ON THE HONEY SIDE

STACI HART
 UNPROOFED ADVANCED
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Copyright © 2022 Staci Hart

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author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover by Quirky Bird

To the abandoned things,
To the broken hearts,
You deserve a new story.

This one’s for you.

 C O NT E NT S

1. A Hand to Hold
2. The Builder
3. The Audacity
4. Old Habits
5. Start A Riot
6. Hot Dog
7. Damned If You Do
8. Inhale, Exhale
9. Cookie Monster
10. That Feeling
11. Better Off
12. It’ll Be Fun, They Said
13. Monkey Wrench
14. Makers and Doers
15. Thunder and Lightning
16. Becoming
17. Brand New Day
18. Suds and Duds
19. Green Flag
20. Slayer of Dragons
21. Sincerely
22. Rock/Hard Place
23. The Lurch
24. Snare
25. What It Is
26. Pie Fixes Everything
27. Every Minute
28. God Bless Bettie
29. All Tied Up
30. White-knuckle
31. The Great Divide
32. That View Though

Also by Staci Hart

About the Author
 1
A H A N D T O H O LD

DAISY

“I just don’t get what the big deal is,” my sister Jo said,
adjusting the basket of sandwiches hooked on her arm.
I gave her a look as we walked up Main Street. “You
put a laxative in Marjorie’s birthday brownies.”
“Well, she was leading the charge on a vicious rumor
about me. Besides, she didn’t know for a fact that it was my
brownies. At least four other people gave her pastries for her
birthday.”
“Pretty sure she deduced that you were the only one
who’d have the nerve,” my other sister Poppy said on a
laugh.
“She can’t prove a thing. Hope she has a good book to
read while she’s stuck on the can. Assuming she can read.”
“What was the rumor?” I asked.
“That I’m pregnant. Can you believe that? What, is she
keeping track of my cycles?” she scoffed.
“Well, are you?” Poppy said after a second. “Pregnant?”
“Of course not. She said she found a positive pregnancy
test in the bathroom at Bettie’s and pinned it on me just
because I happened to be there. I’m still trying to get to the
bottom of why she was digging around in the feminine
products trashcan in a restaurant, but I can’t get any
answers.”
“Hard to get back to you from her new porcelain home.”
Poppy snickered.
“I wonder whose pregnancy test it was,” I mused.
“Probably Marjorie’s,” Jo guessed. “In her mind, me
being pregnant out of wedlock is somehow worse than her
cheating on every husband she’s ever had with his brother.
She’s running out of inlaws to sleep with.”
We were heading toward the park where a few clusters of
homeless people had gathered, but a few more sat on the
sidewalk, tucked in doorways of closed businesses. There
were a lot of those in our little Texas town these days. We’d
never had many homeless to speak of in Lindenbach, but
over the last month or so we’ve been the seat of a migration
out of San Antonio and Austin, our closest major cities.
Just like on every other topic, our town was split on the
matter.
Half of Lindenbach was on the ew side of things. The
vagrants were an eyesore, a danger, nothing but drug addicts
and layabouts. The other half of us were doing what we could
to help. We’d collectively hired some and fed them when we
could. Pastor Coleburn had organized a regular soup kitchen
and clothes donations, and we’d been working on getting a
free clinic up and running. Of course, the ew half said we
were only prolonging their freeloading and encouraging
them to stay, suggesting instead that we should run them
out of town.
To go where, I didn’t know. But if it were one of our own
who had fallen on hard times, the people here would find
grace and understanding for them. Just not outsiders, I
figured.
It was another wedge between Us and Them, the divide
made wider by the mayor and his toadies, who wanted
nothing more than to hammer apart that distance until we
broke. Nobody was getting along, and everybody was mad
about something, most of the time.
We approached a man and his dog under the eave of a
closed shop, his belongings piled up around him.
“Mornin’, sir,” I said with a smile. “Would you like a
sandwich?”
His eyes brightened, changing his face. “Yes, ma’am.
Mighty kind of you.”
“It’s nothing.” My cheeks warmed as I handed him two
sandwiches from Jo’s basket. “Would your dog like one too?”
“That’d … that’d be real nice,” he answered with his voice
tight as he pet the skinny retriever’s head. “Thank you,
miss.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Henry Alcott, and this here’s Buster. Pleased to meet
you.”
“Pleasure’s ours,” I said. “I’m Daisy, and these are my
sisters, Jo and Poppy Blum. We run the honey farm up 1092
and sometimes hire for work around the farm, if you’re ever
looking. Just come on over and ask.”
He pulled off his baseball cap and pressed it to his chest.
“I got a bad leg, but if you got something for me, might I
come by tomorrow?”
“We’d love to see you, Henry,” I answered. “I think we
can find something for you. See you tomorrow, then?”
“Yes, you will, Miss Daisy.”
Jo reached down and scratched Buster’s head before we
said our goodbyes and headed on.
A few more homeless people were between us and the
park at the end of the road, and the sight of them left me
wishing we could do more. Wishing the town would get up
and help instead of opting for rejection. I wanted to believe
they were afraid. It was easier to swallow than the
alternative. But truth was, this was the way of things. Every
man for himself.
I let out a long sigh. For once, my sisters said nothing.
Pretty sure we were thinking the same thing.
A few shops ahead of us, the door of the hardware store
opened up, and the lungs I’d just emptied locked shut.
Because there was Keaton Meyer.
Sighting Keaton in the wild was a rare and unheard of
event. But when my gaze did happen to be blessed by his
visage, I lost all higher function of my brain and body,
leaving me staring like a fool at a man no one might ever
have, least of all me.
He was a beast of a man, rugged in that unaffected way,
with a short but slightly unkempt beard and a head of hair I
found myself envious of, the gentle waves licking the collar
of his flannel shirt. He was a thunderhead, brewing lightning
behind eyes black and depthless. His shirt was cuffed just
below his elbows, I suspected because the folded material
couldn’t house the masses of his biceps. The effect was more
intense than I anticipated. His forearms were bigger around
than my arm, traced with veins and dusted with dark hair. At
the end of each was a hammer of a fist, one clutching a
plastic bag.
Keaton had always been the stoic Meyer brother, but
when his dad died nearly five years ago and his wife shortly
after, he disappeared. Physically and otherwise.
I knew a little bit of the feeling.
I realized I was gawking, and on noticing what had
stopped my clock, my sisters shared a wicked smile.
He, however, didn’t see us. He didn’t seem to see anyone.
His brow was flat, as were his lips. Gravity affected him
differently, pulling him, body and soul, into the ground. As if
bearing the weight of his burden took everything he had,
every minute, every breath of every day.
 “Well, hey Keaton!” Jo called.
“Iris Jo,” I hissed at her back, since she was already on the
move in his direction.
He stopped, surprised at the sound of his name. His dark
brows clicked together as he looked us over, lingering on me.
Flushed, I put on a smile.
“How’s it going?” Jo asked.
“Good,” he answered, though his eyes shifted in search of
escape. “I was just on my way back to a job site. Needed a
couple things.” He lifted the bags in that hammer fist a little.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in a year,” Jo said.
“Where’ve you been hiding?”
“Don’t be nosy, Jo,” I scolded. “I’m sorry. What she’s
trying to say is, it’s good to see you.”
A sort-of chuckle—just a puff through his nose. “S’ppose
it was when we worked on Main Street. ‘Bout six months
ago, if I recall.”
“That’s right,” Jo started. “Meyers construction saved
the day. There was no way we could revamp Main Street
without your help. And now we’ve filled up more than half
the closed stores, thanks to your hard work. Very generous.”
Her tone indicated that she was speaking more for my
benefit than his.
“We were glad to help.” He paused awkwardly, his eyes
darting to his truck, which was parked almost in within his
arm’s reach. “Well, I should be—”
“I said get outta here!” came an angry male voice from
behind Keaton.
Keaton’s eyes narrowed as he turned to find Doug
Windley arched over a homeless man sitting between
building doors, one of them Doug’s liquor store. The man
was an indeterminate age, with sagging jowls and shaking
hands that reached for his belongings.
 Keaton threw his bags in the bed of his truck and stalked
toward the disturbance with the three of us in his wake.
“There a problem here?” he asked Doug darkly.
“Yeah, there’s a problem—nobody wants to be
panhandled while tryin’ to get their beer, and I want him
outta my doorstep. Outta my damn town.” His face was red
and splotchy, his finger pointing into the distance and
jabbing for emphasis.
Keaton reached to help the man up, ignoring Doug. “You
all right, sir?”
“I’ll be on my way,” he said with a sandpaper voice,
hurrying to pick up his dusty bags.
Keaton grabbed one. “If you don’t have anywhere to be,
I’d be happy to bring you back with me, get you a hot meal
and a shower.”
Stunned, the man nodded. “Yessir.”
“And if you know your way around tools, I might just
have some work for you too.”
Incensed, Doug nipped at Keaton’s heels as they walked
away. “It’s y’all who’re keeping all these vagrants here. It’s
like feedin’ cats—they’re just gonna keep on comin’ and
bringin’ their friends. These freeloaders are gonna ruin this
town.”
“We get it, Doug,” he said without looking. “Pretty sure
they heard you on Third Street.”
“Damn you, Keaton. Your daddy never would have stood
for it.”
At that, Keaton stopped dead. Turned slowly. Took a step
toward Doug, who shrank on the realization of what he’d
just summoned. “If that’s what you think, you didn’t know
my father at all. And if you so much as whisper an unkind
word on his name, you’ll be drinking out of a straw for a
month. Now, go on back inside before I change my mind and
do you that favor now.”
 Doug scowled but gave us his back, mumbling complaints
he’d never say loud enough to make out. Because if Keaton
decided to use that fist for evil, Doug really might end up
shitting teeth for a year.
Keaton nodded to us as he passed, helping the wide-eyed
man into his truck. He didn’t acknowledge us again until he
was in the driver’s seat, offering us two fingers from the
wheel before pulling away.
Jo sighed happily, elbowing me. “Well, that might just be
the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, next to Grant in
his tiny jogging shorts. Don’t you think, Daisy?”
“I try not to think about your boyfriend in his jogging
shorts, thank you.”
They laughed and mercifully let it go since there was no
lying to them.
And if they knew just how hot I thought it was, they’d
never let me hear the end of it.
 2
T H E B U I LD E R

