Текст книги "Finders Keepers"

Автор книги: Nicole Williams

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

HOW DID ONE hold a funeral for a person whose body was gone? Hell, for a person whose ashes didn’t even fill an urn? The whole concept was lost on me, but I was about to find out.

A few days after the fire, the chaplain at the hospital offered to do a service after he asked about funeral arrangements and I pretty much scratched my head in answer. Clay died with no money in the bank, and his secret whiskey stash went up with the rest of the trailer. Since I had a whopping forty-two dollars in my wallet, having a funeral service inside of a church was out. So much for not-for-profit . . .

The chaplain had suggested holding the service outside, at a location of my choosing—maybe somewhere I had fond memories of Clay and I being together. When my answer was another head scratching, the chaplain gave up and suggested a spot by the river. Worked for me. So long as it was quick and to the point, I was fine with Clay’s funeral being held there.

It was almost one o’clock, and I was going to be late. I’d pulled into the public access parking lot fifteen minutes ago, but I couldn’t pull myself out of my truck to make the short hike to where the chaplain was waiting for me. He was already there. At least, I assumed his car was the one with the bumper sticker that read Don’t drive faster than your guardian angel can fly. There weren’t any other cars in the parking lot. It was late fall, too late in the season for fishermen, or campers, or anyone other than a random funeral goer to be enjoying the river.

The chaplain had encouraged me to invite as many family members and friends as I wanted, assuring me the mourning process was so much easier to go through with the support of loved ones. The best I could do after he’d said that was to not laugh. Loved ones mourning Clay Black? Hell, I was his last living flesh and blood, and even I wasn’t so hot on the idea of mourning him. How was I supposed to mourn a man I’d hated more days than not? How could I miss a father who’d reminded me every day how he cursed the day I was born? Mourning a person didn’t come standard with death. It was an honor reserved for those who lived life right.

Needless to say, I hadn’t invited anyone else. No one but me would be there, and even I didn’t want to attend. The only reason I finally shoved open that driver’s side door was because I knew the chaplain was waiting and he sure as hell didn’t need to go out of his way for Clay. So I sure as hell wasn’t going to let his good deed be wasted. Adjusting my hat, I made sure the bottle cap was still in my shirt pocket before heading down the trail.

Since the only thing left of Clay was whatever was left inside the shell of the trailer, the chaplain recommended I bring something meaningful to Clay and me. Something that could stand in place of a casket or an urn. Something that encapsulated his forty years of life. It took me a while, but I finally found something that summed Clay Black up perfectly. A token that was more the man my father was than any varnished casket.

The trail made for an easy hike down to the river, but I struggled with every step. My feet had grown concrete blocks, and just when I thought I couldn’t go another step, I saw the chaplain. He saw me at the same time, gave me a small smile, and waved. He’d picked a nice spot with the river as a backdrop, and he stood beside a large rock, almost like it was a podium. As expected, we were the only two around.

“Hey, Chaplain. Sorry I kept you waiting.” I forced myself to take the last few steps. Once I got it over with, it would be done. Over. I could sweep the whole thing under the rug and forget about it.

“It’s fine, Garth. I’ve just been enjoying the bounty of God’s workmanship.”

I forced myself to return his smile. The chaplain had drunk way too much of the Kool-Aid in Sunday school as a child.

“How much longer would you like to wait for the rest? Don’t worry about me, because I’ve got the whole afternoon open.”

The chaplain and I might have lived on opposite ends of the spectrum, but he was an all right kind of guy. Despite being a little out of touch with reality. “You might as well do your thing because I’m the only one coming.”

The chaplain indicated just over my shoulder. “Either fisherman have started wearing formal wear to pull trout out of the river, or you’ve got company.”

My sigh cut short as soon as I saw who it was. “What the hell are you two doing here? This is a funeral, not a wedding.”

“Good to see you too, Black,” Jesse replied, helping Rowen over a few rocks in the trail. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fucking on top of the world. Can’t you tell?”

“I’m not sure that fuck’s allowed at a funeral, Black.” Rowen shot me a wink as she and Jesse came up beside me.

“Why not? Clay was that word’s number one fan. The profanity and the act.” The chaplain looked off into the distance.“How in the hell did you two know what was going on today?” I couldn’t decide if I was pissed or relieved they’d shown up. I definitely felt a bit of both. I’d seen Jesse and Rowen a couple of days ago, pretty much right after they got in from Seattle, but I hadn’t mentioned a thing to either one of them about the funeral.

