Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs Book 5)

by Lucy Score

  24

  Shelby

  I ’d thought for sure I’d be getting naked tonight. Especially after that kiss.

  Instead I was setting the table for three.

  Not that I didn’t like Jenny Leland. She was lovely and bright and funny. She was also the mother of the guy I was trying to see naked. And as such, she was essentially cock-blocking me. However, given Jonah’s uncertainty and all the excitement of the day with pigs and puppies, I was prepared to be patient.

  “Aren’t you just the smartest little guy in the whole wide world?” Jenny cooed at the puppy, who sat his wiggling butt on the floor when she held up one of the treats Jonah had picked up at the Pop In today. He’d been a favorite at the vet earlier. Malnourished and underweight, covered in fleas. But friendly and sweet. He was given a bag of special dog food, a flea bath, and an optimistic bill of health. We were given a coupon to Pet Paradise, a pet store in downtown Bootleg.

  We’d gone on a spree that included food, dishes, collars and leashes, a crate with memory foam mattress, and an entire basket of toys. For our temporary dog.

  A pan sizzled in the kitchen where Jonah was cooking something that smelled suspiciously of vegetables.

  “Can I top off your wine?” I offered Jenny.

  She held out her glass and smiled. “I’m allowed this refill, and that’s it. I don’t think I can survive another Bootleg hangover so early in my visit.”

  She was a pretty woman with short blonde hair and a long, lean frame. It wasn’t hard to guess where Jonah got his quick grin and those gorgeous green eyes.

  “What are you guys going to name him?” she asked me, nodding at the dog while I poured.

  “Jonah and I have gone a couple rounds over it,” I confessed. “For two people who aren’t keeping a dog, we’re putting way too much thought into a name. But we finally settled on Billy Ray, in homage to his country roots.”

  Jenny laughed and studied the dog as he pounced on a green alligator squeak toy. “Welcome to the family, Billy Ray.”

  As if in acknowledgment, Billy Ray tipped over on his back and wiggled in delight.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Jonah called from the kitchen.

  “Need any help?” I asked.

  “Just make yourselves comfortable. I’ll bring it in.”

  “It’s probably something healthy,” I warned Jenny. “But I picked up a pie from the bakery for dessert, so we just have to make it through the vegetables.”

  “You’re adorable,” she observed. “I can see why my son is interested in you.”

  I felt my face flush with pleasure at the thought. Was this a weird conversation to be having with a potential sexual partner’s mother? I was of the opinion that the United States was a bit too prudish about something as natural as sex. And that opinion often led me to make people uncomfortable in polite conversation. For instance, how the physical connection accomplished through sex was often pursued as a way to feel more connected, less alienated or lonely.

  Not exactly dinner conversation.

  “Ladies, please give my vegetable and beef stir-fry the standing ovation it deserves,” Jonah announced from the doorway of the dining room. He hefted a wok, the contents still steaming. And still smelling healthy.

  Jenny applauded. I sniffed apprehensively.

  “A few bites, and if you hate it, you can nuke your nuggets,” he promised me.

  “Jonah is trying to expand my palate,” I said to Jenny.

  “It’s stunted in four-year-old territory,” he explained to his mother.

  “Really?” She asked pulling out a chair. “What’s your favorite meal?”

  “I rely heavily on small microwavable pizzas and chicken nuggets. If I’m feeling fancy, I go for a box of mac and cheese.”

  “Jonah tells me you’re pursuing a doctorate in social work. Have you experienced any of the phobias associated with being a restrictive eater?”

  I lit up, remembering Jenny had been working on a psychology degree when she’d gotten pregnant with Jonah.

  He rolled his eyes and dished out the food while his mother and I debated the social stigmas of picky eating.

  “Speaking of eating habits,” I said, changing the subject before he got bored. “I heard you had ice cream with a few of Bootleg’s eligible bachelors this afternoon.”

  Jenny smiled and looked at her plate. “I met a very charming hardware store owner,” she said.

