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The gray kitten perked up her ears and scampered across the floor with the yellow one right on her tail. Jill tossed the bow on the floor, and they attacked it like it was a big red rat, kicking and growling, batting at it and playing tug-of-war with it. She carried the vase into her office and shut the door behind her when she returned.
Sawyer plopped down on the sofa and leaned back, his heart racing and his hands clammy. She slid down beside him, and he drew her close with an arm around her shoulders. “Tired? I’ll gladly take care of the bartending alone if you want to stay in for an evening. If I need someone to throw a pitcher of beer on a couple of bitches, I’ll call. Hey, I never asked. Why did you come to the bar that night anyway? Seemed like after you doused Betsy and Kinsey, we decided we’d best stick together, but why were you even there?”
“I wanted a cold beer, not in a bottle, but in a frosted mug. I’m not so tired that I can’t go to the bar with you, and besides, it wouldn’t be fair.”
“It’s Monday. You know how slow it is on Monday,” he said.
“Not this one. Aunt Gladys told me that the Gallaghers’ cattle is down in Salt Holler, and even though Naomi is a distant relative of Wallace’s, he’s going to make her pay for the grass they’ve eaten and the property they’ve damaged. So it’ll be a busy night with folks comin’ around to see what’s goin’ on next with the feud.”
“Property damage?” He made lazy little circles on her arm with his thumb.
“Says they broke through some hog-wire fences, and he had to round up his hogs. Guess the pig war lives on, even when it’s really cattle,” she said.
“Well, anytime you want to, I’ll take a night at the bar alone. But for the record, I sure like it when you are right there with me.”
One corner of her cute little mouth turned up. “If Kinsey and Betsy found out you were in there all by yourself, they’d take you away from me. And I don’t play well with others.”
“Not damn likely.” He grinned.
She pointed toward the stove. “Look at the children.”
They each had a paw on a section of the frayed and ragged ribbon, as if protecting their interests while they slept.
“Play hard. Sleep hard,” Sawyer said.
“Like babies. Too bad the Gallaghers and Brennans haven’t learned to play well with others and then plop down and fall asleep,” she said. “Got to get changed into my barroom hussy clothes. I left my bra hanging on the doorknob over in your room.”
He held his breath when she stood up and headed in that direction.
“Oh my!” Her hand shot up and covered her mouth.
Then there was silence. He waited and waited, started to get up twice, and then sat back down. His hands got all clammy again and his pulse quickened. He waited for laughter at the poem or at least some reaction. But there was nothing for five of the longest minutes he’d ever spent in his life.
* * *
Jill touched each daisy. They were so bright and beautiful, lying there on the bed as if they’d grown from the stitches that held the quilt together. Then she found the poem and sat down in the rocking chair to read. It was both funny and sweet, tugging at her heartstrings when it talked about how she made every morning as bright as the blue daisy, that the sun was brighter than the yellow ones, and that all he had to do was look across the room at her and she filled his heart with so much color there weren’t words to describe it.
Tears ran down her eyes and dripped onto the ink, smearing when she tried to wipe it. When she looked up, Sawyer filled the doorway.
“This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” she said.
“I didn’t mean for you to cry.”
“I know, but it’s so damn sweet. Now help me gather up these daisies before they wilt. There’s enough for the kitchen table and the coffee table and for the nightstand beside your bed. I want them everywhere, so I can see them no matter where I am,” she said.
Together they picked up the flowers. “I saw some of those half-pint jars in the cabinet. We’ll divide them into three bouquets. They are so bright and pretty, Sawyer. The colors remind me of sunsets. There’s nothing more beautiful than a Texas sunset or sunrise. And I’m framing this poem and keeping it forever,” she said.
“You won’t let anyone else read it, will you? It’s kind of corny.”
She tiptoed and pressed her lips against his. Their hands were filled with flowers, so they couldn’t touch each other, but the kiss was deep and sweet at the same time.
“I wouldn’t share this with anyone, Sawyer. It’s personal, and it’s mine. I’ll put it on the nightstand beside my bed. I love it, and I love the flowers.”
She stopped short of saying that she loved him. Words were words, and they needed to be heard, but she didn’t want to say them until she was absolutely sure that she meant every single one.
* * *
She laughed. “You are a prophet.”
