by Lucy Score
“You need to change your stride,” he said.
I glared up at him from my hunched over position.
“I need to not have registered for a triathlon,” I countered.
He didn’t react to the information. Which either meant he was disinterested or my big mouth brother had already told him.
“You’re taking too much impact on your heels. It’ll tire you out faster. Land on the balls of your feet. It’s springier. Easier on the joints.”
He demonstrated for me while my joints voiced their displeasure at me. “I’ll consider your suggestion,” I said stiffly.
“Your wind leaves a lot to be desired, too,” Jonah observed. “How far did you go today?”
I straightened, pleased when I didn’t vomit all over him. Peering over my shoulder, I gauged the distance. “At least six miles,” I guessed.
His lips quirked. “If you started at the house, you’re only about a mile out.”
“Are you kidding me?” Screw it. I’d kiss that $300 goodbye and find a better way to prove to myself that my body was capable of more than just deteriorating.
Was competitive napping a thing?
“Maybe a mile and a half.”
“I don’t want your pity measurements!”
“Relax, Shelby,” he said lightly. “You’re doing fine. When’s your triathlon?”
“Six weeks.” He didn’t outwardly flinch, but I was pretty sure the words “Oh, boy” flitted through his mind.
“Six weeks? Okay. We can work with that if you’re not setting unrealistic goals.”
“We? Unrealistic?” I really needed some water. My mouth felt like I’d licked a bag of cotton balls. Longingly, I stared at the water bottle in his hand. Why hadn’t I thought to carry a water bottle? Rookie mistake. “I just want to finish.”
“Finishing we can work with.” He put his hands on his hips and stood there looking like a romance cover model.
“You keep saying ‘we.’”
“I’m a personal trainer. I coach people for athletic events.”
“I have zero money. Your mercenary sister’s rent isn’t exactly bargain basement.”
“Scarlett is a shrewd businesswoman,” he agreed.
I was being grumpy and petty.
“I’m feeling overwhelmed and exhausted,” I said by way of an apology.
“And I can help you with that. Free of charge,” he offered.
My eyes narrowed as I attempted to assess his motives. But his handsomeness kept getting in the way. “Why?”
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be very neighborly of me having all this knowledge and not share it with you, now would it?”
“Bootleg Springs sure is rubbing off on you,” I observed.
His smile faded.
“What?” I asked, intrigued by his sudden shift in mood.
“Nothing,” he said, staring out ahead. He reached up and across, grabbing his shoulder. Jonah Bodine was feeling vulnerable. Interesting.
“Are you still upset with everyone over the whole ‘me being an evil reporter’ thing?” I hazarded a guess.
He shrugged carelessly. “No one really loves being the laughing stock of an entire town.”
“That’s not what they were doing,” I told him. “At least not only what they were doing.”
“Really? Because that’s what it felt like,” he said.
“Jonah, don’t you see what that was?”
“Everyone making sure I remembered that I’m the outsider. I should probably get back to my run,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
“Don’t you dare move,” I threatened. If he started running, I’d never catch him. “Your family was welcoming you into its ranks.”
“By making me the ass of a joke?”
I rolled my eyes. “Ever pledged a fraternity? Or joined a sports team? This was their way of recognizing you as one of them. You’ve been initiated into Bootleg Springs.”
“Initiated? Feels like they’re pushing me out,” he said, a little crack in his cool showing.
I saw the flicker of hope shine through. If shirtless Jonah was physically attractive to me, vulnerable, shirtless Jonah was practically catnip. I was a sucker for authentic vulnerability.
“Think about it. How do your brothers interact? Are they cautious with each other? Sensitive to each other’s feelings?”
“Uh. No.” He laughed.
“They harass each other constantly, right?”
“Yeah. I guess,” he said.
“And now they’re harassing you. Because you’re one of them.”
“That’s kind of bittersweet. ‘You’re one of us. Now we’re going to emotionally torture you.’ Couldn’t they have just gotten me a card or something?”
