Maybe that’s the wrong thing. Maybe he doesn’t want that?

  “Thank fuck. About damn time you catch up to me, woman.” And with that, he reaches across the bar, his palm cupping the back of my neck to pull me toward him, and kisses the hell out of me. I don’t think anyone is going to need to see his truck in my driveway to know that our date went well and that not only am I officially Bobby Tannen’s girl, but he’s officially my man.

  He kisses me long and hard and with a self-satisfied smirk, sits back on that barstool. I grab my phone out of my pocket and hold it up.

  Bobby smiles for me, the panty-melting grin he flashes when he’s on stage holding the audience in his hand. But right now, it’s for an audience of one. Me. Click.

  I hold his hand on the bar, our fingers interwoven together. His are rough and the cuticles cracked—the hands of a man who works every single day of his life. Mine are small, my nails short and bare, adorned with only the silver thumb ring Mom gave me for my sixteenth birthday and the tiny pinky ring that fits to my first knuckle. I frame the shot just the way I want, catching the texture of our skin, the difference in our skin tones, and the way even his grip seems both possessive and tender at the same time. Click.

  I don’t alter the picture in any way, posting it straight to my blog with a caption that simply says, Love Is Real with a heart emoji.

  This is my version of shouting it from the front porch. I’m yelling loud and proud, virtually jumping up and down as I wave my arms around like a wild woman. This is my happy dance. I just can’t dance for shit. Hence, the less than zero chance you’ll ever see me pull a Coyote Ugly. Bar rule number four is in effect. Indefinitely, perpetually, forever and always.

  16

  BOBBY

  “Guess you’ll have to come to Hank’s tonight, ma’am. Sorry, I don’t do impromptu private shows,” I tell Mrs. Perkinson, holding out her weekly order of jam.

  One part of me thinks she orders so frequently as a way to have someone to talk to, even if it’s only for a minute on the front porch, because she’s a grumpy bitch, something I do not say lightly because Mom raised me to not speak about the elderly that way. But that brings me to my other theory, which is that she orders just so she can bitch at my brothers and me because her own kids don’t come by. It’s so bad that Brody flat out refuses to deliver to her anymore, leaving me and Brutal to her sharp words.

  I guess the third option is that she’s addicted to Shay’s jam, but even as delicious as it is, that somehow seems less likely when Mrs. Perkinson’s mouth starts running.

  “I would not step foot in that Devil’s den.” She harrumphs. “Alcohol, dancing, filthy music, and filthier men. Bless their hearts.” Her sneer is judgmental and catty as she places her hand over her heart, which irritates the fuck out of me. We all know that ‘bless their hearts’ has nothing to do with an actual blessing. It’s an insult if ever there were one.

  “Sounds like my kind of place, which is why I sing there twice a month. As you’re well aware.” Boom . . . mic drop.

  She looks me up and down like I’m a pile of dog shit on her porch. “Well, maybe you need to sing something a little more classic, see if it’ll save your soul. You should try Amazing Grace,” she suggests. “It’s a beautiful song.”

  I grunt and spin on my heel. I actually do a kickass version of that, but I ain’t going to sing it. There’s no use in arguing with her. It won’t do either of us a bit of good, and I have three more deliveries to make before I can see Willow.

  The next delivery is to Esme’s house, and though I try to be quick about it, she starts asking questions about Willow and me. “Everyone says your first date was this week, but it wasn’t, was it? It was when you two came through my drive-through.” I don’t answer and she keeps going. “I told Julianna that, but she didn’t believe me. Said it didn’t count because you might’ve just been friends then, but I saw the way Willow was looking at you and women do not look at friends like that. No siree.”

  “Gotta go.”

  Get me the fuck out of here. Hell, I’d rather sing Amazing Grace than this.

  Esme waves and calls after me, “See you tonight at Hank’s. Break a leg! Not literally, of course.” She laughs. “It’s a theater expression for good luck.”

  I climb in my truck and gun it down the street.

  Thankfully, the next delivery is no big deal, a quick and easy drop off. No muss, no fuss, the way we all prefer it.

