Jed stands, helping himself to a cup of coffee from the pot on the side table. As he stirs a bit of creamer into the mug, he brags, “Yep. Tech hub, new schools, and some of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever built.”

  Well, he’s talking, but that’s not new information. I gathered that much from the damn billboard on the edge of town. “That an actual compliment to the architects?” I ask, looking at Winston with a practiced smile.

  Winston shakes his head, while Jed’s smile dims at my backhanded compliment. “Not me. I’m working on the overall development. We tasked a private firm with the floor-plan designs, and will offer a few different options for customization. But the feel of the entire development is my responsibility.”

  “Yeah, this one does a good job making things happen. He turns my crazy ideas into reality,” Jed says. I’m sure he means it to be a compliment to Winston and a dig at me, but I think Winston is learning quickly that if Jed thinks you’re doing well, you’re probably on the wrong path and heading toward nothing good. Jed likes you as long as he can use you, or until you become a potential threat.

  I nod agreeably, letting him have that one. Jed takes the win as he settles back onto Dad’s desk and sips at his coffee. “That’s actually what I was stopping by for.” He looks to Dad. “How’s the zoning progress going? We should be a sure thing by now.”

  This is more like it—the real dirt I want to hear.

  Dad lifts one shoulder, not quite agreeing or disagreeing. “Still have a few holdouts. The city protests aren’t helping either.”

  “Psshaw”—Jed makes a noise of dismissal—“they ain’t doing nothing but arguing with the wind. When they see the money start flowing in, they’ll be singing a different tune. Won’t they?” Jed looks to Winston for backup and he nods dutifully, but I see the look of uncertainty in his eyes.

  “Protests?” I question, giving Jed the floor to bitch and moan in the hopes of learning something useful. Sometimes, the best way is to just open the door and set out the mat . . . and Jed walks his way right in.

  “Damn people so stuck in the past, they can’t see the future or how it’s leaving them behind. Did you know that Cold Springs’ population has been steadily decreasing for the last forty years?” he says, and I wonder who’s playing the politician game now. “If we maintain this rate, we’ll be completely obsolete in the next thirty years. But does anyone want to listen to reason? Of fucking course not. They want to stay in their same house, with the same neighbor, shop at the same store, and don’t give a damn if they die with the city. We’re not going to let that happen. Ain’t that right, Bill?”

  Dad’s obviously heard Jed’s elevator pitch on all the things wrong with Cold Springs, because he jumps right in with part two. “Yeah, it’s hard to be the voice of progress because it’s uncomfortable and scary sometimes. But it’s a necessary growing pain if we want to be successful as a town.” Just for me, he adds, “Leading means doing the hard stuff no one else wants to do because you know it’s for the best. It’s a big responsibility and not always kissing babies and shaking hands.”

  Zing! He aimed that right at me because of my earlier accusations.

  “It doesn’t hurt if doing those things makes you a little richer in the process, though, does it?” Cynicism isn’t a character trait I’m proud of, but it’s hard to ignore it when Dad and Uncle Jed are talking as though they’re the self-sacrificing saviors of a town too stupid to know what’s good for them. I don’t even know all the ins and outs of the subdivision project, but I know that if people don’t want it, there’s got to be a good reason.

  Dad growls, but Jed holds out a staying hand. To my disgust, Dad honors it and lets Jed handle things . . . handle me. “Of course we profit from it. You think we’re doing things out of the goodness of our hearts? Naive boy, money is what makes the world go round. Always has and always will. But that doesn’t make what we’re trying to do here any less right.”

  Having said his piece, Jed stands. He takes one long drink of his cooled coffee and then sets the mug on Dad’s desk. “Let me know when you handle the holdouts, Bill. And, Winston, hope everything’s going well with the wedding plans. You let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. As for you, Wyatt . . . always good to see you, boy.”

  He moves toward the door and Dad stands too. “I’ll walk you out.”

  When both Dad and Uncle Jed are gone, I look to Winston and deadpan, “That went well.”

  He shakes his head in disbelief. “You are something else, man. I don’t know how you’re sitting in that fucking chair with balls that big.”

