I can tell the last of Sam’s patience has worn thin. “Mama… this is my career. This is what I do for a living. I can’t stop and I don’t want to stop.”
She snorts. “What kind of career could you ever make writing trashy books?”
“They’re not trashy,” he grits through his teeth. “But to answer your question, the type of career that enabled me to build a two-million-dollar house out on Haws Run Road.”
Shock registers on his mother’s face and her mouth sags. It’s then that I notice all the other protestors have gone quiet, moved in close, and are listening. The minute Sam reveals his house, their heads all tilt toward one another, hands over their mouths so whispers can’t be heard.
His mama doubles down though. “I maintain that’s not a real job. Profiting off filth.”
Sam groans softly. “It’s a real job. I pay taxes.”
Before she can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the crowd. “What in the name of sweet tea and thunder’s goin’ on here?”
Floyd Barbour comes striding across the square like he’s leading a cavalry charge. He’s wearing his trademarkoveralls but weirdly, he’s sporting a sweatband pink as bubblegum around his forehead with matching ones at his wrist. I spy a yoga mat under one arm and a determined look in his eye.
Sam’s mama points at her son and tells Floyd, “My son decided he wants to be a romance writer, and we cannot tolerate such a drift away from our Christian conservative values.”
“Yeah, I heard,” Floyd says. “Whynot’s gossip network runs faster than broadband and twice as loud. If NASA ever needs to transmit data to Mars, they should just hire the men and women of this town and give them a group text.” Floyd turns to Sam. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thanks, Floyd.” Sam returns a smile.
“Ban filth! Ban filth!” the small crowd of ladies starts to chant.
“Unbelievable,” Floyd mutters. “I go to puppy yoga for one hour and I come back to find y’all tryin’ to exorcise romance outta Whynot?”
“It’s not just romance books,” a lady calls from the rear. “We’re going to petition the city council to ban a long list of books that are an affront to God.”
Sam rolls his eyes, but Floyd seems more incensed. He plants himself next to Sam, puffing up like a bantam rooster. “You folks better back off. You’re talkin’ about a good man here. He’s not corruptin’ anyone. He’s outthere makin’ a livin’ and puttin’ Whynot on the map!”
Sam looks touched but wary. “Thanks, Floyd, but—”
“Don’t you worry about this,” Floyd says, adjusting his sweatband. “I’ll handle things.”
Sam’s brow furrows. “Handlewhatexactly?”
Floyd just grins. “You’ll see. I’ve got an idea, but I need to talk to Morri about it.”
“What kind of idea?” I ask, because Floyd’s done some bananas-crazy stuff before.
He glares at the women who’ve gone back to marching in a circle. “Operation Literary Liberation’s about to begin.”
He stomps off down Main Street like he’s heading to war, Floyd shouting something about “strategic signage” and “borrowin’ the karaoke speaker from Chesty’s.”
Sam sighs. “That cannot end well.”
I laugh, looping my arm through his. “Let ’em. They’ll probably scare half these people straight.”
He looks at me, still dazed. “This day has gone completely off the rails.”
“Welcome to Whynot,” I say.
He glances toward the picketers still chanting faintly in the background, his mama leading the pack. “I’ve gotta go talk to my parents some more. I can’t leave it like this.” He then glances across the square to Millie’s Bed-and-Breakfast, nodding toward his truck sitting there. “I’ll check in with Derek first, then head to myparents’ place. Maybe by then they’ll have calmed down a bit.”
“That’s a good idea.” I glance at my watch, noting I really need to get over to the diner and check on things. I rise on my toes and kiss Sam, soft but sure. “You’ve earned this. You’ve hidden long enough.”
To my surprise, Sam’s arms go around my waist, and he pulls me in tight. I can see the ladies watching us as they wave their signs in the air.
I turn, smile sweetly, and call, “Romance novels are not the devil’s breeding ground!”
