“He wasn’t at the treeboat with y’all? His truck is still here. Maybe he just went for a walk to cool off after losing the vote on the bar.”
Jaxon hated the thought that popped into his head. “Did you call 911?”
“Poppy did.”
When they got to the dancehall, they found Poppy’s truck parked in front. But there was no sign of her.
“Shit!” Jaxon parked around back and jumped out. “Tully stay here! I mean it!” he yelled as he raced for the open back door where smoke was billowing out. He pulled the collar of his T-shirt up over his face and prepared to run inside when Tully yelled his name.
“Jaxon!”
He turned and saw Poppy and Dawson coming around from the front. They were both coughing and Dawson held one of the new fire extinguishers they’d just purchased.
“Are y’all okay?” he asked.
Poppy got her coughing under control first. “Yeah . . . we’re fine.” She looked back at the building. “But the dancehall isn’t.”
All five looked at the door the smoke was pouring out of as a siren sounded in the distance and grew closer. As soon as the firefighters were out of the trucks, they ordered Jaxon and the rest of them to get back from the building as they pulled out hoses and cranked valves.
They moved back, but no one seemed to want to leave. They all just stood there as the realization sank in. All their hard work was for nothing. There was no way they were going to be able to get the dancehall finished on time now. And what made matters worse, Jaxon wasn’t even sure if they had insurance to cover the fire . . . or if he wanted the insurance investigators snooping around.
He turned to Dawson. “What happened?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“You know why.”
Dawson’s eyes widened. “You think I started the fire?”
“Did you?”
“This is fuckin’ bullshit!” Dawson turned to leave, but then turned back. “Yes, I started the fire at Mickey’s, but I was a drunk, stupid kid. I wouldn’t do something that stupid now. But you’ve never trusted me, have you, Jax? You said you believed me when I told you I didn’t take the money from the register, but it was a lie. You always thought I was the one who robbed Mickey’s. Well, fuck you, big brother! Fuck you!”
He flipped him off and walked away.
“Dawson!” Poppy raced after him.
Huck stared at him as if he was the biggest dumbass in the world before he followed them.
And maybe Jaxon was, but he’d been here before.
He’d been nineteen and working two jobs, Honky Tonk Heaven and cowboying on the Stockton Ranch, in order to save enough money to move his family somewhere else once Poppy got out of high school. Somewhere far away from Mama and Honky Tonk Heaven. Then Dawson borrowed his truck and came home drunk. Jaxon had thought his only crime had been driving drunk . . . until Sheriff Gentry had shown up.
Jaxon had done what he’d always done.
Taken the blame.
But while he’d been sitting in jail, he’d decided he was done taking the blame. Done being a parent to his wild-assed siblings when he was just a kid himself.
Dawson was right. He had never believed in his brother’s innocence. How could he when Dawson had been at the gas station that night? If he was drunk enough to start a tire fire, why wouldn’t he be drunk enough to rob the gas station? It made even more sense when the money was found the following morning in a bag outside the gas station door.
And still, he couldn’t help feeling like shit that he couldn’t believe his brother.
He looked at the smoke billowing out the back door. But how could he when Dawson was always around when his dreams went up in smoke?
His dream?
When had Honky Tonk Heaven become his dream?
