Below us, the quiet lights of overnight Great Falls turn to activity as trucks start to appear on the roads and people walk along the sidewalks to get to work.

  “You were right, you know . . .” Willow says, her voice trailing off.

  “I usually am, but what was I right about this time?” I tease.

  I feel her cheek puff up against my chest from her smile at my cocky joke. “You’re a great tour guide.”

  Still teasing, I squeeze her a little tighter. “Don’t you wish you’d said yes sooner then?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I think I’m glad you kept coming back for dinner and we got to talk first. It made this more . . . more.”

  I know exactly what she means. I won’t say I’ve never been to Lookout Point, which is more commonly called Make-out Point by the local teenagers, but with the time to get to know Willow and see beneath the pretty exterior and beyond the magnetism I feel, tonight has been something truly different.

  Even if it was just greasy burgers, cold fries, and another sunrise, because it was with her, it felt like the first time. She made it special.

  8

  WILLOW

  “Tell me everything. And don’t you leave one single thing out or so help me, I will pull the truth out of you with interrogation techniques only Chief Gibson is allowed to use,” Olivia threatens me the next day.

  I should be tired. I only slept for a few hours before coming in for the Friday lunch rush, but I’m buzzing with pent-up energy. Because I know Bobby’s coming in for dinner again tonight.

  “I told you. He was a perfect gentleman. We had dinner⁠—”

  “At Lookout Point,” Olivia says, interrupting me. She’s already heard this story three times, but I think she’s hoping that, in repetition, I’ll let her in on some new secret. Maybe she’s been paying attention to Chief Gibson? Or bingeing late-night crime documentaries like me?

  “And watched the sunrise. He played his guitar and sang, and I took pictures. You want to see those again too?”

  I took hundreds of pictures last night, playing with my settings to get the lighting just right to capture the stars, the town, the beauty. And Olivia has seen all those pictures, along with the select ones I posted to my blog last night and this morning.

  I didn’t show her the ones I took of Bobby when he started really getting into his songwriting, though. It’d been like seeing a private side of him, and I’d felt like a voyeur but hadn’t been able to turn away from the gut-wrenching process he went through to get the song to come to life. He played the same few chords at least a hundred times, humming under his breath and finally getting louder as he felt it improve bit by bit. Eventually, the hums had become words, his every thought and emotion laid bare right in front of me with no filter or façade. It’d been beautiful to witness, a true gift, and those pictures are private. They’re not inappropriate, there’s no skin showing or anything like that, but Bobby’s heart is blatantly and vulnerably wide open in each and every shot.

  Olivia sighs, disappointment written in the roll of her eyes. “No, unless there’s some naughty pictures mixed in there that you forgot to show me?” she asks hopefully, batting her lashes at me with her hands clasped below her chin.

  I glare at her. “No naked pictures. But after Lookout Point, he drove me home, walked me to my door, and kissed me good night. Or well, good morning because it was after sunrise?” I shake my head, unworried. “He kissed me goodbye, how about that? And he said he’d see me tonight for dinner, like usual.”

  “You lucky bitch!” Olivia exclaims. I shush her when a family of four glares over at her language, but she’s on a roll. “I am so excited for you. And for me.”

  “You?” I ask, my brow furrowing.

  “Girl, I got a front-row seat to the one and only Bobby Tannen falling head over heels for you and your getting swept off your feet so fast you didn’t know what hit you. Hell yeah, for me. This is exciting stuff!” The mom at that table lifts her hand and Olivia waves back to let her know she’s coming. “I want to hear the kiss part again after I get this lady another glass of tea.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “Can you say die-ah-beet-us? I mean, I could’ve given her a straw and pitcher if I’d known she was gonna go through five glasses before her burger is even ready.”

  Quick as can be, Olivia is off, getting the lady a glass of tea with a smile that belies the smack she was just talking before checking on her other tables too. Truthfully, I’m not in a hurry for her to get back and needle me into repeating the kiss story again.