I snorted and died a little inside. I’d spent entire years in junior high school wishing I had one of those adorable, bubbly laughs. But hey, I had the wind back to snort-laugh, so it wasn’t a total loss. “Culturally speaking, you’ve been initiated. And now a lot is riding on your reaction to the initiation.”
“In what way?”
“What if you let your hurt feelings steer you out of town, out of this family? Turn tail. Pull up stakes. Insert the appropriate Southernism here. You’d be rejecting their invitation to join their ranks.”
“Okay. What’s the better option?” Jonah asked, interested now.
The man had to have issues with belonging considering he grew up rejected in a very real sense by his biological father. It only made sense. And the fact that he was listening told me he cared very much.
“If you react in a way they’ll understand and appreciate, you’ll prove that you deserve to be welcomed. You deserve the place they’ve offered you.”
A slow grin spread across his face, and I had to turn away from the wattage. It was like staring at the sun. The handsome sun that was making my core temperature rise and causing a hormone dump in my brain.
“Shelby, how familiar are you with Bootleg Justice?”
I decided not to mention that nearly every participant in my survey waxed poetically about the merits of an off-the-books “legal” system.
“Vaguely, in that I watched Rhett Ginsler cover Rocky Tobias’s pickup truck in shaving cream bumper to bumper after Rocky ran a stop sign and nearly chased Rhett’s granny off the road,” I said. “What do you have in mind?”
“Are you coming to the deck party Saturday?” Jonah asked.
Was this a date? Was Jonah asking me on a date when I was sweaty and wearing a tank top that said “Everything Hurts and I’m Dying”?
“I hadn’t planned on it,” I said weakly.
I’d planned on spending the day and evening binge-watching a new horror show on Netflix. But if the sweaty god before me wanted a date with me… Okay. My brain was oxygen deprived. I’d already established that. Jonah hadn’t asked me to go to the party. He’d asked me if I’d pick up celery at the grocery store. Or wondered what kind of laundry detergent I used. Also, just because he was revealing his mushy center to me didn’t mean I had to fall into the trap.
“Well, I was thinking, the party might be the perfect time for our feud to explode,” he mused.
Ah. I was a tool for revenge. Not a hot date. I was more comfortable with that.
“So you’ll train me if I help you get revenge on your family?” I clarified.
He nodded. “I know it sounds stupid, but around here—”
“Bootleg justice,” I filled in for him.
He grinned, and my knees went a few degrees weaker.
* * *
Q. What institutional resource do you find most helpful in your community?
Hung Kim: I had to Google “institutional resource,” Shelby. Might wanna dumb these questions down a little. I can probably speak for most of the community when I say Bootleg Justice, or the authority to solve most problems your own damn self, is helpful and liberating and an important “institutional resource.”
12
Jonah
&
nbsp; “Hurry up, Bodine!” Scarlett hollered from the dock. Because I thought things like “hollered” now.
I raised a hand and jogged across her yard to where it kissed the lakefront. It hit me. The quiet waters lapping at the pebbled land. The scents of deep water, sunscreen, and beer wove together to create that perfect early summer smell.
The sense of déjà vu was almost overwhelming.
We’d met this way. Scarlett and her brothers returning from a day on the water, and there I was, waiting on land to introduce myself.
In one year, I’d been absorbed into the community. Into the family. I’d been accepted by them. Well, most of them, I thought, eyeing Gibs where he tinkered with the motor on the floating deck. The deck was a floating monstrosity with railings, seating, built-in cooler holders, and speakers big enough to entertain half the lake.
“All right, let’s talk about the rules,” Bowie said, his arm slung around Cassidy’s shoulder, when I hopped aboard the floating party island. “Number one: No talking about anything related to the investigation.”
“And if y’all do,” Scarlett said menacingly.
“We throw you in the seaweedy part of the lake,” Jameson and Leah Mae said together. They were cozied up on lawn chairs, beers already cracked. The artist and the model, looking cool and happy and relaxed.