“You called in sick today,” Jesse answered, nudging me. “You’ve never called in sick before. Not even the day after . . . after . . .”

“The day after the fire,” Rowen interjected. Jesse thanked her with a smile.

“You mean the day after Clay was burnt to such a crisp nothing was left of him?” Jesse’s eyebrows lifted. Rowen’s came together. I wasn’t trying to upset two of my only friends. It just went against my nature not to. Truthfully, having them with me made the whole thing less daunting. We were nothing more than a few friends hanging down on the riverbank, saying good-bye to a person I wasn’t sure even deserved it.

Rowen said, “You want to take out your anger at us today, fine. Do it. You get a free pass. Today and today only. Tomorrow you’d better find somewhere else to channel your anger.”

I waited a moment for her to go into more detail, but none came. “Or else?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Or else.”

“I sure have missed your veiled threats, Miss Sterling-soon-to-be-Walker.”

“Yeah, yeah. And we’ve missed your unparalleled goodness, too.”

Jesse tried to keep from smiling, but that was about as easy for him to do as it was me to keep smiling.

“So I get that me calling in sick today alerted the dogs to what I had planned, but how in the hell did you know where to find me?” Montana had as many wide open spaces as there were stars in the sky. “Did you go and install a GPS tracker on me or something?”

Jesse stared into the sky while Rowen’s eyes locked onto mine. “No. We followed you,” she answered with a shrug.

I shook my head. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with trying and failing to spin a brodie in the middle of the road and tear out of town and never look back, I might have noticed Old Bessie tailing me. That truck was such an atrocity it was impossible to miss. “You two are a couple of regular ninjas, aren’t you?”

“Hi-yah,” Rowen deadpanned, thumping the side of her hand into my stomach.

“And look at you, Walker. Dressed up all fancy in a suit. It almost looks like you’re heading to your own funeral.” I elbowed his ribs, making him elbow me right back. “Hold up. Aren’t you the whipped chump getting married this summer? I suppose that explains why you look like you’re heading to your own funeral.” I chuckled, ignoring Rowen’s impressive glare.

“Two words, Black,” she said, all tough sounding. “Or. Else.” Lifting her fist, she circled it around.

That, of course, only made me laugh. “I sure am glad I have you two here for moral support. I’ve never felt so uplifted and surrounded by warm fuzzies in my life.”

“We love you too, buddy.” Jesse slung his arm around Rowen’s neck, the other around mine, and pulled us together for some sick version of a group hug. I was protesting with an exaggerated groan when I heard a few others coming down the trail. It probably shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.

Mr. and Mrs. Walker, followed by their three daughters, made their way toward us. Neil had a solemn expression, Rose had a small smile, and the girls all looked a bit red-eyed. Go figure. Three Walker girls who’d barely even met Clay had been crying, but his own son had yet to shed a single tear. I told myself the only reason they were able to muster up a few tears for him was because they didn’t know Clay like I did.

Neil clapped my shoulder as his family fell in line beside him. “It’s a hell of a thing, son. One hell of a thing.”

I nodded once then indicated the chaplain. I had planned on being wrapped up already, not greeting guests I hadn’t invited. Despite not having invited them, I was glad they’d invited themselves. The chaplain had been right—it felt good to be surrounded by loved ones, or as close to loved ones as I had. I’d never openly admit it, but it was the truth.

The chaplain rolled his shoulders back. “We are brought together today by a great tragedy. A life ending before its time. A man—”

“Hold on. Wait! I’m sorry. Just hold on one more minute!” someone hollered from the trail.

My initial response to hearing Josie’s voice was to smile. So I went with a drawn-out sigh. When she came into view, I saw what was to blame for slowing her down.

“Damn these heels. Why can’t they make a pair more suited for rough terrain?” She glanced at me just long enough to acknowledge me with a smile before going back to watching the ground like it was about to reach out and grab her. With the heels she had on, it was a miracle she’d made it that far without breaking her neck.

Jesse nudged me. I didn’t get what he was hinting. Then he elbowed me. I still didn’t get it. Finally he sighed and said, “Why don’t you go help her before she breaks a heel or a leg?”

Riding in on the white horse and saving the day was Jesse Walker’s thing, not mine. That’s why I hadn’t picked up on his hint. When I stayed glued where I was while Josie hobbled over a few more rocks, Jesse shook his head. Before he’d taken one step toward her, I grabbed his arm. “I got it. Hey, stilts, let me give you a hand before you go and break your neck.”

