Before I could turn and investigate that ominous statement, the chair next to me pulled back, the legs scraping roughly across the worn floor.
I found an aggrieved Joan Judd shrugging out of her jacket.
A flicker of nervous excitement lit in my chest. I swallowed hard against the awareness Joan’s sudden appearance had caused.
“You made it!” Candace called happily.
Expression unreadable, Joan eyed me before sitting down. “Yeah, who would have thought thirteen text messages in an hour, reminding me about drinks tonight, would do the job?”
“And yet you’re still late,” Brady teased.
“Because I didn’t want to come,” Joan replied matter-of-factly.
I laughed outright. At my side, Mercer snorted in amusement and shook his head. Joan shot glares at both of us.
“Well, too bad,” Mac announced as she poured beer from the pitcher into a clean glass and passed it across the table to Joan. “There’s no bowling league this week, but you’re still obligated to hang out with us. You know you get rusty without human interaction every now and then.”
I knew better than to laugh this time, and merely smiled into my beer and took a sip.
Tilting my head, I asked, “You’re in a bowling league?”
Joan met my gaze, her own narrowed in suspicion, like I was making fun of her hobby.
It was awkward sitting next to her. I wanted to turn and face her fully, watch those blue eyes spark with irritation. Instead, we craned our necks toward one another, elbows bumping on the tabletop.
But, admittedly, it was nice having her so close, feeling her warmth at my side, smelling the trees and the grass and the sun on her skin. That flicker of nervous awareness in my chest became a sputtering flame.
Before Joan could answer, her sister piped up. “Bonnie signed us up for the bowling league—that’s Mac’s sister. We have a sisters’ team, just the four of us. Joan’s a really good bowler, always has been.” Candace clammed up after that, like she’d said too much, and quickly reached for her own glass before taking a hasty swig.
“Joan’s good at everything,” Brady said easily. “Well, except answering her texts and getting places on time.”
“That’s not true,” Mac argued, and honestly, it seemed like second nature with these two. “Joan is very punctual when she actually wants to go somewhere.”
Joan ignored this and proceeded to down a quarter of her beer.
A twinge of disappointment had me shifting uncomfortably on the wooden stool. Had her friends and family told her I was coming tonight? Was that why she didn’t want to be here?
“She’s also really bad at dealing with Eloise Carter,” Brady said helpfully, as if another of his sister’s weaknesses had just occurred to him.
“Yeah, but who can blame her?” Mac agreed. “Eloise is a hateful old bat.”
“Amen,” Mercer rumbled quietly.
“Oh, I know. Joan has terrible handwriting,” Brady remarked. “But I guess she makes up for that by being good at everything else.”
“Smart, athletic, hell of a farmer,” Mac chimed in.
“A beautiful singer, plays the piano like a dream, a good artist, an amazing cook,” Candace said, a small smile on her face as she listed off her sister’s attributes.
Eager to see Joan’s response to all this unsolicited positivity, I slid my eyes in her direction. She sat rigidly, her profile a painful outline as she stared into her glass, ears going suspiciously pink.
“Best fisherman I’ve ever met,” Brady offered. “Good with kids. Animals love her.”
Joan glanced my way so briefly I might have missed it, if I hadn’t already been watching her.
She cleared her throat, interrupting the others. “Alright, that’s enough listing my numerous virtues. We don’t have all night,” she said smoothly, no hint of the embarrassment I could see in the color climbing her cheeks.
“I want to play darts,” I announced, feeling a strangely protective urge to siphon away some of the uncomfortable attention on Joan. “Any takers?”