  I kept it short and sweet and honest. Bobby walked me up to the porch of my little cabin and pushed my hair behind my ear. He’d gotten in close, pressing me against the front door. Sandwiched between him and the door, I’d felt just how much he wanted me. Let’s just say it was . . . a lot. Like more than I’ve ever had in so many ways type of a lot. Then he’d cupped my face like he had at the bar and bent down to kiss me as I lifted up to my toes.

  That was what I told Olivia, but the real truth was that Bobby had knocked my socks off with that kiss. It’d been sweet and sensual, passionate and powerful. He took his time, his kiss a drawled-out, unhurried expression of need and desire. And if I’d been a different sort of girl, I probably would’ve done something slick like open the door behind me and pull him in with me. But I hadn’t. If I’d done that, I probably would’ve fallen inside and busted my ass on the wood floor, and Bobby would’ve laughed before helping me up.

  He would kiss my boo-boos better, I bet.

  I groan at the errant thought. I’m not innocent by any stretch, but I get the feeling that what I consider sex and what Bobby Tannen considers sex are two completely different things. And like my Mom always told me, I need to experience things with reckless abandon. I think Bobby Tannen is one of those things for sure.

  I only have time to cut one lemon before Olivia is back. She hops up on a stool in front of me and muses, “Okay, where were we?” Her palms slam on the bar. “Duh, the kiss. Spill it, girl. Every dirty, filthy, detail.”

  I can feel my cheeks warm and renew my efforts at cutting lemons and not my fingers. “I told you already. He was a perfect gentleman . . .” —Olivia’s eyebrows lift high in disbelief— “who kissed the hell out of me.”

  “I knew it,” she snaps gleefully. “Are you sure he wasn’t leaving this morning after a night of wild sex and you’re just making up the Lookout Point all-nighter?”

  My face blanches, which is way worse than the pink of embarrassment. “No! And hush!” I really don’t need that getting out because according to Bobby, the grapevine of Great Falls is thick and wide and moves faster than the speed of light.

  Olivia laughs at my reaction. “Chill. I’m just kidding. Trust me, everyone knows he didn’t spend the night because they all heard his truck rumbling down the street and were peering through their blinds like Gladys Kravitz so they’d be the one in the know. Fair to say, that kiss had an audience. Forewarned is forearmed, so know that when you do have a certain male companion overnight, everyone will know in approximately point-oh-two seconds and will be judging how you’re walking the next day.”

  I pray she’s exaggerating and at the same time fear that she’s not. At all.

  The door creaks, and Olivia is up and at ’em again, seating the newcomers and leaving me to my lemons and swirling thoughts.

  Why is this such a big deal to everyone?

  Which leads into something even more important, why is this such a big deal to Bobby?

  And most important of all, why does this feel so deep to me?

  Last night, in the black blanket of the night that made it feel as though it was only the two of us, this thing between Bobby and me felt so big and powerful, which made it seem perfectly reasonable and full of possibilities. By the light of day, alone with my thoughts, I have to think I was imagining that or overreacting or something. People don’t fall that hard, that fast. Do they?

  Maybe . . . sometimes, they do, a voice whispers hopefully in my head. Or maybe in my heart. I’m not sure since they sound pretty similar to me.

  For now, I choose to ignore the questions playing on a loop in my mind and also choose to pretend that no one is looking at me and whispering. Instead, I help the folks at the bar, pull beers and drinks for Olivia, and get set up for tonight’s weekend rush.

  “This seat taken?” a voice asks a bit later, and I look up to see Unc’s friend, Doc Jones, smiling at me.

  “It is now,” I reply, pushing a menu his way. “What’s your pleasure, Doc?”

  He waves off the menu. “Whatever Ilene’s cooking today is fine by me. And a Coke, please.”

  I place his order and set an already sweating glass in front of him. He takes a healthy drink and sighs gratefully. “Needed that sugar. Been up since before dawn helping a bobcat that got stuck in a trap. Damn things shouldn’t be out like that, anyway . . . the traps, not the bobcats, obviously. We’re in their world, you know? But we can’t have ’em eating up the livestock either. Rock, hard place.” He shrugs one bony shoulder.

