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Page 107

by Courtney Walsh

Noble chuckles then quips, “No, that would be bribery. And I’d get arrested again.”

I laugh. “Good point.”

“No, the only thing I cost him was time—and he was just doing his job. I apologized for the headaches I caused. He could’ve arrested me a dozen times, but he always set up some other kind of punishment instead of jail time. One time he made me scrub all the floors and clean the bathroom at the police station. It was gross, but it was better than jail.” He looks over. “He did that for your dad, I think.”

I nod. “They’ve been friends a long time. Sometimes that’s a benefit of living in a small town.”

“I told the sheriff that I’d be available to talk to any other kid who wasn’t making the best decisions. I don’t know how much weight my advice would carry, but it’s the best way I could think of to pay him back.”

“You did?”

“I want to pay it forward.” He nods. “I sure didn’t deserve the Holbrook treatment.”

I bump into his shoulder with mine. “You kidding? You’re one of us.”

He veers over to the side and stops about eight feet from a nearby trash can that’s got fall decorations attached to it. He lines up and shoots his empty cup into the can, then turns to me with a triumphant look on his face.

“You didn’t use the past tense.”

“Nope.” I drain my cup, step about two feet further back from where he was standing, and shoot mine straight into the can as well. I grin at him. “I didn’t.”

He shakes his head at me. “I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, do I?”

“No, Mr. Kane. You absolutely do not.” I walk a bit closer to him. “But if you stick around, you’re gonna find out.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hattie

We walk around downtown for a little while, stopping in shops, admiring the fall themes on the painted windows, meeting up with my family to cheer on Jordy and Libby in a three-legged race. There are games to play and prizes to win, and the Holbrook family (plus one) does it all. And while there are no more stolen kisses, there is a casual, easy, familiar rhythm between Noble and me.

One that gives my overthinking and need to know things a much-needed rest.

We get barbecue sandwiches followed up with funnel cakes, all devoured while listening to The Mavericks on the main stage.

They’re good.

Bluegrass and folk music have always been a favorite of mine, though it’s still surprising to see West up there playing the guitar and singing. And when did he learn to play the harmonica? And the way his voice blends with Mallory’s is better than good, and pretty soon, they’ve got quite a crowd parked in the audience.

We stop by the fire truck demonstration so Hudson can show our nieces how cool he is, and just before one o’clock, we make our way over to the small arena where the rodeo is being held.

“Do you mind if we pop in?” Noble asks. “I want to keep my word to Cody.”

“Sure,” I say. “Let’s do it.”

It’s an outdoor arena, and we flash our wristbands to a man sitting at a table by the entrance then make our way into the stands. Noble is instantly recognized, and I take it as a good sign when a few of the older guys in the stands come over to shake his hand. They chat a little about his career, his title, what it’s really like out there on the road, and I notice that he takes his time, answers genuinely, and he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered to do so.

I’m guessing it’s a bit different than being in front of a bank of cameras and microphones with your PR person standing behind you.

Here, Noble feels honest. On TV he always seemed slick and polished.

Maybe it’s the kisses talking and I’m seeing him through a “can’t do wrong” lens now. Or maybe the lens I was seeing him through just needed to be cleaned.

He finishes, shakes hands, then sits back down. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, doing nothing to conceal my smile.

He side-eyes me, then blows out a breath. “Say it.”

I hold up my hands. “I didn’t say anything.”