“Don’t you worry. I’ll give him a ride home,” Cain said.
Marcy turned to her sister. “I still wish you’d reconsider going to New York with us. Mom and Summer want you to come along, too.”
For a fleeting moment, Betsy let the idea of having fun with her two sisters and their mom grab her emotions. As the girls had grown up, the grown-ups had always referred to them as Sadie’s Girls. The sisters’ own peers had called them Sadie’s Trio of Sass, among other things.
“Maybe I’ll go with you all next time.”
“That’s what you said when the rest of us went to Chicago,” Marcy said, rolling her eyes.
Betsy walked back over to the pool table and deliberately bumped her hip against the side. “Hey, are we shooting pool, or what?”
JB laughed as he went back to his seat by Marcy. She turned a cool shoulder toward her husband before he slid his arm around her waist, pulled her close and whispered in her ear. She whispered back, ending their standoff with a kiss.
Cain figured it must be nice to have that kind of invite waiting for you at home every night. JB might have only been back in town for a few months, but no one could even remember when JB and Marcy hadn’t been together and in love.
Cain glanced at Betsy. “Now what was our bet?”
“If you win, I have dinner with you.” Betsy glanced at the eight ball, then back at him. “And if I win, you?—”
“If you win.” Cain quirked the side of his mouth. “I’ll have dinner with you.”
“No way. I already took that bet from you years ago.” Her tone had chilled. “You stood me up.”
“I never?—”
“Yes…you did.” Betsy chalked the tip of her cue till the dust fluttered to the floor. “I believe you were distracted by a better-built model back in high school.”
Truth be told, Betsy hadn’t been the type he liked fifteen years ago. She’d been scrawny and smart and so into sports he’d thought she could probably beat him at a lot of games. Still, he sure didn’t remember making a bet with her. Or standing her up. As he recalled, he was always unsure how to approach Betsy.
Besides her uncle, Cal Davis, being sheriff of Crayton, her dad had been an FBI agent—gunned down when she was still in grade school. The shooter had been taken down within a minute, but there’d been no saving her dad. That’s when Betsy’s family—mama Sadie, sisters Marcy and Summer, and her—had moved to Crayton from Jefferson City.
“I’m sorry if that happened, Betsy. But we were both young.” Cain crouched into his stance and lined up his shot. He’d have paid closer attention if he’d known what Betsy at thirty-two would be like.
“Well, we’re not young anymore. In fact, I’m getting older by the minute waiting for you to finish this game.” Betsy blew out a sigh. “For the record, I don’t need your apology. And if you let me win without a fight, I’ll?—”
Cain shot the first ball without even thinking. Hard, fast and to the pocket, it dropped like iron drawn to a magnet. Then six more, one after the other, found their mark in the pockets. Down the line. Off the rail. Two for one.
Betsy never changed her expression. Never moved except for her clear green eyes that tracked every shot he took.
With only the eight and one of his solids left on the table, he decided the fun was about to begin. She’d set him up to lose. Turnabout was fair play.
He played his solid just enough to sneak the ball between the eight and the cup. Had been a gutsy play on his part. A half a dime’s length less of felt and he’d have lost for sure, but it had been worth the chance just to see her expression.
“You did that on purpose.” Betsy walked the perimeter of the table, pausing only once by a side pocket.
Suddenly, the voices from the far side of the room got louder. Earl scraped his chair across the floor as he stood, then half stumbled on his way across the room. A little wobbly on his feet, he stopped next to Betsy. “Hey, Ms. Peyton. Looks like you’re up against the rail there.”
She reached out and steadied the man. “Sure am. You okay tonight?”
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?” His words slurred together as he shoved her hand off his arm. “Can’t a guy go to the men’s room in peace?”
“Sorry. I was just?—”
“I’m tired of people trying to take care of me. My wife…my son…you…” Earl pushed to get past Betsy.
She jerked back, grabbing her right forearm as if she’d been nicked by fire.
“What do any of you know about my life anyhow?” He swept his arm around as if including all the restaurant, then focused his look on her. “Least of all you, boss lady. Not that you even know what goes on right in front of your eyes. Now get out of my way. What I do in my free time is none of your business.”