If she wasn’t so busy watching the ground, I knew she would have glared at me. “I don’t know what I was thinking wearing these things. Where’s a pair of boots when a girl needs some?”

I’d seen Josie in a pair of shoes other than boots maybe a dozen times since I’d known her, but seeing her in a pair of heels with the knee-length dress she had on made me wish she’d wear them a lot more.

Unbelievable. I was at my father’s funeral and having moderately inappropriate thoughts about a girl’s legs. I didn’t have many, but I knew I’d had finer moments than that one.

“Yeah, but they sure look nice.” I forced my eyes up right about the time Josie stumbled over a rock Hell, maybe she stumbled over her own two feet. I’d gotten to her just in time. I broke her fall right before swinging her into my arms. We didn’t have much farther to go, but I didn’t want to wait another decade for her to maneuver her way there.

“What are you doing?” Josie asked, her tone as shocked as her expression.

I shrugged, asking myself the same question. “Blue moon.”

Josie’s forehead lined. “Come again?”

“You’ve never heard of a blue moon?”

“Yes, Garth. I’ve heard of a blue moon.” Today’s eye roll count: one. “What does one have to do with you helping me?”

“This guy’s got the day off from playing the hero.” I slugged Jesse’s arm after setting Josie down. “I’m filling in.” Jesse’s and Rowen’s expressions matched Josie’s. “What?” I was ready to slug him again if he didn’t stop looking at me like I’d lost my mind.

“I knew you had it in you all along.” Josie planted her feet on a level patch of sand.

“Yeah, yeah. No need to go and spread the word, Miss See-the-Good-in-Everyone, because I’m about to have the reluctant hero inside of me exorcised.”

“Too bad. That was the first time in years that I haven’t wanted to slug you in the jaw.”

The chaplain cleared his throat, and Josie zipped her lips at me.

“Fine, bossy,” I muttered.

“Whatever. Hero.” She gave me a wide grin before turning her attention to the chaplain.

“Garth? Are you ready to proceed?” the chaplain asked, still looking like he wasn’t in any hurry.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Even the smart-ass tone I’d perfected fell flat.

“Did you bring something to symbolize your father being here in spirit?”

“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot.” Digging in my shirt pocket, I pulled out the cap and set it on the large rock beside the chaplain. Want to know how to make a crowd of talkers go so silent it made the air thick? Thunk a Jack Daniels cap in front of them where a casket would be if Clay Black’s ashes weren’t scattered over acres of barren, rented land.

The chaplain was the first to make a noise, even though it was only a clearing of his throat. “Would you mind sharing how this . . . this . . . signifies your father?” The poor chaplain couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

Me, on the other hand, had no problem. A cap of Jack was home sweet home in my world. “Clay liked to drink. A lot. He also liked throwing empty bottles at me when I did something that irritated him. Like brush my teeth before bed. Or eat a package of Saltines for dinner. Or, when I was still dumb and hopeful as a child, ask for a hug before bedtime.”

I noticed Rowen take Jesse’s hand. It was an easy gesture. Effortless. Almost like her hand had acted of its own accord.

“The bottle that cap came from was the last one Clay threw my way. The one he threw at me the night he died. Right before I left. The last one he’ll ever throw at me. I would have brought the bottle, but it was busted to shit. Totally unsalvageable. But that right there, the cap to a bottle of Jack, meant Clay died with the good stuff in him. That meant it was the first of the month and his disability check had just come in. That meant he had a couple more days of drinking the good stuff out of a bottle before switching over to the stuff out of a plastic jug that turned a person’s insides. My dad died with the good stuff in him. That’s all a person like Clay Walker could ask from life.”

I was still staring at Jesse’s and Rowen’s entwined hands. The longer I studied their hands, the more I realized I never had and never would have that. Someone to stand shoulder to shoulder with and take on life one day at a time. Someone to know what I needed before I even said it. Someone who loved me without conditions. Hell, someone who loved me even with conditions. I’d been with a lot of women, so many women I couldn’t tell if it was closer to dozens or hundreds, and never once had I come close to loving a single one of them. They’d come about as close to loving me.

Whatever Jesse and Rowen had, what Neil and Rose had, whatever that was, I made sure to steer clear of it. Most of my life, I’d considered that a blessing. One or both parties falling in love just made things messy. Complicated the good thing going on. But standing at my father’s funeral, where a whiskey cap stood in his place, alone and with no one to take my hand before I even knew I wanted it held, felt like a curse.

