I huffed a humorless laugh and sat down on the edge of my bed to put my non-holey socks on. “What Ineedis a brother who isn’t completely insane.”
“Ah, c’mon,” he said, sounding way too jovial now. “Let’s take a detour and ride out to the creek before we hit the Spur. We’ll make a paper boat and drop that cursed ring into it and cast it off. But before we do that, we’ll light that fucker on fire and watch it burn all of that bad luck away while it floats off.”
I was back to openly gaping at him. “I’m really worried about you,” I said, to which he laughed. “And I spent way too much money on that thing to set it on fire and send it floating anywhere.” I tugged on my boots, tucked my shirt into my jeans, fastened my belt, and grabbed my hat. I stopped next to him on my way out of my room and clasped my hand over his shoulder. “I’m fine. And I’m not stuck in the past. Not anymore. In fact, my present and, quite possibly, my future is currently slinging drinks at a honkytonk I’m rather eager to get to.” I flexed my hand on his shoulder. “So can we let this go and…go.”
“Yeah.” Luke sighed, turning serious for probably the first time in his life. “But, all jokes aside, get rid of it. If you really do see a future with Andi, don’t keep holding on to something that represents your past.”
My chest went a little warm and fuzzy at that, and I chose not to provoke him anymore because what he’d said was actually really thoughtful and…dare I say…wise.
This thing with Andi was new—new and fun and exciting—but, damn, if I didn’t see it turning into something that could last.
And I wanted that.
I wanted her.
And holding on to her was much more satisfying than holding on to my past.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Andi
I always associatedthe phrasewhen it rains, it pourswith bad things happening, but the past few weeks had shed a whole new light on that phrase for me. Because, for once, the downpour was good. Almost too good. To be honest, it sort of…scared me a little bit. My life had finally taken a turn for the better and part of me—the part that had been conditioned to always expect the worse—was just waiting for it all to blow up in my face.
Like the day I went to Red to ask about keeping my job. Norah had beenso certainthat Red would find a way to keep me, even with all of us expecting Laurel to come back soon. I’d fed on her excitement and let it fill me with hope, but that lingering doubt I just couldn’t shake hovered on the edge of that hope, digging in its dirty little claws and threatening to puncture my peaceful bubble.
I’d been a mess when I approached him before the start of my shift—nerves and adrenaline pumping throughout me so fiercely that I had to stick my hands in my back pockets because they were trembling so badly. So was my voice, but I couldn’t do anything about that. But when I’d finally gotten the words out—after stumbling over them about a dozen times—he looked at me with…relief.
In an unexpected turn of events, Laurel had actually come to him earlier in the day and explained how she and her husband were taking the baby and moving to be closer to her mom—saying something about her mother needing help with running the little candle store she was the sole owner and operator of. I felt for Laurel because it was a save-face story if I’d ever heard one. Whispered rumors had made their way through the patrons at Belle’s Diner and Merle’s Feed & Seed like a match to gasoline, all about Laurel’s husband’s wandering eye and?—
Holy shit.This town and its knack for gossip hadreallyrubbed off on me.
Anyway, with Laurel's mom living near the Oklahoma state line, there was no way she could keep working for Redso…that made the job all mine. The second he said the words, relief washed over me so hard that my knees almost gave out. I probably would’ve hugged him had Red been the hugging sort, but instead we sealed the deal just like we had almost two months ago the first time I approached him for work: with a shot of whiskey.
I’d also worked out a payment plan with Willy for the Camaro, and while I wished I could’ve paid him in full, I just couldn’t swing it because Norah and I hadfinallyfound a house.
Theperfecthouse.
After weeks of searching ads and viewing rentals with sagging floors, suspicious stains, and—my personal favorite—a family of raccoons living in the attic, we finally found the one. Or, I guess, more accurately,ithad foundus…at the Feed & Seed, of all places.
Norah and I had been picking up more bags of feed for Mr. Caldwell (this time for his chickens) when the kind lady who ran the register moseyed up to the counter with a look that said,Have I got somethin’ for you. And that something was a house. Her house.
Apparently, Miss Ida (as Norah had called her) had moved in with Merle (the owner of the Feed & Seed) almost a year ago, but she had held out on doing anything with her house as she waited to see if their late-in–life romance would stick—which, she’d decided, it was going to.
She hadn’t advertised anything yet with the house because she didn’t want just anybody living in it. But, seeing as she’d known Norah for years—and witnessed her grow into a hardworking, kind, and dependable woman—and me by association with Norah—and also maybe because Ida claimed she could “spot a good heart a mile away”—she wanted to offer it to us first.
That very afternoon we became the proud renters of the cutest, coziest two-bedroom cottage on the corner of Bluebonnet and Tumbleweed that did not have any sagging floors or suspicious stains or unwanted house guests squatting in the attic.
ThankGod.
Even though the house had been vacant for the past year, Miss Ida had kept up with the maintenance outsideandinside, making it move-in ready…which is what we were doing today. And as Norah and I waited for her brothers to show up with the horse trailer loaded with Norah’s bedroom set and my new-to-me bedroom set, we sat there in her truck and just…took it all in.
The mix of vertical wood and shingle-style siding in warm, beige-y tones modernized it some, but overall, it just looked and felt like a comfortable countryside retreat. There was a screened-in porch that ran along most of the front, and a smaller, covered, open porch off to the left supported by slim square posts. Both lounging areas had rustic outdoor furniture that Miss Ida offered to let us keep, as well as the other furniture in the main areas of the house. I, personally, was so grateful for that, considering how the security deposit and first month’srent upfront wiped out a good portion of my savings. I’d had just enough left over after that and putting money down on the Camaro repairs to purchase the pre-loved bedroom set, a new mattress, some sheets, and a comforter.
None of it was fancy, but it was mine. The job. The house. The furniture. A man I loved and who I hoped quite possibly loved me, too. All that was left was getting my dad’s car back. Not because I was planning some great escape—God knows I wasn’t—but because having it meant staying here truly wasmycall.
“What the hell?” Norah said, sounding annoyed and exhausted.
My eyes cut away from taking in our new home to follow her line of sight, and I seconded her “What the hell?” as I saw our new mailbox lying in the ditch, its post cracked and leaning sideways like someone had run it clean over. The driveway connected to both Bluebonnet and Tumbleweed, curving around the right side of the house in a stretched-out horseshoe shape, and with us pulling up to the house from Bluebonnet and the mailbox on Tumbleweed, we hadn’t noticed it until just now.
