Page 2 of Smoked

What I don't have is at least one extra pair of hands.

Yeah, I'll take it.

I have to. Riley needs a new retainer and the transmission on my semi is making a sound I've been pretending not to hear.

I pocket the phone and get back to the meat.

By nine, the cook site is humming. The pork butts are past the two-hour mark and the bark is coming in beautifully. Riley was right about the apple juice, but I just chalk that up to her watching me. The ribs went on at seven and they're taking smoke like they were born for it, the cherry wood giving them that deep mahogany color that makes people lose their minds.

The firehouse lawn is starting to fill up. My best friend, Ike, and his wife, Sloane, were here first. Ike's been early for every event since I met him in high school, and Sloane's no better. She's stringing decorations along the folding tables while Ike hauls a cooler of drinks from the station.

Those two. I swear, six months together and they still look at each other with stars in their eyes. It's sweet. It's also deeply annoying when you're forty-five and your most meaningful relationship is with a meat thermometer.

Jasper's setting up the corn hole boards and already talking trash to Chevy, who isn't really listening since he's helping a group of older women carry lawn chairs from their cars. Aiden and Beth arrived with a trunk full of food—potato salad, coleslaw, baked beans, and a towering tier cake with the fire department logo piped on in red, orange, and green frosting. Aiden can’t help himself. He doesn’t do anything small. Perry followed with a clipboard and a laminated timeline for the day's events.

"Wade." Perry appears at my elbow, his tablet in hand. "What's your projected serving window?"

"Somewhere between noon and when it's done."

He blinks at me. "That's not a proper window."

"Welcome to 'cue, Perry," I say, waggling my eyebrows. I do love giving him a hard time.

He makes a note on his tablet, probably something close to Wade: uncooperative re: scheduling, and walks off toward Raina, his wife. I’ll have to call her to come look at my truck. She’s an honest mechanic, but I still think it’ll set me back.

Then Lance materializes next to me, and starts stacking wood splits without being asked. The man is six-six and moves like smoke. Half the time I forget he's even there.

"Thanks, brother," I say.

He nods.

Riley reappears with Sloane in tow, the two of them laughing and talking. Sloane took over the soccer program at the high school last year, and Riley came home from the first practice talking about Coach Sloane as if she'd found a missing limb. When Ike volunteered to pick Riley up a couple times during my hauls, he fell fast and hard for the coach. My best friend essentially owes his entire love life to the matchmaking of my daughter, and she won’t let any of us forget it.

But it makes sense that Riley’s a little needy when it comes to motherly attention. Her mom walked out when she was just a baby, and Sloane is so generous and kind, making every kid feel important without making a production of it. She’s amazing, and I’m thrilled for Ike.

"Wade!" Sloane calls out. "Smells incredible over here. You need anything?"

"A clone and about six more hours in the day."

"I could loan you Ike, but he'd just stand there with his arms crossed intimidating the brisket."

"I heard that," Ike says from somewhere behind a stack of folding chairs.

"You were meant to, hon.”

I grin. These are my people.

The lawn is packed. More than half of Deepwood Mountain is here—families with kids running through the grass, old-timers in lawn chairs, a group of off-duty firefighters from the Billings station who drove up for the food. The smoke is hanging low and sweet in the summer air, and the ribs are just about ready.

Jasper wanders over and peers into the rig. "Damn, Dawson. You ever think about how much meat you handle in a given week?"

"Why? You interested in handling it, Quade? I could arrange that. But I seriously doubt you have the chops."

“Ugh, thanks for ruining my appetite,” Jasper grimaces. “I'm just saying, between the cookouts and the comps, you've probably touched more meat than⁠—”

"Keep going and I'll tell Ike to put you on dish duty for a month."

Jasper holds up his hands in surrender, grinning. "I’m trying to compliment you, jerk. You're a man of many talents."