  I nod, not sure what to say because wildlife rescue is woefully out of my area of expertise. “You help the bobcat?”

  “Of course I did!” he says with a touch of pride. “His leg’s a bit messed up, but it’ll heal. Took him to a rescue a few towns over. Just getting back, and figured I had time to eat before anyone else started looking for me.”

  He holds one gnarled finger to his lips, telling me shh as though I never saw him here. I smile agreeably and he nods his appreciation.

  He’s halfway through his pan-fried pork chop when he says, “I’m glad you came. He needs you, even if he’s too much of an ass to admit it.”

  He’s talking about Unc, no doubt.

  “Glad to be here and helping.” It’s the truth. Great Falls now seems like a step in the right direction, and the morning view of the mountain is one of my favorites as I sip at my coffee. Okay, so it’s not ‘morning’ exactly, since it’s usually creeping up on noon, but it’s my morning with the hours I keep.

  “You got plans on how long you’re staying? I hear that might be changing.” One of his eyebrows climbs questioningly.

  I ignore his dig for intel on Bobby and me and focus on Unc. “However long Unc will let me stay, I’m here.”

  Doc’s eyes narrow. “He’s going to try to run you off, you know that, right? And that’ll be when he needs you the most. Don’t let him, ’kay?”

  I consider that carefully, weighing my words. “What makes you say he’ll need me more than I need him?”

  Everyone who’s asked has gotten the same answer out of me—that I wanted to get away from the city, needed a change. There’s no reason anyone should think or suspect that I’m here for any other reason, but Doc Jones sounds like he’s thinking something else entirely. Like he knows I didn’t show up here in Great Falls randomly looking for a change of scenery but that I was sent here by Mom. For Unc.

  “He’s needed someone for a long time, Willow. Well before now, but he’s old and grumpy like me. Old fellas like us don’t much like figuring out that we can’t do what we once could. Hurts our fragile egos.” He smirks as he talks about his ego, like the word alone is funny.

  “Your ego is probably the only thing fragile about you. And Unc’s the same. Tough as shoe leather down to the core,” I tell him, hoping the compliment eases over the truth of Unc’s fragility. Especially given that he’s not here.

  He’s usually the first one in and the last one out, but he called at noon and asked if I’d be okay on my own, saying he had some ‘shit to do’. He’d been sketchy when I asked what he was doing, and I suspect it includes a whole lot of nothing. But I keep that quiet, not telling Doc because I would never throw Unc under the bus, even with his friends. I’ll cover for him, always.

  Doc nods, adding sagely, “We’d like to think so. We’d like for everyone else to think so even more.” He finishes up his pork chop and sips at the last of his drink before flagging me down again between rounds of helping Olivia. “Will you see if Ilene will make me a plate of scrambled eggs and toast to go? Or something bland like that? Think I’ll run by the house and see if I can get that stubborn mule to eat something.”

  He’s not talking about a donkey and we both know it.

  He’s going to check on Unc, which means he knows something’s up. Actually, looking at the ‘nothing to see here, move along’ blank stare on Doc’s face, I can see why he’s good at poker. He’s got a great bluff. But I read him loud and clear, as he intends for me to.

  He doesn’t suspect, he knows something is up, especially with Unc not being here, and he’s following up with his friend. Hopefully, Unc will take the support from Doc better than from me, though he’s leaving his baby in my capable hands today and I doubt he’ll be in tonight. So we’re essentially babysitting for a weekend night too, a major trust move on Unc’s part. Or desperation. One of those. But I’m choosing the positive . . . that he trusts me, Olivia, Ilene, and Daniel to take good care of the bar.

  “I’m sure Ilene won’t mind a bit,” I answer, leaving the rest for later examination. “I probably won’t have a chance to check on that mule until tomorrow morning, so thank you for going by.”

  Doc nods, and dismissed, I go back to get him a full box of goodies for Unc, hoping he’ll eat something.

  “Three JDs and Coke, two Girly Beers, and one draft Miller Lite. Got it,” I tell Olivia, and though she looks like she’s not listening, her nose buried in the tickets she’s flipping through, she nods affirmatively.

