by Score, Lucy
“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.
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.”
I nodded. And most of me believed him. The four of us were already better than the man who’d made us. I just hoped that the rest of the world would see that.
“Now that that’s settled, I’d like to ask y’all to be in my wedding,” Bowie announced.
Billy Ray woke with a start and sneezed in Gibson’s face.
Wiping puppy saliva off his face, Gibs grinned. “What’s in it for us?”
“All the root beer you can drink,” Bowie offered.
“We can probably make ourselves available,” Jameson mused, answering for all of us.
“When is it?” I asked.
“First weekend in August.”
“Well, hell. You’re not wasting any time,” I observed, checking the calendar on my phone. First weekend in August. Shelby’s triathlon. That would require some juggling. Two events that I didn’t want to miss.
“I’ve waited a long-ass time,” Bowie said. “And if it were strictly up to me, we’d be gettin’ hitched tomorrow.”
“Suits me,” Jameson mused, looking at the bandages on his fingers. “My ring is finally done. Now it’s just figurin’ how to pop the question. No interference with your engagement or your wedding, of course.”
“Appreciate it, Jame,” Bowie said, clinking bottles.
“Now that that’s settled, let’s talk about Jimmy Bob Prosser gettin’ all tongue-tied around Jonah’s mama today,” Gibson said, stroking the puppy’s head.
26
Shelby
“Well, that was an eventful day. Puppies, pigs, and parents,” I said, passing Jonah in the hallway outside of the bathroom. He was shirtless—did the man ever bother with a shirt?—and his shorts rode low on his delightfully defined hips.
How much half-naked man could a girl nerd take before she snapped?
I made a note to research unrequited lust tomorrow. People could die from broken hearts. What were the side effects of unused, inflamed sex organs?
“Yeah. What’s with Scarlett surprising everyone with their parents?” he asked, stretching. The muscles in his chest and abdomen moved hypnotically.
“Huh? What?” I said, trying to snap myself out of the physical attraction fugue state.
“Scarlett. What’s with her springing our parents on us?”
Tearing my gaze away from his impressive torso, I bent down and picked up Billy Ray. “Maybe it has to do with the fact that she doesn’t have any herself,” I hazarded a guess. “Maybe she’s curious about them? Or maybe she feels like our family is partly her family, and she’s staking a claim?”
Jonah nodded and leaned in to scruff the puppy’s head. I caught a whiff of his deodorant and toothpaste.
“He sleeping with you tonight?” he asked me. Billy Ray had barely survived fifteen minutes in the crate downstairs while we swapped bathroom time. His little yips and pathetic howls were too much for either of us to handle.
“We’ll give it a try. He’s so exhausted he should sleep like a rock,” I predicted with new dog mother optimism.
“Night then. Sweet dreams, both of you,” he said. One more scruff for the puppy, a long curious look at me, and then Jonah headed into his bedroom.
“Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, Billy Ray,” I muttered. I knew Jonah needed time to get used to the idea of there being an “us” no matter how temporary. But I hoped I wouldn’t spend the entire summer in a state of unrequited lust.
In bed, the novelty of cuddling with a puppy lasted all of twenty minutes. The damn dog seemed to be confused. Nighttime was for sleeping, not for playing and barking and biting the pillows.
It went on like that for another half an hour until Jonah burst in without knocking. Wordlessly, he pulled Billy Ray out from under the bed where he’d begun howling.
Jonah took the dog and closed my door.
Ridiculously relieved, I fluffed my slobbery pillows and settled in for a dog-free sleep.
Then the howling and barking started across the hall.
It was a small, old house. The walls weren’t exactly soundproof. I pulled a pillow over my head. But I was listening now. Some kind of biological motherly instinct had kicked in, and I was rigid with worry that Billy Ray was going to make himself sick if he didn’t calm the heck down.
I could hear Jonah talking to him in low tones. He could have soothed me to sleep like that. But the dog was having none of it.
The clock on the nightstand read 2:35 a
.m., and I punched my poor, innocent pillow. I had things to do tomorrow—correction, today—that required a good night’s sleep. A swim and a bike ride. Lunch with my parents. And four solid uninterrupted hours of working on my paper. I was just on the other side of the flare. One sleepless night and too many obligations would put me right back where I’d been. And I wouldn’t be able to hide it from my parents.
