by Maisey Yates
He looked at the camera, then at the store. “Don’t you want to wait until the place looks nice?”
“No, I want to document the whole process.” She shook the camera at him, but he still didn’t take it.
“Don’t you have a self-timer deal? I don’t know how to work one of those things.”
“Good Lord, Grant. Would it kill you to punch a damn button?” She shoved the camera into his hand. “You look through here. You push this. The end.”
He grimaced, holding the camera like it might bite. But he eventually held it up to his eye. “Okay. Smile, I guess.”
“Okay.” She shook back her hair, angled her chin, and fixed on her best smile. She felt a little rusty. Back when she’d been in sales, appearances had been everything. She’d been selling tractors, so the appearance had been that of sturdy, clean, wholesome ranch stock, but that still required a certain approach.
Grant frowned at her, looking a bit like he’d tasted something sour. “What is that?”
“I know you don’t really recognize these, Grant, but when you turn the corners of your mouth up it’s called a smile.”
“You look like you’re selling something.”
“Funny, that is my specialty. Now take the picture.”
He shook his head, grumbled, then hit the button on the camera a few times before handing it over to her.
She swiped through the pictures. “These are all blurry. You are a terrible photographer.”
“I’ll add that to the list of complaints about me today,” he muttered. “I am surrounded by impossible people.”
“If you’re surrounded, you might consider the possibility you might be the impossible one.”
He looked stricken by that. Like he was shocked he might be the impossible person in his life. Her heart did the fluttery thing. She almost wished she had something else stupid and slightly embarrassing to ask him to do.
Instead, she crumpled up the slip of paper and tossed it in the trash, racking her brain for a job to give him that would keep him as far out of her orbit as possible.
“What’s that you just threw away?” he asked.
“My penance,” she muttered darkly.
“Huh?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t remember you being this weird. Should I tell your mom she should be worried about you?”
“I’m not weird. And there’s no reason for anyone to be worried.” It wasn’t all that embarrassing to tell him. Probably less embarrassing than continuing to act weird around him without explanation. “The girls and I have an agreement. We have house rules. When someone breaks one, they have to pick a penance from a jar. Every piece of paper has a terrible piece of ‘catch a man’ advice from this old magazine we found.”
“You want to catch a man?”
“No. God no. We just had this thought and...it’s...it’s a girl thing.” She decided the man with five brothers wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole. “But I swore I’d do it for the three months we’re living together, so I have to no matter what. Since I don’t have any designs on a man, you can be the way I keep my promise to do the penance.”
“How is someone taking your picture going to catch a man?”
“Hell if I know. Why would a man asking why you’ve got a Band-Aid on your face catch a man? I guess it’s just...attention. Ways to get attention. And the basic male urge is supposed to take over.”
“Good thing I’m immune to basic male urges.”
“I’d beg to differ.”
“Huh?”
“Wasn’t it you who got Mackenzie Bishop into the back seat of your car in high school that won you a bet with my brothers and a few of yours?”
“I’d forgotten about that.” His mouth actually curved.
“Oh my God, Grant. Don’t smile. I might faint.” She patted her heart.
He grunted again, and though he scowled there was something very close to humor in his eyes.
“You used to do that,” she remembered. He hadn’t always been this way. She’d forgotten that sense of humor of his, that he used to be more...cheerful wasn’t the right word. Lighter? Happier? She’d forgotten that phase of Grant Mathewson, and it wasn’t a comfortable memory.
Neither was Mackenzie Bishop, which she most certainly hadn’t forgotten about. She remembered how angry she’d been about their bet. How she’d lectured her brothers on feminism and respect, but had mostly stewed over Grant winning it.
“Used to do what?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Smile. Make bets with my brothers. Be a general goof.”
He pulled back and straightened his shoulders as if she’d accused him of being a murderer. “I was never a goof.”
“Okay, maybe not. But you weren’t so...” She waved a hand. “This. Dour and dark and walking around with the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
If there’d been any humor left, it was long gone now. “Dad died. The ranch and my brothers became my responsibility. That’s a lot for one man.”
“But you’re not one man. Isn’t that the good thing about having five brothers? A ranch is a lot of responsibility, but there are a lot of hands to help.”
“I’m the oldest.”
She studied him. “Oldest, sure, but you’re all adults. I remember when he died, which means Cade was in his twenties too. Wasn’t he already married to his first wife? It’s not like you had little kids to take care of. You had five adult brothers to share the burden.”
“It’s my name on the deed. It’s my responsibility. Obviously my brothers carry their weight in terms of chores and stuff, but it’s mine.”
“But they’re all ranchers, right? They know what they’re doing. You all grew up there. A few extra years doesn’t make you the expert or the only one who knows how to do stuff.”
“But...”
She shrugged when he didn’t seem to have anything else to say. “Take it from a youngest sibling: we actually can take care of ourselves. Not saying you can’t offer advice, or be annoyingly superior on purpose, but if you’re sincerely worried about their capability, you’re off the mark.”
“I’m...not.”
