“She does love them,” Ron whimpers. When the two men stare at him, he shrugs. “What? They’re cute. I can say that. They’re like puppies.”
Isaac grabs a pile of cards and begins cutting. “That why you quit the feedstore? So that you can play with piggycorns?”
“Ron’s been a huge help,” I tell them. “Without him, I wouldn’t know where to start. You should see him with a sander and a measuring tape.” Ron puffs out his chest with pride, and I add, “In fact, I could use another set of hands if you’ve got time to spare.”
Isaac lifts his brows. “What do you need?”
“Whatdon’tI need? We’re turning the place into a spa.”
Isaac and McCauley exchange a look. McCauley speaks first. “A spa? Like, where women go?”
Ron scoops up a handful of shelled peanuts and drops it into his mouth. “There’ll also be couples’ massages.”
Isaac looks up from the deck of cards he’s shuffling and laughs. “I can just see Jennifer going for that. She’ll be dragging you in there by your ear.”
“And some guy named Lance’ll be oiling down your legs,” McCauley adds.
I bark out a laugh as Ron’s face turns red.
“What’re y’all over here jabbering about?” comes a voice from behind us.
Up walks an old woman who’s got to be in her late seventies. She’s wearing capri pants, sneakers, and a Braves ball cap over a mop of curly, silver hair.
She places a tray of drinks on the table. Isaac quirks a brow. “Mojitos, Clarice? Really? You said you were making something special.”
She frowns. “This is special. When I’m working the bar, I get to pick the drink, and I picked mojitos. Do you want me to stay, or would you rather I go home and make you quit your poker game?”
“No, no. Don’t do that.” Isaac takes the drinks and hands them off to each of us. “Pane Maddox, allow me to introduce Clarice Sinclair. Clarice, Pane is helping out Wadley Farms.”
She pumps her brows behind thick-lensed glasses. “I know all about Pane Maddox. Watched you with that chain saw, and you did pretty good.”
“Thank you.”
She works her jaw, and it appears that she wants to ask a question, but when a customer enters, she waddles off back behind the bar.
As soon as she’s gone, I say, “Isn’t she a bit old to be working so hard?”
“Nah,” Ron says. “She likes to gripe and complain, but this is the one night she gets out, and Wednesdays are always dead.”
“Yeah. Folks know to go easy on her,” Isaac tells me.
“All folks except Luke Preston,” McCauley adds.
Ron and Isaac groan.
“Don’t jinx it,” Ron says. “Just saying his name may conjure him up.”
“Luke,” I murmur. “Is that ...”
“Rowe’s ex,” Isaac informs me stoutly. “He used to play poker with us when we played on Tuesdays, but he always won.”
I quirk a brow. “Always?”
“Yeah. No telling how many thousands he got out of us.” Ron knocks back his mojito. Ice clinks as he lets the glass hit the table with a thud. “We could never figure out how he cheated, but we know he did.”
“So instead of firing him, we changed nights.” McCauley raps his knuckles on the table. “Speaking of, are we playing or not?”
“Texas Hold’em. Fifty-dollar buy-in,” Isaac announces.
