Sweet Southern Nights. Liz Talley

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      Clint’s gaze moved over the two of them as they escaped to the dance floor. Jake usually didn’t dance when he was with Clint because it felt too shitty to do something his friend could not, but for some reason, he had to get away for a moment. To think.

      And to hold an armful of something sweet and warm.

      Jenny looped her arms around his neck. “You look good tonight, Jake. I like your shirt.”

      “This old thing?” He plucked at the fabric with his thumb and forefinger. It was a gingham plaid shirt from some preppy catalog his mother favored. The blue matched his eyes and set off the tan he’d picked up fishing with his brother all summer. His jeans were tight and his boots well-worn. He skipped wearing a cowboy hat, unlike most of the guys in the bar, because he didn’t actually ride bulls or drive tractors. “Thank you, darlin’,” he said.

      And then he proceeded to pull Jenny tight against him and whirl her around the dance floor to a Luke Bryan song that made him long for another day on the lake and a cold beer.

      For a few minutes he lost himself in the song, enjoying Jenny snug against him. Felt good to forget about the job, the fact he needed to repaint his garage apartment and the birthday party he had to attend for his cousin Hilda on Sunday. Let go and feel.

      But the song ended too soon, and he found himself leading Jenny back toward the table. Clint and Vicky sat there, silently nursing their drinks. Eva was gone.

      Jake picked up his beer and took a swig. “Where’s Eva?”

      “Outside. Someone called and she said she had to go out for a sec,” Clint said.

      Jake crooked an eyebrow. “Who was it?”

      “How would we know? But she looked kind of surprised,” Vicky said.

      He sank back into his chair, glancing toward the swinging glass door that Raylan had covered with inky tint. The name Ray-Ray’s was scrawled across the front, and the parking lot light looked like the glowing tip of a cigarette through the darkened glass. “Huh.”

      Wasn’t his business, but still something rose on the back of his neck. Eva going off to meet someone wasn’t his concern. She was a big girl who could handle any man, a roaring fire and a passel of second graders wanting to scale the fire truck. Nevertheless, he was her friend. Hell, he was almost her family.

      “I’m gonna check on her,” he said, standing.

      “I’m sure she’s fine,” Vicky said with a wave of her long-tipped fingernails. “Eva could handle anyone.”

      “Let me just take her the beer,” he said, grabbing the frosty longneck and a napkin.

      As he got up and left he heard Jenny say, “I love a man who looks out for a gal, but Eva hates nosy people.”

      Jake passed his brother’s group, giving Matt a brusque “hey, dude,” as he continued toward the door. He pushed out into the dying day, twilight settling around him as he crunched through the gravel, looking for Eva. Cigarette butts and bottle caps littered the long concrete pad in front of the cinder-block bar. No one was in the front lot so he headed to the right, skirting the empty ice machine and weathered benches set out for the smokers. He heard raised voices as he rounded the corner.

      Eva stood, arms on her hips, facing off against a pretty massive dude whose back was to Jake.

      “Eva?” he called.

      She leaned around the dude, her ponytail swinging out. “Oh, hey, Jake. I’ll be in in a minute.”

      The guy turned and took in Jake. He had massive biceps, both tatted, and a tight T-shirt that stretched across the continent of his chest. He had a shaved head and wore motorcycle boots. Sons of Anarchy had nothing on this dude.

      “You sure, Eva?”

      The dude sneered. “You hard of hearing or something?”

      “No. Got a clean bill of health from the doctor last month. Hearing’s perfect.”

      “Then get your ass outta here,” the giant growled.

      “Did someone piss in your cereal this morning or something?” Jake responded, moving toward Eva and King Kong. He shifted the beer bottles so he held them in one hand.

      “It’s okay, Jake. Chris is about to leave. No big deal.” Eva gave him a determined smile and a look that said “please don’t do this.”

      Jake didn’t know what to do. He could tell Eva was upset, but he didn’t want to make things worse for her. He also didn’t want to back down like a pussy. Jake wasn’t chopped liver, but the guy had a good four inches and forty pounds on him—he would likely grind Jake into hamburger meat. But at least his attention on Jake would give Eva a chance to get help.

      “I’ll just stay here,” Jake said, leaning up against the steel siding replete with rust marks.

      The giant’s thunderous expression told Jake his declaration wasn’t appreciated, but the man stayed where he was.

      “Chris.” Eva placed a hand on the man’s arm. “Let’s just talk about this later, okay? Nothing has to be decided today.”

      Chris grunted. “Things have to be settled by Monday. That’s the court date. And I leave next Wednesday.” With that remark, he picked up the motorcycle helmet sitting on the hood of Eva’s Jeep and tucked it under his arm before turning toward Jake. “This guy need his ass whipped before I go?”

      Eva managed a smile. “Nah, that’s just Jake.”

      “If he bothers you, let me know. I could use some fertilizer for my roses.”

      Jake had no idea what was going on, but he was tired of the subterfuge. Looking at Eva, he said, “Who is this asshole?”

      Chris growled and took a menacing step toward Jake.

      Eva jumped in front of Chris, punching the beast on his arm. “This is Chris, my older half brother.”

      “This is Chris?”

      Eva nodded. Chris bared his teeth. Jake started laughing.

      “This is the guy who developed the prize-winning hybrid teacup roses? The horticulture guy?” Jake asked, relaxing a little.

      Chris crossed his arms. “You know, I get tired of this shit. What did you expect? Some skinny dude slumped over in a lab coat, looking at you through Coke-bottle glasses. What? A botanist can’t have tats?”

      “No, you just surprised me. The way Eva talks about you, I just expected—”

      “A pansy?” Chris said, a slight twinkle in his eye even though he still looked annoyed.

      Jake pulled himself from the wall and walked toward Chris. He handed Eva her beer and extended his hand. “I’m Jake Beauchamp. I stand shoulder to shoulder with Eva every day.”

      “Not really,” Eva said, her tone slightly peevish, but Jake knew what she meant. It was rare the СКАЧАТЬ