“So this cap signifies freedom? Your father’s departure from this world has freed him from the clutches of addiction,” the chaplain said after a while.

“Sure, this cap signifies freedom. My freedom from him.”

The chaplain’s eyes widened—just barely but enough to tell me that I’d said something to shock him. I hadn’t been going for shock value; I’d been going for the truth. He was back to being tongue-tied, and the air around me was thick with dead silence, when Josie nudged closer to me. Her hand reached for mine, twisting against it until my fist released, letting her fingers weave through mine. Without realizing I’d been holding it, I could breathe again.

Without realizing exactly what I needed, I suddenly had it. A measure of comfort exactly when I needed it. A silent need picked up on and responded to. It was foreign in the best kind of way. Josie’s hand heated mine, its warmth traveling up my arm and spreading until no sign of a chill was left to be found. No sign of the winter I’d lived in my entire life was still around.

“Would anyone like to say any last words?”

The chaplain’s words startled me out of whatever hand-holding, dreamy world I’d lost myself in. Good thing because that was a world I couldn’t be a part of. Not because I wouldn’t accept it, but because it wouldn’t accept me. I gave my head a shake to clear my thoughts, but even if I wanted to with all my will—which I didn’t—I couldn’t free my hand from Josie’s. I’d have to make sure the next time she was close by, I didn’t let her hand get too close to mine. As good as it felt, it would hurt like hell later when her hand was holding Colt Mason’s and mine was running over the body of some woman whose name I wouldn’t remember in the morning. Holding her hand was short-lived and would do way more damage than good in the long run.

“I suppose I should send a sympathy card to Mr. Baker, the owner of the liquor store downtown, since his best customer won’t stumble through his front doors again. He’s probably going to go out of business. Now that’s a tragedy.” I capped my “last words” with a chuckle, but if I thought the silence had been thick before, I’d been wrong.

The fact that Jesse wasn’t shaking his head and muttering jackass or that Josie wasn’t sighing and elbowing me meant my attempt at humor had been timed badly. Too much, too soon. But how the hell was I supposed to deal with it? How the hell was I supposed to muster up some last words that weren’t depressing as all hell or, as I’d chosen, tongue-in-cheek? There was nothing heartfelt to be said. Nothing even moderately endearing.

For the second time in a few minutes, the chaplain looked tongue-tied, positively stumped as where to take the runaway train next. That was when Neil nudged between Jesse and me, making his way up to the chaplain. Like his son, Neil was sporting a suit. I’d never seen Neil in anything besides a pair of jeans.

Clasping his hands in front of him, he searched the sky for a moment. “I know Clay was a man who left a person feeling conflicted most of the time. A man like him is hard to know what to make of.” I wanted to mutter No shit, but the chaplain was watching me carefully. Probably knew the exact words I was biting back. “But I will never forget the first time Garth and Jesse rodeoed together. It was the summer they were eleven years old. Garth was out there on an ornery, old steer—stayed on the whole time, too—and took one hell of a score. Clay was standing beside me, and he nudged me, his eyes focused on Garth, and said, ‘That’s my boy.’” Neil paused long enough to make sure I was looking at him. He nodded, tipping his hat. “That’s how I’m going to choose to remember Clay Black. As a man who was proud of his son, as hard of a time as he had of showing it most of the time.” Dropping his attention to the whiskey cap, he tilted his hat once more before rejoining his family.

The chaplain took it from there, but if someone had asked me what he said, I couldn’t have told them. I didn’t hear another word after Neil’s speech. To say it felt like I’d been hit with the biggest sucker punch of my life would be an understatement. I remembered that day. I’d taken home my first championship belt buckle, and I’d been so sure Clay had been passed out drunk in his truck like I found him later that afternoon. I’d been so certain he missed one of the few times in my life I actually wanted him to be a part of so he could see what I was capable of and maybe, just maybe, feel a moment of pride. I’d believed he’d missed that moment, along with the few others that might have been worth an ounce of pride in Clay Black.

According to Neil, I’d been wrong. Clay saw me that afternoon. He’d said . . . That’s my . . .

I don’t need this shit. Not now. Not ever. Gritting my teeth, I emptied my head and managed to stay silent and in place until the chaplain was finished. It was one of the hardest things I’d done.

