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“Order of the British Empire,” Court says. “I’ll show it to you sometime if you promise to have dinner with me.”
“You’re having dinner now.”
“But I’d rather spend an evening with you than Wyatt,” he says before turning to my daughter’s arch nemesis. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Wyatt replies with a smile that I want to smack off his face.
“I heard Merritt took a chunk off your hide the other day in the middle of town,” I say changing the subject.
“Merritt is a menace to society,” he bites out.
“Who’s Merritt?” Court asks.
“My daughter,” I answer. “Youngest of three. She’s a pilot.”
“Lovely,” Court says.
“She’s a terror and she’s going to kill someone one day,” Wyatt bites out.
“Mer is more of a fast and loose kind of a gal and Wyatt here likes to dot his i’s,” Pops laughs. “Oil and water. Mark my words, one day they’ll fuck it out and the world will never be the same.”
“Bite your tongue, old man,” Wyatt growls. “That’ll happen when Mason is allowed back in the bar.”
Pops just laughs.
“Mason?” Court asks. “The sheriff?”
“One and the same,” Pops growls.
“Dare I ask what he did?”
“He knows what he did,” Pops snarls.
“He broke Audrey’s heart,” Wyatt whispers.
“Audrey?”
“My oldest,” I answer. I’m stuck in the middle of this ridiculousness for the foreseeable future.
“And you said there’s one more?”
“Yes.”
“Is she as wild as the rest of you?”
“No,” I laugh. “Parker is as staid as the snow is white. My middle girl loves balance and order.”
“She might thrive on it,” Pops laughs, returning back to his normal joviality. “But she’s as crazy as the rest of them.”
“Don’t count me in that crazy math,” I snap. “I’m downright boring.”
“Bor—” Court starts but he’s interrupted by a happy holler from the front of the bar.
“Mamacita!” Merritt shouts, and we all turn to look in her direction.
“Now things just took a turn for the better,” Gus, Pop’s guitarist says into the mic. “We have two Harris women in the house and you all know what that means…”
I close my eyes and sigh while I weigh my options. I could stand here and listen to Pops and Wyatt tell all my secrets, or I could go sing a popular song with my daughter on stage like we’ve done all her life, until her grandpa is ready to sing about his genitals again, and I can remove myself from this equation.
