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I’d spent a long time trying to make myself into someone new, someone better, than Junior Nutter from the Thicket. But there was something to be said for being known too. Being understood. Being cared for.
Maybe it was okay to go home after all, I thought. At least for a little while.
But a few hours later, I was singing a different tune.
Chapter Two
HUNTER
“Done.” I finished securing the last piece of hardware on the rolling door, set the drill next to my toolbox, and turned to the man on the far side of the barn. “Finally. Thanks again for helping me knock this out before the long weekend. If I spend the next couple days sanding the edges of the floor and getting it all stained, Alana can get the pictures she needs for the website and start booking spring and summer weddings.”
“Anytime. You’re family, Hunter, or near enough.” Brooks Johnson yanked off his ball cap and ran fingers through his sweaty hair. “Besides, I needed the distraction. Paul and I closed the office all week for Thanksgiving, and Mal’s been out of town.” He shot me a quicksilver grin. “But he’s coming home today.”
I laughed and gave him a good-natured shove toward the door. “We’d better get going, then, eh? Don’t forget your jacket. Chilly out there.”
“Good call.” He stretched his back and let out a little groan before grabbing his fleece from the worktable. “I still can’t believe you let your sister talk you into renovating this old place, let alone converting it into an event barn.” He turned, hands on hips, and surveyed the open space—the rough-hewn ceiling beams that had stood for a hundred years, the metal roof Alana swore was “atmospheric,” the walls that had been carefully treated to make the space weather-tight while maintaining as much rustic charm as possible. “You’ve done an amazing job.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “It’s come a long way.”
“I remember when your granddad kept his vintage planter collection in here. This old barn felt like a museum when I was a kid.”
“More like a cemetery of obscure creepy shit,” I corrected. I did my customary tour of the barn, unplugging cords and making sure everything was locked up tight. There wasn’t much crime in the Thicket, but I’d been stolen from once before, and I wouldn’t take chances now. “The ones shaped like human heads still haunt my nightmares.”
“Oh, God, those terrified me.” Brooks’s eyes widened. “Those aren’t still around, are they?”
I chuckled. “Nah. My dad got rid of ’em ages ago.” I scratched at my beard, which was probably caked with sawdust, and thought longingly of a nice hot shower, an ice-cold beer, and a few hours sacked out on my couch. “Back when he culled Grandad’s collection down to a manageable level.”
“Would we call it manageable when it still takes up your parents’ entire machine shed?” Brooks mused as I hit the lights and we headed for the door.
I snorted. Brooks wasn’t wrong. Fortunately, I’d built my own barn five years back to house all the tools and equipment I needed for my nursery business. It was located a quarter mile east of my parents’ farmhouse, next to the four long greenhouses that kept me busy during the winter.
I waved a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter since my dad hasn’t been out to the machine shed since the last time he attempted to change his oil, which was right before he remembered how much he hates changing oil. He ended up taking the car to Elmer Nutter’s shop over in Dooberville since Elmer’s a ‘man who knows his way around some hot fluids.’”
Brooks laughed.
I grinned in response as we turned toward the exit. “Since then, Dad either spends his days either up at Bull Lake fishing with your father or across the road at the Ivey place if Ava’s bringing the grandkids over for a visit. My parents are dying for a grandchild to spoil, and me and Alana haven’t done our duty.” I pulled the door closed and jabbed my key in the lock a bit more forcefully than necessary.
Brooks winced. “I feel this pain. My folks haven’t let up since Mal and I got married. Big Red and Cindy Ann are getting impatient for more babies, even though Gracie already gave them three.”
“At least you’re married,” I countered, nodding at the band on his left hand and shoving my own hands in my pockets. “My mom and your mom keep making noises about setting me up with a ‘nice local boy.’ Do you know what it’s like when Cindy Ann Johnson and Lurleen Jackson combine forces? Your mom has a mental contacts list of all the queer men in the greater Licking Thicket area, and my mom has an insatiable need to meddle in folks’ lives…”
“Oh, God. Together, they’re an unstoppable matchmaking force, aren’t they?” Brooks shuddered. “Have you considered picking someone on your own?”