KEATON

I ’d always built things.

When I was little, it was birdhouses and bug barns,
carved animals and the like. When I got a little older, it
was tables and shelves and woodworked art. When I was
grown, I built houses and buildings just like my father.
What would start as blank planks and blocks could be
made into anything I could imagine. I could build anything I
wanted, shape the world the way I saw it. So I did.
I built a life.
A marriage.
Funny how quick something could fall apart that took
your whole life to put together.
I glanced at the man sitting next to me as he answered my
questions regarding how he’d ended up here. He’d built a
whole life too, and he’d lost it all, migrating from town to
town in the hopes that something would change. Lived in his
truck until it broke down, then continued on foot. And he
was a veteran, at that. I wondered if Doug would have
watched his mouth and shown some respect if he’d known,
and I hated that the answer was probably no.
When helping people became controversial, I didn’t know.
 I generally stayed out of town politics and public life—
work kept me busy, especially since Dad died. It was left to
me to manage our family construction business with my
three brothers, but they gladly let me take on the lion’s
share, for which I was grateful. It gave me a worthy excuse to
keep myself occupied.
When I wasn’t occupied, I thought too much. And all that
waited for me there were memories. Memories of a life I
once had, lost to me now. It had been more than five years
since Dad died, and Mandy a few months later. Felt like
yesterday. Felt like another life.
Felt like hell.
So I did my best not to feel much at all. Fortunately, I had
plenty of work to do, and that kept me safer than anything
else did.
By the time I reached the work yard, James—Jimmy, if I
pleased—had brightened up a bit. We had facilities on site
for showers and meals, so I helped him with his things and
led him to our locker room. Before we parted, he held out his
battle-hardened hand with shining eyes, and when I took
that hand for a shake, the gratitude in his grip was louder
than any words could have spoken.
We always needed people at our construction company, so
finding jobs for a man like Jimmy wasn’t a problem. In fact,
we’d hired a handful of vagrants, and they’d become our best
workers. There was something to be said for giving
somebody a hand up from rock bottom, and I wanted to help
however I could. It was a family tradition, my father going
well out of his way to help the people of our town however
they needed, sometimes to our detriment. But we’d been a
founding family of this town, and as such, Dad always said it
was our responsibility to help whenever we were able.
And as for these folks who’d lost so much, I had even
more compassion. That loss was too familiar to ignore.
 I made my way out and across the gravel yard to our
offices, wondering what happened to our town. A few years
ago, things were all right. Maybe we didn’t always agree, but
people were still polite enough to keep their politics to
themselves. Never would Doug have run outside like he did
and insult me like that. Something had changed. A line had
been drawn in the sand, and everyone had chosen a side. Us
and Them.
I hated everything about it.
When I pulled open the door, it was to a rush of cold air
and the sound of Wu-Tang. Behind the front desk, Millie
wore a grim, annoyed sort of look, her reading glasses
perched on her nose and the chain on which she wore them
swinging as she typed. Because my brothers were rapping
along to “C.R.E.A.M.” with nearly seventy-year-old Millie in
the middle, trolling her in the ultimate.
If I still knew how to laugh, I would have. The best I could
muster was mild amusement.
Carson stood between the twins, Cade and Cole, who were
the babies only in name. There weren’t many differences in
the three of us, all near the same height—tall—and the same
build—broad—but I could pinpoint a few. Like how Cade and
Cole had blue eyes like Mom where Carson and I had dark
eyes. Though Cade and Cole were identical, they could be told
apart by Cade’s beard and longer hair, and Cole’s smile was
more cavalier than anyone’s had a right to be. Carson was
the tallest by a fraction of an inch, and he wielded that fact
like Excalibur.
All three of them had gone off and gotten degrees at A&M
—Carson in engineering, Cade as an architect, and Cole in
construction management, though he was a jack-of-all,
trained to do everything from plumbing to electrical to
custom trim. I’d stayed back, working under Dad while they
lived the college experience.
 When lined up, I somehow looked nothing like them. The
three of them floated lively through life, largely charmed and
charming. Which was how I liked it, preferring to do the hard
things so they didn’t have to. Carry the burden to leave them
free to be happy.
“How about you leave Millie alone and pick on somebody
your own size?” I asked as I approached.
“If you find somebody, let me know,” Carson popped.
“You’d better turn on something with twang before Mr.
Cooper comes in or you might give the old coot a heart
attack,” I warned.
Cole rolled his eyes. “He’s old as dirt so—ow!”
Millie scowled at him and shook the finger she’d just
pinched him with, but her eyes twinkled. “Now, you know
he’s my uncle, Cole Meyer. Don’t you speak ill of a man who
could go toe up any minute.”
“There she is,” Cole said, laughing and sneaking a quick
peck on Millie’s cheek, then turning to run, narrowly
escaping Millie’s open palm.
She shook her head, adjusting her glasses. “I don’t know
how I’m expected to get any work done around here with
y’all horsin’ around like you do. I don’t know how any of you
get any work done either.”
“We don’t,” Carson noted. “Keaton does it all for us.”
“And some thanks I get,” I said, heading for my office.
“Millie, got a new guy in the locker room. Can you get him
all set up with paperwork and whatnot?”
“Sure. Who is he?”
“Name’s Jimmy, a homeless guy from town that Doug
Windley made a scene over this mornin’. Pastor Colburn said
we could use the church’s address and phone number for
anybody needing a job, so if you could make sure he has that,
I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course, Keaton.”
 My brothers followed, but I kicked the door shut behind
me, figuring there was a chance it’d slow them down.
Cole opened it with a flat look on his face. “That almost
hit me.”
“Good,” I answered, flipping through a few papers on my
desk before sitting down.
“So, a new guy, huh?” Cade flopped into one of the chairs
on the other side of my desk, raking a hand through his dark,
shaggy hair.
“Mhmm.”
“Wish I could say I’m surprised Doug Windbag was a
dick,” Carson noted, sitting next to Cade.
“Town’s a mess, and not for the vagrants,” I said.
“Coleburn’s trying to help, and I know Bettie and Abuela
have taken some people in to work at their restaurants. The
Blum sisters too. They were passing out sandwiches when
the whole thing went down.”
Cole sighed happily. “Ahh, the Blum sisters. Boy, I
wouldn’t mind passing out sandwiches with them.”
“If that’s a euphemism, you should get out more,” Cole
said.
Carson chuckled. “Passing out sandwiches with the Blum
sisters could end with getting a piano dropped on you smack
in the middle of Main Street.”
Cole waved him off. “The curse isn’t real.”
The rest of us gave him a look.
“What? It isn’t,” Cole insisted. “Didn’t peg y’all for
superstitious. Just because they’ve had bad luck in love
doesn’t mean dating them is a death wish.”
“Almost every man who’s ever fallen in love with them
has died. That can’t be a coincidence,” Carson noted.
For a second, we were silent.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said after a second, turning back to
the invoices on my desk and the dread beneath them.
 “How come?”
“None of them will go out with you anyway.”
Cade and Carson laughed, but Cole propped his boots on
my desk like an asshole.
I glared at him. He didn’t remove them.
“Says you,” Cole noted. “Jo went off and found herself a
boyfriend. Maybe they’ve broken their sacred vow not to
date.”
“Not to date until their mother dates,” Cade clarified.
“Quick—somebody find Dottie a boyfriend.”
“As if every other straight, single guy in the tri-county
hasn’t already tried,” Carson said.
“Always had a soft spot for Jo,” Cole mused. “I admire a
woman who can talk shit that respectably.”
“I dunno,” Carson considered. “I’m more of a Poppy kind
of guy. She’s the goldilocks of the three—Jo’s the hellcat,
Daisy’s the good girl, and Poppy’s a bit of both.”
“I wouldn’t mind the good girl,” Cade noted. “She’s the
cutest anyway.”
Something in my chest stirred. Probably because I still
had the vision of her as I’d just seen her, with a smile on
rosy lips, her heart-shaped face lit up until Doug nearly got
his mug beaten in. All three sisters had inky black hair and
electric blue eyes, but I thought Daisy was the prettiest of the
three. I felt a curious urge to dump Cade out of his chair for
thinking so too.
My expression must have been damning because Cade’s
smile widened. “Looks like Keaton agrees.”
I offered him a bored look and went back to the invoices I
wasn’t actually looking at. “I have work to do, if you
wouldn’t mind.”
“Did she look cute today when you saw her?” Cade asked.
“What’d she have on?”
 “The hell does it matter what she was wearing?” I
answered.
“Was her hair up or down?” he prodded.
“You should really get on whatever dating app people use
these days,” I suggested.
“Look at him. His jaw’s locked shut,” Carson said with his
dimple showing.
“Keaton has a crush,” Cole sang.
“Why, because I won’t tell you what she was wearing?
You act like I pay attention to shit like that,” I said, and
normally, I didn’t. But I knew exactly what Daisy had worn—
a cornflower blue sundress the color of her eyes, her pale
shoulders cutting through spills of raven hair. Anybody
who’d seen a woman like that would have remembered every
detail, assuming they weren’t blind.
“Ask her out,” Carson nagged.
“You ask her out.”
But his voice softened, losing the teasing edge. “It’s been
near five years. Are you ever gonna date, or are you gonna
marry work instead?”
“Somebody’s got to.”
“And you’ve decided that someone is you,” he said.
“Who else?”
“I don’t know if you’ve counted recently,” Carson started,
“but there are four of us.”
“Y’all don’t want to do it, and I do. So how about you go
find yourselves dates and get out of my ass?”
Cade jumped out of his seat and ran back into the entry.
“Marry me, Millie. Make me the happiest man on earth.”
She squealed, flustered and swatting at him as he spun
her chair around in circles, and my other brothers laughed
too, filing out of my office.
But Carson paused with his hand on my doorknob,
turning back to me with a heavy brow. “There’re more to life
than this. We just want you to be happy, that’s all.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he shut the door before I
could get more than his name out.
So I sighed, turning my attention to the invoices in
earnest, telling myself my brothers were wrong.
There wasn’t more to life than this, not for me.
 3
T H E A U D A C IT Y