“Damn it,” I whispered into the pillow.
Billy Ray gave a particularly mournful howl, and my feet hit the floor. I was moving on exhausted instinct.
I opened Jonah’s door with a creak. The man was sitting, still shirtless on his bed. The puppy was biting at the blanket, snarling playfully.
Billy Ray spotted me first and gave a happy yip.
“It’s not play time,” I said sternly.
“He keeps running to the door and whining,” Jonah explained.
“Does he have to go outside?”
He shook his head, yawned. And I remembered that Jonah had a 7 a.m. boot camp class at the high school. “I took him out half an hour ago. I think he wants to go sleep in your room.”
“Nice try,” I said, flopping down on the bed next to him. “He wasn’t interested in sleeping in my room either.”
Jonah’s room was significantly bigger. There was a brass queen-size bed, a dresser next to the closet door, and a tiny seating area with two mismatched armchairs under the saltbox roof that poked out over the back porch. The window overlooked the backyard and woods.
Billy Ray gave up his war with the blanket and trotted over to me. I stroked a hand from head to tail, and he flattened himself like a pancake on the mattress.
“Is he going to sleep?” Jonah whispered.
“I can’t tell if he’s falling asleep or if he’s just gearing up for his next bed linen assault.”
The pup’s little belly rose and fell.
“You’re the damn puppy whisperer,” he said.
I yawned. “What were we thinking, rescuing a dog?” I sighed.
“It’s just temporary,” he said, returning my yawn. “We’ll find the cute little bastard a nice family he can deprive of sleep.”
I couldn’t look at him directly. Jonah’s hair was sleep-tousled. The shadow of stubble on his jaw took his sexy factor up another ten points. And those sleepy green eyes did something strange to my chest region. Sleepy, stubbly man and sweet puppy were making me feel… things. Confusing things. Twin pulls of physical attraction and now affection warred for my attention.
“I’m going to try to sneak out,” I decided. It was pure torture sitting on a bed with Jonah. Shifting on the mattress, I tried to ease away, but Billy Ray rolled to his feet with a disgruntled yip. I moved to the edge of the bed, intent on getting away from sexy, sleepy Jonah.
But the pup followed me and pawed pathetically at my leg. He cocked his head to the side and gave me the look.
“What’s happening?” I whispered.
“You’re falling in love with him,” Jonah yawned. “And he’s using it against you.”
“I don’t think he wants me to leave.” I was so tired. So very, very tired. And Jonah’s bed was so inviting. So very, very inviting.
“Just lie down for a few minutes. Maybe he’ll settle if he’s between us?”
Superb idea. I’ll just lie down in Jonah’s bed and continue not having sex with him.
* * *
I woke to the loud blaring of an alarm that wasn’t my own followed almost instantaneously by the howl of a puppy in desperate need of the bathroom.
“Shit. Don’t pee, dude.”
My eyelids sprang open, and I launched woodenly into a seated position.
I was in Jonah’s bed. I’d slept with Jonah. Also a dog.
The man was scrambling out of bed, and the warmth that was evaporating from my back? The only hypothesis that made sense was that Jonah had been spooning me. I felt my back, hoping for some kind of six-pack ab fossil.
Jonah, in a hurry and very focused on not letting Billy Ray pee in his bed, grabbed the puppy and dashed downstairs.
I flopped back on the pillow, noting that Jonah’s pillow was pushed up next to mine. I’d slept the sleep of the exhausted and missed out on waking up cuddled against my roommate’s hard body. My roommate that I wasn’t having a physical relationship with.
It was a lot of disappointments for 6 o’clock in the morning, I mused.
“Damn it, Billy Ray. You were two feet from the door,” Jonah grumbled from downstairs.
Well, since I was awake, I might as well get up and tackle that swim, that run. Get them out of the way.
When I got downstairs, Jonah had a shirt on in the backyard and there was a clump of paper towels soaking up the puppy pee on the kitchen linoleum. Like I said. A lot of disappointments.
Judge Henry Kendall, of missing daughter fame, eyed for federal judge appointment.