  “Jimmy Bob Prosser certainly is handsome,” I prodded.

  Jonah didn’t look exactly thrilled over the turn in conversation, but he didn’t get defensive either. Points for him, I decided.

  “And then I spent some time with Gibson. He showed me his shop.”

  Jonah looked up from the stir-fry. “Gibson Bodine?”

  Jenny nodded, looking amused.

  “He willingly took you to his place?” he pressed.

  She laughed. “He did. He showed me the cabinets he’s working on right now. It’s this custom bar for a client in Perrinville. They’re stunning. He does incredible work.”

  “Mom, I lived here for six months before I even saw the man’s driveway,” he said.

  I pushed a snow pea around my plate trying to soak up as much of the sauce as possible to drown out the vegetable-ness. I took a breath and popped it in my mouth. It wasn’t my favorite. But the sauce was nice. I could probably choke down a few more bites, make a good impression.

  “I think he’s kind of lonely,” Jenny mused.

  I slapped the table enthusiastically. “I think so, too!”

  “He’s not lonely,” Jonah argued. “He’s a loner. There’s a difference.”

  “He can be both,” I insisted.

  “I really like him,” she said. “Scarlett, too. It’s hard not to fall in love with her. And Jameson and Bowie seem like good men.”

  “They’re a tight family, good people,” I supplied.

  “Good people waiting to find out if their father was a drunk and a murderer or just a drunk,” Jonah said.

  I stuffed a bite of beef in my mouth. He never talked about the “situation.” Not around me. I knew he was protective toward the Bodines, but I was still curious how he felt about it all.

  Jenny reached over and took his hand. “Your father, their father, was no murderer. I’m sure of that.”

  “That’s all well and good, Mom. But opinions won’t give either family any peace,” Jonah said. “We ran into the Kendalls this morning, and you can just see the toll this is taking on them.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “The investigation has been going on for quite some time since Scarlett found the sweater in her father’s things after he passed away,” I explained.

  I was curious how Jenny felt about the father of her only child and his untimely death, his unhappy life. But, again, the dinner table probably wasn’t the place to dig into those questions. “I think everyone is frustrated and fatigued without any firm answers. We may never know for sure what happened to Callie Kendall.”

  “Jonah’s wife, Connie, died in a car accident about a year after the Kendall girl disappeared,” Jonah told his mother. “Now they’re saying there’s a possibility that it wasn’t an accident at all.”

  Jenny fumbled her fork, and it fell to her plate with a clang.

  Billy Ray woke with a start from his nap under the table and started barking. Then the barking switched to howling.

  “Definitely some beagle in the little guy,” Jonah shouted over the ruckus.

  “Billy Ray! Quiet down, now,” I said, poking my head under the table. The dog looked surprised by his own big voice.

  Jonah’s phone rang in the kitchen. He glanced down at his fitness watch. “Huh.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Scarlett’s calling, and I just got a bunch of messages from Bowie.”

  He left the table and answered his phone.

  “Slow down, Scar. What channel?”

  From the table, Jenny and I watched him pace i
nto the living room and turn on the TV.

  The evening news anchor was talking about Callie Kendall.

  I pushed my chair back and hurried to join Jonah in the living room.

  “The skull had been missing from the skeletal remains found a few weeks ago outside of Cleary. The human remains were discovered during excavation for a housing development. Experts believe the bones are between eleven and thirteen years old, a timeline that coincides with the high-profile disappearance of sixteen-year-old Callie Kendall. With the discovery of the skull, investigators are confident the remains will be identified through dental records,” the anchor said.

  “Yeah, I heard it,” Jonah said into his phone. “Okay. Thanks.” He disconnected the call and tossed his phone on the couch.

  He shoved a hand through his hair. “Am I an ass for hoping the Kendalls aren’t about to get the closure they deserve?”

  “You’re not an ass,” I assured him.

  “Jonah,” Jenny began from the doorway.

  Just then the doorbell rang, and the dog tore out from under the table, barking his sweet little head off.