DAISY

“I ’m so mad, I could spit,” Poppy said, setting the empty

basket on the kitchen island.
I closed the back door to the kitchen and sighed. It’d
been a demoralizing afternoon, the vitriol from some of our
townspeople undermining any joy received from helping
people.
Poppy fumed on, blustering around the kitchen to make
coffee. “I just don’t understand it. You know, somebody sees
a skinny dog, half-starved and freezing to death, and they
take it home, care for it, nurse it back to health. But not
another human being? Makes me sick to my stomach.”
Jo let out a sigh of her own. “I mean, it’s not like this
problem doesn’t exist outside Lindenbach.”
“Of course it does,” she said, throwing a cabinet door
closed. “But here? Here, where our town used to be kind?
When we used to be giving? I thought we were better than
this.” Clack, clack, clack, she slammed three coffee cups on the
counter and whirled around to fill up the pot at the sink.
“These people aren’t in another town, they’re in our town,
and we have a moral obligation to help.”
“Well,” I started, “we could make more sandwiches—”
 “Not sandwiches, Daisy. I mean help them. Give them a
hand up, not put something in theirs and say goodbye.”
“What do you think we should do then?” I asked gently.
“We’ve hired more than we can even find work for.”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m mad.” She shoved the pot
home and assembled the filter and grounds, slapping the on
button before whirling around to lean against the counter.
Jo and I shared a look.
“Well,” I started, “let’s noodle on it. We’ll think of
something doable. Won’t we?”
“Always do,” Jo noted.
“I’ve gotta get out to hive six to help Mama,” I said,
hoping for a subject change. “Come meet us when you’ve
had your coffee?”
“You’re not having any?” Poppy was nearly pouting, a
common reaction to noodling. Until she had a plan, she’d be
like this.
“How about you bring it to me out at the hives?”
She sighed, but I’d appeased her. “All right. Tell Mama
we’ll be there in a few.”
I agreed before heading to my room to throw on jeans and
a T-shirt, with a chambray shirt on top. Out the back door I
went, to the array of vehicles I had at my disposal, which
included two ATVs, a golf cart with thick-tread tires, Dad’s
old truck, and several bicycles. Mama had the work truck
back at the hives, and though I’d have liked to bike to her,
I’d probably need some gear. So I hopped in the stocked golf
cart and headed deeper into the farm.
We lived on a twenty-acre patch of land that had been in
our family for five generations of bee farming. What had
started off as a single room house became two, then three.
Then the big ranch-style house was built and expanded on,
which was where we all lived now. Well, most of us. Jo and
her boyfriend Grant lived in one of the small houses that had
been converted into cottages before I was born, but
otherwise, the house remained a haven for Blum women,
since there were no men to speak of.
It had been this way for a long, long time. Daddy died
when I was eleven, and he was the only male around before
that, since my grandaddy died when Mama and Daddy were
dating. It was a curse we Blum women were burdened with, a
simple fact of life. If you’d asked my grandmother, she’d
have told you about the feud with a local witch over a man,
but we were ever the suspicious sort. Better safe than sorry,
we figured. Because loving and losing so tragically was too
much to bear.
I knew that well enough on my own. I was eighteen when
my boyfriend Drew died, the promise of forever on our lips. A
car accident, the way so many in our town had been lost to
us. Too many back roads with no streetlights. Blind corners
and crossways without stop signs. Breaks of trees at the
mouths of farm driveways for privacy that could be a deadly
trap under the wrong circumstances.
Eighteen and promised to each other, freshly graduated
and ready to eat the whole world. And just like that, he was
gone. I wouldn’t have survived it without my sisters, and it
scared them enough to make a pact, one we’d even pricked
our fingers and made a promise over. It wasn’t worth it, to
date. The risk of falling in love was too grave, not just for our
hearts but for whatever poor fool was dumb enough to get
caught up with us. So we locked up our hearts and threw
away the key.
My sisters went out with guys, but they never got serious,
never saw them more than a few times. Our cousin Presley
hadn’t had much better luck, not until she moved back to
Lindenbach and reconnected with Sebastian, her first love. I,
on the other hand, had remained alone entirely, despite the
men brave enough to come poking around our door.
 Six months ago, Grant Stone came to town and flipped the
most aggressively single of us before even she realized it. Jo
was tempting fate with Grant—every time he got on a
tractor, used an axe, or drove more than a few miles away, I
felt sick.
Conditioning, I was sure, but terrifying nonetheless.
I passed through fields of wildflowers our bees ate from
that doubled as a wholesale floral business, with patches
cleared for hives. On seeing the truck up at hive six, I smiled,
finding Mama easily in a red plaid shirt and jeans, pulling
honeycombs out of their slots with nothing but a mesh veil
and a smoker for protection.
Bee witches, they called us. They weren’t wrong.
There were plenty of instances when we’d wear suits, but
for the most part, we didn’t need it. Mama, my sisters, and I
were the only ones who could do it without ending up in the
emergency room. Our cousin, Presley, tried once. Never saw
her run so fast, not before or since.
On hearing the whir of the little electric engine of the golf
cart, Mama looked up, shielding her eyes, waving when she
saw me. I pulled up next to her and hopped out. The only
hum I heard then were the bees.
The hive she was working on was ripe for harvest, and as
I approached, she smiled and greeted me, handing over a
frame so I could move it into the box for transport to our
small cannery.
For a few minutes, we worked silently that way. She’d
check a frame, careful to avoid the brood nest, looking for
combs that were capped off and ripe for harvest. Bees flitted
around, alighting on us before deciding we were friends and
fluttering away. Of my sisters, I was the most like Mama, and
as the oldest, I supposed it made sense that we were so close.
We’d had the longest time together, after all. But where my
sisters were willful, I was the one who did as I was told,
especially when Mama asked. I was old enough to
understand what Daddy’s death did to her, and where Jo
stepped into his shoes as best she could for all her nine
years, I devoted myself to Mama.
Poppy was a free agent.
“How did it go in town?” she asked after a little bit.
“Oh, fine, except for Doug Windley starting a kerfuffle
outside his store because a vagrant was there.”
“Doug never has been a charitable man.”
I considered the situation for a moment. “I suppose I
understand how they feel, in some ways.”
Mama paused, raising a brow at me.
“I don’t agree,” I clarified, “but I understand. There’s an
… unpredictability about the homeless, isn’t there? Drugs
and alcohol are problems, sometimes violence. It’s harder to
tell who’s good and who isn’t just by looking.”
Mama snorted a laugh. “Take a look at the wealthy people
in this town and rethink that. I could name five terrible
people who, by all appearances, are well to do.”
“True enough. And anyway, good and bad aren’t absolute.
Nobody’s made of pure good or evil. Everyone has reasons
for their choices, those little justifications they make so they
can sleep at night.”
“Everyone’s a hero of their story and a villain in someone
else’s.” A sigh. “I see their point too. But in the end, it’s not
about how we feel so much as it is what we do about it. And
belittling a man on the street isn’t what we would do about
this particular problem.”
“Maybe not to a homeless person. We might belittle a
man like Doug though.”
“Well, I don’t doubt Jo gave him a taste of his medicine.”
“She didn’t have to. Keaton Myers was there, and he was
so mad, I’m surprised he didn’t give Doug a bloody nose.”
 “There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. How’s he
doing?”
“Mad as all hell when I saw him last, but I’m sure that
was circumstantial.”
Mama smiled with a certain fondness. “His daddy was the
most handsome man in Lindenbach, maybe the one man in
town I would have dated after your father died.”
“Really?” I asked, shocked.
“True story.” She handed me another honeycomb. “But
he never recovered from his wife passing, on top of having
his hands full with four boys and their business. I didn’t have
much more time with you three and the farm.”
“I had no idea.”
“Why would you? We weren’t talking much about my
prospects when you were sixteen.”
“No, we talked about Drew.” Even twelve years after his
death, it hurt to say his name.
“We did talk about Drew.” She was still smiling at the
memory. “Your sisters never dated much. As a parent, I
expected boys to be a much bigger problem than they were.”
I didn’t note that Drew’s death terrified them into
permanently swearing off love, but we both thought it. At
least they went on the occasional date. I might as well have
been a virgin for all the time that had passed. And what I
remembered was probably not superstar action, considering
Drew and I were teenagers who knew next to nothing about
sex beyond the very basics.
“You know,” Mom started, recapturing my attention, “I
was kind of hoping Keaton would manage the barn
restoration. I’ll be glad when it’s finished and ready for
events, but the time might pass a little sweeter with Keaton
around here every day.”
“Isn’t that the truth. Cole’s handsome, but Keaton?” I
whistled.
 “Well, Cole is about as mysterious as a cellophane bag.”
“Mama,” I said, laughing.
“What? It’s alluring to leave something to the
imagination. That’s all I’m saying.”
“So that’s what makes Keaton more attractive?” I asked,
considering it.
“Wouldn’t you say? The less he says, the more you
wonder what he has to say.” After a beat, she continued. “He
was front and center in the town’s spotlight with Mandy,
given she was the mayor’s daughter. Boy was homecoming
king and the star quarterback, smiling face perched on the
back of a convertible rolling down Main Street. And in the
span of a year, the man turned into a ghost. I understand,
but it’s hard to draw a line between the two versions of him.
Makes you wonder what happened to him.”
“We know what happened to him, Mama.”
“Sure, but we all handled it different, didn’t we? We don’t
know just what it did to him.”
We fell quiet again as she handed me another honeycomb
and we went about our work.
Truth was, I knew just what it had done to him. He’d
buried his heart in the cemetery behind the church just a
little ways from where I’d buried mine. Maybe he figured
himself to be as cursed as I thought myself to be and vowed
never to put anyone else in such a position. Maybe he
believed he’d had his one shot at love only to lose it.
Or maybe he couldn’t stand the thought of digging up his
heart only to bury it again.
The sound of Dad’s old truck floated toward us, and when
I looked over my shoulder, it was to the vision of my sisters
in the cab, smiling and singing along to George Strait, their
dark hair whipping out of their ponytails to float around the
cab, weightless. I smiled at their joy, enjoying it second-
hand as I did so many things.
 Briefly, I wondered how much life I’d lived through them
and decided I didn’t want to know the answer. It was easier
this way, safer.
And I’d keep reminding myself of that until I believed it.
 4
O LD H A B IT S

