She told herself that she had the right to make that decision. That she didn’t owe Starr that piece of herself. And while that might be technically true, she knew she shouldn’t have lied about it.
“I looked,” Destiny said with a smile. “There are guitar classes. Piano, too, if you’re interested.”
“Do you play piano?”
“I used to.”
“You don’t have one in the house.”
No, she had a portable keyboard with a great set of headphones instead. It was tucked under her bed.
“I move around too much to have a piano,” she said with a shrug. “It would be tough to bring a piano on a plane as my carry-on.”
Starr’s full mouth pulled up slightly. Not a complete smile, but closer than she’d gotten before, Destiny thought.
“I think the camp would be fun for you. I know it’s tough being away from your school friends. There have to be a couple of cool kids in town, right?”
“I don’t hang out with the cool kids,” Starr told her. “But I’d like to make some friends.”
“Great. Then look that over and tell me what you think.”
Starr nodded. She didn’t ask about the cost. Jimmy Don’s lawyer had explained there’d been a life insurance policy on Starr’s mother, and the money from that had been put into a trust. Their dad had kicked in some, as well. No doubt the teen assumed her expenses would be paid from that.
While Destiny knew that legally she could take money from the trust, she didn’t want to. She would cover the cost of the camp herself, just like she planned to pay for Starr’s living expenses. They were family. Sort of. At the very least, they were related, and that counted.
“Come on,” she said as she stood. “You can read about the camp while I start dinner.”
They went into the kitchen. Starr settled at the small kitchen table while Destiny pulled out the ingredients for fried chicken. As she opened the refrigerator, she saw a few unfamiliar casserole dishes.
“Did you cook?” she asked.
“No. A couple of ladies came by with them. There’s instructions on heating them. They both look good.”
Destiny glanced at the labels. One simply said lasagna, with suggestions on warming in both the oven and the microwave. The other label said it was Denise’s Many Layered Tamale Pie. Destiny was pretty sure she hadn’t met anyone named Denise, but that didn’t matter. Small-town folks took care of each other. Anything noteworthy brought out the casserole brigade.
“We can have these for lunch,” she said. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Sure.”
She dumped flour, salt, pepper and paprika into a large plastic bag. After washing off the chicken, she patted it dry and then soaked it in buttermilk for a few seconds before putting the pieces in with the flour. A couple of shakes later, the chicken was coated. She set the pieces on a plate. The trick to really good fried chicken was hot oil and letting the flour mixture get a little gooey.
As she waited, she glanced at Starr. The teen read the camp information intently.
There was a stillness about her. Or maybe it was just sadness. Starr’s young life hadn’t been easy. She rarely saw her father; her mother had been in and out of rehab and had eventually died of an overdose. Now Starr lived at a boarding school. She had no grandparents, and all her siblings were either half or step and total strangers.
Destiny’s guilt returned, but this time for a different reason. She needed to make time for Starr, she thought. They had this summer together. They could get to know each other.
She supposed that in a lot of families, half sisters would already be friends. But not in hers, and that was because her father couldn’t resist a beautiful woman, Destiny thought grimly. Jimmy Don loved the ladies, and they loved him back. Over and over. He’d married young and often, divorcing and remarrying again and again. Not that her mother was any different. Lacey Mills was on her seventh husband. Or maybe her eighth. It was difficult to keep track.
Destiny was Jimmy Don and Lacey’s firstborn. She’d been witness to the early years of their relationship. She’d grown up with the screaming, the plate throwing, the drama. She’d learned early to get out of the way when tempers flared and that the good times were always temporary. She’d vowed to be different. She wanted a calm, quiet, practical marriage. No great highs or lows for her. She was looking for a man she could respect and have children with. Not one that got her heart beating faster.
Her determination was the reason she avoided the Kipling Gilmores of the world. Sure, he was a handsome devil with an easy smile and a charming way about him. She was sure that he knew things that could make her beg. But she didn’t want to beg. She didn’t want to yearn, lust, dream or even long. She wanted certainty. A solid, dependable, comfortable kind of love.
Sex was the root of all evil. She’d learned that early, too. She’d never let herself be swept away, which was a point of pride for her. No hormone was more powerful than her determination, and nothing about that was ever going to change.
* * *
THE MAN CAVE had been an old hardware store, back in the day. When Kipling had first gotten the idea of opening a bar where guys could be comfortable, he’d immediately thought of the store for sale on Katie Lane. As the seller also happened to be one of his business partners in the bar, he’d gotten a good deal on the place.
Renovations had gone quickly. It helped that several of his new business partners knew the local trades, and things got done. Now they were only a few weeks from opening.
Kipling stood by the double front doors and glanced around. There was a long bar along the east wall that housed a self-serve beer fridge. Tables filled the front area. There were pool tables and dartboards, a poker room in back and plenty of TVs, including a couple in the bathrooms so no one had to miss a play.
The second floor overlooked the main bar and had plenty of seating. Sports memorabilia covered the walls. Not just the usual Sports Illustrated swimsuit covers, but actual trophies and other items. Josh Golden, a partner and the guy who had owned the building, had brought in one of his yellow jerseys from the Tour de France. There were footballs and helmets donated by the former pro players at Score, a local PR firm, and dozens of trophies from them and former quarterback Raoul Moreno. Kipling’s contribution was one of his gold medals from the 2010 Vancouver Olympics.
But what he liked the best was the big stage and state-of-the-art karaoke machine he’d ordered. Sure they could have bands come in and perform, but for him karaoke was the real draw.
Back when he’d been competing and traveling year round, karaoke was what had always pulled the teams together. No matter where they were in the world, they found a place with a machine and spent many a night making fools of themselves. Kipling could carry a tune. Barely. But singing well wasn’t the point. It was about having fun.
The idea for the bar had been with him for a while. When he’d come to Fool’s Gold, he’d realized this was where he could make it happen. Jo’s Bar in town did a good business, but catered mostly to women. The pastel color scheme and TV stations tuned to fashion and shopping kind of freaked him out. Where did guys go to just hang? A few conversations later, he had partners and a long-term lease from Josh.
He flipped on lights and surveyed the room. They were still waiting on some tables and chairs. The liquor license had been approved the previous week. Now they were getting suppliers lined up.
The front door opened, and Nick and Aidan Mitchell walked inside.
The two men were locals, born and raised in Fool’s Gold. From what Kipling had heard, there were five Mitchell brothers. The youngest two were twins. The twins and the oldest brother,