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“So, this isn’t all about Everett, then? You’re not giving it all up just so you can be with him?” When I blinked at her, she held up a hand. “Hey, now, you know I had to ask. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody did something crazy in the name of love and then wound up regretting it.”
I put on my best reassuring smile and squeezed her hand. “As much as I love Everett, no. I’m doin’ this for me. I’ve been wantin’ out for a long time, and I think this reunion trip finally showed me how much.” Dakota snorted behind me, and I turned to glare at her. “Somethin’ you’d like to add, Miss Piggy?”
My little sister held up her hands. “No, no. But if I did, it’d probably rhyme with wool and spit.”
“Hush now, Dakota,” Momma said, flicking a dish towel at her. “She can love Everett and want to come home to be with him, but if she’s givin’ up her whole life it darn well better be because she wants to. I’m proud of her.”
I sat up straighter. “Thank you, Momma.”
“I’m proud of you, too,” Paisley said, looking like she meant it. But then she pouted, withdrawing her hand. “Though I am sad you won’t need me anymore if you’re not doin’ all this big album and tour stuff.”
I hugged her tightly. “I’ll always need you as my best friend.”
“I’ll always be that,” she replied against my shoulder. Then she leaned back and hopped off her stool, smacking the granite counter with one palm. She was all business again, and I could practically hear her to-do list scrolling through her brain. “Alright, well, I’ve got about a million phone calls to make. I assume you’re still gonna do the show at the harvest festival?”
“Definitely.”
“Okay, I’ll see about adjusting your tour to little shows like this—keepin’ it local-ish, if you want. That might take the sting out of the whole thing for Legends. Would that work?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Good. Everything will work out, Laney Cole. I already told you once. You’re not an egg, so even if you want to ease back a little, you’ll never be done.”
I let my lips stretch into a small smile, then Dakota was back in the peanut gallery. “So, what, she’s like half-cooked? Soft-boiled?”
Slowly, Paisley, Momma, and I all turned to my sister, blinking at her.
She shrugged and sipped her coffee. “Just askin’.”
18
EVERETT
“Is that whistlin’ I hear?” Jackson asked as he and Adam strolled into my shop on Friday morning.
I twirled the wrench in my hand and gave them each a grin. “What? You never heard of a happy guy whistlin’ while he worked?”
Moving over to my gleaming red toolbox, I dropped in the wrench and continued with my off-key wordless rendition of one of Laney’s songs. It was all about summers spent hanging out in the cornfields, wishing we didn’t have to get home before the sun went down. The good ol’ days, through and through. And for the first time in a long time, days like them felt within reach.
They exchanged a glance, then Jackson crossed his arms, looking at me like I had two heads. “Happy, huh? You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Uh … I didn’t think it was a bad idea to be happy. Why would it be?”
Adam cleared his throat. “I think what Jackson’s tryin’ to say is that you seem a little bit too happy.”
“Again, I’m not clear on why that’s a bad thing.”
“Don’t you think you’re gettin’ a little ahead of yourself?” Jackson asked, resting a shoulder on the truck I’d just been tinkering with.
It was a beater, no two ways about it. The old Ford had four different-sized tires on it and the head of a wooden spoon was duct-taped to the shifter. But Corbin Miller down the road said his work truck didn’t have to be pretty as long as it ran, so that’s where I came in. And even though my brothers didn’t think it was a good idea for me to be too happy to care about resuscitating such a hunk of junk, I did so with a bona fide whistle and a smile.
“Why don’t you two knuckleheads tell me what you’re goin’ on about so I can get this truck finished,” I told them. “I’m meetin’ Laney for dinner, and I gotta finish this up before I can leave.”
Again, more dang wary looks were exchanged before Adam wised up and got down to business. “Thing is, this whole mess with Laney feels a little bit like when a man tells his side piece he’s gonna leave his wife.”
I snorted. “Side piece? What in the Sam Hill would you know about a side piece?”
Adam closed his eyes and shook his head with a laugh. Yeah, he knew he was the straightest shooter that ever shot, and not simply because he was a cop. The man didn’t have a lyin’, cheatin’, or stealin’ bone in his body.