The parking lot at the Burnt Boot Bar and Grill already had a dozen trucks, and there were people huddled up next to the door, waiting to get inside.
He smiled. “I told you so.”
“This isn’t even normal for Friday and Saturday.” She pulled the keys to the bar from her purse. “Get ready. If they’re here this early, it means they’ll want food as well as beer and whiskey.”
“It’s not every day the Gallaghers have to buy back their cattle from Salt Holler. Since they are blaming the Brennans for stealing them, they’ll all come in here with chips on their shoulders tonight. And the other folks will come to see the show. Maybe we should charge admission.”
“Not a bad idea. Do you ever wish there was another gathering place for the folks, other than Polly’s?”
“Never thought of it. Maybe the Gallaghers should build their own bar. I don’t think the Brennans would want to own one, with their religious background, but they could continue to visit Polly’s,” he said.
“Let’s get the doors open, but I’ll tell you one thing for sure, that shotgun will stay loaded and ready.”
“I’ll fire up the grill. Keep them eatin’, and maybe they won’t be so quick to want to fight,” he said.
Thirty minutes later, he finally looked up and said, “You are the prophet, Jillian Cleary, not me. That is my fortieth onion burger since I walked in the door. And we’ve used six bags of frozen fries.”
A rush of cold air took her eye to the next customers, and she smiled.
“What’s so funny?” Sawyer asked.
“Nothing.” She fished in her purse and brought out a bright purple daisy affixed to a hair clip, pulled her hair back on one side with her fingertips, and fastened the daisy right there above her ear. The smile on her face widened when Kinsey and Quaid Brennan claimed a couple of bar stools.
“What can I get you this evening?” Jill asked sweetly.
“Nice touch in the hair there. Looks like you’ve been to the islands. Hey, Sawyer, you want to fly down to the islands this weekend with me?” Kinsey asked. “We can leave on Saturday night and be home early Monday morning.”
“No, thank you. Y’all want something from the grill?”
“No, just a pitcher of margaritas and one of Coors.”
“Thank you for the roses, Quaid,” Jill said. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“They are beautiful, but not as beautiful as you are. I was hoping you’d see that I’m serious about getting to know you better.” His flirting was deliberate and practiced.
“Where’d you get that daisy in your hair anyway?” Kinsey asked.
“Sawyer gave me two dozen today. I picked out the brightest one for my hair.” She smiled.
“So you like daisies, Sawyer?” Kinsey asked.
He set two pitchers in front of her. “I like Jill.”
She put a bill in his hand. “As in you are dating, or as in you are friends?”
He laid her change on the bar. “As in what I said. The rest is our private business.”
“Well, you don’t have to get pissy about it,” Kinsey said and flounced off to claim a table not far from the jukebox.
As luck would have it, Betsy and Tyrell were the next two to let a little fresh air into the bar. Betsy raised an eyebrow at the daisy in Jill’s hair. “Is it beach night at Polly’s or what?”
“Nope, it’s nothing but a normal Monday night. Y’all get those cows back yet?” Jill asked.
“We’re negotiating a deal,” Tyrell answered quickly.
“Oh, thank you for the roses,” Jill said.
“Just a little thank-you for all the help. They weren’t as pretty as you, but then nothing is that gorgeous.” He winked.
“So what’s with the flower? Sawyer, darlin’, would you fix us up six cheeseburger baskets and a couple of pitchers of beer?”
“Comin’ right up,” he said.
Betsy’s eyes had trouble staying above his belt buckle, and the expression on her face told the whole story about what she’d like to do if she ever got past the buckle and zipper.
Jill drew up two pitchers of beer and set them on the bar. Tyrell put a couple of bills in her hand, and she made change. He grabbed her hand and bent over the bar to kiss her fingertips.
“Darlin’, I’ll put red roses on every flat surface in my house if you’ll agree to let me cook supper for you. You choose the menu, and there’s no strings attached,” he whispered.
The very picture in her mind made her feel like she was smothering. That many red roses in one place. She’d feel like they were coming after her, like zombies in the apocalypse.
Betsy picked up the beer and started back to the table. She stopped after a few feet and looked over her shoulder. “Tyrell, bring the cups, please. And why do you have that flower in your hair, Jill?”
“Sawyer gave me daisies today, and they were so bright and pretty that I brought one to work with me.”
