After eighteen years, the tree boat was still there . . . along with the other levels added over the years until it resembled the Swiss Family Robinson’s multi-level tree house.
The main deck was weathered and a little more precarious than Jaxon remembered. It creaked and shifted in the branches when Jaxon and Dawson climbed aboard. Of course, they weren’t lightweight kids anymore.
But they had worse things to worry about than falling from a tree. Once they were stretched on the warm deck with their hands behind their heads, Dawson spoke.
“I guess that’s that. The bank in Austin was our last hope of getting the money we need to continue with renovations.”
Jaxon didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. It had been their last hope. They had all tried getting loans from different banks. Not one had panned out.
“And maybe it’s for the best,” Dawson continued. “Even with a loan, the chances of us completing it on time are slim to none. Even Mickey has our chances at twenty to one in the town’s betting pool.”
Jaxon felt his temper rise. “Fuck the town’s betting pool. And fuck Mickey. It pisses me off that he can run betting pools and gambling in his gas station and the sheriff doesn’t do one damn thing about it. And yet, Sheriff Gentry never let us get away with anything.”
Dawson sighed. “We did get away with something, Jax. Or I guess I should say I got away with something.”
After Jaxon was arrested, he and Dawson had never mentioned that night again. Dawson had tried, but Jaxon had always shut him down. They’d never talked about Dawson borrowing Jaxon’s truck that night. Or how he’d stolen a bottle of whiskey from Honky Tonk Heaven, gotten drunk, and set the old tires Mickey kept behind the gas station on fire.
As much as Huck loved building things, Dawson loved destroying them. He was the Hennessy who threw rocks at windows, beat mailboxes with bats, and set fire to tires. The Hennessy who used destruction and criminal activity to get out his anger. But he always regretted it.
“You should have let me tell the sheriff my side of the story instead of taking the fall, Jaxon.”
“You were seventeen, drunk, and rambling, Dawg. The sheriff wouldn’t have believed your side of the story. And even if he had, he would have taken you in for setting those tires on fire. Not to mention being a minor and driving drunk.”
Dawson rolled to his side, his gaze intense. “Do you believe my side of the story, Jax?”
Jaxon wanted to believe his brother, but it was hard to believe Dawson had only set the tires on fire when the cash register drawer was open and empty when the sheriff got there. Who else would have taken the money? He probably should have let Dawson pay for what he’d done, but damned if he’d been able to do it. And it didn’t matter now.
“It’s water under the bridge,” he said.
Dawson looked away and swallowed hard. “Yeah . . . until it floods and takes out the bridge.”
It did feel like the bridge their mama had given them had been swept away.
Jaxon couldn’t help voicing a question that had been circling his head for weeks. “Do you think Rosie didn’t give us enough money for renovations on purpose? Do you think she wanted us to fail?”
Dawson probably wasn’t the best person to ask. If anyone held a grudge against their mama, it was Dawson. While Huck had tried to make Rosie laugh, Poppy had demanded her attention, and Jaxon had worked himself silly in the bar to get her praise, Dawson had completely ignored her. She would ask him a question and he’d act like he hadn’t heard. She would tell him to do something and he would do just the opposite.
It had driven Rosie crazy.
She had never realized that was Dawson’s own way of getting her attention.
“Hell, yeah, I do.” Dawson thumped the deck with his fist. “It’s so like Rosie to build up our hopes of getting our hands on her money only to crush them.”
Jaxon hated to admit it, but he did feel crushed.
Not just about the money, but also about the lost opportunity to prove to the entire town that they were wrong about the Hennessys. That Jaxon and his siblings weren’t just a bunch of no-accounts. They could get the infamous bar reopened and leave their mark on the family legacy. They might not stick around to run the bar, but they—the Hennessy Hooligans—would be the ones to bring it back to life.
He didn’t realize how badly he wanted that until it was out of his reach.
“Jax!”
Poppy’s bellow from below brought him out of his thoughts.
“Up here!” he yelled.
The rope ladder hanging over the side creaked and the raft shifted on the branches. A second later, Poppy’s head peeked over the edge. As usual, when she looked at Jaxon, she didn’t look happy.
“Why didn’t you tell me that y’all were going treeboatin’?”
