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“Eight,” he repeated, like he was filing that away some place. “Small feet for a ranch hand.”

“Told you. The other boys never let me forget it.” I forced a little laugh, though my collar suddenly felt too tight.

He didn’t say anything else about it, just slid the fair map across the desk toward me, a big hand-drawn thing marked up in three different colors of ink, showing where the vendor booths would go, where the parking would be roped off, where the rides would be, and where the barbecue competition tents were slated to sit along the east side of the square.

“This is gonna be your bible for the next few weeks,” he said. “Get familiar with it. We’ll walk the route tomorrow so you can see how it all lines up in person.”

I nodded, studying the map like it held the answers to something a lot more complicated than parking logistics. Truth was, my mind had already gone somewhere else entirely.

“You alright?” Marcus asked, and I realized I’d been quiet a beat too long.

“Yes, sir. Just a lot to take in.”

“True enough.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over that broad chest of his, studying me with those green eyes that gave away about as much as a shut door. “You’ll get the hang of it quick, I expect. Mike don’t recommend folks lightly.”

“I’ll try not to make him regret it.”

“Somethin’ tells me you won’t.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, easy and unbothered, and for a second the tension in my shoulders eased up some. Maybe I was just spooking myself over nothing. “And tell Westley that you’re both comin’ to the cookout this weekend.” He gave me a small wink. “That’s an order.”

I nodded, feeling my stomach sink. I’d been hoping to get out of that, not sure if I was ready to face a group of gay men in Sagebrush. I didn’t want them to give me a reason to stay, not now after all the work I’d done to get out of there.

“Yes, sir” I nodded, forcing a smile. “We’ll be there.”

Chapter 21

Westley

“You excited?” I asked as we walked up to Sheriff Webb’s house. We were both loaded down with bags from Dolly. She’d insisted on us taking food even though Marcus told us not to bother. “We haven’t had any real socializin’ since we moved into Dolly’s place.”

Rhett didn’t answer right away, just kept his eyes fixed on the gravel path leading up to the house, the paper bag in his arms crinkling with every step. I could tell his nerves were working overtime, the same way they had all week whenever the subject of this cookout came up.

“Guess I’m a little nervous,” he admitted finally. “Bein’ around a bunch of guys like us. I don’t know how to act around that yet. I don’t have any practice.”

“You don’t have to act any certain way,” I said, bumping my shoulder against his since my hands were too full to do anything else. “Just be yourself. Same as you are with me.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t spend your whole life hidin’ it.”

I didn’t have a good answer for that, so I just let it sit as we came up on the porch steps. The house was nice, bigger than I expected for a bachelor sheriff, white clapboard siding with dark green shutters and a wraparound porch that had a couple new rocking chairs sitting empty near the door. It looked like it had been painted recently, probably after that tornado went through. Smoke was already curling up from around back, carrying that incredible smell of mesquite and charring meat, and I could hear voices and laughter drifting around the side of the house before we ever got the chance to knock.

A man I’d never seen before came around the corner first, wiping his hands on an apron tied around his waist, dark hair a little wild from the heat, wearing a shirt that was barely long enough to cover his nipples.

“Well, you must be the famous Westley and Rhett,” he said, breaking into a grin wide enough to show off a set of perfectly white teeth. “Marcus told me you were coming. I’m Xavier.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shifting my bags to shake his offered hand. “I’ve heard a bit about you already.”

“All bad things, I hope.” Xavier’s eyes flicked toward Rhett with an easy warmth, no judgment in it at all, just plain curiosity. “You didn’t have to bring anything, you know. Marcus always goes overboard on the food.”

“Try tellin’ that to Aunt Dolly,” Rhett said, and I felt a little spark of pride at how steady his voice came out, even with his shoulders still drawn up tight.

“Oh, I know how she is. She likes to feed people while she meddles in their love lives.”

Rhett laughed despite himself. “You’re not wrong about that.”

Xavier smiled in return, waving us on around back. “Come on, everybody’s out by the smoker. Marcus is showin’ off, per usual.”

We followed him around the side of the house into a backyard that opened up wide under a couple big oak trees. There were string lights already twinkling between the branches even though the sun hadn’t dropped low enough yet to need them. Mike and Cash were sitting at a picnic table, a pitcher of sweet tea sweating between them, and Marcus stood over by a smoker the size of a small car, tongs in hand, looking about as relaxed as I’d ever seen him.

“There they are,” Mike called out, lifting a hand to wave us over. “Glad y’all made it.”