“You ever read one of her books before?”
Hank tore his attention away from Jenna’s picture to look over at Angel Creekwater wedged behind the counter. An institution at the Git ’n’ Go for probably twenty-five years, the roly-poly woman’s straight black hair was pulled back so severely the corners of her eyes practically reached her ears, from which dangled a collection of brightly colored seed beads and feathers and other assorted doo-dads passing themselves off as earrings.
“Nope.” Hank checked over his shoulder to make sure Jenna wasn’t within earshot, then raised the book. “She any good?”
Angel shrugged; bowling-ball bosoms shimmied underneath her brown smock. It struck Hank that her pooched-out lips were nearly the same color as Jenna’s name on the cover. “She’s okay. If you like that sort of thing.”
Wondering what Angel considered “that sort of thing,” Hank quickly paid for his purchases, slipping the paperback into the bag with the cigarettes just as a familiar voice rumbled, “Hey—they let you out on good behavior?” behind him.
Without even looking, Hank threw up his left hand, knocking off his brother Cal’s cowboy hat in one smooth motion.
“Jerk!” Cal bent down and snatched his hat off the floor. “And who asked you?” he said to Angel, who was shaking with laughter. Cal rammed his hat back down over his wavy light-brown hair, then thunked his own six-pack up on the counter, reaching around to his back pocket for his wallet. “Been meaning to call you,” he said to Hank, handing Angel a twenty. “Finally got around to sorting through some of those boxes up in the attic and came across a whole bunch of old pictures of us as kids, and Mama and Daddy. You should come over, see if there’s any you want.”
The family farm had been left to all three brothers—Hank, Cal and Ryan—but Cal, who’d turned the place into a thriving horse farm, was in the process of buying Hank and Ryan out. For the past several years, he’d been making noises about sorting through all the junk in the attic, but it was only in the last little while that he’d begun to make any headway.
Hank shook his head. “Can’t imagine why I’d want any of that stuff.”
Cal pocketed the change Angel handed him, his green eyes darkening. “And damned if I’m just gonna toss it without you and Ryan at least giving it a look-see. If you don’t want it after that, fine, but you can at least get your butt out to the farm and…oh! Excuse me, ma’am!”
Cal flashed a smile for Jenna, who’d come up behind them while they’d been talking. As smoothly as Hank had knocked Cal’s hat off a minute before, his brother now reached out and relieved Jenna of the basket suspended from her left hand, weighted down with a gallon of skim milk and a carton of orange juice. Cal was a notorious flirt. And by all accounts a damn good one, too. Something about that stupid, dimpled grin of his just had women eating right out of his hand.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before—”
“Knock it off, Cal. She’s too…smart for you.” Jenna’s eyes darted to his, that almost-smile playing on her lips, but Hank told himself there was no way she could have known he’d nearly said “old” instead of “smart.”
“No such thing,” Cal said, that dumb grin of his still in place.
Hank blew out a sigh. “Jenna Stanton, my much younger brother Cal. Jenna’s staying out at the Double Arrow for a while.”
Cal’s hat lifted up a good inch to accommodate his raised eyebrows. “That a fact?”
Hank glowered at him, but Jenna just said, “Nice to meet you, Cal,” as she swiped her card through the little box at the front of the counter. Apparently, hunky young cowboys with dumb smiles and dimples didn’t do it for her. And amazingly enough, Cal took the hint. Now there was a first.
“Nice to meet you, too, Ms. Stanton,” he said, touching two fingers to his hat brim. Then, six-pack in hand, he pointed to Hank. “Remember now, you’re gonna come over and go through that stuff.”
“I never said—”
But then he was gone and everybody was paid up, so he supposed there was nothing for it but to go on back. The ride was a mostly silent one, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Except, after he dropped Jenna off, her scent stayed in the truck.
Some time later, after he’d finished up scraping the shingles off one of the cottages and the Petersons in number 10 had checked out and some salesman or somebody from Wichita had checked in, and after he’d decided going back out for pizza wasn’t worth the effort so he’d just heat up some beans and franks instead, he went for a cigarette and discovered the pack was empty. So it wasn’t until then, when he dumped the Marlboros out on his bed and Jenna’s novel had come tumbling out with it, that he remembered the book.
Settling back at his dinette table with his meal, he popped open one of the Buds, forked in a bite of beans and, chewing, started to read.
Blair looked up from her plate of vegetarian pasta and said, “Then Libby told me she sometimes has to take care of her five brothers all by herself. And she’s my age! Does that stink or what?”
Jenna dropped a lemon slice into her glass of bottled water and gave Blair a reproachful look as she sat back down. “Actually, I think it’s pretty neat that she helps her father like that.” As Blair rolled her eyes, Jenna asked, “What happened to Libby’s mom?”
Blair swiped a hank of hair behind her ear, weeded out two microscopic pieces of onion which she banished to the rim of her bowl, and shoveled in a bite of pasta. “She died suddenly about two years ago,” she said, chewing. “A blood clot or something, Libby wasn’t real specific. So, like, we have this common bond, y’know?”
Ever since Libby’s father, Sam Frazier, had dropped Blair off a couple hours ago, the girl had been going on practically non-stop about her day’s adventures. Jenna couldn’t quite tell whether Blair had actually had a good time as much as she’d just been grateful for the diversion. Jenna had only met Libby briefly, and while she seemed like a nice enough child, Jenna couldn’t exactly see Blair bonding with someone so different from her other friends. Except then Blair asked if she could go back to Libby’s the next day, that Sam had already said it was okay, and Jenna thought, then again—what harm could there be in a summer friendship? Jenna had had a couple of those, when she’d gone to visit her mother’s parents in Virginia as a child. And maybe, if Blair found herself coming to visit again on a regular basis, it would be nice for her to have someone her own age to pal around with—
Her stomach cramped.
As much as Jenna tried to concentrate on her niece’s prattling, her mind kept meandering back to Hank. And everything thinking about him meant. And now…oh, this was probably stupid, but…well, when she’d seen that both Hank and his brother Cal had six-packs, she couldn’t help but wonder if there might be a problem with alcoholism in the family. Granted, she was probably just overreacting, but having lived with the effects of her sister’s chronic substance abuse, she doubted whether anyone would fault her for being too cautious.
Then again, she was already beginning to see things—little things—that gave her hope. Not his appearance, certainly. Or, most of the time, his attitude. But the man did read. And listen to classical music. And although he tended toward acerbity, there was a sense of humor there, too. And, maybe…a smattering of protectiveness, buried under all that grief and bitterness?
She thought back to the scene in the convenience store, the brothers’ interaction. Years of observing human nature for her work had made Jenna a fairly good judge of character, and while she guessed Hank and Cal didn’t spend much time together, neither did they hate each other. Which meant family ties, though perhaps tenuous, were at least intact. And after all, Hank Logan had been a cop for more than fifteen