KEATON

M y alarm went off before the sun a few days later, but I
was already awake, waiting for the sound so I could
get today done.
It would be a day like any other. I’d get myself up, go to
work, keep busy until dinner. Eat because I had to. Watch TV
with my brothers and my niece Sophie, shower, and go to
bed. But there would be no rest. I’d lay here in the dark and
beg for sleep so I wouldn’t have to be alone with myself.
This was where I’d been the night the police knocked on
the door to tell me my wife had died.
Dad’s gravestone hadn’t even been put in place yet. We’d
just moved back into my family home, still had boxes in the
corner, just over there under the window. I hadn’t been
asleep that night either, not after the fight she and I had.
I didn’t know where it came from, her wanting to move.
His death had changed me, she said, but how could I ever be
the same? It was too much, she noted, for me to bear. She
once told me I’d be destroyed by the weight of it, that there
was no way for me to move on if we stayed here. We could
start over, away from her family and mine, an escape from
the yoke of my responsibility. That she would even suggest it
was madness. Maybe it was some survival instinct she had, a
fear that I wouldn’t be the same. As if leaving would have
turned back the clock.
She knew I couldn’t leave. That I wouldn’t leave.
The fight had escalated, almost from the second Dad died.
The last time I saw her, we’d shown our ugliest selves,
slinging accusations and insults at each other down to the
stupidest, smallest things that only people who have been
together a long time fight about. In the end, she’d stormed
out, tears on her cheeks and keys in her hand.
On that moonless night, on that unlit country road, she
didn’t see the little hatchback with the young family inside
pull out of their drive.
Her truck flipped and rolled down a slight hill. They said
she died on impact, as did the family she hit, all but a boy in
Sophie’s grade. Only a toddler at the time, he was adopted by
a local family, one I knew well and saw often. Seeing his face
kicked the wind out of me every time.
It was my fault as much as it was hers. I let her walk away
angry, my pride too deep to stop her, to be an adult. Let her
go, I’d thought. Maybe she’ll come back with some sense of
reason. I’d questioned whether or not she knew me, to press
leaving like she did. Wondered if there was something else at
play, another reason to run.
I thought the worst of her that night.
The truth of the matter is that I could have stopped her. If
I had, they’d all still be here. But I didn’t. And they weren’t.
I flipped off my covers, my skin crawling and my guts full
of bolts. Once, this was my parents’ bedroom, though their
things were long gone, relocated to other parts of the house
or stored away. I wouldn’t have taken the room if I’d had a
choice. Mandy had insisted, and when she died, my brothers
moved in whether I wanted them there or not. The twins
sharing a room as boys was all well and good, but as adults
they’d passed at the suggestion of bunkbeds when there was
an empty room in the house.
Nobody wanted this room. But since the house had gone
to me, I had no real argument.
With a sigh, I went about my business, brushing my teeth
and dressing for the day before heading down to Dad’s office
where stacks of problematic paperwork waited on my desk
for solutions.
Trouble was, there weren’t any.
Not that my brain knew the difference—it happily blamed
me for the numbers. After all, it was my responsibility to
move them from red to black, to find money where there was
none.
We hadn’t been in the best shape when Dad died—he was
just as prone to sacrificing profit for lending a hand to the
town as I was. Over the last couple years, we’d run up against
a string of brick walls. The rising cost of lumber. The supply
shortages. The exorbitant costs of building and repairs that
the people of this town couldn’t afford. And then there were
the town projects I’d agreed to do at cost. It benefitted all of
us to refurbish Main Street. When Pastor Colburn needed a
new roof for the church, I couldn’t say no, couldn’t charge
him what I normally would despite the fact that churches in
general were wealthy. They weren’t here in Lindenbach. Ten
percent tithe on minimum wage or a farmer’s salary was
barely enough to keep the pastor and his family fed and
clothed, never mind renovations.
Any way you cut it was slim, not just for us, but for
Lindenbach. We had a duty to help each other, because
despite our differences, we were a family. Or at least I liked
to think we were. Some days, I wasn’t so sure.
My brothers didn’t know about the books, and they
couldn’t find out. They’d worry, running around like a
gaggle of geese trying to fix something they didn’t break. If
they were distressed, it’d be impossible to
compartmentalize, to pretend things were okay. Their worry
would multiply mine. I couldn’t stand to see them hurt.
It was easier this way—the hill I would die on.
I leaned back in Dad’s old leather office chair with an
unholy squeak that I couldn’t seem to find in me to oil. That
noise sent Pavlovian nostalgia through me every time, made
me think of all the times I’d heard it and known everything
was all right. That Dad was in here keeping us safe and
sound, a peace one only finds in naivety.
Now I knew better.
I glanced at my laptop screen where our bank accounts
glared at me. My guts twisted as I laid my fingers on the keys
and did what I’d done too many times to count. Or maybe I
just didn’t want to know the number, didn’t want to tally my
shame.
I never wanted to be on Mandy’s trust fund, didn’t want
my name anywhere near her money. I thought she was crazy
for having us draw up wills when we were in our twenties,
but after a very quiet and secretive lung cancer scare with
her father, she insisted. I figured it made her feel more in
control and couldn’t argue, but I didn’t want it and didn’t
think we’d need it. I’d always figured we’d grow old
together. Instead, I was a widower at the ripe old age of
twenty-eight with a trust fund the size of Texas.
I tried to give it back to Mitchell, but despite his name as
the title holder, he wouldn’t take it. Trust funds were a
lawless thing, I learned, with rules determined by whoever
set it up. The money was never truly Mandy’s. Only in her
possession by the grace and good will of her father. But he’d
insisted, saying Mandy wanted me to have it, unwilling to go
against her wishes. So I kept it, but I’d never touched it, not
until a couple years ago.
 There was no one thing that had put us in the red, just a
hundred here and there occurrences that amounted to a
mountain of debt. At first it was just a month that we’d dip.
Then a couple in a row. Next thing I knew, I had to skim the
trust every month. It was the only way to keep my family’s
business alive beyond refusing to help people worse off than
me. All that money was just sitting there. It felt like my only
option, but every time I touched it, I was left with the slimy
stink of dishonesty. Of thievery. If we didn’t need it so badly,
I never would have touched it. But here I was, taking money I
didn’t earn and didn’t deserve whether Mandy wanted me to
have it or not.
Before I could transfer the money, Cole busted into the
office with a weary expression, sharpened by concern.
“I’ve got to go get Sophie.”
There was nothing else to be said. Sophie was at her
mother’s, and combining that knowledge with the look on
his face, I knew his ex had put Sophie in some kind of
danger. Hopefully it was only neglect.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“I was supposed to get out to the Blum farm this morning
and check on the guys, make sure things were up and
running for the day. Chris’s wife had her baby last night, so
we’re without a foreman. There are some supplies in the
back of the truck for them too.”
“No problem. She okay?”
A curt nod. “Soph called me this morning. Julie went out
last night but never came home. Everybody judged me for
getting an eight-year-old a phone. I wish she didn’t need
it.”
“Me too. I’ll handle everything. Let me know if you need
anything else.”
“I will. Thanks, Keaton.”
 He was gone before I could respond. With an excuse to
stall, I closed my laptop, putting the unsavory task off until
later.
But I never did manage to get the bitter taste out of my
mouth.
 5
S TA R T A R I O T

