I remember my plan and reach into my purse.
When I hand Mama the draft of my novel, she wants to still be mad. But she’s over it in five seconds.
“I knew you’d make something of yourself!” she says joyfully. “Who needs college when you’re a Henwood, right?”
Daddy looks over Mama’s shoulder. “What’s that, doll?”
My father was never a violent man. But suddenly, I’m scared. I’m scared to tell him I want to leave The Cowherd for real. I’m scared he actually has the legal right to stop me because I know that contract could bind me in the bar for life.
“I wrote a book,” I tell him slowly, watching his face carefully for a response.
I want to add that this is proof I need to walk away from the family business once and for all. I want to tell him I’ve even found a replacement for myself, but the sudden dryness in my mouth has rendered me incapable of speaking.
He looks at me. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
And that’s it.
“Huh.” With an odd glance at Gigi’s circle, my father heads over to the empty table behind us and takes a seat.
Exasperated, I turn to Mama for help. But she’s not listening. She’s already reading my book. Apparently it’s engrossing.
“Mama!”
She looks up. I gesture toward my father at the table.
“It’s your book, baby,” she says. “He can’t take that away from you, can he? Nor should he try.”
She goes back to her reading.
“But what do you think I should say to him? About The Cowherd?”
She pauses. “Tell him your book is good. Tell him if he doesn’t like it, then he should lie better than he’s ever lied before and tell you he loves it, anyway. Because you deserve at least that from your father.”
I crinkle my nose and squint my eyes at her. “That’s the worst advice I’ve ever heard! It’s not even the point!”
By the time I reach the table, Evan’s taken the hint and has disappeared to get himself a sweet tea.
I take a seat across from my father. Now that I have him here, a captive audience, I realize I don’t really know what to say. One, I want to make sure you’re proud of me, and two, I’m out of here.
That sounds so stupid. But I guess it’s true.
“Look,” I say. “Here’s the thing—I think you should pass down The Cowherd Whiskey Saloon & Chapel to Ben. Not to me. It’s the right thing to do. Ben’s great at it. He actually loves running a business, and I’m—hoping at least— that I’ll be busy writing.”
Daddy looks at me closely. “And you’re sure this is what you want? Because you’ve worked so hard at The Cowherd all these years. I guess I thought you might want to own it yourself one day.”
“I don’t think it’s for me. I genuinely don’t. I appreciate you offering it to me, and I love it there so much. But it belongs to Ben, Daddy. Let him have it. And let me out of the contract. Please.”
Daddy nods slowly. “Okay. I can do that. I’ll talk to him myself.”
My stomach unclenches in relief, and I exhale heavily. “Thank you.”
“So Gigi’s family lives in New York, huh?”
I tilt my head. “What? Yes. I’m sure you knew that.”
Daddy sucks in a breath, his shoulders tensing.
