After doing a dump run, I hit up the large farm supply store just east of town to pick up an order I placed first thing this morning.
On my way in, I notice Pastor Fred Bingham of the New Harvest church is at the counter.
There’s no love lost between our families, and I’m used to the narrowed eyes and evil energy rolling off the hypocrite. He was instrumental in sending my brother to jail and covering up the violence under his own roof.
So when we bought the ranch and officially renamed it Kincaid’s Refuge, it was to make a statement to the community that the Matthews boys don’t back down, don’t turn tail and run, and don’t hide from conflict. We’ll always stand up for women in trouble.
But I’m not looking to draw attention from his sort this week, because part of protecting those in trouble is knowing when to keep a low profile. So instead of going straight to the counter, I head back into the rows of supplies, pretending to browse until he’s well gone.
I’ve picked up a bag of diatomaceous earth when I catch a murmur from the next aisle that pulls me up short.
“You know how Mercy is, soft-hearted fool that she is.Can’t resist a kicked puppy. But it didn’t last long.”
“What do you mean?”
“She disappeared after the meltdown.”
“Did she leave town?”
“Couldn’t have gone far. That car is at Cash Kincaid’s garage.”
I lean in, seeing red, trying to see through the stacked shelves who’s talking about Mercy—and, without naming her, Hope. It’s two women.
“Maybe she’s staying with him. Upstairs in that seedy apartment over the garage.”
They both laugh and that’s fucking enough.
Stalking around the corner, I see Jessika Foote talking with one of the store clerks, a slightly older woman whose name I don’t remember.
But she knows me, and from the way her face drains of colour, she correctly guesses that I just overheard her gossiping about my brother.
They’re standing in front of rope I’ve decided I want.
“Excuse me,” I say with pointed calm. “Are you done shopping for that rope there? Because I need a few bundles.”
Jessika just lifts her eyebrows, like she can’t believe I’d interrupt her conversation to do something as wild as buy something at a fucking store.
I refocus on the clerk, who at least has the good grace to look ashamed. Her name badge says Brenna. “Can you help me carry these to the front, Brenna?”
“Yes, of course.”
I fill her arms with four bundles, then grab two more myself, and steer her away from Jessika.
Halfway to the counter, I see Pastor Bingham is still there, because of course he is, but it’s a free country and he’d better hold his fucking tongue this morning.
“I’ll ring you up here,” Brenna says nervously, putting me at an unused cash register.
“Thanks, Brenna,” I say, using her name again as if I didn’t learn it one minute ago. I’m not as naturally charming as Dax or Cash, but I can turn it on when needed. “I have an order I submitted online, too.”
I expect her to tell me that I can pick that up at the loading dock. That’s how it always works. I let them know I’m here, they have one of the guys in the back help me put it in the truck.
I don’t expect her to let out a funny little laugh, her gaze flying to my face. “I picked that order myself,” she says. “Who are the boots for?”
She’s just making conversation. She doesn’t know, she hasn’t put it together. She can’t have. Right now, she’s just confused why a Kincaid brother would buy little kid boots when we’re all very infamously single. But she might put it together in the hours that follow this slow-motion, car wreck of a conversation.
“Got family visiting next month,” I say, which isn’t exactly a lie. Last Christmas, I flew out to Ontario to meet some cousins we never knew about.
But Luna hasn’t been ready to talk about them yet, let alone meet them, sonext monthis a stretch.
