Page 8 of Buckle Up, Buttercup

Nobody says anything, and the building doesn’t respond to his polite comment.

I spin Jasper and shove him toward the door. “Okay, you guys, get going. You’ve got a full afternoon of appointments, and if you leave one late, the whole day will be fucked.”

“We knowwwww,” Jack says in an exasperated tone. “We’re not noobs, Bluebell. Tucker Greens won’t fall apart if we’re half an hour late.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “And yet if I don’t keep you three on schedule, everything goes tits up, and I have to make a bunch of apology phone calls.”

“We’ll do better,” promises Jace.

The twins snort but don’t agree. They know they won’t do better. If I didn’t tell them where to go, I honestly don’t know what they’d do with themselves all day. Thank gods Tucker Greens is the only company of green witches in Pine Gulch, meaning we’ve got a bit of a monopoly on green magic jobs. Being a farming and ranching community, there’s always a need for green witches to grow and support farmers’ crops and land.

When the twins leave first, Jace pulls me in for a quiet, gentle hug. “Proud of you,” he whispers against the side of my head. “It’s all gonna work out in the end, sis, you’ll see.”

“I know,” I say brightly, squeezing him hard. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” he says in that quiet, thoughtful tone I love so much. Jack and Jasper are loud and brash. Jace is so understated, and I love that about him. But when the wit comes out, it’s darkly sarcastic. I can’t get enough of him.

“Git,” I say after a few long huggy moments. “You promised not to be late.”

He follows the other knuckleheads out, and I step to the door’s single round window to watch them. Jack and Jasper hop into the truck like the dudes they are, and Jace slips gracefully into the back seat on his preferred side. I sigh as they motor up Main Street toward the edge of town.

Slipping a hand into my back pocket, I retrieve my daily to-do list and my pocket calendar. It’s got my entire family’s schedule for the day plus mine.

While I signed the purchase paperwork today, I actually don’t have time to hang with the Bodice until I officially move into one of the upstairs apartments this weekend.

I open the front door and step out, locking the place up behind me. Detaching a red sheet of paper from my to-do list, I tape it up on the front window. It’s a Closed sign, letting folks know we won’t be open until next week while I get everything up and running and figure out the register, et cetera.

Patting the door one final time, I force a smile up at the beautiful building. “We’re gonna be fine, honey, I promise, okay?”

Silence.

I wasn’t expecting the vibe to be different now that I own the building, but that’s a problem for another day, unfortunately. But as a black witch with the power to heal buildings and many monster and animal ailments, I’m certain I’ll figure it out. My power is unique in my family and unique in Pine Gulch—black magic work keeps me plenty busy.

Heading left along Main Street, I pass Whiskey Business, the alleyway to the hidden pumpkin garden and then the Welcome Inn. After that, I dip into the post office to check for the first shipments of items I’ve ordered for the Bodice. My hope is to expand into more home and ranch decor and some fancier clothing like Lemon’s partial to. Now that I’ve seen her sparkly pink cowboy boots—despite how impractical they are—I kinda want some blue ones. Or black and gold to wear to the Punishers skyball games.

That would totally rock.

Behind the post office’s rustic wooden counter, a giant minotaur male smiles at me as he leans onto his beefy forearms. “Bluebell Tucker, just the woman I need to see. You got a few packages back here, girly. And the rest of the Tucker clan is taking up my back storage room. Those brothers of yours got a shopping habit lately, it seems.”

I chuckle at that. “They’re prepping for the spring harvest season, so yeah, Tucker Ranch could be its own post office right now. You should see the dining table. Covered in seed starting trays and packets of seeds and invoices.”

He snorts, his nose ring jiggling as he jerks his head toward a tall stack of packages at his back. “You bring a party wagon to haul these? ‘Cause this is more than you can do with those tiny lil’ human hands.” He waggles fuzzy brown brows at me.

Groaning, I eye the stack. “Party wagon’s in my truck. Let me grab it, and I’ll be right back.”

He nods, so I turn and head out the door and back up Main. I wasn’t expecting my brothers to have gone that crazy with the ordering, but if I leave it up to them, the packages will sit at the post for ages. At least half are probably plants or seeds, so it would be best to get them into the greenhouse behind our parents’ place. Many of the local ranches rely on us to get their annual plantings started—we can’t risk fucking it up.

Opening my truck’s bed, I pull out the foldable wagon I resort to when the Tuckers get real crazy with their credit cards. Sighing, I unfold it then head back to the post office.

“Bluebell Tucker, I gotta talk to you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment before I turn to face Bishop Rygold, the big grumpy sheriff. When I do, he’s got both hands on his hips, wearing his usual glare. It highlights the scar that bisects one side of his face. An old war wound.

Plastering a smile on, I wave. “Hey, Sheriff Rygold. What can I do you for?”

He shakes his head, lashing his big tail at his back. “The pixie twins are throwin’ a fit and callin’ me every two seconds about the changes y’all made to the Mead Cute shindig this year and I am plum wore out over it.”

I cross my arms. “The changes were needed, Bishop, and I’m not gonna ask the committee to meet again just to make things the way they used to be. We’re…modernizin’. Or something.”