“Sounds like you are. Or that they feel like you are if you’re calling them impossible. Hey, it’s your life. Your family. I’m just saying. It sounds like you’re making problems for yourself.”
“What would you know about it?” he demanded angrily.
She sobered. She’d hit a nerve. The truth was, Grant had lost both his parents and she didn’t know how he bore it. “Nothing, I guess.” How embarrassing. Why hadn’t she shut her mouth? She always shut her mouth when things were complicated.
“You’re damn right nothing.” He stalked to the door, flung it open, then walked right out without another word.
The bell tinkled as the door fell closed and Pru winced. Well, she’d screwed that six ways from Sunday.
She sighed and turned around, but caught sight of his forgotten hat on the turkey rack.
She should stay put, let him storm off, maybe even tell her mother and brothers to lay off...
Instead, she rushed forward and jogged after him with the hat in her hand.
“Grant.”
He stopped next to his truck, though he didn’t turn around. So she walked up to him and held out the hat.
He blew out a breath and after a moment’s hesitation took it. He still didn’t say anything, but he didn’t make a move to get into his truck.
And she...she just couldn’t let him go. Not like this. God knew why when there was all this emotion in the air. “You want to go get a beer?”
He blinked. “A beer.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s lunchtime.”
“So, we’ll stick to one and get a burger to go with it. Come on.”
She reached out and grabbed his arm, ignoring the tense muscle. She tugged. She had a feeling he only allowed himself to be tugged because he was too surprised to argue.
She used it to her advantage and dragged him down the street to the Jasper Creek diner. When she walked in, a few familiar heads turned their way and Pru realized this looked...not at all like it was.
No, that wasn’t going to work. “You go on and take a seat. I’ve got to call the girls real quick and tell them I won’t be there for lunch.”
* * *
GRANT SAT IN a booth at the town diner he hadn’t been to in...years, and wondered what the hell he was doing. He could have escaped when she’d gone up to one of the waitresses and asked to use the phone. Before that, he could have told her firmly no and walked in the opposite direction.
Instead, he waited for her to slide into the seat across from him. When she smiled with that same saleswoman smile from before, he knew he should tell her that, based on the looks of the people in the diner, a rumor about them would be making the rounds before they even ordered.
But the thought of explaining that to her made him so uncomfortable he just kept his mouth shut as Pru perused the menu. When the waitress came over, she ordered...a rather heavy lunch. But when the waitress turned to Grant, he didn’t know what to get so he simply said he’d have the same.
She kept up with that saleswoman smile, one that made it absolutely impossible for him to remember she was far too young for him, but pretty easy to remember she had left Jasper Creek, and seen and existed in a world he’d never had any interest in.
“Since you probably don’t want to have lunch with me,” she said cheerfully, “I called in reinforcements.” She slid out of the booth and he stared at her, completely lost. Beau came up to her and she smiled up at him. “I’ll see you around, guys.”
Grant watched her leave, some odd feeling mixing in with the irritation that she’d outmaneuvered him.
“So, how’d Pru manage this?” Beau asked.
“Manage what?” Grant growled.
“Getting you into a restaurant. I’ve been trying to get you out for a beer or a burger for years, but you always have too much to do,” Beau said using air quotes around the words.
“She pissed me off.”
“I piss you off.”
“She did a better job, I guess.” Grant should have got up and left. He wasn’t sure what Pru’s whole deal was, but he didn’t want to be here. If he’d wanted to be here, he would have come of his own volition.
But if he got up now, it’d be like he’d come only because of Pru and that couldn’t possibly be the case. Besides, he’d ordered. He was hungry. And Beau...
Beau would understand. Beau had always been there. He knew what responsibilities Grant shouldered. His best friend would agree with him, and then Grant could put all Pru’s obnoxious points away. Firmly proved wrong.
“Do you think I take on too much responsibility?”
Beau laughed. And laughed. “I’m sorry I don’t have a more emphatic, intelligent way of saying duh.”
“But—”
“There ain’t no buts, friend. You treat your brothers like dim-witted ranch hands at best. I’ve been telling you that for years.”
Grant could only stare at his friend. When he managed words, they were weak at best. “No, you haven’t.”
“Yes, I have. You always tell me I’m wrong and list a litany of reasons why you have to double-check their work, or go over the books again even though Tate’s perfectly capable. Maybe even more capable than you. But the years go on and you only hold on harder, and don’t even listen when I point out that your brothers are grown men and good ranchers.” Beau sobered. “Maybe I never said it in as many words, because I get it, Grant. Everything changed when your dad died.”
“Everything.” Grant thought about it. Sometimes he could barely remember the time before he found his father gasping for air in the barn six years ago. His mother’s death had been a blow, but he’d been young enough, surrounded by family and friends enough. It had been a gradual thing he’d gotten used to as cancer had won, so it hadn’t sat inside him with the same heaviness that losing his dad had.
Yeah, everything had changed when his dad died. “Including me.”
“Especially you.”