  “Jeez, Billy Ray,” Jonah complained.

  “I’ll get the door. You get the dog,” I yelled over the ruckus.

  I pulled the front door open and stopped in surprise. “Mom? Dad?”

  25

  Jonah

  “Surprise!” the couple at the front door sang in unison.

  Then Shelby was flinging the screen door open and jumping into their arms.

  “That Scarlett sure has been busy,” Mom observed behind me. I nipped Billy Ray under his little puppy armpits and picked him up. He licked my face with enthusiasm.

  “What are you two doing here?” Shelby asked, pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek and another to her mother’s. He was tall and broad, and I could tell where GT got his shoulders. She was softer, quieter, and had a good four inches of leg on her daughter. Both had a good amount of silver in their hair—cropped short for him and poker-straight and shoulder-length for her.

  Adopted, I remembered when I searched for the familial resemblance that would tie Shelby to them. But there didn’t need to be a physical link. Not when they were all so obviously happy to see each other.

  “We missed you and your brother,” Shelby’s mom said, giving her daughter another squeeze for good measure.

  “And your friend Scarlett gave us a great deal on a rental for the week,” her father said cheerfully.

  Shelby turned and met my gaze.

  Damn that Scarlett Bodine.

  Of course my sister had had available rentals while telling us we had to cohabitate.

  “Well, get in here! Was GT surprised to see you?” Shelby asked, ushering them inside.

  My mom and I shared a short, meaningful look. Both of us wondering why Shelby assumed they’d go to GT first.

  “We came straight here,” her dad insisted. “Your brother’s been good about emailing, but you, young lady, keep trying to disappear off the face of the Earth.”

  Shelby laughed nervously. “I’ve just been—”

  “Busy,” her parents finished for her.

  “I can see why,” her mom said, eyeing me from the doorway.

  Billy Ray scrambled up my chest and stuck his nose in my face.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Jonah and not our dog Billy Ray. And this is Jonah’s mom, Jenny. Jonah, Jenny, these are my parents Darlene and James.”

  Introductions were made, handshakes exchanged. “How about I open another bottle of wine?” my mother volunteered.

  “I’ll get more glasses,” Shelby said. The two of them ducked into the kitchen. And the Thompsons watched me expectantly. Well, Darlene watched me. James made kissy noises at the dog.

  “Are you two hungry?” I asked. “We’ve got plenty of stir-fry.”

  “Stir-fry?” Darlene said, her eyebrows arching. “Chicken nugget stir-fry?”

  “Har har, Mom,” Shelby called from the kitchen. “Jonah’s forcing me to eat better to help my training for the triathlon.”

  “Triathlon?” James brightened, looking interested.

  I assumed the father of a professional athlete probably had an innate enjoyment of sports.

  “Triathlon?” her mother repeated.

  Shelby and my mom returned with glasses of wine. “I signed up for one at the beginning of August. Jonah is a personal trainer and is helping me get ready for it.”

  Darlene looked surprised. “Here,” I said, handing her Billy Ray. Puppies made everyone happier.

  “Oh, look at this sweet face,” she said in rapture. “What happened to his poor little neck?”

  “Someone tied this poor baby up with a rope.” My mom and Shelby filled them in on how exactly we found him.

  “An escaped potbellied pig led you to him?” Darlene asked, returning to surprised.

  “That escaped potbellied pig is your grandchild,” Shelby told them. “So be prepared for that when you get to GT’s.”

  “Welcome to Bootleg Springs,” I said, raising my wine glass to them.

  * * *

  My mother was with James and Darlene on the front porch admiring the slow set of the sun through the leaves while Shelby and I cleaned up in the tiny kitchen.

  “That kiss today,” I began, keeping my voice low.

  “You mean our interrupted experiment?” she asked, amused.

  “Yeah. That.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Jonah,” she assured me, nudging me with her elbow. “If and when you’re ready to experiment again, you know where to find me. I don’t want to rush you into being the most memorable no-strings-attached sexual experience of my adult life.”

