“Hey, you can’t beat that.”
“But what about you? Have you met someone?”
“Might just be I have.” Yeah, he still couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot.
“Anyone I might know?”
“Macy knows her. I’m trying to keep it on the down-low right now.”
Now she was totally intrigued, but that was the way he left it, because Daryl Rodgers came in at that moment eager to show him his new workshop. “It’s a twenty-four by thirty-six,” Macy’s dad said happily as the two of them went out the back door. It was really beginning to heat up outside, and it would be twice as hot in that big metal shop, so Jared was glad he still had the remnants of his iced tea in his hand.
“Do you want to run it off the house breaker or the pole?”
“I don’t think we have the open space in the house.” Daryl pointed to the pole standing thirty or so feet away. “Pole’s just right there. Might as well do that. I’ll have my welder and table saw in there. And an air conditioner too. Lighting, of course. Those are the main things.”
“All right.” The two stepped up into the building—yep, sweltering hot—as Daryl showed him where he wanted his equipment placed, and Jared looked around appreciatively at the construction. He had a workshop of his own, but not nearly this big. “I think I need one of these. Did you do it all yourself?”
Daryl chuckled, wiping sweat off his brow under the bill of his ball cap. “Yeah. Tell you what, there’ve been days I might have said you could have it.” He gave Jared an inquisitive look. “Did Jennifer talk your ear off?”
“Nah. She gave me tea.” Everyone knew Macy’s mom’s sweet tea was famous.
“Did she tell you, or did you already know?”
Jared didn’t have to ask his meaning. “She told me.”
“She’s been worried how you would take it.” The man had never pulled any punches, unlike his wife, but what the hell did they think? That he would go screaming into madness? Cry on their shoulders? Hatch a plot to kidnap Macy from the altar?
“If she’s found the one for her, then God bless her,” Jared said, waving his free hand dismissively. “Y’all don’t have to worry about me.” I’m not made of fucking fine china, Jesus.
“That’s what I keep telling Jen. And since you’re probably sick as hell of hearing about it, when do you think we can get this done, and, more important, what’s it gonna cost me?”
Thankful for the swift change of gears, Jared drained the rest of his tea and grabbed his tape measure off his belt to get back to work. He wasn’t thinking about Macy and what could have been. He was only wondering what Starla was doing and counting the minutes until he could call her, but warring with that need was the echo of his dad’s earlier words, casting a pall over the lingering glow from last night. Nothing could ever be simple, could it?
Before he could climb into his truck an hour later, his phone rang from his pocket—Shelly. No doubt calling to heap her own brand of bullshit on top of the pile already sitting on his head. When he answered, her words were as short as his half-barked greeting had been. “The girls have a softball game tonight at six.”
Fuck. He’d forgotten, as if he didn’t already feel like shit. Softening his tone, he said, “All right, I’ll be there.”
“Will you tell me what’s going on? They’re asking why they can’t come to your house anymore, and I don’t know what to tell them, Jared, but I refuse to be the bad guy in this. You need to explain it to them.”
“I’ll have a talk with them tonight.” He cranked his truck and let the blessed air-conditioning blow directly in his face, cooling his thoughts for what was coming next. “It’s wrong of me to keep things from you. I’m sorry. What’s going on, Shell, is that Starla has a stalker, and this guy makes yours look like friggin’ Mary Poppins. He’s probably the guy who attacked Brian Ross, and she’s staying with me until he’s caught. My idea. I thought it best if the girls stay away while she’s there. It isn’t permanent. Soon as the cops get him, she’ll go back home and it’ll all be over.”
Shelly was silent for a long time, longer than he liked, but just as he began to think she was going to hang up on him, she said, “You never can resist a damsel in distress, can you?”
“It has nothing to—” He bit off the words, and the back of his head met the headrest. Protesting would do no good; it never had, and besides, she had too much evidence to back up her claim. Let her say her piece and she’d be done. She didn’t say anything, though. The song on the radio ended and another began, and all he could hear over their connection was her breathing and, finally, her sigh.
“Thanks for telling me the truth.” Her words were halting, careful. “I just wish you had from the start. Ashley’s all right, but Mimi…”