of willpower. Not a good sign.
I want to see her curly brown hair between my legs as she takes me in her mouth. I want to feel her soft skin under my fingertips, against my hips as I pound into her. I want her. The fact that getting hitched to her would solve all my problems doesn’t hurt, either. But that’s a shitty thought, and I try not to dwell on it. She’d have to know what was really going on, but what woman is going to agree to get married under those conditions?
I make a dismissive sound. “She’s a big girl. She can do what she wants.”
Sandra looks at me in that irritating way women do, like she knows I’m not saying exactly what I mean. From the looks of it, she’s not going to stop staring at me like that unless I just talk.
“She’s making a fucking mistake, obviously,” I add grudgingly. “I guess if it was anyone other than my brother I really wouldn’t give a shit.”
“So you do care?” asks Sandra.
I shrug. “Not about her, no. I care that my brother is apparently a bigger prick than I realized. I care that him being with her means he’s in Roman’s life.”
“Yeah,” says Sandra, sipping down some of her beer. “He is that.”
The music blares over us and people move past, making me feel like we’re rocks in a stream, unmoved by the current. Separate from the rest.