Franco laughed at that.
Rebecca, truthfully, looked more relaxed than she probably should, given the presence of two former lovers, one of whom had slightly bloodied the other over her. Then again, drama was her medium, the way the sea was the medium for saltwater fish.
“What the hellareyou doing here, Franco?” J. T. asked.
“An old school friend of mine owns a winery about thirty miles up the road and I was heading up this way for Nicasio’s wedding anyway, so I thought I’d come check this area out and surprise you. Andwhoshould open the door but Rebecca. You should haveseenthe look on her face. For that matter, you should see the look on yours right now.”
“How did you know where I was living?” He was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that.
“I just asked the nice lady at the Angel’s Nest, where I thought I’d try to get a room, and she just assumed we were ‘blood brothers’ in real life.” He put “blood brothers” in air quotes. “Told me you bought the ‘old Greenleaf place.’” He put the “old Greenleaf place” in air quotes, too. “Told me about all the hiking trails and the Eternity Oak. That sounds like one scary damn tree, by the way. She hasn’t watched our show, but she sure Googled it. We had a great chat. She’s a hoot.”
J. T. sighed. He really wasn’t going to hold it against Rosemary, who couldn’t in a million years fathom the dynamic between the three people in this room. She quite simply wouldn’t have time for it. The people in this town, most of them anyway, were frankly too nice and too decent and too busy to imagine such useless complexity.
“See anything interesting on the way into town, Franco?” Rebecca asked slyly.
“Of course,” he indulged. “Saw your billboard out there on the highway, Rebecca,” Franco said, taking a sip of his beer. “Nothing scarier than a twenty-foot-tall Rebecca Corday.”
She laughed, clearly thoroughly pleased.
“So what’s going on here, kids? Is this the resurrection of Rebeccasee?” Franco looked from one to the other. “Gonna go carve your initials on the Eternity Oak, be bound together forever?”
J. T. and Rebecca remained silent.
“Underhill know you’re here, Becks?” Franco tried.
More silence.
“Tennessee would just kick Underhill’s ass if he showed up. Isn’t that right, J. T.?” said the guy who got his ass kicked by J. T.
“Oh, sure,” J. T. said easily. “If he took a swing at me. But I can kick it fancier than ever now. I have a black belt.”
Franco could fight well enough but he was just too damn lazy to go through all that trouble to get a black belt. And that was one of the main differences between them. J. T. had always tried harder. At everything. And he was always willing to be meaner, like a cornered wild animal.
But Franco was slyer.
“Where’s the pretty woman in those TMZ photos, J.T.? You have her stashed here somewhere, too? Was she happy to meet a big star like Rebecca?”
That was some fine slyness right there.
“That woman is none of your business, Francone.”
He’d slapped those words down like a guillotine.
Damn.
Franco was smart and J. T. had been a little too quick on the draw there.
Franco studied him, musingly.
J. T. met his gaze unblinkingly. Staring a threat.
“She’s a waitress at the Misty Cat Cavern in downtown Hellcat Canyon,” Rebecca supplied blithely into the silence, although her voice sounded a little strained. “I met her. But J. T. won’t tell me anything else about her.”
“That...” Franco mused, “isinteresting.”
Franco knew J. T. pretty well.
“Let’s all go down to the Misty Cat and show everyone we’re friends,” Rebecca said suddenly. “I could use a bite to eat.”
