“So, you drove all the way to Pampa with a baby for a hamburger?” Jorja asked.
Taryn could have hugged her youngest cousin for changing the subject.
“Nope, not just for a burger.”
Taryn was mesmerized at how fast his big hands whipped the ribbon around and tied it off with floral wire. A visual of his hands cupping her face as he leaned in to kiss her popped into her head. She moistened her lips in anticipation of the kiss. Then she realized what she had done and blushed.
He finished that bow and started another one. “My grandfather flew into the area for a business meeting, and he had papers for me to sign since I’m on the board of directors, whether I want to be or not. Plus, we had to set up all the legal corporation stuff for my veteran’s business, and Zoe charmed everyone there.”
“They were open on Sundayandon a holiday weekend?” Taryn was relieved that he hadn’t gone to a picnic with one of the women chasing after him. But then, was he telling the truth? Could she trust him?
“When Harry McEntire comes to town, everyone comes to the hotel to meet with him, no matter what day it is, and not one single person complains,” Clinton answered without even looking up.
Taryn took her place beside him. “They must love him a lot to give up a Monday holiday like that.”
“I’m not so sure it’s love for him or if it’s love for a nice bump in their paychecks,” Clinton said. “They get double pay if they work a day on the weekend—plus, since it was a holiday weekend, that turns into triple pay.”
“Doweget double pay for working on a holiday?” Anna Rose asked.
“Of course you do,” Clinton replied, but Taryn could feel his eyes on her when he talked. “Since you are working on a holiday, your extra pay is that you get to choose what you want from McDonald’s for lunch since that’s one of the few places open today—and you can even havedessert. Or I can get into the petty cash fund, and we can buy some hot dogs and grill them and maybe get a watermelon from the roadside stand and celebrate Memorial Day with a party in the parking area out back for supper.”
“Just how are you going to grill?” Taryn asked. “You should have thought about picking one up at Walmart while you were in Pampa.”
“Mommy Taryn is beginning to nag like Wifey Taryn,” Anna Rose teased.
Taryn shot a dirty look across the table. “That’s not funny.”
“It is a little bit,” Jorja said with a giggle. “You said you were ready to be a mommy. Are you ready to be a wifey?”
“That’s a loaded question, and I’m not going to answer it,” Taryn told her. No way was she going to say a single word with Clinton in the room.
“Okay, changing the subject to keep y’all from bickering,” Clinton said. “I’ve got an idea. That little trash can out back is already ruined. We could start another fire in it and roast hot dogs over it. If I straighten out a few wire coat hangers, they’ll make great skewers.”
“I’m in,” Taryn said before her cousins could continue the teasing. “Let’s have McDonald’s for lunch and do that for supper. I agree with Clinton: a juicy burger for lunch and then hot dogs with mustard and relish for supper sounds pretty dang good. And we can invite Nana Irene and Ruby. They might like to get out for an evening. I’ll go get them in my SUV—it will be easier for them to get in and out of than a car or pickup.”
Taryn realized she was talking too much and way too fast—but then, that was what she did when she was nervous. Just the idea of being a wife gave her heart palpitations. What if she committed to that kind of relationship, then found out that her husband wasn’t the man she’d thought he was when they married? What if he was kind and sweet until she said “I do,” and then he turned into someone she hardly knew? Just like Mitchell. No, Taryn O’Reilly was not ready to be a “wifey”—not now and maybe not ever.
Anna Rose was talking when Taryn tuned back in to the conversation.
“Sounds like fun to me, and I bet Nana Irene and Ruby will jump at the chance to get out this evening,” Anna Rose agreed. “But we don’t have to buy anything. We have hot dogs in the freezer and buns and condiments in the pantry. I’ll spring for a watermelon and pick it up at the fruit stand, and I’ll buy some cold beer and chips at the convenience store.”
“I’ll make a pitcher of sweet tea,” Jorja offered. “I’ll also grate some cheese and heat up a can of chili for anyone who wants to put that on their hot dogs.”
“You”—Taryn pointed at her—“will have a cold beer. You can make a pitcher of tea for Ruby since she can’t drink with her meds ... But remember,youare moving on.”
“Moving on from what?” Clinton asked.
“A personal problem that she probably doesn’t want to talk about,” Anna Rose answered.
Jorja glared at Taryn. “I couldn’t ... What if ... it would ...,” she stammered.
“Yes, you can, andwhat ifs—right along withwouldormight—got burned up last night with all those bad things we put in the shoebox,” Taryn told her. “You can taste it, and if you really don’t like it, I’ll finish it for you. We never waste beer or liquor.”
“Or better yet, I’ll get a six-pack of bitch beer,” Anna Rose said with a giggle.
“What is that, and are you calling me a bi ... bi ...?” Poor Jorja had trouble even saying the word.
“Nope, I am not,” Anna Rose answered. “It’s flavored beer. I’m partial to watermelon or peach.”
