“Fine,” he bit out, pulling out his wallet. “This is some grade-A horse—” he stopped. “Horse crap. That’s what this is.” He slapped a hundred into Ashton’s palm.
Ashton preened, grinning victoriously.
“Ford!” Granny said. “Duprees do not place bets.”
Ford threw his hands out likeI give up.
“Hate to break it to you, Mom,” Holden said, “but we place bets on everything. From who can shoot the most skeet to who will tell a ‘back in our day’ story first—you or Dad.”
“Seriously?” Bowen asked. “How can we get in on that?” He gestured to himself, our cousins, and me.
“Bowen, Bowen, Bowen,” Ashton said. “This is a highly competitive emotional ecosystem we have going on here. You all lack the necessary ruthlessness.”
Ford groaned at that. Then his shoulders heaved with an exaggerated sob.
“That’s what you get for making that stupid bet,” Peyton grumbled. “FYI—there will be no hippity dippity until it grows out.”
Juliette snickered. Hippity dippity was her new favorite phrase, and she found a way to work it into every conversation.
Ford swore for real then. “No. I will explode if I have to wait that long.”
Peyton’s head bobbed with attitude. “Shoulda thoughtabout that when you set up the stakes. I’m sorry, Ford, but I can’t be intimate with a literal clown.”
Ashton and Holden were laughing so hard they couldn’t talk.
Gramps smiled, amused. “Would someone like to expound on this bet? What exactly were the stakes?”
Tally rolled her eyes, fighting back a laugh. “Ashton bet Ford that Granny wouldn’t care that Griffin eloped. Ford was confident she would.”
Granny scoffed, looking horrified. “You bet on me?”
“Of course, I was confident,” Ford talked over her. “Do you think I would’ve risked this otherwise?” He tugged at his hair so hard that it looked like he was about to tear it from his scalp. Other than his guitar, Ford’s hair was his most prized possession. He was probably as famous for those curls as he was for his voice.
“So now, since Ford is theloser—” Peyton formed an L with her pointer finger and thumb “—he has to shave his hair into a mohawk and dye it all the colors of the rainbow.”
There was a beat of silence as I was sure, like me, everyone pictured Ford, shirtless in bed, hovering over Peyton with complete confidence—except now he looked less like one of America’s favorite sex symbols and more like a deeply committed Troll doll.
In the very next beat, the room erupted in chortles, laughs, and outright guffaws.
“And he can’t shave it off for a month,” Holden said.
“Oh, dang.” Bowen doubled over. “Uncle Ford, what were you thinking?”
“He wasn’t,” Peyton said, verging on furious. Okay, maybe Ford’s hair washermost prized possession.
“No more betting,” Granny said, expression stern. “And definitely no more betting where I’m involved. If y’all aredead set on earning yourselves a one-way ticket to the eternal bonfire, that’s between you and the Lord, but you are not taking me with you.” She leveled each of them in turn—Holden, then Ashton, then Ford. “You were raised better than that.”
“Seriously?” Ford said to Granny. “Your sons make a harmless bet—just brothers being brothers—and you act like we’re a disgrace to the Dupree name—” He jabbed a finger at me, “—but Griff goes rogue, grabbing himself a wife the same way you make a quick stop at Food Lion for a gallon of milk, and you welcome him home like he’s a war hero.” He glanced at Juliette and me. “No offense.”
“None taken,” we said in unison, biting back grins.
Ford picked right back up. “Should we break out the box of yellow ribbons for him too? Maybe throw him a gala and invite the whole town?”
Juliette was barely holding it together, both hands pressed over her mouth as she fought for air.
“First of all.” Granny patted Willow lightly on the back. “Griffin isn’t my responsibility. He’s Lemon and Silas’s. I just get to spoil him. That’s what grandmas do.” She leveled Ford with a look. “Second, it’s done. They’re married. What good would it do to be upset now? And third, I’m too tired to clutch my pearls over how y’all run your lives. You know why?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Because I raised a son who came home tatted up like a spray-painted overpass, drunk enough to pickle himself, rotating women like seasonal décor, nearly put himself in the grave that one time, and he managed to knock up a stranger during a one-night stand.”
Peyton exhaled through her nose, but said nothing.