  “Lemme run this to table twenty, and I’ll be back for them,” she says, and she’s off. I have no idea how she can work this whole floor alone, but she does. I’ve worked at bars half this size that would have three waitstaff running around like chickens with their heads cut off. But Olivia is cool as a cucumber and everybody’s happy. Maybe it’s the slower pace and the friendlier vibe in town, or maybe she’s that good, or some combination of the two, but it makes working the bar with her a pleasure.

  I pull her drinks, setting them on the end of the wooden top for her to grab, and turn back to check my own spaces at the bar. Everyone’s drinks are full and they’re talking among themselves. Not even Richard is here tonight, and I wonder if he’s at Unc’s too. Maybe Doc pulled the lunch shift and Richard took the dinner one? Since I’m not sure, I’ll go by early in the morning, maybe take Unc some of those doughnuts Bobby told me about and see if some sugary, greasy goodness tempts him to eat.

  I’m unloading my third run of the dishwasher when I sense him. My smile is already spreading on my face when I look up to find Bobby leaning over the bar. I have less than a heartbeat to react before he grabs me around the back of my neck and pulls me toward him for a proper hello.

  His kiss is a mint-flavored claiming of my mouth that leaves no corner unexplored or possessed. I feel more than hear him hum, “Mmm.” With two quick smacks that promise much more, he pulls back, and I fall back to my heels, only now realizing that I’d lifted to my toes to reach him too. “Missed you today.”

  His tone is heavy, but even so, I think he’s kidding. I mean, I know what he said last night and this morning, but it’s seriously been maybe ten hours and he’s been working, same as me. I’ve thought of nothing else all day, but he probably hasn’t given me a thought until he was on his way here. But that’s okay, he’s here now and quite obviously happy to see me. His eyes scan me from head to toe, seemingly in awe of what he sees. I don’t understand why—I’m just me—but the intensity in the depths of his eyes, the relief at merely seeing me again, is near palpable.

  From behind him, a deep voice barks out a laugh. “That’s putting it mildly. Dumb fuck wouldn’t shut up all day. Willow-this and Willow-that. If he hadn’t been talking about you all damn week, I would’ve thought he’d taken up with a tree.”

  Bobby takes the teasing good-naturedly, to my surprise, throwing up a middle finger behind him to whoever spoke but grinning as he does so. He explains, “I’ve been holding ’em back with promises of introducing you when you were ready. Well, ready or not, here they come.”

  He steps to the side, and I realize that the group of folks behind him aren’t the latest rush for the bar to grab a round of beers but Bobby’s entire family. The extended one. I can tell who is whom from listening to his stories.

  His oldest brother, Brody, dark and broody, and Rix, short and savage and currently picking what looks to be grease from beneath her nails. I hand her a napkin, which she takes with a dip of her chin.

  Brutal, the teaser who is, to put it nicely, scary as hell and as tall as a tree. Not just any old tree, either, but one of those Christmas trees you think looks grand until you get it in the house and the top bends sideways because it’s smooshed up against the ceiling. That’s Brutal. Even with several feet between him and the ceiling, he just feels . . . big. Next to him is a blonde wearing white frayed-hem shorts, a blingy tank top, and a kind smile. That’d be his wife, Allyson.

  Another lighter version of Brody, grumpy and seemingly put out at being out, so that’d be . . . Mark Bennett. He’s got his arm locked around Katelyn, a curvy blonde whose eyes haven’t left his. They seem to be having some sort of silent conversation that even from here feels private.

  A blonde guy wearing a big belt buckle and holding hands with a pretty brunette, who’s eyeing me curiously. That’d be James and Sophie Bennett. She works for Doc Jones, and he speaks highly of her intelligence and work ethic.

  And last but not least, a younger-looking woman with honey brown hair, who is currently bouncing on her boot-covered toes and being held back by another blonde guy. Luke and Shayanne Bennett, A.K.A. Bobby’s sister.

  “Let me at her. I’m a hugger, it’s who I am!”

  “Shay, she’s working. And she doesn’t even know you. Hugging could be construed as assault,” Bobby warns.