DAISY

I t was one of those idyllic mornings, the kind that

imprints into your memory in its entirety and for all time
—the smell of coffee hanging in the air, the creak of
Mama’s rocking chair, one sister singing an old honky-tonk
song from the porch swing and the other harmonizing as
Keaton Meyer pulled up to the house.
Yes, there were many reasons I’d remember the moment
forever. One for my lack of bra—judging by the way my
mother and sisters arranged their bathrobes, they weren’t
wearing one either. My sister Jo’s boyfriend watched her
with mounting suspicion as she swung her feet to the ground
and smoothed her hair. He glanced at the Meyers
Construction truck containing the reason for the fluster, and
his eyes narrowed by a degree.
“What’s Keaton doing here?” Poppy hissed, crossing her
legs, then thinking better of it and crossing her ankles
instead. “Where’s Cole?”
“Can’t say that I know,” Mama answered, more curious
than flustered. Keaton’s brother Cole had been managing the
barn restoration that would turn our oldest and most
dilapidated barn into a second event venue, and though it
was well-established that we would have preferred a glimpse
of Keaton, we’d have liked a few minutes notice, at least.
“The construction guys?” Grant asked, confused and still
suspicious, standing when we did. He put his impressive
frame between Jo and the man he clearly saw as an intruder
and folded his arms.
Jo rolled her eyes and swatted his arm, stepping around
him. “Oh, quit it. He’s not here for me.”
He looked down at her, quietly smirking. “Better safe
than sorry.”
She laughed and tucked into his side.
“What does it matter which brother shows up to work on
the barn renovation?” he asked, turning his attention back to
Keaton’s truck.
“It doesn’t,” I noted. “They’re just being silly.”
I did my best not to look silly as I tightened my bun, very
aware that I had on very short shorts and no robe to hide my
braless boobs. I folded my arms across them instead, because
the second I thought about said boobs, my nipples
announced themselves.
“And what makes this brother worthy of all … this?”
“See for yourself,” Jo answered, but I barely heard her.
Because out of the truck he climbed in all his glory.
I’d seen him just a few days ago on Main Street, but for
the stretching of time he inspired, you’d think I’d never seen
him in my life. He looked like he’d walked out of a Chevrolet
commercial for the manliest truck in their inventory. Or like
a social media thirst trap on his way to chop wood with no
shirt on. Except those men knew exactly what they were
doing. Keaton had no idea.
You could tell in the way he held himself, as if his life was
filled with hard work that he reveled in. It was in the way his
eyes pierced me all the way through, with full and complete
presence and absolute honesty, all while maintaining
impassable distance. He was an island surrounded by lava
surrounded by desert surrounded by hurricanes, guarded by
a thunder of dragons.
He held no interest in the female gaze. What he wanted
was to be left alone.
Which made it even worse when Poppy called, “Look at
that, Daisy—a Keaton Meyer sighting twice in the same
week. We’d better buy lotto tickets.”
“Mornin’,” he said with the thump of the truck door.
“Cole had an emergency this morning, so he sent me over. I
need to check in on the guys, if you’d be so kind as to point
me in the direction of the barn.”
“Well, I hope everything’s all right with Cole,” Mama
answered without asking questions. But we all wondered
about Cole, the Meyer brother who ended up gossip fodder
more often than not. “So if you go down past the house—”
Mama started, turning in the direction she was about to send
him, but Poppy interrupted.
By interrupted, I meant she practically shoved me down
the stairs.
“Daisy will take you,” she said, sugary sweet. “Won’t you,
Daisy?”
Manners dictated the walls of her trap. All I could do was
smile past the flush in my cheeks and say, “Sure, just let me
grab a sweatshirt.”
“Oh, it’s not even cold,” Jo chided from Grant’s side.
Poppy blocked my way up the stairs. Mama made a face at
them but didn’t come to my rescue.
I offered Poppy a smile that promised swift payment
when I got back, and she volleyed a smile of her own that
said it’d be worth it.
“Come on,” I said as I walked down the last two steps.
“I’ll show you back there.”
 When I looked up, his gaze weighed a thousand pounds. I
faltered, bare feet in the grass in front of his truck, instantly
and deeply aware of my appearance, dirty hair and all.
God, was Poppy gonna get it.
With a curt nod, his eyes cast to the ground, releasing me
long enough to climb in next to him. The silence in the cab
was deafening. When he turned the engine over, I’d never
been so grateful for the sound.
I had no good reason to be affected by him this way, not
more than any other hot-blooded hetero woman. He was
older than me, a senior when I was a freshman in high
school. I remembered seeing him on the field at football
games. In the hallways at school, laughing with Mandy up
against her locker. I remembered the size of her mum the
year they won homecoming king and queen, the massive
flower and ribbons and bells so heavy, she had to wear it
around her neck instead of pinning it to her shirt, lest it tear
a hole in the fabric.
Mama was right—I hadn’t seen that boy in a long, long
time. This strange version of Keaton was shrouded in
brooding silence and mystery.
Silence that he maintained as he backed away from the
house.
“Just head that way, past the stables and into the woods a
bit,” I said.
Another nod, his eyes trained on the strip of grass in the
middle of the dirt road he ambled down. There might have
been some secret of the universe written there, a message
from God, maybe the cure for world hunger for as likely as
he was to look away.
Careful to keep one arm in front of my chest, I fiddled
with my bangs in a blind effort to fix them, not even
knowing whether they were a mess, though it was a safe
assumption.
 “So,” I started, desperate to break the silence, “how are
your brothers?”
“Fine, thank you.”
I put on a smile and kept trying. “Well, that’s good to
hear.” A pause. “Are you gonna be out at the barn all day?”
“Just long enough to make sure all’s well. The crew
hasn’t been a bother, have they?”
“Not at all. They use one of the back gates, so all we’ve
heard is some sawing when the wind switches direction.”
“Good. Let me know if that changes.”
“We will.”
Another dead end. I kept the small smile on my face as my
brain scrambled for something else to say, but all I could
think about was how the inside of the truck smelled like
leather and campfires, with a crisp undertone of soap and a
hint of rubber. Why that was tantalizing, I did not know.
“Sorry to surprise you this morning,” he said, startling
me out of my thoughts.
“Oh, that’s all right. I hope Cole was able to get
everything squared away.”
“He was. Thank you.”
At least this time when the conversation died, the turn-
off to the barn was in sight. “Turn just up there, past the
reflector.”
He did. I picked another topic and tried again.
“Well, I have to say—I never knew Main Street could look
so good until you got ahold of it. Y’all did the impossible.”
Bingo.
Something in him lightened, bringing the smallest of
smiles to his lips. A smile I watched as he spoke about the
Main Street restoration, but I was too busy tracing the strong
line of his profile with my gaze—from his brow to the bridge
of his nose to the cut of his jaw—to listen. The slight
crinkling at the corner of his eyes belied his stoicism,
marking a time when his smiles were free.
“—had me build custom tables for inside the store, so I
used all reclaimed materials we found in Mr. McMahon’s
barn after we tore it down. Been hanging on to that wood for
a year. Glad to use it for the town. I don’t like the thought of
all that history being lost. Now it gets a new story.”
“A new story,” I mused. “I like that.”
He glanced at me, still almost smiling, his eyes alight. I
didn’t remember seeing him like this, not in a long time.
Since we were in school.
“Everything abandoned deserves a new story,” he said.
“Otherwise, what’s the point to all this?”
I didn’t know what to say, struck by his honesty and,
frankly, that he was still talking.
Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything.
He pulled the truck to a stop in front of the barn and put it
in park, waving at the guys by way of a single hand held
briefly in the air.
“Maybe you should stay in the truck,” he said as he
opened the door.
I frowned at the command, but that almost-smile rose a
little on one side. He nodded, his eyes cutting to my crossed
arms as he slid out.
“Wouldn’t want you to start a riot.”
My cheeks were hotter than a meteor. “That sounds like a
them problem, not a me problem.”
A noise escaped him that sounded almost like a laugh.
“Tell that to Helen of Troy.”
Before I could answer, he shut the door with one gigantic
hand, grabbing some bags out of the bed of the truck and
heading to the barn without looking back.
I sat there, stunned and stupid over Keaton Meyer,
considering all the things I could never have.
Including him.
 6
HOT DOG