The waitress put their food in front of them as Grant let that sink in. It was true, but it felt like an accusation. Of course he had changed. His father had died in his arms, begging for promises before he’d gone unresponsive. The ambulance had been too late, and there’d been nothing Grant could do. What kind of person wasn’t changed by that?
“Look, we don’t have to have this conversation,” Beau said, shifting uncomfortably. “We can eat our burgers, drink our beers, go back to...the way things always are.”
The way things always are.
“Unless...”
Grant stared at his friend, who was watching him with careful eyes. It was the same kind of expression his brothers were always watching him with.
“There’s no unless,” Grant said firmly. “Everything’s fine.” He picked up his burger and forced himself to take a bite. It was good. Surprisingly good. Certainly better than the burgers he grilled and usually burnt at home. Tate was better at grilling. Grant usually handled it though, because...
Because.
He put the burger back down on his plate and stared hard at it. “What if everything’s not so fine?” he mumbled, and then took a long pull of his beer.
Beau hunched his shoulders. “I guess you start figuring how it could be.” He downed the rest of the beer Pru had ordered, possibly even more uncomfortable than Grant himself. “But you’ve got to decide what fine means to you first.”
The question seemed impossible to answer but so much more impossible to ignore.
CHAPTER FOUR
PRU WAS IN a foul mood for the weekly meeting, though she couldn’t understand why. Everything was great. She was making progress on the junk removal. She’d foisted off Grant on Beau for lunch, then her brother had stopped by to say thank-you.
A thank-you. From her brother. It was downright apocalyptic. The Rileys didn’t thank each other. They did the good deed and then moved on.
She couldn’t say why that made her mad when it should have made her feel good. She’d done something kind. Clearly it had helped Grant or her brother wouldn’t have thanked her. She was a saint.
“Uh-oh. There’s a Pru-ricane brewing,” Hope said with a grin.
Pru pointed a finger at Hope. “I hate that term. I’m putting that on the house rules. No one can say Pru-ricane.” She was not out of control. Her emotions did not rule her. And these three women were the only dang people on Earth who ever saw those very, very, very rare moments when her emotions won. They should know this wasn’t one.
And even if it was, that didn’t mean they could call her on it.
“You can’t house-rule our free speech,” Kit replied, affronted. “Besides, if the shoe fits. Strong winds. Dark clouds.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “The threat of death and destruction.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re really not,” Charity said. “I saw smoke coming out of your ears during dinner.”
“You suggested making a salmon mousse. It wasn’t smoke, it was my taste buds evaporating and running far, far away.”
“The Pru-ricane has just been upgraded to a category four,” Charity said in a fake newscaster voice.
“I hate all of you.”
“Of course,” Kit said, unbothered. She turned off the Victrola, though Pru wasn’t sure who’d turned on the old Andrews Sisters record. “Meeting begins. Blah, blah. We’re all still working on things. Meeting adjourned.”
“You can’t just—”
“I have a better idea of how to spend our Friday night.” Kit clapped her hands in front of h
er. “Let’s go out.”
“Go out? In Jasper Creek?” Charity wrinkled her nose. “Where?”
“What’s the one scandalous thing we never got to do as teenagers in this town?” Kit asked.
“Well, for Hope it was sex,” Pru offered.
“Uh, for you too!” Hope shot back.
“Focus, ladies,” Kit said. “The Rusty Nail.”
“Ohh.” Charity’s eyes widened. “Well. Can’t we just stay here and knit and listen to records?” she asked with a pout, though so far all she’d done was jab some needles at a ball of yarn.
“No. And we’ll take some of our man-catching slips.” Though there was grousing, Kit had already gotten the jar of slips. She picked one out herself first. “‘Laugh wildly at anything a man says in your presence. Men like girls who do not challenge them, but find them funny!’” she read aloud. “Well, regrets, I have a few.”
Charity took her slip. “‘Walk up to him and tell him you need some advice,’” she read. “Who is getting advice at a bar?”
“Everyone,” Kit supplied. “Hope. Your turn.” She shook the jar at Hope.
Hope sighed and took one. “‘Dropping the handkerchief still works.’ I don’t have a handkerchief.”
“I think I saw one in my room,” Kit offered.
“This house always has what we need,” Hope said, a faint wrinkle across her forehead.
Kit turned to Pru, a teasing glint to her eye that Pru knew meant she was expecting an argument. A Pru-ricane.
Pru refused to give her the satisfaction. She smiled and took a slip. “‘Be forward! Ask him to dance.’” She forced herself to smile. “Yay.” She said it sarcastically, but as the little farmhouse became a flurry of getting ready to go out, Pru began to feel it.
Really feel it. Kit told her she couldn’t wear those jeans, Hope loaned Charity a lipstick color that wasn’t nude, and they all chimed in on convincing Hope to wear something more low-cut.
By the time they were in Kit’s car, driving toward the Rusty Nail, Pru was laughing. Excited. This was why it was good to have her friends together. She didn’t get so trapped in all those feelings she hated to dissect. They pushed each other, understood each other, all without having to express it all.