“Of course,” Nolan replied, rolling his eyes. “Why? Does Jamie like them?”
“She sure does.”
“Well, you might be in luck. The singer’s a tall ginger, just like you, buddy.”
CHAPTER 11
JAMIE
The following week Jamie, Ruth, and Poppy headed to Clayton’s ranch. He’d offered to pick them up from Shorty’s building but Jamie wasn’t in the habit of accepting favors, especially from men. It felt too much like giving up control, and she’d learned the hard way what happened when she did. Besides, she would be spending the next few days with him and she wasn’t in any hurry to make nice.
“Wherearewe?” Jamie peered out the window and groaned. There was nothing but farmland for miles, mostly cows and horses. She pinched her nose. “It smells like shit.”
“It smells like a farm,” Ruth said, inhaling deeply through her nose.
“That’s gross.” As far as Jamie knew she’d never been to a farm. Maybe a petting zoo when she was a kid, but probably not. It didn’t seem like something her parents would do, considering it was a daytime activity and they were night owls.
“I think we’re heading in the right direction,” Ruth said, glancing at the GPS on her phone. “It’s just up there.” She leaned forward and added to the driver, “Please take the next right.”
The car turned into an unmarked driveway and drove along a dirt road, slowing as it approached a metal grate that caused the tires to bounce when they crossed over it.
“What was that?” Jamie held onto Poppy for dear life.
“A cattle guard,” Ruth said casually.
“A what?”
“They’re meant for cattle, so they don’t cross the road.” Her assistant chewed her gum. “We have them in Oklahoma. They’re quite common.”
The car drove down a long narrow road that wasn’t wide enough for two vehicles to pass. It ascended a hill and passed a barn before stopping in front of an A-frame ranch-style house with a porch spanning the width of the building, two rocking chairs facing outward upon it.
Next to the house there was a carport containing an old beaten-up truck. She assumed it belonged to Clayton, but where were his other vehicles? Derrick had a collection: a black Porsche, a yellow Lamborghini, a red Ferrari of course, and his everyday car, a Plum Crazy—a proprietary purple—Dodge Hellcat that he’d souped up with wide tires, ceramic coating, and a Barton shifter he never stopped bragging about.
Clayton opened the front door as soon as they arrived. He wore a dark blue and black plaid shirt that Jamie hadn’t seen before, and his reddish-brown beard had grown since the last time she saw him.
“What’s all this?” Clayton gestured at a multitude of suitcases packed in the trunk.
“My stuff,” Jamie said, carrying her dog. “We’ll be gone for a few days.”
“I’m bringing one bag and my guitar.”
“I’m surprised you’re not wearing the same thing every day and using a washboard to clean your clothes in the river.”
“You’re not funny.”
“Yes, I am,” she said.
Clayton kissed Poppy on the head. “You can put her down. There’s nothing here to be afraid of.”
“She just had a bath at the groomer’s.” Jamie kicked the ground with her boot. “And there’s nothing but dirt until you reach the grass over there.”
“Sometimes my feet don’t touch the pavement for months.” Clayton showed her the bottom of his boot, emphasizing his point. They were black—the color of his heart.
The front door opened and Duke galloped out, making a beeline for Poppy.
“Down, boy!” Jamie said, but the Lab leaped up, his filthy paws landing on her chest.
“Sorry!” Nolan yelled from the front door, but Duke dashed toward the open pasture, paused, wagged his tail, and barked. Nolan walked over to Jamie, his shaggy hair bouncing. “This must be Poppy,” he said as the dog sniffed his hand.