I felt an unexpected twinge of… envy? Maybe. Leah Mae reminded me a little bit of Rene. Something about her sunny smile, the little gap between her front teeth. Rene never had the chance to be that happy with anyone, let alone me.
“Are we all agreed?” Bowie asked.
I dragged myself out of my melancholy. I had revenge to extract today. There wasn’t any room for sadness.
“One rule?” I clarified. “That’s it?”
“I’d like to submit for consideration that all the usual state laws should be observed today,” Devlin said. “You know, just to cover our bases. Keep us all out of jail.”
“Fine.” Scarlett sighed like he’d taken some of her fun away. “But if you start sayin’ things like ‘slow down’ or ‘maybe don’t drink two beers at once’ we’re gonna have words, McCallister.”
My sister was all bluster. The second our attention was caught by the approach of someone else from the lawn, Scarlett jumped into Devlin’s arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. She gave him a smacking kiss on the mouth.
Love was in the air.
“What are you doing here?” I bumped up the harshness in my tone when Shelby approached. The girl was a born actress. The smile evaporated right off her face, and I felt actual guilt.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Scarlett—”
“I invited her,” Scarlett said, hopping out of her boyfriend’s arms. “And you, brother dear, had better behave. You’re both my guests.”
I gave Shelby a good glare, and she flipped me the bird as she stepped aboard. Something I realized no one else knew was out of character for her.
“Maybe it’s time we clear the air,” Scarlett suggested.
“Nothing needs clearing in my opinion,” Shelby said primly. “Jonah is welcome to be an ass to anyone he chooses.”
Devlin choked on his beer and abruptly looked anywhere but at me.
“But, Shelby, don’t y’all think—”
Shelby cut Scarlett off with a shake of her head. “It’s fine. Let’s just leave it alone.”
“Juney and George are catching a ride with Opal,” Cassidy said, changing the subject and snuggling under Bowie’s arm. “I didn’t think your deck could handle the weight of a pro football player.”
“Good thinking, Cass,” Gibs said.
“We’re already over the limit,” I muttered mostly under my breath while shooting a pointed look at Shelby.
“I, ah, take it your living arrangements have been a little rocky?” Bowie said quietly, offering me a beer.
“Understatement. I came home the other day, and she was interrogating half the town elders—some of them my clients—on the front porch trying to get the dirt on your family.”
“Maybe it wasn’t exactly what it seemed.” Bowie was the good guy. The peacemaker. And he was starting to sweat.
I felt pretty good about that.
I shook my head. “Oh, it was exactly how it seemed. I gotta tell you. I think it might be time for me to be moving on.”
Bowie had his beer in a stranglehold. I noticed that Cassidy was on the other side of the deck huddled together with Scarlett and Shelby.
“You put a ring on her yet?” I asked Bowie, changing the subject before he could get himself worked up about my announcement. I gave it about thirty seconds before he excused himself to go spread the word.
“What? Oh, uh. No. But real soon. As in maybe tonight. Jameson and I were fighting over who got to do it first. I won though. I’ve waited longer, and my ring’s already done. Apparently Jame isn’t as talented at goldsmithing as he is with everything else.” He nodded in his brother’s direction.
Jameson had small bandages all over both hands.
“Real soon though,” Bowie repeated himself, and I noticed he slid a hand into the pocket of his shorts.
We cast off from the dock, motoring across the lake in the direction of what sounded like one hell of a party already.
The better part of Bootleg Springs was waiting for us around a bend. Rocks jutted out into the warm water, creating a harbor of sorts. There were a dozen other decks already tied together. Girls in bikinis were lounging on pool floats. Guys were tossing beers and firing up grills. The more adventurous of the crowd were climbing the boulders and jumping off.
The scene smelled like sunshine and sunscreen.