Tyrell’s face went dark. All the flirting turned to anger, and the determination into rage. He dropped her hand, and his strong jaw worked like he was chewing gum. “So are you two together now? Why aren’t you wearing one of my roses?”
“Because you and Quaid both sent red roses, and besides, I like daisies better,” she said.
“So that’s the way it is.”
“I’ve never led you on.”
“But you never completely shot me down, either.”
“Yes, Tyrell, I have. You just didn’t know it. We’ll holler right loud when the cheeseburger baskets are done,” she said softly.
He nodded curtly and joined Betsy at a table in the corner.
“We might have entered the war as a third country,” Sawyer said.
“They’d better hope not. When I fight, I go in with intentions of winning. Bless their hearts, there might not be anything left of them when the dust settles if they continue to pull us into this war, not even a beefsteak from one of their blondie steers.”
Chapter 23
Something had happened. Something big.
Jill wasn’t sure what it was, but Sawyer didn’t like it. He’d been distant most of the evening. After the sweet daisies and the note that had brought tears to her eyes, she’d thought they’d climbed up on a higher level in their relationship. But something had sure enough ticked him off royally. Had Kinsey or Betsy finally convinced him to go out with them?
A stab of jealousy shot through her faster than any speeding bullet or two-edged hunting knife. A picture of either of them lying naked on his bed, getting a full body massage, played through her mind. She could almost feel the smoke coming out of her ears as the image sharpened and grew brighter. Would he scatter daisies on the bed for them? Would he write poetry about them?
The jukebox was unplugged. The flashing lights around the outside had gone dark, and it was tired of singing for the people. Smoke still hung above the tables, but a lot of it had escaped as the packed house fanned in and out of the door.
Sawyer’s expression was blank, set in stone. If he smiled, cracked a joke, flirted, or even looked her way, it would most likely shatter like broken glass. Whatever his problem was, if he didn’t want to talk about it, then he could damn well fix it without her help. She was tired, cranky, and ready for bed—as in sleep.
Andyouthoughthecouldwalkonwater. Men are men, and they are all rascals, the mean voice in her head taunted.
He finished sweeping and started getting the bar ready for the next day—checking everything at least twice, like he always did. The grill and fryers were turned off, the red cup dispensers were filled to the top so she wouldn’t have to stop for supplies, and the last of the beer and margarita pitchers were in the dishwasher.
She made sure toilet paper, paper towels, and soap were in both bathrooms, and sprayed a healthy dose of disinfectant spray into the air before she shut the doors.
“Ready?” He waited beside the door, the bulge of a handgun not far from his belt buckle.
She breezed past him, crossed the cold gravel lot to his truck, and had her hand on the handle when the beeping noise told her he’d opened the door remotely. A norther hit with a blast of colder air, sending dead leaves, cigarette butts, gravel, and dirt into a swirl. It would be fifteen degrees colder by the time they reached the bunkhouse. She’d love to curl up in his warm arms under the fluffy blanket, but that wasn’t happening.
They drove home in complete and uncomfortable silence. She glanced his way a couple of times, but his neck was stiff and his eyes set on the road ahead. Before he could be the cowboy gentleman and open doors for her, she bailed out of the truck, stormed the short distance to the porch, used her own key to get inside, and went straight to her bedroom, without even stopping to talk to the kittens.
A loud slam told her that he had done the same thing. Bathwater started, she stripped down to nothing but socks and caught her reflection in the mirror. The daisy had wilted, some petals twisting toward the middle, others hanging limp. She removed it carefully, ran an inch of water in the bathroom sink, and floated it. Maybe it could be saved with a little rehydration.
Tears welled up and ran down her cheeks. She shouldn’t have wasted even one of her daisies. All the others would last for a week if she changed their water daily, except for that one she’d popped the stem off and wrecked to show the feuding cowboys that their roses didn’t impress her.
She sunk into the tub, her spirits sinking even lower. She didn’t like this feeling of distance between her and Sawyer. They might have started off that first day on shaky ground, but he had become her best friend, her partner in three different jobs. Maybe even her soul mate.
“Whoa!” She brushed away the tears and slid down into the water, getting her hair wet so she could wash the stink of smoke from it. “I’m not going there tonight, not when he’s being such a jackass.”
* * *
Pulsating hot water kneaded at the sore muscles in Sawyer’s back, but he couldn’t be still long enough to let it work all the anger knots from his shoulders and neck. He turned the knob, threw back the curtain, and picked up a towel.