  I huff a laugh, surprised at his good-natured ribbing. I expected him to give me a hard time too. “Just gotta swing ’em forward as you sit down so they have room. It’s easier than hauling them around everywhere.” I mime carrying two bowling ball–size testicles in the circle of my arms, swinging them left and right and grunting at their weight.

  “You’re an asshole,” Winston says, laughing. “Come on, let’s get out of here before Dad comes back and starts in again on how hard he works.”

  We get up and peek out the door—me looking left and Winston looking right—and seeing that the coast is clear, we escape together like when we were kids. Walking right out the back door like ice couldn’t melt in our mouths, we’re so chill.

  Chapter 8

  HAZEL

  To a lot of folks, tonight might seem weird. A bachelorette party that’s combined with the bachelor party? I mean, where’s the fun in that? No strippers, no craziness, and nobody gets to suck on a dick-shaped lollipop or drink creamy Jell-O shots that are slightly salty from a waitress’s belly button.

  But with all the insanity that’s going to come over the next few days with the rehearsal dinner and wedding, tonight’s party is about the most normal, Avery-like thing I can imagine. Still, it’s not perfect.

  “Did he have to bring his brother?” I grumble as I park my car in front of Puss N Boots. “I mean, really?”

  “He is the best man,” Avery points out, then grins.

  “Ugh, don’t remind me,” I groan, looking across the parking lot as a big black truck pulls up. “You ready?”

  “Duh,” Avery says, getting out and beelining for Winston, who is basically running toward her. They meet in the middle, and he wraps his arms around her waist, spinning her in a joyful circle. They act like they haven’t seen each other in months, not hours.

  Sickening. And sweet as hell.

  Another car pulls up and I see that Rachel’s joined us as well, completing tonight’s party attendance. I get out and cross over to the assembled group, feeling a little bit of something I won’t give a name to when Wyatt immediately ignores Rachel’s already pretty blatant looks to give me a once-over.

  “Miss Hazel,” he says with all that country charm that I know works . . . but can’t be real.

  “Wyatt,” I reply evenly, promising myself that I’m not going to be rattled by him.

  Wren seems to notice my voice, though, and lifts an eyebrow, like she hears something I don’t mean to say. “So how about we see what’s going on inside?” she offers, grinning. “I want to see my brother get his ego checked, and I think Hazel’s the woman to do it.”

  “Can we have some fun first?” Winston asks hopefully, and Wren laughs. “Come on, let’s have fun.”

  The bar’s lively but not too busy, probably because of the sign that Aunt Etta posted on the door: WEDDING PARTY TONIGHT—THEY COME FIRST, YOU COME SECOND. IF THAT’S A PROBLEM, GO FUCK YOURSELF SOMEWHERE ELSE!

  I grin, thinking that even Etta’s notices have semi-intended, slightly sexual overtones. I’m guessing it turned a few folks away at the door, but Charlene looks happy about it as she gives us a wave. “Hey, Etta! Kin’s here!” she hollers.

  I’m a little nervous, to be honest, as Aunt Etta comes out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a bar towel. There’s no telling what’s about to come out of her mouth. “Well, y’all are right on time,” she says, giving us all polite smiles. “Shame Hazel can’t manage that for her shifts.” Etta cuts her eyes my way with the dig, and I stick my tongue out at her, both of us aware that I get here early, stay late, and cover shifts often. “Now, Avery, you and Hazel know the rules, but I’m gonna say ’em anyway so there’s no confusion. Have fun tonight, but keep things on this side of the crazy line. You wanna act up some, I gotcha. But don’t make me tell you twice to keep to the orderly side of disorderly. Got it?”

  “We’re clear, Miss Etta,” Avery says, and Etta gives me a meaningful look. She knows that everyone’s all good intentions and manners now, but I’m the one who’s going to need to step in if necessary so she doesn’t have to. For once, I’m the good cop, and she’s the bad one.

  I’m cool with that.

