by Isla Olsen
I let out a groan and sink back into the mattress as a fresh wave of mortification hits me. Why did I get so drunk? Only one answer springs to mind and it leaves me with a queasy feeling in my chest. Slater Goode. I’d been having a nice day with Harriett and Livia, and then Slater showed up at the saloon and bam! There goes all my sense of reason.
My phone chimes and I check to see another text from my brother.
Jesse Cartwright: The horse
The words stir a vague memory, and I groan again as the image of me stumbling from the saloon before nearly crashing into a horse and then throwing up all over its hindquarters floods into my brain. Jesus Christ. And Jesse already knows about it? That must mean the entire town knows. Which isn’t all that surprising considering they treat gossiping like it’s an Olympic sport.
Me: How do you know what the damn horse is called? Or that I threw up on it
Jesse Cartwright: You really need to join the FB group little brother. Then you won’t always be so out of the loop *wink emoji*
I manage to maneuver myself into a sitting position and slowly crawl out of bed, my head still throbbing mercilessly. I gather some clothes and am just about to head across the hall for a shower when my phone chimes again.
Jesse Cartwright: [Link]
Against my better judgment, I click the link and let out a loud groan of annoyance as I’m taken to a YouTube video of me hurling all over Mabel the horse.
Me: You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s a fucking video and it’s on YouTube already???
Jesse Cartwright: Hey you should be grateful for that video! Hank Latham wanted to string you up for ‘traumatizing’ Mabel. And half the town thought you tried to make it with her
Me: THEY THOUGHT WHAT??
Jesse Cartwright: Calm down. The video cleared that up, didn’t it? Now they’ve moved on to speculating on whether you and Slater will be getting back together
I groan in frustration. Jesus fucking Christ.
Jesse Cartwright: Seriously, bro, get on the FB group
With a roll of my eyes, I toss my phone down and head into the bathroom to take my shower. I’m feeling marginally better by the time I get out, but not much, so I rummage through the bathroom drawers until I find some aspirin.
When I get back to my bedroom, I find several new texts on my phone. Except they’re not from Jesse this time.
Slater Goode: Hey, just wanted to see how you were doing after last night. Hope you’re not feeling too cruddy *smile emoji*
Slater Goode: Also I got Tansie to take the video down from YouTube. Sorry about that. Although it did apparently help clear your name in the big case against Hank Latham so that’s something…
Slater Goode: I just realized you might not have my number anymore. This is Slater in case you were wondering
Slater Goode: Oh and if this isn’t Zack, like if he’s changed numbers and if this is some random person who now has his old number I’m really sorry for bothering you, just ignore all these texts
By the time I get to the final text, I’m grinning despite myself. I so don’t want to be reacting this way, but I can’t help it. It’s Slater—awkwardly charming and considerate as always. But then I remember, and that warm little glow that was starting to burn in my chest is snuffed out completely; because he wasn’t always considerate. There was that one time when he was the complete opposite of that. And there was absolutely nothing charming about him then.
Deciding I don’t want to be rude, I send a quick text back before switching my phone off and slipping it into my back pocket.
Me: Feeling better, thanks.
I need food, and as much as I don’t particularly want to face the town after last night’s debacle and all the gossiping that’s been going around today, I know I need the kind of food I can only get at the saloon.
“Well, here’s trouble,” George says with a smirk when I walk in and take a seat at the bar.
I scowl at him. “Just get me something fried. Please.”
He chuckles. “You want some wine with that?”
“God no,” I say, almost moaning in pain at the thought of drinking alcohol right now.
“How about the Wagyu burger and a double side of our special crispy fries?” George suggests.
I nod eagerly. “Yes. Perfect.”
Without me having to ask, he slides a glass of water across the bar to me, offering a casual wink. “Food’ll be about half an hour.”
Fortunately, the saloon’s pretty quiet today, which isn’t all that surprising considering it’s a Wednesday afternoon so most of the locals would be at work. From memory, this place does a roaring weekday breakfast trade, and it’s always pretty busy at night regardless of what day of the week it is.
By the time I’m done devouring the incredible burger, I’m feeling much better, and even the occasional teasing remarks from passing locals are no longer getting under my skin.
I’m about to settle my bill and head out when I see a familiar figure enter the saloon. Scrambling off my stool, I rush to the doorway and throw my arms around Lawson. “Oh my god, what the hell are you doing here?”
He beams down at me, chuckling softly. “Wow. Why don’t I ever get that reaction at home?”
I pull back and hit him playfully in the arm. “I’m serious. What are you doing here?”
“You told me to come here.”
My brows draw together in confusion. “I did?”
“Yeah. You did. You said it was an emergency and that the situation was dire and that you didn’t think you’d last the week.” He gives a casual shrug. “I figured I should come on the off chance you’d been kidnapped and needed someone to pay a ransom.”
“Oh…” I cringe guiltily as the memory of the emergency calls I made to Lawson last night hit me. I had, of course, been referring to the situation with Slater. Because the second I saw him, instead of the hurt and anger and hatred I’ve been training myself to feel over the past twelve years, all I felt was want, and need, and desire. So yes, the situation is very desperate indeed. “Sorry…I may have been a little drunk last night.”