The jar of daisies sitting beside the bed caught his eye. He didn’t want to look at them, but he couldn’t force his eyes to look at anything else. When he did finally glance away, his eyes came to rest on the indentation in the pillow where he’d left the poem. He quickly dressed in pajama pants and a thermal-knit, long-sleeved shirt, but all he could think about was Jill with tears in her eyes and the poem in her hand.
“Dammit!” He threw himself on the bed, wiping out the hollow place with his head and getting a whiff of her perfume at the same time.
It was light and airy like Jill, not heavy or musky. Just sweet and sassy at the same time, drawing his thoughts to that first evening when she’d barreled into the bunkhouse with a shotgun. They’d come a long way since then, but tonight had sure enough put the skids to another step forward.
The kittens chased through the crack in the door, deftly climbed the bedcovers, and jumped around like windup toys from one side of the bed to the other. Piggy stopped short of falling off the edge and discovered a purple daisy petal hung up in the stitching on the quilt. One little gray paw flew out, and she swatted it, growling down deep in her throat. Chick arched her back and tiptoed from one side of the bed to the other. When she saw the evil purple alien, she fluffed up her tail, and the two of them fought over who’d kill the wicked thing first.
“You two are crazy, fighting over a daisy petal.” He almost smiled. “Maybe you can’t forget where you came from after all.”
They grew tired of the petal after they’d killed it half a dozen times, fell down on the blanket at the same time, and went to sleep with Piggy’s leg thrown over Chick’s ears. It didn’t take long until the voice in Sawyer’s head sounded off loud and clear. He put a pillow over his eyes, but it didn’t go away.
“Shut the hell up!” he demanded, but it kept right on.
Of all the dumb-ass, stupid things to fight about. A damn daisy, and one that you sent her at that. It wasn’t like she put a rose in her hair. Hell no! She put them all in her office behind a closed door, so she didn’t even have to look at them. Granny told you that settling differences before sleeping was the secret to a happy relationship…okay, so she said marriage…but a relationship should work the same.
He sat up in bed and grabbed a pair of socks from the bottom drawer of the dresser, pulled them on his feet, and headed for her room. They might argue until dawn, but the air had to be cleared.
The sight of her sitting on the sofa, lit only by the moonlight flowing through a window, stopped him at the door. She held a ragtag daisy in her hand and carefully laid it in a bowl of water on the coffee table. Shiny tears dripped from her chin and ribboned down to her jawbone. She looked so fragile, with her chin quivering and her shoulders hunched over the cereal bowl, that his heart ached. He swallowed hard, but the lump didn’t disappear. He wanted to take her in his arms and make the pain go away, but his feet were glued to the floor.
“I ruined it, Sawyer. Just to show off to those fools who don’t matter, I ruined one of my precious daisies. It looks pitiful,” she said. “And you are mad at me. A part of me wants to tell you to go to hell, but the other part wants to kiss you, because my heart is hurting, and I’m still mad at you, so don’t try to talk me out of it. You are clamming up and being all holier-than-thou, like you are better than me.”
He switched on the light and joined her on the sofa, leaving a foot of space between them. “Evidently, I’m the dumb old cowboy who gives you daisies so you can flaunt them before the rich cowboys to make them jealous. Or maybe you were showing me that all I had was daisies when you could have been wearing an expensive rose in your hair.”
Her shoulders squared up, and the tears dried. She glared at him with flashing green eyes. “I’m not guilty of such shit! Dammit, Sawyer. I wore the flower in my hair because of what you said.”
“What I said?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“Yes, you said something about us not being together in public for the whole world to see. I can’t quote it word for word, but the idea is there. I was so damned proud of those daisies, I wanted to take a jar full of them to the bar and tell everyone that finally a cowboy gave me what I wanted. But I decided to wear one. I thought you’d be tickled that I was telling the world that we were together, but instead you got all pissy and mad and won’t even talk to me.”
“Miscommunication,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“I let my past get in the way, and you did the same.”
The kittens bounded out of the bedroom, two energized bundles of fur after their romp with the purple petal, now ready to dive into their food bowl. Piggy growled at Chick, but the yellow kitten was a scrapper, pulling a portion of the dry kitten nuggets her way with her claws.