As the chaplain passed me, he offered yet another small smile. “Peace be with you, son.”

“Peace has never been a big fan of mine. Or me of it.” My words weren’t meant to be argumentative but informative. Peace and I resided on opposite sides of the universe.

“But like you said, your father’s death has given you a new freedom. Freedom to be and do whatever you like.” The chaplain patted my shoulder before heading toward the trail. “Give peace a try. I can guarantee it’s not as overrated as you might believe.”

“Says the man who says good-bye with peace be with you,” I muttered. The chaplain was out of hearing range, but Josie’s elbow in my ribs confirmed she hadn’t missed it. “And what are you doing here, by the way? I thought you had wannabe cowboys to date, and mean ones who picked fights in bars to avoid.”

“I’m paying my respects,” she replied, refusing to make eye contact.

I huffed. “You hated Clay almost as much as I did.”

“I’m not paying my respects to him.” Turning toward me, her gaze shifted from the whiskey cap on top of the rock to me. I’d told myself hundreds of times, possibly thousands, that I needed to avoid looking into Josie’s eyes at all costs. Every single time she did what she was doing then—staring at me, waiting for me to stare back—I forgot all of my warnings and broke my golden rule: stay away from Josie Gibson. “I’m here to pay my respects to you.”

My eyebrows came together and, before I could figure out what she’d said and what I should say, she threw her arms around me, gave me a quick squeeze, and hurried back up the trail. But not before kicking off her heels to run up it barefoot.

Jesse came up behind me. “What was that?”

“Women are mysterious creatures bound to make a man crazy if he spends too much time trying to decode their every move.”

“Amen.” Jesse chuckled. An exaggerated clearing of a certain young woman’s throat stopped his laugh mid-stream. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about at all.”

“Having you gone so much this year, I almost forgot what a little girl you’ve become.” Spinning around, I patted his cheek. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“I’ve missed you too, sweetheart.” Jesse shoved my chest lightly then tilted his chin down the river. “Wanna talk?”

Jesse had been trying to talk to me for the past few days, but I’d done one of the few things I did best and avoided him. Not because I was avoiding him per say, but because I wanted to avoid anything to do with talking about Clay, what happened, and the all-important what now? The first two subjects I could navigate if need be. The last one, though—the what now?—I didn’t have a fucking clue where to start. So I’d been avoiding, ignoring, and pretty much hiding from Jess.

“Not even remotely,” I answered him, nodding my acknowledgement as the Walker family passed me, heading back up the trail. Truthfully, I was touched they’d come, but hell if I could find the words to tell them so.

“Too bad.” Jesse kissed Rowen, whispered something to her, and shouldered past me to head down the river. I knew where he was going. We used to go down there and skip rocks as kids. As we got older, Jesse came down to fish during the day, and I brought my girl-of-the-hour down at night. Our favorite rock-skipping spot was a couple hundred yards upstream.

“You’re going to be waiting a while, Walker!” I hollered after him.

He kept walking. “See you in a minute then.”

“He is a serious pain in my ass,” I said as Rowen came up beside me.

“Aren’t you two peas in a pod then?” She watched Jesse until he disappeared before angling toward me. “I’m not going to ask how you’re doing, and I’m not going to ask if there’s anything I could do. I know those are the last questions you want to answer right now, and even if you did answer, your answers wouldn’t be honest, so I’ll just skip all the standard protocol if that’s okay with you.”

I smirked at her. “You are a fine woman, Rowen Sterling.”

She promptly returned my smirk. “Flattery gets you nowhere with me.”

I hitched my thumbs under my belt buckle. “And flattery gets you everywhere with me.”

Her mouth opened like whatever she wanted to say was on the tip of her tongue, but she clamped it shut, inhaled, and waited a few seconds. “You know, Garth, if you want to take some time off and get away for a while, Jesse and I’d be happy to have you at our place. It’s not much bigger than the cab of your truck, but the couch is yours whenever you need it. Seattle might not be your ideal scene, but there are plenty of bars chock full of women who’d jump at the chance to have a real life cowboy show them ‘the ropes.’”

Ah, hell. That was exactly what I didn’t want—people treating me differently because my daddy had burned to death. Everyone tiptoeing around me because who knew when I’d lose it. That Rowen was doing it—the one I was sure would be the last one to treat me like a walking time bomb—was a sobering reality.