DAISY

T hat afternoon, I was busy in the kitchen, waiting for

Poppy to get home so I could exact my revenge, just like
I had been since Keaton dropped me off that morning.
It had been a similarly awkward ride back to the house,
and I’d spent the rest of the morning doing chores,
contemplating my revenge. But when Poppy finally walked in
the door, slamming it behind her hard enough to bounce the
pictures on the wall, I decided her comeuppance could wait.
“What’s the matter?” I asked as she stormed straight to
the fridge, took out a beer, and slammed that door too.
Jo wandered in, frowning.
“What’s the matter is that I have never been so sick about
this town in my life. And that’s saying something.” Poppy
twisted the cap off with a hiss and took a long pull.
Jo and I shared a look and kept quiet, knowing she wasn’t
close to opening the floor for questions.
“Doug fucking Windley headed a small mob in the park
harassing vagrants, which on its own is bad enough. But
every single one of them had a holstered gun around their
waists. Even Marjorie.” Poppy spat the name with as much
vitriol as Jo ever did. And Jo hated Marjorie’s guts.
 “So,” she continued, “a bunch of us were in Bettie’s
Biscuits and saw the commotion, so we headed over there
while Bettie called the sheriff and tried to calm the assholes
down, but they only got bigger and louder. Somehow I ended
up speaking for all the vagrants—”
“Of course you did,” Jo said fondly.
“Of course I did! And Pastor Coleburn worked with
everybody trying to help the homeless gather their things
and get them to the church while Doug and I barked at each
other. And when the sheriff showed up, know what he said?”
“Oh, no,” I said.
“He said he’d arrest anybody found in the park after nine
at night, but didn’t say shit about Dave Jackson waving his
loaded pistol around a public park with children in it.
Goddamn I’m mad.”
“Is everyone all right?” I asked.
She nodded with the bottle to her lips, lowering it when
she swallowed. “No thanks to them. Pastor Coleburn got
everybody rounded up and out of the way and put together a
temporary shelter, but it’s not going to work for long.”
Under furrowed brows, her eyes fell to the ground. “There’s
got to be something we can do, something bigger than this.
Not sandwiches, not clothes. These people need real, actual
help. They need a place to stay, medical attention, therapy.
Job assistance. They need a home.”
I turned the words over in my mind, and I could see them
tumbling around Jo’s too.
“A homeless shelter?” I asked. “But where? Pastor
Coleburn is already doing what he can.”
Something dawned on Poppy, and she rose, her face
lighting slowly. “We build one. Lindenbach, I mean. We can
build one, or convert something that already exists. They
want to get the homeless off Main Street? Find them a place
to stay. Do some outreach, see if we can get a legitimate free
clinic running, see if we can’t call in some psychologists
willing to come to town.”
Jo frowned. “Poppy, I don’t mean to sound like a
naysayer, but how do you figure we can do all this? The
amount of organization, money, time … I’m just not sure
how it’s possible.”
“It has to be possible. Someone has to have a building we
can use for the shelter. If we can set up a clinic inside and
rally volunteers? Maybe we could start a fund, establish it as
a nonprofit.” She snapped. “What about Keely Brumer? Isn’t
she a doctor now in Austin?”
“Yeah, but why would she come back here to get paid next
to nothing to work for charity?”
Poppy’s face quirked in thought. “I don’t know. But there
has to be someone. We’d need a whole crew of people. I just
don’t know how we’d pay them.”
“If only we had a million dollars,” a smiling, deep voice
came from behind me.
Grant sauntered in, sliding in next to Jo to kiss her
waiting cheek.
“So what’s this I hear about charity?” he asked.
Briefly, Poppy explained. And by briefly, I meant she
ranted for a few minutes while Grant listened patiently. He’d
learned how to handle Blum women like a seasoned
professional, baptized by fire, thanks to Jo.
He was also richer than God.
“So,” he recapped, “you’re looking for housing, medical
care, and social workers?”
“Pretty much.”
“Is there anywhere in town to house them that already
exists?”
“What about the old motel?” Jo suggested.
I shook my head. “No way the Broomfields would let us
use it for a homeless shelter. I don’t even think they’d sell it
to you, Grant, despite the size of your wallet. Not if they
knew what we’d use it for.”
“What about building something here? On the farm?” he
suggested.
We blinked at him.
“This farm is twenty acres—what if we built something
in that back corner off 1098? We could fence it off, make a
separate entrance. Build a facility for the kitchen, laundry,
showers, and medical facilities, a common area. I was just
reading about a place in Oregon that built a bunch of tiny
homes to house the homeless, and it was a huge hit. Plus, I
might know a guy who’d be willing to invest.”
Poppy’s face was once again a spotlight. “Grant, don’t
you mess with me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You would fund this?”
“Sure. I don’t think it’d even cost that much to put
together or run.”
“We should start a charity,” Poppy said. “We can throw
fundraisers, make a website. Get local businesses involved.”
“You’re going to need a lawyer too,” Grant noted. “Think
Evan would help?”
Poppy flushed at the mention of her crush, who barely
knew she existed. “I know he would. It’s not going to be
easy. Mitchell will never approve.”
“Luckily you just need city council to back you up,” Grant
said.
The females in the room laughed.
Jo smoothed his shirt, patted his chest. “Oh, honey. Every
single one of them is in Mitchell’s pocket. But we have our
ways to get things done around here. Don’t you worry.”
“How could I worry? I’ve witnessed you three get things
done around here firsthand.”
 Poppy had fluttered to the breakfast table and was writing
furiously on a notepad. “We’re going to need a lot of help,
including construction. Think Keaton will be interested?”
My cheeks went hot, the temperature rising when my
sisters’ gazes fell on me. Grant looked at me, then at them,
confused.
“Why are all y’all lookin’ at me?” I asked.
“Gotta delegate,” Poppy said with a sly smile on her face.
“I’ll head up the whole project. Jo and Grant—you two
handle outreach and fundraising. I bet Presley and Sebastian
will help too, if we ask nice,” she mused. “And Daisy, you’re
the head of operations. Including overseeing construction.”
“Well, now, hang on a second—”
“Someone has to do it,” she insisted like an asshole.
“Don’t you think Grant and Jo are better handling the money
stuff, since it’s Grant’s money after all?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And I’m the one who should probably run the whole
situation? You don’t want to do it, do you?”
“No, but—”
“Then it’s settled,” she said as she stood. “On Monday,
go find out if Keaton is interested, and we’ll take it from
there.”
“Did we just start a charity?” Jo mused.
“I think maybe we did,” Poppy answered with a smile.
But all I could think about was the proximity I might be to
Keaton, and if it was possible to survive the endeavor.
Somehow, I figured it wasn’t.
 7
D A M N E D I F YO U D O