“You have to talk to me, Sawyer. From now on, you have to tell me outright if something upsets you,” Jill said. “It’s not miscommunication. It’s flat-out no communication. If I’d known the flower in my hair was going to set you off, I wouldn’t have worn it.”
“I do not have the right to tell you to take a flower out of your hair, Jill.”
“Well, I damn sure can’t read your mind, Sawyer, so you are going to have to use words.”
“Would you have taken it out of your hair if I’d asked?”
“We’ll never know now, will we?” Piggy finished eating and scampered over to Jill’s foot. “Do you think we are worth trying again?” Jill reached down with one hand and drew the kitten up to her lap.
“We’ve come a long way to start from scratch,” he said.
“This isn’t a trust issue. It’s a communication problem. We don’t start from the beginning. We start from about”—she looked at the clock on the wall above the stove—“six hours ago. Are we worth six hours?”
“Hell, yes,” he said. “I’ll make an effort to talk more.”
“I’ll try to speak before I act on impulse,” she said.
He offered his hand. “Shake on it?”
She put hers inside his. “Now can we please go to bed? I’m so sleepy and worn out emotionally that I can’t even think straight,” she said.
He picked up Piggy and laid her on the rug in front of the stove with Chick, then he returned to the sofa, picked Jill up like a bride, and carried her to the bedroom. He gently laid her on her side of the bed and pulled the covers up over her body.
“Hold me, Sawyer. I need your arms around me to reassure me that everything is fine between us,” she said.
He realized he’d forgotten to switch off the light, but it didn’t matter right then. He needed to feel Jill’s body next to his, to smell her hair and to kiss that soft spot below her ear. Tonight he didn’t need wild kisses, makeup sex, or even any more words. That things were settled between them before he shut his eyes was enough.
She slipped her hand into his. “Are we good, Sawyer?”
“Yes, Jill, we definitely are.”
Chapter 24
Verdie turned around in the church pew and winked at Sawyer. “I didn’t think Gladys would miss another Sunday or let y’all stay home, either,” she said.
Gladys smiled. “That would set the rumor wheel on fire.”
“Why?” Jill asked.
“They’d say that y’all were laid up in bed together,” Gladys whispered so the children sitting beside Verdie couldn’t hear.
Jill’s face burned, but she took several deep breaths and hoped to hell that her aunt didn’t notice.
“You. Are. Blushing,” Sawyer whispered softly in her ear. “Would you go to dinner with me after church?”
“As in a date?”
He nodded. “As in a normal, plain old date.”
“Are we telling Finn and Callie that we have a date and can’t take them up on another invitation to their place?” she asked.
“We will if they ask. Is that a yes?”
“It is a definite yes,” she said.
The preacher took the podium, and the whole congregation settled in for a sermon. Jill could almost hear the old men behind her getting comfortable for their Sunday morning nap.
“Good morning. It is less than two weeks until Valentine’s Day, a day of love and romance. I’ve been asked”—the preacher shuffled his notes—“to announce that there will be a Valentine’s party right here at the church on Friday, the thirteenth.”
A few people chuckled.
The preacher held up a palm. “I know it’s considered an unlucky day, but we’re going to put that wives’ tale to the side for our party and think of it as a wonderful day of romance. There will be a dinner, and Kinsey Brennan has said that she and Quaid are having a speed-dating evening for the young single folks, so get ready for lots of fun.”
He went on to announce that the nursing-home visitation had been postponed that week due to a conflict of schedule and that there would be a baby shower on Wednesday. Jill hadn’t heard the names of the prospective new parents before, but they weren’t Gallaghers or Brennans, so they were most likely sitting in the middle section of pews.
“I’ll expect everyone to respect the church and be civil to each other during our Valentine’s party,” he said seriously.
The tension level rose from a solid five all the way to a ten in seconds. The Brennans shot dirty looks across the heads of those folks in the middle section, looks which no doubt meant to tell the folks on the other side that, by golly, they would be civil only if they wanted to and not because the preacher told them to.
“And now I’d like to introduce you to Ruth and her mother-in-law, beginning with the Book of Ruth in the Old Testament,” the preacher said.
Evidently, he was going to preach on love that morning, which was a wonderful topic for the first of February in any other church at any other time. But he’d already lost his crowd when he made that statement about being nice. Still, he plowed on, raising his voice to wake up the dozing folks at the right time, lowering it to get the attention of those who were drifting away to think of something else.
