“Dad, can I search for a video on your phone?” We haven’t even left the church parking lot, and his brain is going a million miles a minute.
“Sure, bud. What for?” I dig my phone out of my back pocket and hand it to him. He has the YouTube app working before I can blink. He knows how to work my phone better than me.
One of the guys I recognize from my trip to the Hornville Oil Refinery, steps right in front of my truck, oblivious to his impending death because he’s too busy texting on his phone. I slam on my brakes, and my phone goes flying out of Ryder’s hands to the floor of the truck. Shelby says an expletive under her breath, the same one I say out loud as I roll my window down.
“Watch where you’re walking!”
The guy lifts his head, glares at me like I’m the one who did something wrong and keeps texting as he heads to his truck. Shelby snorts in the seat next to me.
“I’m taking my seat belt off!” Ryder announces, clearly needing to grab the phone. I wait until he’s back in his seat and buckled, much to the annoyance of the person behind me.
Once we’re on the road and on the way to the ranch, Shelby twists in her seat to see what Ryder’s researching.
“I want to see how cornbread is made because I don’t like corn on the cob, but I love cornbread. Which makes no sense. They’re both corn.”
Shelby grins. “I’m pretty sure it has to do with the addition of sugar.”
Ryder’s already lost in the phone. “I’ll let you know.”
Shelby turns back around, and I reach for her hand, holding it there on her thigh.
“I hope that guy back there isn’t on your list of possible suitors. He probably wouldn’t have looked up from his phone long enough to see who he was talking to.”
Jealousy, hot and heavy, fills my chest. “Absolutely not. You ain’t dating a guy whose idea of flirting is to message you in an app.” I shake my head. “Men these days…”
“Speaking of men…” Shelby says, a wry twist to her lips.
I squeeze her hand. “Do not ask me about other men right now, Shelby Sweet.”
She holds up her other hand in peace as her mouth drops open. “I wasn’t!”
I side-eye her. “Good. It’s the Lord’s Day, you know. Get your brain out of the gutter.”
She tosses her head back and howls with laughter like I knew she would.
She’s still smiling when we pull down the long driveway to the big house. The potholes have expanded in just the last week alone. Shelby has to let go of my hand to hold the handle in the truck for dear life. Ryder pretends he’s getting thrown back and forth, Raggedy Ann style, laughing his head off.
Pops comes out on the porch to greet us, already changed out of his Sunday best and into a pair of worn Levi’s and a crisp white undershirt. He and Meemaw went to the crack-of-dawn service so they could work on Sunday dinner. Ryder hops out and goes running for him. I grab his noise-canceling headphones and take them with us in case the noise from the Kincaids’ starts to get to him again. Not gonna have a redo of the other day. The screen door slaps shut behind us, and the scent of fried food hits.
“Meemaw’s been frying up our favorites,” Pops says, finally setting Ryder on the ground. “She made you cornbread.”
Ryder nods. “I wonder how much baking soda she used. There’s two schools of thought on the best ratio.”
Pops ruffles his grandson’s hair, amused. “And she made Sooner steaks for you, boy.”
I grin, mouth already salivating. “What did she make Shelby?”
“Oh, I don’t need—” Shelby tries to interrupt.
“Did someone say Shelby?” Meemaw calls out, entering the living room. Her red apron has chickens all over it with the words Fluent in Fowl Language across the middle. “I didn’t forget you, girl. In remembrance of your D-I-C-K of an ex-boyfriend, I made calf fries.”
Shelby chokes, and I have to pat her on the back when she keeps coughing. Pops is trying to hold back the laughter, and Ryder is just confused. I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t look up calf fries on my phone. He might be scarred for life.
“Thanks, Meemaw,” Shelby finally rasps, though I doubt she’ll let fried bull nuts past her lips, even for Meemaw.
Meemaw shakes her hips to the music in her own head, and that’s when I know she’s already dipped into the devil weed. Dinner oughta be interesting then.
“Did I hear someone say calf fries?” Ridge grumbles, joining the group.
