Bertha Lowell, or Birdie as she liked to be called, bore down on them like a harvester bearing down on a field of cotton. She usually wore a flannel shirt and jean overalls. Today, she had on a long, black dress that made her look even more intimidating. She had the same blond curly hair and brown eyes as Tully. Except her hair was interwoven with gray and her eyes didn’t look like Bambi’s as much as Rambo’s as they narrowed on Jaxon and his brothers.
“Why are you boys running off in such a hurry? Y’all got somewhere to be?”
Jaxon swept off his hat. “Yes, ma’am. We have to meet with mama’s lawyer to go over the will.” It wasn’t really a lie. They did have to meet with the lawyer . . . bright and early Monday morning.
Of course, Birdie read right through the lie. “Bullshit! Billy Jones wouldn’t work on a Saturday to save his soul. He don’t work three days a week, let alone six. Now y’all are coming on over to my house for the funeral reception.” She looked at Jaxon. “I realize y’all probably don’t have good memories of this town, but folks want to console you in your time of need and y’all need to let them.”
She lifted her right hand and pointed her pinkie finger in Jaxon’s face. Which would have been weird if she’d been anyone else. But Birdie only had a pinkie finger and a thumb on that hand. The others had been chopped off when, as a kid, she’d stuck her hand in the whirling blade of a running lawn mower. It was rumored that she hadn’t even cried.
“You might have been hooligans,” she said. “But y’all have always been respectful to your elders. Don’t disappoint me now.” She turned and strode away.
As soon as she was gone, Jaxon looked at his brothers and they all spoke at the same time.
“Shiiit.”
CHAPTER THREE
After the funeral, Tully had planned to head out to the highway and set up a speed trap. She had not planned on going to her grandma’s house for Rosie Hennessy’s funeral reception. Especially after a restless night filled with thoughts of tatted forearms and intense gold eyes. She had planned to stay as far away from the Hennessy boys as possible until they left town.
Unfortunately, no one got away with saying no to Granny Birdie.
“You can set up a speed trap any time.” She latched onto Tully’s arm and tugged her toward her patrol car. “Right now, we need to get to the house lickety-split and get some food ready.”
Tully was confused, but waited until they were on their way to her grandparents’ farm before she spoke. “We need to plan the food? Aren’t people bringing food?”
“That’s how it usually works, but it turns out that none of the ladies in the church thought to plan a funeral reception.”
Obviously, the townsfolk had felt obligated to attend the funeral of their favorite bar owner, but not obligated to attend a reception for the three ornery boys responsible for breaking out their front windows with rocks, beating their mailboxes off their posts with bats, and terrorizing their kids at school.
Tully couldn’t blame them. The Hennessys had been holy terrors. With Huck’s black eye, Dawson’s swollen jaw, and Jaxon’s split lip, they looked like they hadn’t changed. But she couldn’t help feeling as badly for the Hennessys as Birdie. Everyone deserved a funeral reception. Even bad boys.
And she would never forget the sadness she’d read in Jaxon’s eyes when he’d looked up while they were lowering the casket.
“If your mama was still here,” Birdie continued. “She would have done it up right. But since she’d not, it’s up to us.”
Tully couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pain. It had been over a year since her mama had left her daddy and Tully still wasn’t over it. Her parents had always been the perfect couple. High school football star who became the town sheriff and homecoming queen who became the town sweetheart.
Then suddenly her mama had started acting weird and talking about needing to find herself. Before Tully knew it, she was packing up and heading to Big Springs to live with her sister. It felt like someone had jerked the rug out from under Tully.
As much as she loved and looked up to her daddy, she also adored her mama. What wasn’t to adore? Laura Gentry was perfect. From her styled hair and coordinated clothes to her gracious personality and sunny disposition. She was everything Tully wasn’t. Graceful, funny, organized, and good at whatever she did. Whether it was organizing a church potluck and bringing half the dishes, making all the costumes for the Christmas pageants, or throwing the best birthday parties a daughter could ask for . . . even if no one came. Tully’s mama was a country Martha Stewart with a Texas twang and a smile that could light up a room.
Tully missed seeing her every day. She missed her cooking, hugs, and being married to her daddy. It wasn’t right. Not right at all. No matter how much her mama tried to explain that she needed space to find herself, Tully didn’t understand.
Nor had she truly forgiven her mama for leaving.
Something Birdie knew.
“Now don’t be gettin’ all melancholy at the mention of your mama, Tallulah Grace,” Birdie said. “She had her reasons for leaving. As much as you think your daddy hangs the moon, he’s far from perfect. He always did put his job before your mama. And as important as his job is, a wife is important too.”
“But she could have stayed and worked it out,” Tully grouched. “She’s not as happy in Big Springs as she was here. I can tell every time I visit her or talk to her on the phone.”
“She tried and your daddy wouldn’t listen. He’s always been stubborn as the day is long. But what happens between your mama and daddy isn’t our business. What is our business is figuring out what we’re going to make for the Hennessys. I told everyone at the funeral if they didn’t show up at my house with food in twenty minutes, I wouldn’t let them have the fall hayride at the farm this year. But we still need to have something for those boys to eat when they get there.”
“I don’t know how we’re gonna do that when neither one of us can cook.” Tully didn’t get her mama’s cooking gene. Or her sewing gene. Or her cleaning gene. Or her organizing gene.
“We’ll make do.” Birdie reached for the siren switch. “Now let’s haul some ass!”
There was nothing Tully’s grandma loved more than turning on the siren and lights. She chortled with glee as people pulled off on the side of the road to let them pass—including a pristine turquoise and white classic Chevy.
