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“You guess? Darlin’, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried Samuel Hardin’s barbeque ribs.”
“Really? I thought that was Betsy Jean who did the best barbeque ribs.”
Shocked, he said, “I see you’ve been talkin’ to Maryanne.”
Vivian shrugged.
“Come on then. See for yourself.” He pulled her along without hesitation, weaving them through the crowds until they reached a stretch of booths serving all kinds of food, from what she could tell.
There was a dessert stand, a beer stand, a falafel stand, a friedeverythingstand, hot dogs, and so much more. And right in the center of it all was the barbeque stand that Nash was dragging her toward.
“Hey there, Nashy-boy,” a short and stout man with a big, round belly that distended past his belt and a shiny, bald head bellowed as they reached the front of the line. “I was wonderin’ if we’d see ya out tonight.”
“You know you can’t keep me away from a tractor pull,” Nash returned.
Brown eyes drifted past Nash’s right shoulder to where Vivian stood. “Ah, yes, I do recall some stories—”
“We’ll take a half-rack, Sam,” Nash interrupted, “and a couple of those beers you got hiding back there.”
“Hiding!” Samuel shouted, duly distracted, which Vivian suspected had been Nash’s intent. “Boy, I’ve almost sold out and the night’s barely started.”
Nash turned to Vivian as Samuel put together a to-go plate. “Sam makes his own special brew. Only does it a couple of times a year and mostly for this event, so people go nuts over it when he brings it out.” He leaned in and put a hand to the side of his mouth as if to whisper something private to her. Only, his voice was purposefully loud and carried straight to the man in question’s ears. “He keeps most of it to himself, like the greedy bastard he is.”
“Hey! This bastard puts in all the work, so he should rightfully reap the bulk of the rewards. Don’t you think so?” he asked, dragging Vivian into the argument.
Like a deer caught in the headlights, she floundered for a quick response, and ended up saying, “Yeah, I guess so.”
Nash feigned offense. “You take his side?” Reaching for their order, he held up the two already sweating cups of beer. “Maybe I’ll just keep these babies for myself then.”
“No worries, darlin’,” Sam said. “If Nash here gets stingy with ya, you just let old Sam know, and I’ll take care of ya.”
Vivian lifted her chin in triumph. “It appears I have my own supplier anyway.”
Nash huffed, pretending to be miffed. “I swear, you come along, and suddenly the whole town is against me.”
“I guess they like me better,” Vivian teased.
“I guess so.” His eyes met hers, twinkling with humor, and he hitched his elbow out.
Vivian slipped her hand into the crook and allowed him to guide the way once again, stopping at a few stands to collect a couple of cookies for dessert and bottles of water to offset the effects of the beer, which Nash informed her were stronger than she was probably used to.
She’d bet it was since she’d never really had beer before. Her family had always been a wine and champagne type, which she’d never particularly enjoyed either.
A group of picnic tables had been set up just beyond the food area and within sight of the ongoing tractor pull. They got lucky when a couple left as they were approaching, and Nash hurried over to claim the spots before anyone else could.
Vivian sat down next to a young woman with a baby in a pack on her back and a kid in her lap, trying to feed him what looked like some kind of lemon cream pie. Nash sat across from her and beside a lumberjack looking man in a red-and-black plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off, little threads still dangling around arms that finally gave Vivian a definition for a “farmer tan.” He had a beard down to his chest and a mustache that hid his lips completely, but somehow when he shoveled his food in, he didn’t get a speck of it on himself.
That must take some skill, Vivian thought.
“After we eat, what do you say we go check out the pull,” Nash suggested.
Picking at the ribs in front of her in a futile attempt not to get too much sauce under her nails, Vivian said, “That’s what we came here for.”
“You’re right about that.” Nash beamed. “You gotta dig in, darlin’. Ribs are meant to make a mess out of ya.”
A crooked smile spread across her face. “Yeah, I kinda figured, but it was worth a try.” She took a little look around and saw that everyone was holding either ribs or chicken legs or something covered in sauce, and most of them had a bit of something on their face and all of them had a lot of it on their hands.
She drew in a breath and considered her next move. “When in Rome,” she said, and then she picked up the meat and dove in.