  The last one, though . . .

  Shit. Loretta Landrum. She’s been trying to get in my pants since the day I turned eighteen. Literally diving in and trying to unzip them herself.

  I never wanted her hands on me before, definitely don’t want hers or anyone else’s on me now. Only Willow’s.

  I ring the bell and step back from the door, planning to keep space between me and Loretta. When she opens the door in a too-small bikini, I take another step back.

  “Oh! Bobby! So sorry, I was getting ready to lay out in the back yard for some sun when I heard the bell.”

  “Mmmhmm.” She was definitely sitting in the living room, her body barely half-covered, waiting for me to make her scheduled delivery.

  “Come on in. I’ll get us some lemonade. Maybe you could help me put suntan lotion on my back. It’s hard to reach, you know?” Her hips sway, her fingers twirl her hair, and her teeth bite into her bottom lip.

  “No. Here’s your jam.” I’m being crystal-fucking-clear what I’m saying no to, my voice hard and my eyes narrowed. Manners? Hell, I’m not even playing at being rude. I’m letting all my thoughts of revulsion shine like a grimy diamond.

  Have some damn pride, Loretta. You’ve been throwing yourself at me for years at this point, and it’s never gonna happen.

  Loretta flinches and doesn’t move to take the jam I’m holding out, so I set it on the porch and walk away. It takes her a second to recover, but she calls out loud enough for the neighbors to hear, “Bye, Bobby. Thanks for coming over. I’ll see you again tonight!”

  Muttering under my breath to myself, I climb in the truck. The whole town’s gonna be talking about my fucking delivery route today. Brutal can do this shit next week. I’m out.

  The parking lot at Hank’s is so full that I have to park around back. But with a knock on the back door, Daniel lets me in.

  “Hey, man! Good to see you,” he says, holding out a fist. I bump it and offer a smile before heading into the bar to find my girl.

  She’s holding court behind the bar, of course. I watch for a second, enjoying the sight of her simply working. She smiles and fills glasses for customers, making small talk along the way.

  She gets down toward Hank, who’s sitting by the beer taps. That’s become his new perch. Willow’s handiwork, it seems. He’ll do anything for her, the same way I will. Hell, I suspect most people would. She’s just someone you want to treat right and do nice things for because she does them for everyone else.

  She laughs at something Richard says, her smile wide, and swats at the bar as though she’s admonishing him. But it’s all in jest. She’s comfortable and right at home.

  And now that I see her, I am too.

  I make my way through the crowd easily, people moving out of my way. A few say hello, but I ignore them, my eyes locked on my target.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” I drawl, and that pretty smile of hers goes brighter than the sun.

  “Bobby! Look at this crowd. All here for you!” Her excitement would be infectious if I gave a shit about any of these people.

  Actually, that’s not true. Across the bar, a loud voice I recognize calls my name, and I glance over to see my family at the one table that will hold them all.

  Willow follows my eyes and explains, “Shay called earlier and asked me to reserve it for them since they were coming to see you perform tonight.”

  The crowd, I don’t care about, but my family coming means something to me.

  But first things first. “Come here.” The growled order is too quiet for her to hear, but she knows what I want anyway and leans forward to meet me across the bar.

  I hold her cheeks in my palms gently and take her mouth the same way. Her tongue slips into my mouth too, and she tastes like sweet tea. She probably has a glass stashed somewhere behind the bar to sip on while she works.

  Around us, there’s a chorus of ‘aww’, and Willow blushes prettily when I let her go.

  “You two are the cutest and all, but I really need some margaritas,” Olivia sing-songs, not looking remorseful in the slightest at interrupting our greeting.

  Willow smiles sweetly and says, “Say hi to your family for me. I’ll stop over there if I can. I have a good feeling about tonight, like there’s something in the air.” I lift my eyebrow questioningly, and her shrug is almost shy, though she’s nearly vibrating with energy and anticipation. “I just know you’re gonna be amazing is all. I haven’t seen you perform since that first night, and now it’s . . . different.”

  I peck her lips once more, loving that she admits how serious things have become so freely now. “Yeah, it is. I’ll make sure to tell everyone to tip my girl.”