KEATON

I scrubbed a hand across my mouth, the rasp of my beard

the only sound in my office at our business. On the other
side of the door, far, far away, I heard the happy voices of
my brothers going about their business, as usual. In here, I
was alone with invoices I couldn’t pay.
The most urgent were the few I’d begged extensions for.
But the money I’d planned to use to settle our bills had gone
straight to repairing and maintaining some of our larger
equipment and to pay the new hires. I’d moved some money
around laterally—there wasn’t enough to make a dent. All I
could do was spread it around, like trying to cover up my
meat with mashed potatoes so I could get dessert.
I’d never had to touch the trust twice in this short a time
frame. My stomach turned at the realization.
A knock rapped before my office door opened, and I coolly
closed my laptop with my heart in my throat, hoping I didn’t
look suspicious to Millie. But she was too giddy about
whatever she was here for to notice.
My face quirked as I assessed her rosy cheeks, her pursed
but smiling lips, her sparkling eyes.
 “Keaton, I have Daisy Blum here to see you, if you have a
moment.
My heart, which was still lodged in my throat, doubled in
size, nearly choking me. But I didn’t miss a beat.
“Sure, send her in. Thanks, Millie.”
Millie opened the door the rest of the way and moved out
of the way. And for a brief moment, time stretched out into a
thin line that connected Daisy to me.
Her face was turned to Millie, looking at her elder with
eyes full of kindness and a smile so honest, so gentle, it hit
me in the gut. Her dark hair was pulled up in a high ponytail,
her bangs brushing dark eyebrows and curling tendrils
licking her jaw. My eyes followed the long line of her neck,
the curve of her shoulders, down to her waist where the
shell-pink fabric of her top was tucked into the band of a
rosy polkadot skirt, the fabric shifting as she walked, the
hem swaying.
Our eyes met.
I only noticed the flare of color in her cheeks and the
plump bow of her smile in my periphery. All I really saw
were her eyes, the color of endless sky, soft with hope and
sparkling with wit, framed by fans of jet-black lashes. They
were eyes to fly away in, to drown in, so lose oneself, forever
lost to the siren’s call.
When caught by those bewitching eyes, I didn’t believe
there could be any escape.
Millie bounced her way out, closing the door behind her,
and the room shrank by half.
“Hi, Keaton,” Daisy started, hesitating near the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you without an appointment.”
I didn’t know when I’d stood up, but that was when I
noticed. Maybe it’d been instinctive manners to stand when
a woman entered a room. Maybe it’d been that siren song,
and next thing I knew, I’d be stumbling around my desk and
into her.
I hoped it wouldn’t be the latter. I couldn’t gauge how
much I’d already embarrassed myself and didn’t want to
make it any worse.
I gestured to the chairs in front of me. “You’re no bother.
Please, sit.”
As she did, so did I.
“What can I do for you?”
Again, she hesitated, glancing at her hands before tucking
a wisp of hair behind her ear, then thinking again and
untucking it.
I couldn’t help but smile just a little. “I didn’t do anything
to make you nervous, did I?”
That earned me a small laugh, accompanied by a relaxing
of her shoulders. “No, I’m sorry. I was just thinking that the
last time you saw me, I was in my pajamas.”
“Barefoot,” I added.
The color in her cheeks deepened, though she was still
smiling. “My sisters are cruel creatures. I’d have preferred a
second to put some clothes on.”
“Don’t think twice about it. I didn’t,” I lied. I’d thought at
least thirty times past twice about it.
Something in her shifted at my words, closed up,
stiffened, though still, she was smiling. I realized what I’d
said could be taken another way, but I didn’t correct myself.
It’s better for everyone if I don’t.
“Well,” she started, sitting up a little straighter, her back
at least six inches from the chair, “I wanted to reach out and
see if you’d be willing to work with my sisters and I on a
project we’re starting. After the other day with Doug, I
thought you might be interested in building a homeless
shelter.”
 She launched into a proposal that she and her sisters had
cooked up after our interaction on Main Street, and I sat
back, listening and watching the light in her shine. They
wanted to build a tiny house shelter on their property, set up
a community facility there, a clinic. And would we want to be
a part of the project?
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
“You would?” she asked, blinking as if confused.
“You’re surprised?”
“Well, I … I suppose I thought you might want to see
some plans or a business proposal or something before you
agreed.”
For a moment, I paused, collecting my thoughts. “Daisy,
this town is part of my family, even Doug and Mitchell and
the rest of them. It’s just like you said—if they want to get
rid of the homeless, we can help by relocating them. Give
them a place to stay off Main Street. Help them find jobs and
get on their feet. It’s the best idea I’ve heard since they
started coming to town.”
An understanding passed between us, lit her up. And her
flame lit me up.
“Yes, exactly,” she said, excited. “Grant is going to fund
it, but we’re going to do some outreach too. I’d like to get
some numbers together for him and a budget ready for you.
Is there any way we could get some sort of … off the record,
ballpark figure?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I won’t
put that pressure on you.”
“No, it’s all right.” I paused again. “How many tiny
homes?”
“At least ten. Really, we’d like fifteen or twenty, plus a
community building with some medical facilities. A shower
room, that sort of thing.”
I nodded, already drawing up plans in my mind. “Let me
look into it. I want to see what kind of prefab materials we
can get, see where we can cut costs.”
“And your labor too.”
I was already shaking my head like a fool. “I’m not going
to charge you.”
“Technically, you’d be charging Grant.”
“We can build your twenty homes if I do it for cost.”
She frowned, “But—”
“I won’t hear of it. Please, consider this my
contribution.”
Again, her cheeks flushed deep enough to splotch at the
edges. Her eyes shone with emotion. “That’s … you’re too
generous, Keaton.”
Stupid was what I was, but there was no way I could take
any profit from this, not when the money could be used to
help not only the people who needed it, but to take a step to
bridge the gap in our town. Everybody could win.
“It’s nothing,” I lied again, certain I would find my way
out of my financial hole despite giving my work away for
free.
Surely it had nothing to do with Daisy.
The stirring in my chest kicked up embers from coals long
thought cold, buried beneath a coat of ashes. But instead of
stoking them, I stamped them out, not out of spite. Out of
fear that if the fire got loose it would burn me down.
And Daisy? Daisy was as dangerous as kerosene.
Better to live in the cold.
It was the only way I wouldn’t get burned.
 8
I N H A LE , E X H A LE

