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“Dude.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Look, I’m not into her.” Fuck, am I lying, and Lawson knows it as well as he knows himself. “I’m just helping her out.” Which is true.
But Lawson makes a non-committal sound that pisses me the fuck off. I don’t know why. I mean, I know him. I know how he can do that and say a lot. He’s saying a lot, and I don’t like it.
Married people.
Lawson and I wander into the front room, and I hit the lights, closing the garage for business.
We pull two chairs out to sit and enjoy the breeze. I’m betting he’s waiting for his wildcat, and all jokes aside, they’re pretty much perfect together. That’s not to say they don’t have their ups and downs, but I don’t think I could have picked a better woman for my brother.
He starts telling me about some work they’re going to do on their home, and I’m thinking about whether I’m gonna be an uncle sooner rather than later because there’s something a little . . . clucky about him, as Mom might say.
I don’t think they’re knocked up because he’d tell me, but they’re definitely thinking of an addition at some point.
Lawson shifts to the fires and how they’ve been worse recently when someone comes up.
My brother doesn’t move, but there’s a change that comes over him that’s all tough law man. And the man in the polished shoes and cheap shirt and air of rat about him takes a step back.
“Sorry, I thought you were open.”
“You wanna be thinking again,” Lawson says, slow and deliberately small town. I’d call him an idiot, but I don’t think that’s what he’s being. He’s picking up on that vibe that isn’t right about this guy.
“I was looking for a real pretty girl. Glasses. New York plates?”
“Girls come with plates now, Law,” I say, grinning.
My twin doesn’t lift his gaze from the guy. “Must be a big city thing. But no. Just some campers, none of them pretty. None of them with plates.”
“Who is she to you? Maybe if we see her pass on through, we’ll let her know.”
The guy swallows and looks at me. “Fiancée.” Clearing his throat, he says a bit firmer. “She’s my fiancée.”
“What’s her name?” Lawson asks.
Now, he swings his gaze to Lawson. “Sidney, her name’s Sidney.”
“No one like that here.” Now, my brother offers his evil sheriff grin. He’s been perfecting it since I can remember. “But we’ll pass it on if we see her. As sheriff, I make it my business to know whoever’s new here.”
The pointed look and pause are so full of knives and traps the guy almost falls over himself as he holds up a clearly dark phone. “She’s ringing me now. Sorry to bother you.”
And with that, he’s gone.
“That was weird,” Lawson says.
I say, “Tell me about it.”
“No, you tell me.”
I look at my brother and shrug. “No fuckin’ idea.”
And since outside my garage is Grand Central at rush hour. The pretty Mrs. Burns shows.
Dakota takes one look at the two of us.
“Okay,” she says, “what did I miss?”
* * *
