by Liza Kendall
“‘Sittin’ britches’? Really? Nobody talks like that, and especially not you.”
Grady smirked. “Just playin’ up my local yokel for you. Seriously, you came home to Silverlake in that getup? Who’re you trying to impress?”
Rhett shrugged. “Look at it as armor. And coming home is a relative term.”
“You got all citied up just to put Deck’s back up, didn’t you?”
Rhett’s lips twitched. “‘All citied up’?”
“You bring your golf clubs, too?”
“Screw you. You’re just jealous.”
“Maybe a little,” Grady said.
“It could have been you, too,” Rhett pointed out. “You could be crunching numbers right next to me in Dallas during the week and painting that crap nobody else understands on the weekends.”
Grady shrugged. “I like playing the market for fun, but I never had your talent. I’m okay where I’m at. As long as you keep sending me that good bourbon.”
Rhett smiled. They both knew the truth. That it was Rhett who was jealous, not Grady.
Grady laughed, then sobered up. “You seen Jules yet? Because—”
“Yeah.” Rhett nodded.
“—she’s gonna be in a horn-tossin’ mood when she finds out that you bought—”
“Yeah.”
“—the property, thanks be to Jesus that you did. Really, man, I cannot thank you enough for bailing out my dad.”
“De nada. But as for horn-tossing . . . I sent flowers to your sister to, uh, pave my way, so to speak. She tossed those instead of her horns. Tossed the bouquet right into Frost’s stall.”
Grady chuckled. “She did not.”
“Oh yes, she sure as hell did.”
“That is such a Jules thing to do. Sorry. She’ll get over it in time. She wanted to run the stables, you know . . . make it her own.”
“She will run it. I’ll just give her some business advice here and there.”
“Can’t thank you enough for that, either, man. This place is her life.”
Rhett couldn’t help feeling gratified. Jules wasn’t seeing it yet, but he was trying to make up for being such a heel. He’d helped out her dad, saved her job, and addressed his guilt toward Grady all in one fell swoop. It was a win-win situation. But he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—strut about it. Not cool.
“Stop,” he told his friend. “It’s an investment, and that’s all.”
Grady nodded and punched him gently in the shoulder. “An investment in getting into the good place upstairs, maybe. If it weren’t for you I’d be cashing in my retirement. And if it weren’t for your stock tips, my retirement wouldn’t be what it is.”
If Jules has her way, I’ll go straight to the bad place. “Oh, shut it, Grady. I’m no saint.” Little do you know just how unsaintly I am. Or what I did with your baby sister. And what I’d like to do again . . . and again.
“Eyes of the beholder, bud.”
Rhett averted his eyes from Grady the Beholder, before Grady beheld the guilt and shame that racked him. Before he sniffed out the betrayal. And the lust that he still had for Jules. How had he gotten himself into this mess?
Chapter 4
Jules squinted at the two oafs outside her stables: Rhett subtly self-congratulatory and Grady unsubtly grateful. She couldn’t stand it. She kicked the nearest hay bale, hard. Then she kicked it again.
Men. Thought they could just run her world. “Save” her—poor little girl with no college degree, baby sister. Helpless. It set her teeth on edge.
She grabbed a pitchfork—feeling that she needed horns and a tail to accessorize it—and went for the wheelbarrow again. It was conveniently still outside Frost’s stall. She unlatched the half door and led him out, then secured his halter and lead to a ring outside. She dug out the flowers and the now-pungent damp sawdust, filling the entire wheelbarrow, and almost growled at the sight of her brother and Rhett, casually walking back into the barn. She wheeled out her load to meet them.
“Hey, Grady. I’m pissed at you for withholding information.”
He loomed over her from his six-foot-six-inch height. “I’m doin’ just great today, thanks, sis. How ’bout you?”
She ignored that. “Thought I showed you the way out,” she said to Rhett, her tone overly polite. “You get lost already?”
“You know, Jules, we can hire that done,” he told her, gesturing at the wheelbarrow.
