“You can. Do you really want one?”
“No. I want the whole fuckin’ bottle, but I’ll settle for a shot.”
Rafe smirked as he reached behind him and grabbed everyone’s friend,Jose Cuervo,off the shelf. It was going to burn all the way down, but by God, it would be worth it.
“Have you met Holt yet?”
Slade glanced in the direction Rafe was pointing. “Not officially. I’ve seen you around, though.”
Holt moved toward him, holding out his hand. “Slade Elliott, right?”
He nodded and shook Holt’s hand. “You’re stayin’ at the B and B?”
“Was. Now I live there.”
Slade frowned. “Seriously? I didn’t realize—”
“I moved in with Bailey and Rafe,” Holt said.
Ah. Well, that made more sense. Maybe.
“Wait.” Slade looked at Rafe. “You and”—he tilted his head toward Holt—“himand Bailey?”
Rafe smirked. “That’s the rumor.”
“Three’s a good number,” Holt said, taking the seat next to Slade.
“For some, maybe,” Slade grumbled, reaching for the shot and tossing it back.
He gasped as it seared his esophagus.
“Another.”
“How about a beer?”
Slade considered it before finally nodding. The last thing he needed was to get shitfaced, no matter how much he wanted to.
“I heard about what happened to Jessica James,” Holt said, clearly eager to drum up conversation.
Since Slade preferred to do anything that didn’t involve thinking about Carson, he engaged.
“Yeah. She talked her kidnappers into lettin’ her go. She’s home and safe.”
“They find who did it?”
“Not yet.” Slade took the beer Rafe passed over. “Thanks.”
“Is it true they arrested her boyfriend because they think he’s connected to someone’s murder?”
“No body, no crime,” Slade mumbled, even as he wondered how Holt had heard about that. Since Carson hadn’t, Slade figured the news hadn’t broken in town just yet.
“I tried that in a book once,” Holt explained, talking to him and Rafe. “I met with a lawyer friend of mine to nail down the specifics. He told me that’s less true these days, what with all the DNA evidence and whatnot.”
Slade didn’t know how to respond, so he stalled by drinking his beer and staring at the bottle.
Before he could add to the conversation, he heard the door open behind him and muttered a half-assed “howdy,” not bothering to look back to see who it was. He didn’t care. The greeting was customary, something they did whenever someone walked in.
“What’s up, man?” Rafe said to someone over Slade’s shoulder. “You want a beer?”