  Her laugh is all mine, and time freezes for a moment as I breathe it in, breathe her in with all her light and positivity, her heart shining through in everything she does. Even a laugh at a stupid joke from me, one I meant sincerely.

  I am the luckiest son of a bitch alive because this woman has let me into layers of herself that she protects from most. My hidey-hole grew into a recliner, and now I’m hanging up neon letters on her heart so that I can shine throughout her, exploring and claiming every bit of her soul.

  “Margaritas—that’s just lime juice and tequila, right?” Olivia deadpans like she’s going to slip behind the bar and make them herself.

  Willow rolls her eyes, reluctantly leaving me so she can get back to work. I watch for one more second, drinking her in with my eyes. Eventually, I make my way across to my family and sit down in the booth as they make room for me.

  Scanning, I see someone’s missing. Two someones. “Where’re James and Sophie?”

  “Babysitting duty with Cooper and Cindy Lou,” Brutal answers. “I think Sophie was tired because she had to assist with a foal delivery early this morning. Pretty sure she volun-told James he was doing Kid Patrol while she took a bath and turned in early.”

  “Good for her.” Shay’s statement is punctuated with a high-five to Allyson. “Sometimes, we have to declare it a self-care day and follow through.”

  I have no idea what self-care is. It sounds like girl code for masturbating, and if that’s so, I definitely do not want to have that conversation with my sister. That’s Luke’s responsibility.

  Luckily, I don’t find out the answer because a woman comes up to the table. I don’t know her, or at least I don’t think I do. She’s got full hair and makeup done, and there’s a guy standing a foot or so behind her. She looks at me directly. “Hey, so this is probably weird and all, but could you sign this picture for me? Please?”

  “Huh?” I wish I could say I came up with something more insightful, but confusion is all I’ve got right now. “Picture?” There, that’s slightly better.

  She holds up a black and white picture of Shay’s goat, Trollie, and a Sharpie. “Please?” she repeats.

  “Uh, why?” I have no idea what me and Trollie have to do with one another.

  She blinks in confusion.

  That makes two of us, woman.

  “This is you, isn’t it?” She uses the cap of the marker to point to the arm holding Trollie. “That’s your tattoo.” She looks to my bicep where the Roman numerals are lined up in memory of Mom.

  Brody recovers first, though the whole table is looking at the woman like she’s grown a third eye in the middle of her forehead. “Where’d you get that?” he growls, and the woman jumps.

  Her guy takes a small step forward and puts his hand on her lower back protectively. But he’s not challenging Brody. No one is stupid enough to do that, not even a random dude in a bar. Give him credit for guts, but Brody would mop the floor with this guy if he had to. “It was on the blog,” the woman repeats. “Willow’s blog? A Day in the Life of a Tree?” She’s explaining my girl’s work to me like I’m a clueless dumbass. “There was a whole bunch of goat ones, but this one is . . . you.” She’s losing steam, and certainty, though she’s absolutely right. That is me and Trollie. “I just printed it out because I thought it’d be cool to have you sign it.”

  I take the marker from her, defusing the situation and silently telling Brody to take it down a notch. “Yeah, that’s fine. I just didn’t see that picture on there so it threw me. No worries. Here.” I sign my name—my first autograph!—and hand it back to her.

  “Thanks so much!” she gushes, any nerves dissipating into bubbles of joy as she looks from the picture to me. Brody and his growliness are all but forgotten. She turns around to the guy behind her, who smiles congenially at her, but when she looks down at the photo again, he looks to me like ‘whatcha gonna do, man?’ I chuckle a bit at the poor sap.

  “Found it!” Shay squeals. “Oh, my cheesus and crackers, she posted like ten pictures of the goats. Here’s Baarbara, and Trollie, and . . . Oh, here’s George too.” She’s scrolling, not showing any of us her phone so we can see too. But I believe her.

  “Did you know about this?” Brody asks.

