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“Resort bar.” Another sip of tea.
“What’d you do there?” More singing. She might as well be turning into a damn Disney princess—Princess Katelyn of the Redneck Ranch, coming soon to a theater near you.
“Drank beer. Ate a burger. Watched the game.” Too soon to take another drink, but I lick my lips and press them together, telling her she’s getting nothing out of me.
“And who was your friend?”
“Ain’t got any.”
Mark scoffs at that. “Think again, asshole. Look around you.”
Mama Louise points. “Language.”
Mark apologizes to Mama Louise with a good-natured dip of his chin, but his eyes say he meant what he said. “Who’d you meet at the bar?”
Shit. Damn nosy cowboys, worse than gossipy hens. Katelyn threw me under the bus on this one, probably karmic retribution for my using Shay as an excuse earlier. And a quick scan tells me that everyone’s listening now. Even Cooper has stopped tossing his beanbags to listen to me explain my ‘not friend’. Guess my protesting was a bit overplayed.
“Just some woman who was chatting me up. No big deal.”
But the women scent blood in the water. My blood.
With Bobby and me being the only single ones left in our group, the women have decided to take us on as projects. They’ve tried matching us up for blind dates, which I refuse, of course, accidentally running into people when we’re in town and I suddenly remember that I need wire from the feed store, and trying to give us quizzes from some magazine website. That one was actually fun because I answered truthfully and it’d all but said that I was going to die alone. I’d celebrated, not the being alone part, but that I’d fucked with the girls’ big plans to find my soulmate or some shit.
Truth be told, I don’t want that.
Shay had it tough when Mom died, but she was young enough that I tried my damnedest to protect her from the worst of it. But me? I was the oldest, the one who had to deal with everything. I saw Mom and Dad, deep in love and happy one day, and Dad absolutely gutted the next.
The day Mom took her last breath, our whole family died too. She’d been the glue and we’d all been too young and stupid to notice. Until she was gone.
Dad crumbled, but he didn’t go down easily. No, he crash landed, taking out as many innocent bystanders as possible. Mainly me. I lost count of the times I had to go pick him up at the bar, the casino the next county over, or a few times, at the jail for drunken and disorderly charges. Hell, I had to add a bail line item to the family budget, though I called it a contingency fund so Shayanne wouldn’t know what I used the money for when she balanced the books.
And he was angry, so fucking angry. I’ve been in a lot of fights in my life, but I’ve never thrown fists like Dad did. And usually at me. I don’t know why he chose me to take out his fury on because I certainly hadn’t gone easy on him in return, once punching him in the gut so hard I’d had to drive him to the hospital to get checked out. He’d insulted my wimpy-ass punch the whole way, and the nurse had rolled her eyes at his bruised gut and my swollen jaw. I’d felt guilty, and he’d felt righteous that I should’ve somehow magically adjusted the market price on cattle so he could get the money he needed to pay his gambling debts.
That’s what love does to you—gives you false hope and happiness and then rips it away, absolutely ruining you.
Even Mama Louise, a woman I admire for her strength, still walks around talking to her dead husband like he’s sitting here on the porch with us. And that’s supposed to be considered a healthy coping mechanism?
I don’t get it, don’t want it.
I’ll keep my heart locked away behind my chest, take care of the physical side when I need to, and get back to doing what I do best—getting up before dawn, working my ass off all day, raising my family and crops, and keeping all the animals healthy to get to market.
Rinse and repeat.
I sit here, looking at the happy couples all around me, feeling like they’re ticking time bombs about to go off at any minute and knowing I won’t ever willingly strap one of those explosives to myself.
And definitely not with Lil Bit, the Presto Change-O woman.
“What was her name?” I don’t even know which of them asks because they’re like a hive mind right now—one will, one way.
“Dunno.”
“Did you like her?” Shay asks that one, at least having my best interests in mind, I think.
I think about that. I did like Lil Bit at the shop. She seemed fun and challenging, even badass. Definitely interesting, but not interested. But at the bar? She was fine, but not for me.