“Oh, ‘we’ can, can we? With what funds?”
Grady whistled. “Easy, now, girl.”
Rhett blew out a breath. “You know I’m going to inject some capital into the business . . .”
“No, I didn’t. See, nobody has discussed any of this with me,” she reminded him sweetly. “And I’m as capable of digging out a stall as anyone.”
“It’s not a question of your capability; it’s whether you enjoy it or not.”
“It’s part of my job,” she said flatly.
“And I’m saying we can get you a hand—”
Jules glared at him. “Unlike some people, I don’t consider myself too good for manual labor.”
“That’s a cheap shot.”
“Is it? I can’t afford any other kind, right now.”
“Just because I’ve done well does not mean I think I’m better than anyone. Here, give me that.” Rhett strode forward, suit, cuff links, and all, and tried to wrest the handles of the wheelbarrow away from her.
“Let. Go,” she said between her teeth.
Grady unwisely stepped in. “What is up with you, Jules?”
“What’s up with me? My temper is what’s up!”
“No kidding.”
“You and Mom and Dad have been sneaking around me, keeping secrets, and treating me as if I’m a toddler. Dad—all of you—know I’ve always wanted this place, and you conspire to sell it out from under me to this—this—city slicker, here, without telling me!”
“City slicker,” Rhett repeated, looking amused.
She shot him a dark look, then turned back to her brother. “I’m not five, Grady. I’m twenty-five!”
“Then you’re old enough to know that this is the best possible solution for everyone. Dad’s off the hook and can focus on getting better. Mom can look after him. You keep your job with no stress, and Rhett’ll turn this place around and make it profitable.”
“I had plans! I had dreams! Nobody even asked me . . .”
“Dad didn’t need to ask you,” Grady said, a bit brutally. “Now, I’m sorry that you feel this way, but it’s time to grow up and deal gracefully with the situation. Why don’t you say ‘thank you’ to Rhett, instead of being so rude?”
Beyond furious at being told a second time by the men in her life to thank Rhett, Jules dropped the wheelbarrow and flipped Grady the double bird. Not so classy, maybe. Not so ladylike. But it made her feel better.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing! Everything!” Jules shouted at them both.
Grady looked at Rhett.
Rhett looked back at Grady.
“You on your period, or something?” Grady asked.
That did it. She officially lost her temper. Jules picked up the wheelbarrow again and tipped the mess of stinky wet sawdust and drooping flowers right onto their feet before stomping away, back inside the barn.
How dare her brother say that to her? And it wasn’t even true!
* * *
“Jules!”
It was a heartfelt—if somewhat sodden—welcoming chorus from the Schweitz’s Tavern Friday-night regulars. The tension of the day began to slip away immediately; nothing quite like a mess of friendly faces when you’re feeling low.
Schweitz’s was a Silverlake landmark, one of the oldest German businesses in the Texas Hill Country. The interior was lined with repurposed barn wood. Th
e tables were either old whiskey barrels topped with hammered copper or picnic tables flanked by benches. The walls were hung with not just the obligatory beer signs, but also wagon wheels, mirrors lined with horseshoes, and black-and-white historical photos of the town. Every Monday night at Schweitz’s was polka night, but this evening the sound system played a mix of rockabilly, country, and rock. A track by Two Tons of Steel played as Jules made her way to the bar.
At the table by the door, Old George and Rafael, off duty from the firehouse, hoisted bottles in the air by way of greeting. Behind the bar, Otto saluted her with a towel. Rhett’s little sister, Lila, and her roommate, Amelie, looked up and smiled before turning back to discuss what looked like a plan for world domination. Maggie gave a wave from the bar, where she sat next to town attorney Perfect Bridget, who was pressing a black and silver glitter sticker onto the nail of Maggie’s pinky finger.
Jules raised her palms and gave a double wave to her hometown crowd before hopping up on the vacant barstool next to Bridget.