  I shrug, not bothered in the least about the pictures. The random asking for an autograph was weird, but kinda cool in a way, now that I think about it. “I told her she could take pictures of me any time she wants, and she asked about that one. I just hadn’t seen it. She’s really careful about not showing faces and stuff, though. Said it helps people put themselves in the experiences better if there’s not an actual person to relate to. That’s why it’s always bits and pieces and parts, not a whole face or body shot.”

  Luke snorts. “Body shot.”

  Shayanne pats his leg, grinning conspiratorially. “Later. Look at this!”

  She spins her phone around, showing everyone the picture Willow took of our hands. I did know about this one, but seeing the caption she added does something hot and fiery to my insides. Maybe love is warm and fuzzy for some people, but it makes me want to strut my ass back over there and finally fuck her on the bar.

  Love is real. Her words, my thoughts exactly.

  Fuck yeah, it is, sweetheart.

  Allyson and Katelyn ooh and aah over Shay’s phone while the guys smirk at me. Actually, Rix smirks too, but then she leans over and whispers something into Shay’s ear, and Shay giggles.

  But none of these assholes are any better. I’ve watched every damn one of these men get wound tighter and tighter around their women’s pinky fingers. I’ve wanted that too but never felt it until now.

  We talk for a bit longer, and a couple more people come up to chat, one with me, and one with Luke about a horse for sale. Before long, it’s time for me to hit the stage.

  As I step out on the small, makeshift stage I helped Hank build, a calm comes over me. Eyes being on me is usually something that irritates me, pricking at my skin like needles as people judge me.

  Those poor Tannen boys. Did you hear about their mother? Did you hear about their father?

  Bobby, he’s the nice one, though that’s not saying much because those brothers of his are hellions through and through. And the sister? Well, poor thing never had a chance.

  Cross the street and don’t look him in the eye, or he’ll probably fly off the handle again. Anger management problems, the whole lot of them.

  Pity he could never do anything with that God-given talent. Some people just don’t get the same opportunities as other folks do.

  Here, onstage, none of that matters.

  They think they know me because I stand up here and willingly bleed myself dry for their enjoyment. The truth is, I hold the power with every chord. I choose what I share, what stories to tell, and how they see me.

  I’ve perfected several images. A rough cowboy with a heart of gold. The asshole who’ll beat the shit out of anyone who gets in his way. A hard-working farmer with a voice filled with gritty honesty. The man everyone wants but no one gets.

  There’s truly only one person I care about in this crowd tonight, and she’s waving at me with her bar towel. I throw her a smile, knowing that she sees all of me and loves what she sees.

  Love is real.

  I get to work, planning to put on a hell of a show for Willow.

  “Hi, everyone. I’m Bobby Tannen.”

  With a strum of my strings, I play. Old songs, new songs, cover songs, and originals.

  I do the schtick to encourage everyone to get a drink and tip their waitress and bartenders well. “Especially the blonde,” I add with a wink, and people laugh, the ladies saying ooh.

  Sometime around my cover of Cody Jinks’s Loud and Heavy, I look over to find a guy in a blue polo shirt, khaki slacks, and clean boots leaning across the bar. Willow’s standing across from him.

  He’s probably ordering a drink, man. Chill out.

  But as I launch into the chorus again, the animal instinct in my gut says that’s not the case. Especially when those gray eyes cut to mine and she doesn’t smile. I damn near stop the song and use the microphone to tell this asshole to back away from her. But he’s not doing anything wrong. I just feel the need to piss on my territory again, even if I have to punch out another tourist to do it.

  Instead, I use another weapon.

  I look pointedly at Brutal and catch his eye, then look to Willow. He follows my gaze and immediately gets up to rescue her for me. We’re Tannens, and we’ve been looking out for each other for a long time. Now, we protect what’s important to us too, like Rix, Allyson, Cooper, and even the Bennetts.

  And now Willow.

  I finish the song and let my fingers dance aimlessly over the strings as I watch. Brutal looks back to me and lifts his chin. ‘All good, man.’

  Willow’s eyes are dancing brightly now, and even from here, I can see the laughter in them. She blows me a kiss, and it’s the only thing that keeps me in place and singing the next song.