He rushed forward then, avoiding my stare even though I knew he felt it. Once he rushed by, I continued around to the driver’s side. When I pulled open the door, three faces turned in my direction, and the cab felt about ten sizes too small.
Saying nothing, I wedged the shotgun behind the seat and climbed in behind the wheel to slam the door. The engine fired right up, the old girl reliable as ever.
The consistent purr of the engine was disrupted, though, by people fidgeting and squishing themselves on the bench seat. An elbow jabbed into my side.
“Ow,” someone else said.
“Sorry,” Toby murmured.
I glanced over to see Toby and Brett squished side by side, their arms overlapping each other.
“Maybe I should just follow in my car,” Toby suggested.
“It’s fine. It’s a short drive,” Brett replied.
I bet if Toby climbed in his lap, he’d be happier than a pig in mud.
I shifted the transmission and hit the gas, dirt flying up behind the back tires as we shot forward. All three men jostled, and Toby reached for the handle.
“Hold on, gentlemen. The ride’s a little bumpy.”
“I think it’s just your driving,” Toby sniped.
“Nothing like a little four-wheeling to get the blood pumping.”
“I think I should mention I get easily car sick,” Mayor Schroder announced.
Of course he did.
I let off the gas a little and downshifted as I turned in the direction of the old oak.
“So how long has mistletoe been growing on this tree?” Brett asked.
“Since before my grandfather’s time,” I replied.
“Is the story really true?”
“Their initials are carved into the bark of the tree,” Toby answered.
“Really?” Brett asked.
“Saw them myself last year.” Paul added.
“So does it work?” Brett asked.
“Does what work?” I questioned.
“The mistletoe. Do people who kiss under it really stay together forever?”
I snorted. “Do you know how many people kiss under those twigs and berries every year? I can guarantee not all of them are still together.”
“You’re so cynical,” Toby chided.
Brett turned to look at him. “So you think it works?”
Toby was quiet a minute, and I wondered if I was the only one who noticed how loud he was when he was quiet. “I think that if the love is true, then, yes, it works.”
“But if the love is true, why do they have to kiss under the mistletoe to stay together?” Brett wondered, and I couldn’t help but grunt in agreement.