Bridget’s perfect, classic Louis Vuitton bag hung from the back of her stool, and her auburn hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. Her makeup looked as if it had been applied by a professional for a photo shoot. She wore her signature pink cowboy boots with a barely-there denim mini and a fluffy angora cap-sleeved T-shirt that would have made Jules look like a bear. It somehow accentuated Bridget’s curves and contrasted with her bare, perfectly tanned legs. Jules wondered whether she was cold in the March chill—no sign of goose bumps—or if she was just permanently, annoyingly hot.
“Is it true?” Bridget asked her.
Jules gave her a dark look. “Yup.”
Bridget’s jaw set. That prosecutorial look she’d perfected in law school made her eyes glitter. “I think it’s bullcrap, Jules, I really do. You could have done so much with that place. If you were the sort to sue your own father, I swear I’d help you.”
“I’m not suing my own father,” Jules said with a laugh. “I don’t suppose I could sue Rhett?”
“Aww, sue a Braddock?” Bridget said, making a hilarious sad puppy face. “That’d be like spitting on the historical marker at the end of Main Street. I wouldn’t do it, and I have as much of an excuse to wanna make a Braddock cry as you do.” Bridget—the girl who seemed to effortlessly get whatever she wanted—hadn’t been able to keep Rhett’s brother Jake, though she’d been his girlfriend for a time.
“You should definitely try to make Rhett Braddock cry,” Maggie said cheerfully. “You get those flowers?”
“Oh, I should have said right away. I swear I took a moment to appreciate the time and effort you put into that. They were gorgeous . . .” Jules winced.
Maggie looked amused. “But?”
“But I’m sorry to say that they did not survive the day.”
Maggie finished the dregs of her beer and waved for another. “Given that his credit card payment went through, I choose to be neither upset nor surprised.”
Jules shot her a rueful smile. “Thanks. For understanding.”
Maggie shrugged. “I’d say the gang’s all here, except no Mia. A-gain. Did she find better friends or something?”
Jules tensed, not about to give anything private away. “Oh, you know. She’s got her side business going . . . it’s a lot of work.”
“I don’t understand why she works so hard. That house of hers is spectacular. Bigger than the old Nash place . . . and Rob let her keep it.”
Otto saved Jules from having to answer when he slid a beer bottle each to Maggie and Jules and poured a third beer into a glass that he slid to Bridget. “Prost,” he said, lifting the empty bottle before heading to the opposite end of the bar to take another order.
“I really want to kill Rhett,” Jules muttered after taking a tiny sip and suddenly realizing she didn’t want the beer after all. Her head hurt and beer wasn’t going to fix that. The only thing that could fix the stress she was under would be the quick departure of Rhett Braddock from this town, her stables, and that place she’d like to excavate in her heart.
“Kill him with kindness,” Bridget said. “He’s not going to be around for long anyway. He’s a city boy now. I’m more likely to see him when I’m in Dallas on business than you are to see him here in Silverlake.”
Jules shook off an unwelcome wave of jealousy.
Bridget looked Jules straight in the eyes. “Obviously, you’re not sitting in my law office paying me gobs of money to solve your problems, but I can tell you this. The best way to handle Rhett and still maintain some control over your situation is to make friends with him. So if you’re butting heads with him, back off.” Bridget leaned in close and gave a sly grin. “Better yet, try cultivating closeness. Might make it more . . . tolerable.”
Jules cocked her head, trying to read between the lines of Bridget’s statement.
“Okay, well, that sounds more fun than suing somebody,” Maggie said, wiggling her fingers and examining the stick-on nail polish that now graced all ten digits. “He may be a snotty rich boy, but he is hot.”
“And exactly how is Rhett’s hotness relevant to this conversation? It’s not like I’m going to sleep with him.” Er, well, not again.
“He’s actually more than just a snotty rich boy,” Bridget said, suddenly a little prickly.
Maggie and Jules quieted. Snotty rich girl was something people said about Bridget, too. “I didn’t mean—” Maggie began.