Lawson chuckles. “Yeah, I assumed that. And then I knew for sure when I saw the video.”
I throw my head back as a fresh wave of mortification hits me. “Oh my god, you saw the video?”
“Jesse thought I’d enjoy it,” he says with a shrug.
“He’s dead to me. I have no brother.”
8
From the private Facebook group ‘Finchley Locals Community Hangout’
* * *
Post by Daphne St. Clair: PSA - the boarding house is now at capacity, so anyone coming from out of town for the funeral on Friday will need to find alternate accommodations
Missy Clarke reply to Daphne St. Clair’s post: I thought you had a room left? I was going to suggest it to Bill’s folks to save me making up the bed in my craft room
Daphne St. Clair reply to Missy Clarke’s comment: Sorry, Missy. They didn’t make a reservation and a young man just came in needing a room
Livia Goode reply to Daphne St. Clair’s comment: A young man, you say? Tell us more!
Daphne St. Clair reply to Livia Goode’s comment: Not much to tell. He’s friends with Zack Cartwright apparently
Missy Clarke reply to Daphne St. Clair’s comment: Oh no! Do you think they’re together? I was so hoping Zack and Slater would work things out *sad emoji*
Livia Goode reply to Missy Clarke’s comment: If they were together wouldn’t he be staying at Gloria’s with Zack?
Gloria Cartwright reply to Missy Clarke’s comment: His name is Lawson Hale and he’s Zack’s best friend from Chicago. They’re not together but I wouldn’t get your hopes up about Zack and Slater, Missy. Zack’s just getting out of a relationship and he’s only here for a few days.
Alice Ackerman reply to Gloria Cartwright’s comment: A few days is plenty of time for love to bloom! Hammond and I only knew each other for twelve hours before we were married back in the seventies.<
br />
Gloria Cartwright reply to Alice Ackerman’s comment: Yes but you were divorced three years later when you found out he was running an illegal ferret-trafficking ring out of your basement. That’s not a brilliant go-to example of true love, Alice.
Slater
* * *
I run my palm over the smooth surface of the wood I’ve just sanded, clearing away the sheet of dust that’s collected. I decide it needs one more go over before I’ll be happy with it, and am just about to start up again when I hear the door of the refitted barn I use as my workroom sliding open.
I glance up to see my uncle Rock standing in the doorway, looking dusty and grimy from a morning’s work on his orchard. My barn, and the house I’m fixing up next to it, sit on property that used to be part of Rock’s orchard, so it’s not unusual for him to stop by in the middle of his day.
“No work in town today?” Rock asks.
I shake my head. “Web and I wrapped up a job yesterday.”
He lets out a wry breath. “Are you two ever going to make this partnership thing official?”
I offer a soft smile. “Chance is drawing up the papers for us right now,” I tell him. “It should all be done and dusted by next week.”
Really, we should have gone into partnership ages ago; we’ve been working together on bigger jobs for years now, so it makes sense to merge our businesses and halve all the overhead expenses. We just haven’t gotten around to actually making it happen yet.
“That’s great,” Rock says with a nod, before gesturing to the project I’m currently working on, asking, “Something for the house?”
I shake my head. “It’s for Nanna. I promised her a new porch swing ages ago but I never got around to it…”
Rock’s face clouds with emotion, reminding me of the fact that I may have just lost my grandfather, but he’s lost his dad. Swallowing hard, he asks, “You want some help with it?”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I want to do this one on my own.”
He nods in understanding and turns to leave. “I’ll leave you to it, then. See you tomorrow, kid.”
Once he’s gone, I get back to work on the swing. While I love carpentry and the domestic building work I do for my business, to me that’s work. Whereas furniture making is a hobby—something I find completely relaxing. I’ve been asked many times if I love it so much why didn’t I just become a joiner like Web? But the answer is simple: because I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want the joy I get from creating something to be stripped away by having to work to someone else’s needs and specifications. Everything I make is purely because I want to.
It sounds totally clichéd to say it, but when I come here to my workroom I’m filled with a sense of peace. Today’s the first time I’ve felt anything like it since getting the news on Sunday.
Later in the day, I stop by Web’s place to say hi to his brother, Kip, who’s just flown in from Alabama. On a private jet, no less.
Kip’s the only one of us Goode’s who has left Finchley permanently, although I guess you can’t blame the guy considering he’s shacked up with one of the richest men in the country. Not that that’s why he fell for Preston, obviously. Actually, now that I think about it, none of us really know how the two of them fell for each other. It all happened far away from town and outside the sphere of the Finchley gossip mill.
“Hey, nice to meet you,” Preston says, taking my hand in a firm grip and offering a winning smile that I’m sure must be used to win negotiations on a regular basis. “Wish it were under better circumstances.”
I nod, offering a polite smile. “Same here.”
