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ChapterOne
Hand outstretched,I wiggle my fingers and cackle with glee. “Pay up losers!” My sisters grumble and bitch me out under their breaths, but they all give up the goods. I smile as I tally my winnings.
“Are you seriously counting it?” Snow grouses with a scowl.
“You’re just sore because I won. You all thought the dean banging both Neil’s mom and his girlfriend was far too scandalous for a little town like Shiloh Springs. I can’t believe you’re all so shocked. Small towns are where it’s at.”
Ariel eyes me from across the booth. “But the dean isn’t even good looking. I don’t get the appeal.”
I shrug. “Probably boredom on the mom’s part and likely something to do with grades on the girlfriend’s end.”
It’s Friday night and we’re crammed into a booth at Jack’s Bar and Grill. Our baby sister Kida took in her last skipper and handed in her resignation from the family business this afternoon. We’re celebrating her new career path.
But it feels kind of weird, like it’s not something we should be happy about.
Keeds isn’t cut out for our line of work—not many are. Bounty hunting is a tough gig that requires skill and coordination. While she has the skills, she’s severely lacking in the coordination department. Most of the skippers Keeds has apprehended—or more accurately incapacitated—have involved an accident of some description.
Yet, somehow, she never ended up being the one to sustain the injuries. Her targets, however, weren’t so lucky. Personally, I think it’s a gift. One time, she was about to cuff a perp and he yanked his arm out of her grasp, making her stumble. Somehow her taser went off, nailing the dude in the balls.
It was absolutely brilliant.
Sitting opposite me, she’s picking at her nail polish and it’s making me twitchy. I place a hand over hers, then wait for her to meet my gaze. “What’s up?”
Keeds swallows, then glances at our other sisters before licking her lips and saying, “Do you guys think I’m a failure?”
My brows furrow, and I shake my head. “Of course not.”
“Why would you even think that?” Meg—the oldest of the five of us—asks.
Snow throws her arm around Kida’s shoulders and gives her a little squeeze. “You feeling sorry for yourself again? I thought we’d been through this. You’re a badass, end of story. Who cares that your methods were…unorthodox. You still got the job done most of the time. Nobody has a hundred percent success rate.”
“Yeah, but I quit. I’m giving up.”
“So?” Ariel puts in, leaning an elbow on the table to peer around Snow at Keeds.
Meg clears her throat, drawing our baby sister’s attention. She gives her that look, the motherly one that grates on my nerves. We had a mom, an incredibly amazing one. Keeds needs us to be hersisters, not wanna-be replacement moms. But Meg didn’t get that memo.
“Honey, did you even like being a bounty hunter?” Meg asks.
Keeds swallows hard, then gives a weak shrug.
“No one expects you to be anyone other than who you are. No matter what direction that takes you in, we’ll always be there, and we’ll always be proud of yo—”
I roll my eyes as I cut Meg off and squeeze Keeds hand, bringing her focus back to me. “You’re going to be a kickass baker, do you hear me? Screw what anyone else thinks. And you know what, if you decide later that you’d rather be the one eating the cakes instead of baking them, that’s cool too.”
She grins at me, then nods. “Okay.”
I mentally pat myself on the back for putting that smile on her face. She worries too much about what we think. All Keeds has ever wanted was to be just like us older girls, but we take after our father, and she takes after our late mother. If klutz was a gene, they both got it.
I’m sad she couldn’t find a place where she fit within Hunters & Co., but happy she’s willing to give something else a try. And with her slightly disturbing obsession with cheesecake and doughnuts, I have no doubt she’ll be an amazing baker.
Finishing the dregs of my beer, I reach toward the jug for a refill, only to find it empty. I glare at my sisters. “Okay, who emptied the jug? You know the rules, last one buys the next.”
Snow snorts. “That’syourrule. Our rule is she who comes up dry, must replenish the well. Looks like you’re up.”
I groan, “But I’m wedged in the corner.”
Meg wastes no time sliding off the end of the bench seat to let me out. She even sweeps her arm with a flourish as she says, “Not anymore.”
