“Listen, girls, this is the last question I’m going to answer about June’s songs.” Or I’d lose my fucking mind. “She drove away from Montana, so I doubt that one is me, and I have no clue who she was jealous of.” My intuition knew better.
“‘She walks down the aisle to him and my tears fall like emerald rain,’” Bethany quoted. “‘She gets to wear the white gown while I’m in blue jeans. I’m the richest girl in the world because I’ve cried so many tears.’ Do you know why she wrote emeralds? Because they’regreen, like envy.”
My collar was chafing the back of my neck. Did Bethany know the whole song by heart? “You’ll have to ask June.”
Why was I the one under interrogation?
Because you hurt June so bad she made millions of dollars and fell for shitty men who kept her making millions.
No. I’d made theright decision.
The doorbell rang. They sprinted past me to answer it.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and leaned against the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. A dull thud settled at my temples and I blew out a breath.
When I dropped my hand and looked up, June regarded me, concern in her eyes.
I pushed off the wall. I couldn’t be in the house while she was inside. I couldn’t hear her answer the girls’ questions. “I’ll be outside. Girls, for God’s sake, please don’t interrogate your tutor about her teenage years.”
My home was no longer a June-free oasis.
Outside, I sucked in fresh air. The closer I got to the barn, the more the livestock smell lingered in the air. Inside the barn, I stared at the stalls full of muck and old straw. I’d be balls deep in cleaning, then I’d have to stop and see June off and make sure the girls got started on cleaning the chicken coop.
The barn could wait. I didn’t want to wallow in dirt and manure dust. Instead, I went to the shop and opened the big overhead door. The inside was cool, but the sunlight spewing in helped. Once I got started, I’d heat up quick enough.
My four-wheeler needed new brakes and the spark plugs were due for a cleaning after a sluggish start this morning.
As I worked, my mind played over the lyrics of June’s song. I’d suspected some were about me. I was humble enough to know they all weren’t. But June’s reaction yesterday was confirmation that she’d been singing about me at least some of the time.
The spark plugs were done and I had one of the newbrake pads in place when footsteps sounded behind me. Those weren’t the patter of my kids’ feet.
When I rose, my gaze landed on long, jean-clad legs. The denim hugged her skin all the way to the neck of the boot. No more boot-cut jeans for her. Did she still wear those when she helped at the ranch? They’d made her legs look impossibly long. Her maroon knit top hung loose over a white long-sleeved shirt. The mix of tight and baggy only amplified the curves I couldn’t keep my leering eyes off of.
“Something wrong?” It came out as barely more than a grunt. I went to the sink in the far corner of the shop.
“No, not with lessons.” She followed me deeper into the shop. Goddammit, couldn’t she keep a whole cement slab of distance between us? I didn’t want to smell her peony scent among the grease and metallic odors.
“Then what?”
“I’m sorry. About the songs.”
“Not my business.” I turned the faucet on and bit back a hiss at the frigid water that shot out.
“It’s become your business, and I never meant for that to happen. I talked to the girls about it.”
I scrubbed my hands, working the degreaser over my fingers. By the time I rinsed, the water was finally lukewarm, but I missed the shock.
I turned the water off and yanked a towel off the hook on the wall. Curiosity got the best of me. “What’d you tell them?”
She shrugged, and my gaze dropped to her breasts. My mind was a mess and my body’s reactions to June Kerrigan were harder to control. I jerked my eyes back up.
Thankfully, she was frowning at the floor by my feet. “I said I draw inspiration from my life and those around me. A lot of our experiences are so common, and that’s why they resonate so much, even with little girls who’ve heard stories and seen for themselves what heartbreak can do.”
I finished drying my hands. She met my gaze, her expression resolute, her brown eyes solemn.
My irritation grew and I aimed a glare at her. “So you gave them a nebulous nonanswer because they’re young, and they won’t know?” What else had I expected her to do?
Anger brightened the yellow specks in her gaze. “I did not.”