Bootleg’s own Judge Kendall considered for higher calling.
Father of teenager missing for thirteen years considered for federal judgeship.
27
Shelby
The cabin Scarlett arranged for my parents to rent was halfway up the mountain. It had a front porch with a spectacular view of the lake and town. The green siding made the building seem as though it was part of the forest that surrounded it. It was cute enough that I temporarily forgot to obsess over the fact that I’d woken up in Jonah’s bed… without having had sex with the man.
I sipped my coffee on the blue plaid couch and listened to my parents as they alternated naturally between their two favorite forms of communication: good-natured bickering and finishing each other’s sentences.
In my professional opinion, James and Darlene Thompson were suitably matched.
As their daughter, I thought they were just about perfect. My stint as a social worker had given me an intense sense of gratitude for growing up in the family that I did. My parents were steady, loving, and interested in their kids.
“Begone, woman,” my dad said, playfully pushing Mom out of the galley kitchen.
“You’re cutting the sandwiches wrong,” she insisted.
“And they’ll taste exactly the same,” he shot back, wielding a container of mustard in her direction.
Laughing, Mom joined me on the couch. Her hair was pulled back in a short tail today, and she was wearing comfortable hiking shorts and a t-shirt. Vacation Casual Darlene also had a tube of Rosy Mauve lipstick in her cargo pocket.
After thirty-five years of marriage, Mom still wore lipstick every day, and Dad still got her flowers on the seventeenth of every month in homage to their first date.
Of course, they weren’t perfect. Mom hoarded greeting cards. GT liked to joke that she made new friends just to have more birthdays and surgeries to celebrate. And Dad. Well, Dad considered himself a handy man when, in reality, they would be better off calling in a professional. The coat closet light still turned on every time someone used the toaster in their kitchen after Dad’s DIY wiring job.
“So, before GT and June get here, tell me about this gorgeous roommate of yours,” Mom said, tucking her feet up under her on the cushion next to me.
“Not only is he gorgeous and built like the human version of a racehorse, but he’s also very smart and very nice,” I told her.
“And you’re sure you’re just roommates?” Mom prodded.
I didn’t want to get her hopes up and then dash them when I went back to Pittsburgh or on to wherever my career took me. “Just friends,” I insisted. Just friends for now. Hopefully sex-having friends soon.
“Have you tried pretending you forgot where your room was and walking into his in a towel?” she asked, her face serious.
“Mom!”
“Kidding! Kidding,” she promised. “You two looked like you were getting along. And I’d love to see both of my kids living their happily ever afters.”
Her heart was in the right place. But her nose could stand to be removed from our business.
“Speaking o
f,” I said grasping for a subject change. “What do you and Dad think of June?”
“She is abrupt. Inflexible. Sharply intelligent. And—”
“Absolutely perfect for GT,” Dad interrupted. He joined us in the living room. A mug of coffee in one hand.
My mom beamed at him. “In short, we’re thrilled. She’s so different from the women he’s dated the past few years,” she said.
My parents were devout believers in karma and tried never to speak ill of anyone. The “women” my brother had dated before June could be neatly labeled attention-seeking gold diggers. But we were too polite to mention it.
“Tell us more about your survey, Shelby,” Dad insisted, settling his broad shoulders back into the armchair. He may have been wired to love football, but Dad never shirked his fatherly interest when it came to my studies.
I unleashed the nerd girl in me and filled them in on the responses I’d received so far, regaling them with the nuggets of small-town life.
Before long, we heard a car in the driveway.
I peered through the front window, watching as GT and June got out of his SUV. They raced around to the hatch.
GT carefully lifted the pig out of the back and carefully checked her leash and harness while June gave her a good petting.
“Your grandpig is here,” I announced.
My parents burst through the front door greeting GT and June—and Katherine—as if it had been months rather than hours since they’d last seen each other.
It made me want to check in on my own little family.
Me: How’s BR?
Jonah replied immediately with a picture of the puppy sound asleep on his back, his paws frozen in the air as if mid-run.
Jonah: Now the little punk sleeps.
I thought of how I’d woken up that morning. With the ghost of Jonah’s body heat still warming me. How could I broach the subject without being weirdly clinical about it or awkwardly clingy?
