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“Thank you,” I grit out.
She nods, like that’s that. “Get that one too, will you?” She points to another weed.
And this time, when I pull at it and it refuses to come loose, I wonder if maybe, instead of my being stuck in Great Falls, this weed could be Willow putting down roots here with me?
The weed gives way, but there’s another one right next to it so I keep going, clearing Mama Louise’s garden long after she goes inside and leaves me to my thoughts.
Root into me, stay by my side. We’ll grow together, two as one.
Chapter 21
Willow
“You okay?” I ask Unc during the lull between lunch and what is going to be a crazy Saturday night.
His complexion is looking a bit pasty, his eyes a bit sunken and purple. And that’s after he took a break to ‘check the books’ earlier.
“Have you eaten anything today? Ilene would be happy to make you some eggs and toast.” The suggestion makes him turn an altogether unattractive shade of green and shake his head.
“Nah. Just feel like a bug that got zapped by one of those contraptions you put on the back porch. Zzzzzt.” He vibrates like a jolt of electricity is going through him. His smile at his own joke is weak, lasting for only a brief flash.
“Take off tonight then. Olivia and I can handle things, especially since you did the same for us last weekend.” I’m hoping the reminder of his kindness will let him accept mine.
No such luck.
He lifts one white brow. “I’m fine. Gonna be a busy one tonight, and I won’t leave you girls that way.”
We could do it without him. It’d be tough, because he’s right about the crowd we’re expecting since it’s Bobby’s first show since the Nashville trip. But I’m going to spend most of the night with my eyes on Unc, making sure he’s okay.
“Okay.” I might as well give in because I’m not going to win against his pride. But I’ll do what I can. “What do you need, then? I’ll do the prep stuff, but can I at least get you a beer?”
Even when his stomach is turning circles on him, he can always manage to get a beer down. I don’t wait for his answer, grabbing one of his favorite craft beers, popping the top, and setting it in front of him.
“Oh, Doc Jones called a bit ago. Said to holler at him when you get a minute. You might want to do that now before we get slammed.”
He sighs as if that’s a big job, but he climbs from his stool and heads back to his office. Quickly, I text Doc.
Me: Talk to Unc for a bit about something. He needs to rest in the office and is being stubborn.
Doc: On it. Good girl.
While I have a minute, I ask Ilene for a biscuit with a honey drizzle. “For Hank? He need something else to eat with it? I can make him a burger, or a bowl of soup? Or he’s taken a liking to my scrambled eggs lately.” Her generosity is innate, her willingness to mother Unc straight out of her experience as a mother and grandmother herself. And she doesn’t even know about the cancer. She just takes care of people.
Overcome, I hug her quickly. Without hesitation, she hugs me back. “You’re the best, Ilene. I think just the biscuit for now.”
“Sure thing, sweetie. If you think you can get him to eat something else, let me know. He’s getting too skinny for my taste.” I’m pretty sure everyone is too skinny for her taste. She shows her love with food, every bite made with her heart and soul.
I smile, quietly stepping into the office and setting the biscuit on the desk in front of Unc. He glares at me, but he’s got the phone pressed to his ear, listening to who I presume is Doc. Hopefully, he’ll mindlessly take a few bites and get something good in his belly.
Back behind the bar, I do all my normal prep. I’m all set. Looking across the floor, Olivia seems ready too.
And just in time. The dinner rush begins and we’re flooded with customers.
I pull tickets one after another, filling drink orders for Oliva. Unc is still in his office, hopefully dozing on the booth bench after finishing the biscuit.
“Hey,” a deep voice says behind me as arms wrap around my waist. I feel a hot kiss press to my neck.
“You’re a brave man. The last guy who laid hands on me without permission got his nose broken by my big, strong, sexy boyfriend. He’s a little possessive.” I can hear the smile in my voice.
“I don’t need permission. You’re already mine, sweetheart,” he growls against my ear.
“I am.” The agreement is easy because it’s true. I also give him the words he loves to hear in answer to his possessive claims over me, “And you’re mine. Though your fans are getting a bit rabid waiting for you to hit the stage tonight.”