After releasing my hand, Preston returns to sit on the sofa next to Kip, snuggling up nice and close in a way that makes Web clear his throat on the other side of the living room. I glance over to find him standing there with his arms folded over his chest, his eyes fixed on his brother rather pointedly.
“Do you need a lozenge?” Kip asks, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m good,” Web says gruffly.
I know when Kip first told us about Preston, Web had a difficult time coming around to the idea. Partly because it meant his brother would be moving away permanently, and partly because he just couldn’t get his mind around the rather significant age difference—Preston is in his mid-forties, at least seventeen years older than Kip. But over time, Web seemed to come around; and I guess the fact that Kip seemed so happy kind of made it impossible for Web to continue mounting protests. But clearly he’s still a little on the fence about becoming a fully paid up member of the We Heart Preston Club if his body language now is anything to go by.
“So, how long are you guys staying?” I ask, mainly to break the silence that’s been drawing out.
“Just for the weekend,” Kip says. “Preston needs to get back for a big client meeting on Monday.”
Web mutters something under his breath that sounds a bit like Of course he does, and I shoot him a look telling it to cut it out. If he’s not careful he’ll end up ruining the few days Kip is in town.
After about another half hour of excruciating small talk between me, Kip, and Preston—and intermittent grunts from Web—Kip and Preston decide to make their exit, evidently heading to the saloon to meet up with Tansie and some of the rest of the family.
Once they’re gone, Web tosses his head back, letting out a heavy sigh.
“You need to make more of an effort with him,” I say sternly.
He lifts his gaze to meet mine, eyes wide with incredulity. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I shake my head. “Not even remotely.” Letting out a soft sigh, I pin him with an intent look, saying, “Web, Kip’s nuts about this guy. He’s not going anywhere. So, what are you going to do? Just grunt at him while he tries to make awkward conversation for the rest of your life?”
Web rakes a frustrated hand through his tangle of dark waves. “It’s just… He’s not—”
“Who you pictured your brother to end up with?” I supply. “Yeah, no shit. But that doesn’t mean they’re not right for each other. And just think about it—how would you feel if his family treated Kip this way?”
That seems to get through to him and he lets his eyes fall closed, releasing a defeated sigh. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” I say simply, offering a wry smirk.
“Fine, so what am I supposed to do now?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe you could start by joining them at the saloon tonight. Talk to the guy. Get to know him a little.”
He nods. “Okay. Yeah, I guess I can do that. You want to come with?”
I shake my head. “Nah, this is your thing, man.”
Not to mention, if I eat at the saloon yet again this week I’ll have trouble fitting into my pants.
9
From the private Facebook group ‘Finchley Locals Community Hangout’
* * *
Post by Candace Goode: Attention all: tomorrow’s service will begin at 12.30 sharp, as Reverend Lockwood has double-booked and needs to be in Placer for a wedding at 2pm. A wake will follow at Walker and Genevieve’s, where we’ll be serving burgers, ribs, and many, many, MANY different varieties of bean casserole generously donated by the lovely locals. George, Tansie, and Rock will be in charge of refreshments so driving is not recommended.
Hank Latham reply to Candace Goode’s post: I gave that casserole to your grandmother to help her through her hour of need
Candace Goode reply to Hank Latham’s comment: And she very much appreciates it
Gunner Clarke reply to Candace Goode’s post: How many different types of bean casserole are there?
Candace Goode reply to Gunner Clarke’s comment: Oh, you’ll find out tomorrow *wink emoji*
* * *
Zack
* * *
On Thursday night, the day before the funeral, Jesse arrives in Finchley. He gets in at around six pm, and it’s not long before the suggestion is made to head out to eat. And seein
g as how we’re in Finchley, there’s really only one place to go…
“Have I mentioned how awesome I think this place is?” Lawson says as we slide into a booth at the saloon. There’s a wide grin on his face as he glances around at his surroundings.
“You just like it because you think ‘saloon’ is a funny word,” I point out.
Lawson shrugs. “Well, you’ve got me there.”
We give our drinks order to the server and take a few minutes to look over the menu.
“Damn, who is that?” Lawson asks, practically drooling as his eyes follow someone across the other side of the saloon.
Curious, I turn to see who’s captured his attention and see Web has just entered the saloon and is making his way toward the bar where a small cluster of Goodes are gathered, along with Gunner Clarke and an attractive older guy I think must be Kip Goode’s boyfriend, based on the way his hand seems glued to the younger man’s ass. I feel a weird pinching sensation in my gut when I realize Slater’s not with Web; it’s relief, obviously. Definitely relief.
“That’s Web,” I tell Lawson.
His brows shoot up. “Web? That’s a name?”
“It’s short for Webster.”
“Like the dictionary?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, like the dictionary.”
Lawson lets out a small breath of laughter, shaking his head in amusement before returning his gaze to Web, who, I have to admit, is looking pretty good these days. He’s got a scruffy, lumbersexual look going on that’s really working for him, even if I personally prefer a guy who’s clean-shaven.
“He’s hot,” Lawson says appreciatively, finally turning his attention back to us.