  I hold my breath when she looks Wyatt’s way, afraid she’s going to throw him out or give him shit on my behalf. Wyatt looks back at her boldly, but I’m glad when he decides not to get into a stare off, ultimately giving her a polite, deferential nod and offering his hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Etta. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Aunt Etta ignores the hand but gives him a returning nod. “Yeah, I was home with my horse the other night when you came in, but I heard all about it. It’s too bad I missed you.”

  She sounds vaguely threatening, like if she’d been here, she would’ve run him over with her truck. Truth is . . . maybe she would have. Wyatt doesn’t miss a thing, but instead of reacting, he gives her a soft look. “How’s your horse now? Better, I hope?”

  Don’t know how he knows it, but Nala is one of Etta’s few weak points, and I swear she softens the tiniest bit at the question about her baby.

  “She’s fine now, all better,” Etta assures him. “Just needed some babying.”

  “Don’t we all?” I ask, grateful at the positive turn in conversation.

  At least I am until Etta adds, “Which means I can focus on y’all tonight.”

  She glances around the group, but puts V’d fingers to her eyes and then turns them around toward Wyatt before giving me an eyebrow lift of warning. Without another word, she goes back behind the bar like nothing happened.

  “I think that’s our cue to find a table and relax?” Winston says, and after a moment of deciding, we find ourselves at one of Puss’s bigger tables. Charlene brings over a pitcher of margaritas to start things off.

  “This one’s on Tay Tay,” she says with a wink to me. “He knows you like it salty.”

  “Thanks, but I think I like things a little sweet,” Rachel purrs, winking at Wyatt.

  Unexpectedly, I feel a bit of cattiness inside.

  Wait . . . what? No, no chance in hell. Can’t be.

  Charlene begins pouring glasses of margarita, but Wyatt holds up a hand. “Charlene, I’m the DD. Would you mind getting me something virgin?”

  Wren leans forward. “Me too, actually.” When Charlene looks at her in surprise, Wren explains, “I don’t drink much.” She glances at Winston, and something passes between them that I don’t understand.

  “Virgin?” Charlene repeats to Wyatt, ignoring Wren’s odd statement. “I bet you’ve had a few of those in your day. Poor things never quite know what they’re doing. You won’t have to worry about that with me later tonight. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  “The only thing I’m doing tonight is making sure my brother gets to the altar in one piece so Avery can tear him up afterward,” Wyatt deadpans, and his humor is so out of left field and unexpected that everyone stops, gawking at him for a moment before we all explode in laughter.

  “Hooo boy, I like the way you think!” Charlene says, grinning as she fans herself with her order pad. “Don’t worry, honey-baby. I’ll get something for you and Birdie in just a moment.”

  Charlene leaves, while Wren stews. “Birdie? You told her about calling me that?”

  “Of course not, but it’s kinda obvious, you know? Could be worse,” Winston says. “I spent months being called nothing but ‘ya bastard.’ I knew Charlene accepted me when I actually got called by my name.”

  “I’ll take the hit for that one,” I volunteer to Winston, who raises an eyebrow. “Well, she was going to call you ‘motherfucker,’ but I told her to be more imaginative.”

  Winston lifts his glass my way, letting me know there are no hard feelings.

  Charlene drops off a couple of drinks for Wyatt and Wren, and Wyatt climbs to his feet. “A toast,” he says, his voice rising above the muted din of the room. Almost everyone quiets, but Wyatt ignores the rest of the room to look at his brother and Avery. “To Winston and Avery. I’ll save the real emotional stuff, and the blackmail material, for the reception. For now”—he pauses dramatically—“may every day see you grow in love, in happiness, and in closeness. To the newlyweds to be.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Winston says, and we all lift a glass to the happy couple.

  We relax, talking and getting to know each other better.

  Well, Rachel’s definitely taking the opportunity to get to know Wyatt better. “So, Wyatt, now that Avery’s got Winston, what sort of woman revs the engine in your Ford?” She giggles like that’s cute and funny.

  “Well, I’m kind of particular,” Wyatt says, leaning back in his chair.

  I take a sip of my margarita and glance over to the pool tables, definitely not hoping that Wyatt gives me a peek into those pants of his.

  I mean, brain.

  I mean, I don’t care in the slightest.

