A throat clears. “Marry again?”
It’s my mom, and she must have heard us talking about her boyfriend.
Emily smiles likeoops. “Um, yeah.”
Mom pats Emily’s shoulder. “I’m not sure I want or need to. But Brandon is a nice guy and he’s honest, so that seems enough for now.”
Enough for now.
Sometimes that’s all you can hope for.
I don’t go back to the farm right away. I pop into Mister Fox, the Darling Springs watering hole—the non-fancy-pants one.
It’s a standard-order bar, with pool tables, rock music, and wooden counters that reek of beer and stories.
“What can I get for you?” the guy behind the counter asks. “The usual?”
It’s the owner, a guy named, well, Fox. Met him when I was first in town a year or so ago while passing through on the way to another job.
I shake my head. “Just an iced tea.”
He nods knowingly. “It’s that kind of night?”
“I suppose it is,” I say, feeling a little contemplative after that time with Mom and Emily.
“I got you,” he says, then fills a glass and slides it to me, gesturing to a pool table. “The good doc is in town.”
I turn around, spotting Monroe, the guy I met on my last trip here—and who Ripley evidently knows too. Or she knows his wife, anyhow.
Will everything remind me of her?
I shake the thought away and focus on my friend who’s not here with his wife tonight, but with a friend. When Monroe catches my gaze, he waves me over and I join the two of them. Monroe makes a quick intro to the dark-haired guy next to him, who’s wearing a button-down shirt like he had business meetings then came straight here. “This is Sawyer. He’smaybemoving to town,” Monroe says of his friend.
“That so?” I ask as I shake Sawyer’s hand.
“It’s a definite maybe,” he says dryly.
“Hope thatmaybeis for all the right reasons,” I say.
“I’ve been checking out property for my business expansion, so we’ll see. It’s not a bad place,” Sawyer adds, then frowns. “I’ve got some stuff to figure out though.”
And the way he says that—heavily, but thoughtfully too—makes me think it’s romantic stuff to figure out.
“Who doesn’t?”
“Truth,” Monroe seconds, then hands me a pool cue.
I take it and issue a warning when it’s my turn. “Be prepared for me to lock this game up.”
Monroe rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right.”
I point my cue at him. “Fighting words from a guy who apparently owns a place called The Horny House.”
Monroe gives a laid-back shrug. “Don’t be jealous.”
But I’m not. His words remind me I’ve got my own horny problems in a cottage less than ten minutes away.
“Let’s just play pool,” I mutter, and I give it my all, sinking every ball, then flashing a cocky smile.