“I’ve gotten to know Rhett better in Dallas,” Bridget said, pulling a hot-pink lip gloss from her bag. “Well, whatever you think about him, Jules, it doesn’t change the situation. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Okay, who’s gonna go to the powder room with me?”
Maggie did the honors, and the two women headed to the ladies’ room.
Alone on her end of the bar, Jules took a moment to admire the new mechanical bull that Otto had talked Schweitzie into installing. He was a handsome fellow, a Longhorn, of course. But someone had stuck an aluminum pail under it and taped a sign to his butt for Fool Fest. It read, MILK ME.
She laughed. Even old Tom Fullery himself would have applauded.
Tom Fullery, a wool merchant by trade and one of Silverlake’s first settlers, was immortalized in bronze at the east end of Main Street. He had created Fool Fest, which had originated as a bastardization of his name into Tom Foolery, because he liked to play practical jokes on his employees, friends, and neighbors.
Tom’s most legendary prank had been to ensure that the local priest, Father O’Donnell, had gotten well into his cups on the last night of March 1887. And on April 1, 1887, the same priest had woken up on the roof of the Catholic church, his bed roped to the steeple. He’d rung the bell repeatedly in order to be helped down . . . and when he was, he’d tried to ring Tom Fullery’s bell, too.
The priest had been crowned Silverlake’s very first King of Fools, and was roasted at the town’s very first Feast of Fools. The tradition had grown from there into a monthlong celebration of good humor (for those playing the jokes) and good sportsmanship (for those on the receiving end).
Jules had fished her phone out of her bag to see if Mia had texted to cancel when the tavern door swung open again. Just as with her own entrance, everybody swiveled to see who it was, beers raised high. But this time there was a tiny pause, a moment of stunned surprise, as none other than Rhett Braddock came through the door in his city duds.
Acid burned in her stomach at the sight of him, while a silent question hung in the air: Is he still part of this town or not?
And then Lila Braddock looked up from her conversation with Amelie and saw her brother. She leaped up, knocking her chair to the floor. With a sheaf of cocktail napkins fluttering in the air around her she yelled, “Frankly, I do give a damn!”
Rhett—and the entire bar—busted out laughing as Lila launched herself at him. “My brother’s
finally home!”
And, just like that, any awkwardness disappeared.
Jules couldn’t help but be moved by the reunion. Rhett looked so genuinely pleased, as if he was actually surprised by his sister’s enthusiasm. Being so close to her own brother, Jules couldn’t imagine things any other way, and it made her sad how things had gone so wrong for such a nice family.
Doesn’t mean he has to stampede into the middle of things with your family, said the angry voice still there in the back of her head. But when Rhett’s gaze finally tore away from his sister and met Jules’s own, she had Bridget’s advice in the back of her mind.
And truth be told, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to have an excuse to keep Rhett Braddock closer. She cast a guilty look at his soiled shoes. She should probably apologize for dumping that muck on them. Grady had deserved it far more than Rhett.
Jules felt, more than saw, several pairs of eyes swivel to her, then to Rhett, then back to her. It really was a small town. Word had gotten out about the Holt sale, and people wanted to see how she was dealing with it. Ugh.
No matter what she’d done out at the stables, no matter how soiled Rhett’s shoes might be at the moment, she wouldn’t add to the gossip. She’d hold her head high if it killed her.
“Otto!” she called. “I’d like to buy that man a beer.”
Rhett’s eyebrows shot up almost comically. “You would?”
“Absolutely,” she said, pasting a delighted expression on her face. “We’re celebrating your purchase of my dad’s property.”
“We are?”
“This guy is a hero!” Jules said to everyone within earshot. “He is helping my family out of a jam.”
Lila cocked her head and squinted at her, as if she saw right through the charade.
Next to her, Bridget swallowed a chuckle and said under her breath, “You learn fast, don’t you?”
“That I do, Bridge. That I do.” Then she shut up as Rhett, a local IPA in hand, made his way over to say thank you.
