The older woman eyed my co-worker for a moment, clearly displeased with the dismissal, before her laser focus zeroed in on me. “And you, Mr. Mercer. I suppose it’s fortunate for the Judds that you aren’t too busy with your familial obligations to tend to your work duties this weekend.”
The implication landed as effectively as a slap across the face.
Familial obligations.
Right, the child she believed I was neglecting or not supporting or whatever bullshit gossip was circulating.
I was still frozen in shock at her blatant insult, but I registered the sound of a crate hitting the ground hard behind me.
Joan’s voice was deceptively soft as she stepped up beside me, worn work boots even with my own. “Did you just?—”
I halted her with a hand on her arm. Icy blue eyes met mine, and I shook my head. “It’s okay. I got it.”
After a bracing breath, I said flatly, “Ms. Carter, you’ll need to reach out directly to Nick or Amy. We’re packing up here and heading out, but we’ll let them know you’re looking to get in touch. Have a nice night, ma’am.”
I waited until the woman made a note on her clipboard and then walked off to ruin someone else’s day.
With a rough inhale, I turned to the rear of the booth, desperate to avoid any lingering festivalgoers. I needed a minute to steady myself, so I started breaking down empty boxes.
“Are you okay?” Joan asked as she approached. She took the box away from me. “You’re not thinking straight. We need those for tomorrow’s produce to bring back in the morning.”
Shit. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I took my shaky hands and stuffed them into the front pockets of my jeans to keep from balling them in angry fists. It was stupid to still let this shit get to me.
“I don’t care about the boxes,” Joan insisted as she did her best to catch my eye. “She had no right to say that to you. Damn busybody with nothing better to do than try to make herself feel important.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” she argued. “She was running her mouth for no other reason than knowing it would get to you. Don’t let her under your skin. She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t matter.”
I huffed a humorless laugh. “Teach me how to not give a fuck, would you, Joanie?”
“It’s a ten-week course,” she replied deadpan. “I don’t know if you could handle it.”
That had my laugh from a moment ago turning genuine.
I finally met Joan’s gaze and was disturbed to find it soft and concerned.
“I’m okay. Really,” I tried to assure her.
Joan gave my arm a comforting squeeze—the most affectionate she ever really got. “Say the word and I’ll steal my neighbor’s goat and let it go to town on her award-winning roses.”
Smiling, I nodded. “Let’s keep workshopping it.”
“I have a whole notebook full of revenge plots,” she said seriously. “I’ll add it to the list.”
That reminded me of Candace and the worn notebook she carried with her everywhere, jotting down ideas as they struck. Maybe these two sisters weren’t so different after all.
I peeked beyond Joan to see that Brady still hadn’t returned. Candace had come back at some point and was busying herself boxing up the Judd’s Orchard tee shirts we’d bring back to sell tomorrow.
“I’m gonna go help your sister.”
“Okay,” Joan said. “I’m going to go drag Brady away from the Grandpappy’s tent by his ear.”
I glanced over to see that she was right. Brady was parked in front of the Clarks’ booth, leaning on the two-wheel dolly we needed to finish loading up for the night. He and Mac were locked in some sort of debate, but that was par for the course with those two. Mac had enough family members around her to prevent any real bloodshed. Actually, there was a cup full of straws on the table in front of her. She could probably do something lethal and inventive involving Brady’s trachea that would, no doubt, finally shut him up.
“Yeah, better go rescue him, for his own good.”
When I made my way over to Candace, she was nearly done with the merch.
