“I know you can,” Dad says. “Karl will come up with something. He’s got more connections than me.”
If I don’t make bank this weekend at the Billings fair, I’m going to... well, I’ll keep going. I refuse to let my asshole ex win. I just need time to figure something out.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine until Lane gets it up and running,” I say lightly, hoping he doesn’t hear right through my fake tone.
“Those distillery boys are good people.”
A smile plays over my lips. No one calls the Foster brothers or the Hennessy brothersboys, but my dad is seventy-two, so to him, they are.
The headlights I’ve been watching swing down the driveway.
Dad edges around me and pushes out the door, unaware or uncaring that his white shirt is paired with boxer shorts and long white socks. He’s stuffed his feet into his green yard Crocs.
“Bye, Mom,” I call. She’s already in bed, watching the local news. If someone can be addicted to the Weather Channel, it’s her.
I pop out the door behind Dad and his slightly bowlegged shuffle. Heat climbs up my neck, but I refuse to be embarrassed over my parents. My ex used to tease me about them even though he’d never met them, and for a while it worked. I was from a tiny town in the foothills of the Beartooth Mountains. He was from the city and had traveled the world. Or so I thought.
Cruz parks and Dad gives him a wide wave like he’s outlining a rainbow. Cruz keeps his pickup running, but he hops out and sticks his hand toward Dad. “Evenin’, Mr. Palmer. I don’t think we’ve officially met.”
Surprised, I stop behind my dad, who’s heartily pumping Cruz’s hand. He’s an extrovert with bad knees who can still socialize like the old days. Cruz is his dream come true—a new person to talk to.
“Call me Bob, like everyone else. Thanks for coming to pick up my girl.”
Cruz looks over Dad’s shoulder, and instead of smothering theget a load of this guylook guys I dated in high school used to give me, he smiles. He appears to enjoy getting accosted by a small-talk-deprived man in his underclothes. The knots across the back of my shoulders loosen.
“Not a problem,” Cruz says in the same light tone he uses on everyone else. I held it against him, but maybe it’s just the way he is. “How else am I going to sneak a peek at this place?”
Dad beams. “Ain’t she beautiful?”
My childhood home is idyllic. We’re down in a valley, with pastures my parents lease to local farmers and ranchers between us and the highway. Cattle graze on the other side of the road, and our nearest neighbors are blocked out by trees. We still got to live in a neighborhood, but we had the privacy of a country home. It was something I didn’t appreciate enough when I was younger. Back then, it was smothering. Suffocating. The house itself was a marvel of its time, all sharp angles while remaining a homey rambler.
“This place has seen better days,” Dad says and strides to the garage, patting the timber accents he and Karl put on years ago. “But she’s holding up well.”
“I like its vibe.” Cruz strokes his gaze over the alpine peak and the porch above us that spans the whole front.
“Dad was the architect,” I add, because Dad will never let that fact slip. “Mom too, but Dad surprised her with the house.” The builder that Cruz used for his place probably employed someone my mom or dad trained.
“No kidding?” Cruz crosses his arms and the chatting that my dad craves commences. Cruz seems genuinely engaged, and my appreciation grows. I’m in treacherous territory. It was hard enough to resist the handsome cowboy’s flirtations, but now that he’s not blowing off my dad? I did that enough after I left home; I won’t tolerate anyone else doing it.
After a few minutes, Dad holds up his hands. “Listen to me. I’m keeping you kids from your night.”
Now I want to groan. He’s making it sound like a date.
“I turn in pretty early these days,” Cruz says easily. “I learned pretty quick that the animals don’t care if I planned to sleep in, so I had to quit planning to sleep in.”
Dad chortles, delighted at Cruz’s every word. Honestly, I am too. I’m also intrigued. Cruz could’ve just waited in his truck for me to hop in, and then he could’ve driven away with barely more than a wave. He’s got more depth than I gave him credit for.
I miss the last few words of their conversation. Something about ranching and houses. Dad pulls me in for a hug. “Thanks for everything today, kiddo. Next time, you and Clem need to coordinate so we can have a family meal.”
“That sounds nice.” It really does, but Clem works the tasting room when the guys are all busy and I’m often baking until it’s time for bed. There’s no end in sight.
A few minutes and more chatting later, I’m loaded up in Cruz’s pickup and surrounded by the same warm-grain-and-citrus scent as before.
Cruz casually drapes his wrist over the wheel. The easygoing smile and the charm haven’t been aimed my way. “I always thought your dad seemed like a nice guy.”
It’s a small town. They probably crossed paths several times, but it pleases me that he has a good impression of my dad. My parents are wonderful people, and they gave me a good life I almost squandered.
“He’s cool. Mom too.” I wait for him to ask me more about them, or even to talk about his parents, but he doesn’t. The silence should be comfortable, it should be what I want, yet it bothers me. “They weren’t going to have kids, but they changed their minds in their late thirties. They were always the oldest parents at all the school functions. My mom even went to school with one of the grandparents of my classmates. My ex— An old friend thought I should’ve been embarrassed about that, but it was normal for us.”