“No fair. You didn’t warn me that the pity patrol were coming to town.” I wagged my index finger and tried to act like Rowen’s transformation into sympathetic when it came to me, was anything but staggering.

“That wasn’t pity, Garth.”

I laughed one hard note. “If that wasn’t pity, what the hell was it?”

Rowen stepped forward, her eyes narrowing just enough. “That was one misfit telling another misfit that she’s got your back should you need it. That was one misfit telling another that you don’t have to go through whatever you’re going through alone. That was me telling you that you’ve got friends. So lean on them, god dammit. Stop acting like every battle you face is a one-man-war.” Clearly irritated, Rowen headed for the trail. “It doesn’t have to be Garth Black against the whole world, you know. Give your friends a little more credit.” If I wasn’t so shocked, I might have thought about replying. She skidded to a stop, turned around, put her hands on her hips, and leveled me with a Rowen look. “And if you don’t go talk to him in the next two seconds, I am going to spread some nasty rumors about you on the women’s restroom stalls of every public place in the state. Rumors that will ensure the only action you’ll get for the rest of your life will be from the soft side of your hand.”

Lifting my arms, I started down the river. “How can I say no to a woman who talks dirty to me?”

A smile broke on Rowen’s face before she recomposed herself. I flashed a salute at her before continuing upstream. I hadn’t been up that way a while, and I’d forgotten how many damn slippery rocks there were. I caught myself from wiping out every other step, and my slick-bottom boots only made a precarious situation lethal.

“I lost the boots fifty feet back! Might want to do the same if you’re hoping to not break your neck!” Jesse yelled from his perch on one of the tall rocks dotting the riverbank.

“We wouldn’t want the town going and throwing a celebration party if both Black men died in the same week, would we?” I replied, continuing over the treacherous terrain. “Thanks for the tip but no thanks. I’m a cowboy. The real kind. We don’t take our boots off, god dammit.”

Jesse tossed a pebble my way. “Don’t or won’t?”

“With me, Jess, they are one and the same.” After slipping yet again, I finally made it to the rock Jesse had climbed and heaved myself up. “Nice suit, shithead.” The only time I’d seen Jesse in a suit was at a funeral or a school dance. In Montana, men only wear suits for death or dancing. True story.

“Nice lack of suit, dipshit.” Jesse shoved me as I sat beside him, keeping a respectable distance so we wouldn’t look like a couple of love birds watching the river pass by.

“So . . . now that you’ve got me out here which, by the way, is so very serene and inspiring”—I swept my arm dramatically—“why don’t you just let me have it so I can go get shit-faced like I need to. You don’t bury the man who wished he’d never given birth to you every day, you know.”

Jesse almost sounded like he mumbled dipshit, but I couldn’t be sure. Grabbing one of the flat rocks he’d piled up beside him, he flung it out into the river. It skipped five times. Weak. “How are you? What’s going on in that depraved head of yours right now?” Points for getting straight to the point. Negative points for getting straight to that point.

“I’m living the dream, Jess. Fucking on top of the world.” I grabbed my own rock and launched it out into the river. Six skips. I grinned.

“Yeah, you sure look like you’re living the dream.” Jesse didn’t examine the scruff on my face, or the dark circles under my eyes, or the notch I was down to on my belt. His words and tone said it all.

“Yeah, yeah. Bite me. Next question.” One down. Knowing Jesse, probably only a few million more to go.

“Do you need anything? Is there anything . . . you know . . . I can do for you?”

I wasn’t sure who looked more uncomfortable: Jesse or me. “You know, your fee-an-say knew better than to ask those exact same questions. She basically told me she knew I either wouldn’t give her an answer, or if I did, it wouldn’t be a straight one. So what makes you think I’ll give you an answer or a straight one?” I flung another rock, and it barely skipped three times. The stupid Kumbayah conversation was messing with my stone-skipping skills.

“Because I, unlike my sweet one hundred and twenty pound soaking wet fiancé, can and will happily kick your ass in order to beat the answers out of you if need be.” I broke out in laughter. Stomach-grabbing, body-rocking laughter. “What?” Jesse shoved my arm. “What’s so funny?”

After forcing myself to calm down, I answered him. “I can’t decide what’s funnier—you describing Rowen as sweet or being so confident you can kick my ass.”

“Watch it, Black. I can put up with you insulting me all the way to the second coming, but I won’t tolerate for one fraction of a second you insulting Rowen.” He interrupted me before I could say what I was about to. “In jest or not. I’m protective like that.”