This was why I loved Bootleg. It was also probably part of what Shelby was looking for in her research. These were people who lived their lives entwined. Neighbors who brought chicken noodle soup over when the flu was going around. Friends who would pick you up and drive you around when your car was in the shop. They’d spent all week together. Working, raising kids, shopping. And they chose to spend their Saturday having a good time.
I spotted June and George on Opal Bodine’s—no relation—deck. June was sitting with her feet in his lap, a book cracked open in her own.
While the others busied themselves tying off the deck to the two closest ones, I sidled up to Shelby. She looked like a kid on Christmas morning.
“This. Is. Amazing,” she breathed.
“I had a feeling you’d like it.”
“I can’t believe a place like this exists. People like this.” She shook her head in wonder. She was wearing cutoffs and a pink tank top that said, “I Have No Life. I’m a Psychology Major.” Her dark hair was tied in its usual tail and fed through a ball cap with her brother’s football number on it.
She was cute. Like friendly, girl-next-door, “always has a nice word to say about everyone” cute. I was surprised by the urge to reach out and wrap my arms around her, to make her laugh.
I hadn’t felt that urge in a long, long time.
I remembered the plan and schooled my features into a disgusted sneer.
“I’m glad you came,” I said.
She lowered her sunglasses and glared at me. “I am, too. Thanks for asking me.”
“They’re all looking at us,” I said quietly, doing my best to look defensive.
“Of course they’re looking at us. Their plan is about to blow up in their faces. Mass casualties. Oh, the humanity,” Shelby said, jutting her chin out.
“Should we fight now?” I asked her, suddenly a little anxious to get the fight scene out of the way so we could kick back and possibly even enjoy the day together.
“Let’s give it another half hour. We need to time it just right,” she reminded me.
“Fine. If that’s the way you want it,” I said, raising my voice.
“If I had my way, I’d be enjoying this day without someone being a giant turd!” she snapped.
I had to turn away and bite the hell out of my lip to keep from lau
ghing. “Giant turd?” I whispered.
“Shut up. I spent a lot of time working with kids. The swearing vocabulary went to my brother.”
“Heeeeeey, guys,” Leah Mae said, easing between us. “So, Shelby, I love your shirt. Let’s go show it to Nicolette way, way over there. She loves funny shirts.”
Devlin wandered up when they left. “I’ve been ordered to keep you under control. You’re making my girlfriend nervous.”
I snuck a peek at Scarlett who was watching us like a hawk.
“What a shame.”
“I assume there’s a spectacle coming?”
“Twenty-eight minutes and counting.”
He nodded. “You coming to the Cockspurs game next week?”
I played nice for the next half an hour. Making small talk and taking a turn at the grill. Between the partygoers, there were hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken breasts, and even a few grilled pizzas. It was a beautiful early summer day with a soft breeze and cloudless blue sky mirrored on the lake.
The music was upbeat and country. I’d never listened to country music before moving here. Now, I was half considering buying a pickup truck to haul my boot camp and training gear. There was something contagious about this town, these people.
The whine of a boat motor carried over the Chase Rice song. Hell, I could even identify the artists now. I needed an urban vacation somewhere before I was completely absorbed into country culture. Sheriff Harlan Tucker and his wife, Nadine, approached in a small fishing boat. Cassidy waved to her parents and guided them in.
“Are those pepperoni rolls?” Devlin asked, scenting the air.
While the sheriff eased the boat alongside, Nadine handed over the container of what indeed was fresh, hot pepperoni rolls. Devlin, his love for the West Virginia specialty wider and deeper than the lake, nearly shoved Gibson overboard in his quest to get the first one.
I spotted Shelby, and she nodded. It was showtime.
We met halfway.
“You are the worst human being I’ve ever met,” she shouted.
“Right back at you, sweetheart,” I countered. “At least I’m not an opportunistic bottom-feeder.”
“Opportunistic?” Her gasp could have filled a sail. “You are irrational, unreasonable, and downright misogynistic. You hate women!”