Jill blocked all of it out of her mind and let herself get giddy thinking about a real date with Sawyer. It was crazy, but she couldn’t help it. They’d been through so much together, including some damn fine hot sex, but this was a date. It wasn’t friends with benefits; it was the real thing.
She glanced over at the Brennan side and locked gazes with Quaid. There were no daggers, but he was not smiling. His jaw was set firmly, and the look in his pretty eyes said that he still had a lot of fight in him. A cold chill chased down her spine. Surely the two families wouldn’t do anything to take Sawyer out of the picture.
Sawyer’s hand covered hers in the narrow space between them and squeezed gently. Could he read her mind? Was he assuring her that he could take care of whatever the Brennans threw at them?
She tried to listen to the sermon, but starting in the middle didn’t work so well, so she looked at the Gallagher side of the church. Be damned if Betsy wasn’t eyeballing Sawyer like she had something pornographic in mind. Before Jill could blink, Betsy caught her eye and smiled. She made a pistol with her thumb and forefinger, aimed it at Jill, and snapped it as if she’d pulled the trigger. Then her eyes shifted to Sawyer, and she blew him a kiss off the tips of her fingers.
Holy freakin’ shit! The Gallaghers are going to shoot me, and the Brennans are going to do away with Sawyer.
Gladys poked her on the arm. “What’s goin’ on?”
Jill shrugged. “Just my overactive imagination, I’m sure.”
She kept her eyes straight ahead until the preacher finally asked them to stand for the benediction that Quaid Brennan would deliver. Sawyer did not drop her hand when they were on their feet but held it firmly for the whole congregation to see.
Immediately Finn and Callie turned toward them, and Callie asked, “Hey, y’all want to try again for dinner at Salt Draw with us today? And while I’m thinking about it, you want to go to the antique show in Gainesville next Sunday?”
Sawyer held up her hand. “We have a date, so we’ll have to take another rain check.”
“And, yes, for next Sunday,” Jill told Callie.
“Maybe we can invite these cowboys and make it a double date next Sunday,” Callie suggested.
“Shopping?” Finn raked his hands through his dark hair. “The only way I’ll agree is if Sawyer does. Otherwise, it’s going to be a long Sunday afternoon nap for me.”
“I’ll go,” Sawyer said quickly.
Gladys raised an eyebrow. “Two dates in as many weeks?”
“It would be three,” Jill said, “but we’ll have to work the bar on Friday night. If we didn’t, I might ask Sawyer to go with me to the Valentine’s party.”
“And I’d refuse,” Sawyer said seriously.
Jill cocked her head to one side. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want none of that speed-dating shit that Quaid and Kinsey have come up with. I don’t trust them. I’d rather sling burgers behind the bar with you all evening as do that stuff. Let’s have a Valentine’s party of our own at the bar on Saturday night. We’ll talk to Polly about it.”
“You’re going on a real date?” Callie’s daughter, Olivia, asked.
“Yes, we are.” Sawyer grinned.
“Is Jill going to wear a fancy dress like Mama did when she went on a real date with Daddy?” Olivia’s eyes glittered at the memory.
“How fancy was it?” Jill asked.
“It was the Christmas parties at Wild Horse and at River Bend,” Callie explained.
“I don’t think I’ll get that dressed up for a dinner date,” Jill said.
“When you do go to a party like that, will you come over to Salt Draw and let me see you? Mama looked like a princess,” Olivia said.
“I will, and I bet your mama did look beautiful,” Jill said.
“She was the queen, not just a princess,” Adam said shyly.
“Yes, she was.” Finn grinned.
It was the smile that said Finn and Sawyer were related. Jill wondered as they moved along with the congregation to the front of the church if maybe it hadn’t been the smile that had captured Callie’s heart in the very beginning. It certainly had been that quality that she first noticed.
No, it wasn’t. It was the way he filled out those jeans, and those dark eyes that bored right into your soul, her inner voice argued.
She let the sassy voice have the last word, because she couldn’t very well do battle with the truth. Besides, today was going to be perfect. No Gallaghers. No Brennans. No feud. Not even the faintest whiff of a pig war. It was the first date with Sawyer, and first dates were always exciting.
Even when you’ve already had sex?