  “Oh really?” Rachel asks, batting her eyes. “Particular how? Like brains and beauty? Because I qualify for that.” Her smile says she’s teasing, but her eyes are completely serious. She looks at Avery, hoping for an assist. “Isn’t that right, Avery?”

  Gotta give the girl credit. She’s definitely got brains and beauty, but she forgot one more thing she’s got in spades . . . balls. She’s flirting hard.

  “Definitely,” Avery says, cutting her eyes to me, “but I’m lucky like that. All my friends are amazing. You, Hazel . . .”

  “Don’t forget me,” Charlene jokes as she brings over another pitcher of margaritas and hears the end of Avery’s sidestep, “because right here’s the best of the best of the best . . . with honors.”

  “And what honors are those, Charlene?” Wren asks wryly, getting Charlene back for the nickname. “And are they available online?”

  Char laughs. “You’ve got no idea to the tricks and skills I’ve got, little Birdie.”

  “I’m sure,” Rachel says, laughing along as she tries to rejoin the conversation and gain Wyatt’s attention.

  I’ve been watching the women volley back and forth, but risk a glance at Wyatt, only to find him already looking at me. I roll my eyes and sit back, enjoying my drink and trying to stay as removed from this as possible because I’m not in this battle for Wyatt’s attention.

  Because the truth is . . . nearly every woman in Puss N Boots, except for Avery and Wren, wants him. And the harder truth is, I’m included. But I’m smart enough to hide it and not throw myself at him.

  Nothing but trouble messing with a Ford.

  “You know, Hazel, you’ve been pretty quiet,” Wyatt says at one point, raising his glass of what looks like ginger ale toward me. “Don’t tell me you don’t have anything to add to the conversation?”

  I lick my lips, tasting the sour lime and alcohol there, and enjoy the way Wyatt’s eyes zero in on the movement. “I have plenty to say, but Avery made me promise to play nice tonight.”

  “You know how to behave?” Winston asks me disbelievingly.

  “There’s a time to behave,” Wyatt tells his brother before zeroing back in on me, “and a time to misbehave.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I ask, and Wyatt raises an eyebrow. “Oh, me jumping on Roddy’s back? That was nothing.”

  “I bet Roddy would beg to differ,” Wyatt argues. “In fact, I bet once sober, he was kicking himself for not enjoying the moment more fully.”

  “Enjoying me attacking him?” I ask, confused.

  Wyatt’s eyes brighten, and I realize I’ve stepped directly into a trap. I’m usually better than this, used to all sorts of setups for cheesy come-ons from customers. But that’s not what Wyatt offers . . .

  “Attacking him? With your knees locked around his waist, your chest pressed to him, and your breath on his neck while you screamed?”

  He makes my banshee-yelling piggyback ride on Roddy’s back sound like something completely different.

  It’s like that for hours. On and off, he and I spar verbally. Sometimes he’s tossing me some pretty blatant comments, other times he’s almost subtle with his come-ons. Meanwhile, I’ve found that trying to irritate Wyatt Ford is fun. He doesn’t show it easily; in fact, the best way I can tell that I’ve gotten one in on him is when he literally doesn’t change his reaction one bit from my last comment. That straight face, hiding his emotions, is more revealing than any of the flirty smiles, deep laughs, or long looks.

  But with each round of stories or comments or jokes, I find myself more and more distracted. He’s not perfect, like some movie producer’s wet dream of a hero. No, he’s too cocky, too zero fucks given, for that. But that means the good things I see are all the more real. Like his affection for his brother and sister. Whatever there is between them, and I think those three have more layers than an onion going on there, he’s got a big heart for them both.

  “Are we going to see this pool face-off?” Rachel asks eventually. “Because I’m ready to see you play with your balls, Wyatt!”

  “I’m going to need therapy for that one,” Wren says, wincing.

  I look over at Wyatt, and the sudden image of him bent over the table, his tight bubble butt filling out his jeans, his big biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt as he strokes his cue has me dry mouthed, and I have to swallow the rest of the margarita in my glass. “Yeah . . . let’s do this.”