  I appreciated that. “Thanks,” I said. “I think I need to go see my brothers, and maybe you want to spend some time alone with your parents.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Shelby agreed. “Why don’t you take Billy Ray with you? Puppies make everyone happier.”

  “I like that you think about other people,” I said, reaching out and tracing her lower lip with my thumb.

  “Well, that was a sweet thing to say,” she said, sounding baffled.

  I grinned and brushed my lips over her bangs. “I’ll see you around, Shelby.”

  “Bye, Jonah.”

  I rounded up the pup and packed half of his belongings in case he needed a snack or a drink or a toy or flea medicine. I said my goodbyes, kissed my mother goodnight, and dialed Bowie on my way down the driveway.

  “I feel like we should hang out, talk,” I said.

  “Jameson called me five minutes ago. I was just getting ready to text you,” Bowie said. “Gibson’s in fifteen?”

  “Sounds good to me. I’m bringing a special guest,” I warned him.

  “Yeah, well, I’m bringing a twelve-pack.”

  Gibson’s house was a good half-mile up switchbacks and hairpin turns. I had no idea how the man made it home in the winter.

  I was the first brother to arrive. I ignored the house, an austere log cabin built on land that had once belonged to his grandfather—our grandfather, I corrected—and followed the lights coming from the workshop. It was the large metal pole building that Gibson spent more time in than his actual house.

  Snapping the leash on Billy Ray’s collar, I put him down. “You’d probably better pee out here before we go in there. If you piss on one of Gibson’s custom cabinets, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

  As if not willing to sully his first impression, Billy Ray sniffed and lifted his leg on a sapling.

  “Good job, buddy.”

  He did two more good jobs before we made it to the shop door.

  I skipped knocking, since the music was loud, and let myself in. The smells of polyurethane and sawdust melded together in a satisfying scent of manly productivity. Toby Keith belted one out on the speakers mounted in the rafters.

  Gibson was at a workbench against the wall organizing hand tools. He had an open root beer in his hand. Gibs didn’t drink. Ever.r />
  He tapped his phone, and the music’s volume cut in half. “What the hell is that?” he asked, pointing the bottle at the dog at my feet.

  “That’s your temporary nephew, Billy Ray.”

  He bent at the waist and slapped his thighs. “C’mere, buddy. Come on!”

  The dog perked up and, deciding the big man with the surly expression looked like a good source of attention, bounded across the concrete.

  “That’s a good boy,” Gibs said, ruffing the puppy up. Billy Ray dissolved into ecstasy and flopped over on his back inviting belly rubs.

  The door banged open again. Bowie, followed by Jameson, strolled inside.

  “I got beer and root beer,” Bowie announced, holding up two twelve-packs. “Who wants?”

  I caught the can he tossed in my direction.

  “What the hell is that?” Jameson asked, looking at the dog now cradled in Gibson’s arms.

  “That’s Billy Ray, my special guest,” I told them, filling them in on the day of pigs, puppies, and surprise visitors. They took turns asking questions and calling bullshit on the fact that I walked a mile carrying a fifty-pound pig. Even going so far as to text George for confirmation.

  Small talk complete, we drew up stools around a relatively clean work table. Billy Ray contented himself to fall asleep in Gibson’s arms.

  “So,” Bowie said, popping the top on a beer.

  “So,” Jameson repeated.

  “Not much to say,” Gibson said, staring down at the puppy. “Either it’s her, or it’s not.”

  “What happens if it is?” I asked.

  “I talked to Jayme on my way here,” Bowie said. “If the remains are Callie’s, there’s still only circumstantial evidence connecting Dad to her.”

  “And he’s still dead,” Gibson said. He sounded more resigned than bitter.

  “The Kendalls will get closure,” Jameson said. “But we’ll have that shadow hanging over the rest of us.”

  “We’ve dealt with shadows before,” Bowie said. “We’ll handle this one, too. It doesn’t change who we are.” He looked directly at me. “None of us.”