DAISY

I could not for the life of me figure out why Keaton smelled
so good.
There was nothing distinctly pleasant about it, I’d
noted over the last six weeks. Sometimes there’d be a hint of
soap. Sometimes a touch of pine. Maybe a whiff of amber.
But there was always a heady, male sort of scent about him,
something distinctive to him but familiar to me, though I
couldn’t place the connection. It was locked somewhere in a
secret room in my brain.
Pheromones were probably the culprit. The man reeked of
them, and every time he was near, I wanted to grab him by
the collar and bury my nose in his neck in the hopes I could
inhale them all and rid myself of the temptation forever.
This would have been made extra awkward given the fact
that we hadn’t been alone for more than a handful of
minutes over the last month and a half.
Whether this was by accident or design, I couldn’t be
sure.
If by design, Keaton was a master of time and space. We’d
worked closely on every stage of the project, from blueprints
to breaking ground. They’d poured the foundation last week,
the prefab tiny houses had already started to arrive, and the
frame for the community center was going up starting today.
We’d be assembling two houses to see how it all fit together
and for the guys to get some practice in anticipation of a
group of six to put one up a day until they were finished.
While every meeting we’d had was held at the Meyers
Construction office, we’d been on site for the last week and
change together, and he’d somehow managed to dodge me at
every turn. Within a few minutes of us finding ourselves
alone, he’d leave to be anywhere I wasn’t. He pulled it off
with the skill of a man who would do anything to avoid a
conversation—with long-practiced evasions and polite
excuses. He was never rude, never made me feel unwelcome.
On all accounts, he was a perfect gentleman, all while
managing to keep conversation to a minimum and setting
plenty of space between us.
As such, it had been a long week. A long six weeks, if I
was counting.
The town hall meetings we’d endured had been fierce,
with Poppy leading the charge from a political pulpit like a
seasoned professional, her natural inclination for argument
a boon. Evan Banks, Poppy’s crush and a lawyer in town,
found a loophole for our permits when the city tried to deny
us, and between that and Keaton’s family’s good standing in
town, we’d been able to move at breakneck speed.
I watched him from across the table between us where
blueprints of the entire site were rolled out, his attention on
delegation as he divvied out tasks, mostly to his brothers. We
stood in a temporary building that served as our office, with
desks for Keaton, the foreman, and one for me.
Everything was a little dusty and a little dirty, but that
didn’t bother me. Neither did the noise, which very quickly
became part of the background, the texture of this place.
 I didn’t have much to do here, truth be told. But every day
I came and sat at my desk, made myself available for any
decisions that needed my input, and spent too much time
shopping on wholesale websites for furniture, linens, and
decor for the community center. Today was different, a new
sort of excitement. Even I was dressed in clothes built for
hard work, because we were going to put the first houses
together.
I didn’t realize we’d been dismissed until Keaton started
rolling up the blueprints and people around the table began
to file toward the door. Keaton’s eyes met mine for a brief
moment before snapping back to his hands as they put the
blueprints back in their tube. But I didn’t press my luck, just
kept the smile on my face and followed everyone out.
The site was busy with a dozen or so workers, many of
them homeless, promised a spot in the community for their
contribution. Grant had ordered two dozen high quality,
insulated tents and set them up in rows in the back parking
lot of Pastor Coleburn’s church. The few children in the mix
had been enrolled in school, able to stay with their families
by the grace of Keaton and Coleburn and a couple of property
owners in our town who had unoccupied houses to lend.
There were of course other smaller things, though no less
meaningful to those we were trying to help. Like free
haircuts and toiletry bags. Some of the women were working
in the church helping with the kitchen, some worked here on
the construction site.
Twenty-seven in total. Far more people to house than the
number of tiny homes I thought we could get. But between
Grant’s money and Keaton’s connections, we were able to
get twenty-five. It felt a lot like making a basket of fish and
bread feed a hungry crowd. But it wasn’t all smiles and
cupcakes. There had been a few thefts in town linked to the
homeless, and for the first time in Lindenbach’s history,
someone had found hypodermic needles in the park. The
drug problem was a tricky one, something we were figuring
out how to handle in the community we were building. We’d
have to drug test, and we were under no illusions—some of
the population would be excluded, and they’d be left afloat.
We could offer them mental health services and the clinic,
even job placement, but they wouldn’t be able to live here.
I hated the thought.
I’d heard every side. Helping an addict would only enable
them. It was their fault they were addicts, and they didn’t
deserve free resources. They should have made better
choices and they wouldn’t have ended up here. The list went
on and on. But in my opinion, it could have happened to
anyone, under the right circumstance. Anybody who didn’t
believe so had far too much faith in themselves.
So we were leaning toward a self-governed community
that would serve as their own council with the support of a
social worker. This, along with everything else, made people
mad. They can’t govern themselves! They’re clearly not
responsible enough! Didn’t matter that people had been
governing themselves thus since the dawn of man. It was as
tried and true a system as there ever was.
Fortunately, we were more interested in results than we
were in placating disagreeable townsfolk.
I shifted my tool belt on my hips as we headed toward the
palettes. The concrete was marked where each house would
stand, and at the back of two of them were prefab walls and
floor. All we had to do was hoist, screw, and nail the suckers
together.
Keaton started to group everyone off, but he didn’t get far
before Carson jumped in.
“Six people to a house, six hours to put one together.
Jimmy, Hank—you two come with me. Andy, you go on with
Daisy and Keaton. Brian, how about …”
 Carson kept talking, but I quit listening. I was exerting all
my energy on deciphering Keaton’s reaction.
He’d stiffened, paused for a split second, then kept
moving for our palette. Andy nodded at me and smiled.
“Mornin’, Miss Blum.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Daisy?”
He laughed, scratched his neck. “Prolly a hundred more.”
He jerked his chin at the stack. “Don’t look like much, does
it? But it’s the whole world for some of us.”
“It looks like hope to me. Smells like it too.” I drew a long
breath through my nose. “Fresh lumber on a fresh morning
for a fresh start.”
“I like that. Looks like it’ll be kinda big.”
“Eight by twelve, big enough for a full-sized bed and a
desk with a little front stoop. It’ll have electricity and a
window unit, propane for heat in the winter. I wish we could
have given each a bathroom, but that’ll have to wait. What
are you most excited for?”
For a moment as we walked up to the spot, he said
nothing. When we stopped, he said, “I can’t remember the
last time I had a door. I think I’m most looking forward to
that.”
He said it as if he worried saying it too loud would make it
disappear.
“Well, we can do a door, my friend. And hopefully much
more than that.”
Keaton had already moved for the cinderblocks and was
setting them in their spots, two by two. So Andy and I headed
to the stacks, and Keaton directed us on what to do first.
I wondered over why he was so disinclined to talk to me.
Clearly his brothers didn’t care for his aloofness either—
they tried to leave us alone whenever possible. But Keaton
would just follow them out or find a reason for one of them
to stick around.
 Seemed like today he wasn’t going to get away with it.
I spent the day doing my best to blend in, like a woman
trying to get a unicorn to eat out of her hand. Maybe if I was
still and quiet enough, he’d quit ignoring me. Otherwise, it
was gonna be a long project.
Somewhere around lunchtime, I succeeded. We sat around
eating sandwiches Bettie, the owner of the illustrious
Bettie’s Biscuits, had supplied. Keaton sat near enough to me
that I could have stuck my foot out and brushed his, which
was its own miracle. I’d even managed to make him laugh,
twice. With eye contact.
It was a big day.
The sun was on its way down when we’d finished raising
our houses. As we watched Andy walk through the door of
the house and close it behind him, Keaton beamed. Well, for
Keaton, which only meant his brow smoothed, his eyes
crinkling a little at the corners with the slightest of smiles on
his lips.
It would be weeks before we had all the houses up,
electricity run, and the facilities built. But it was a start, and
a big start at that.
Behind us was a little commotion as a couple of guys
plopped coolers in the middle of the foundation and started
passing out beers. Like moths to the moon, everyone began
to float in that direction. But neither Keaton nor I moved.
I shifted to smile sideways up at him. “What, you’re not
gonna take the chance to get away from me?”
One of his brows rose, but a ghost of a smile still tugged
at his lips. “You callin’ me a coward?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
He humphed.
“It’s just that I’ve noticed you make it a point never to be
alone with me and I thought it was strange.”
 For a second, he didn’t say anything, just watched the
crew laugh and chat around the coolers with a far-off look
on his face. It was the look of a man who often observed and
rarely participated.
Careful to keep a playful note in my voice, I said, “I don’t
know if you know this, but I don’t bite.”
The corner of his mouth that I could see tugged up a little
higher at the corner, but he didn’t look at me. “Really? I
figured you for a biter. Jo for a scratcher.”
“I’m more of a pincher. Jo’s the biter—goes with her
bark. Poppy’s the one that’ll scratch your eyes out.”
I earned an honest to God chuckle with that one. “A
pincher, huh? Not very menacing.”
“I’ve never been good at menacing.”
“No, I figure you haven’t.” A pause while I waited for him
to answer my original question. Just when I thought he
wasn’t going to say anything at all, he said, “I hadn’t
noticed, if I’m honest. So I guess it’s coincidence.”
“Oh,” I said, hoping he couldn’t hear the combination of
disappointment and rejection holding hands and pitching
themselves off my heart and into my stomach. “Well, good
to know my presence isn’t your punishment.”
“I don’t know if it could ever be that, Daisy.”
I snuck a look at him, but his eyes were still trained on
the crew. I couldn’t tell whether he was just being nice or if
there was more to it.
Don’t get your hopes up, Daisy Mae.
“Thanks for helping out today,” he said. “I have a good
feeling about this. I’m honored to be included.”
“We couldn’t do it without you.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“No, really. You were the only company in the tri-county
area dumb enough to take it on.”
He laughed, and I reveled in the sound.
 “That might be true. But what can I say. I’m a sucker.”
“You really kinda are,” I teased. “Main Street for cost,
this project. I don’t know how you turn a profit, giving the
milk away for free like you do.”
Something in him shifted at the joke, but I couldn’t figure
out what or why.
“This town means more to me than just about anything,”
he said. “I’ll do what I can to help, just like Dad did. It’s part
of our legacy.”
“Legacy,” I echoed. “There’s a lot of that around here.”
“You’ve got one of your own. Blum’s Bees is woven into
the fabric of this town.”
“So is Meyers Construction. Literally—you’re part of the
physical makeup of the place. We just make honey.”
“Honey lasts forever too, I hear.”
“It does. It’ll outlive Twinkies in the apocalypse.”
He chuckled, still not having looked at me. Someone from
the knot of people called his name, and he jerked his chin at
them.
“Come on and have a beer,” I suggested. “You earned
one.”
Instead of taking a step toward them, he took a step back.
“I’ve got some work to do, so I’ll have to pass. But you
should. And have fun.”
I nodded at him once, small. “All right. You have a good
night, Keaton.”
“You too.”
Our eyes met for the briefest moment, and I found his
thick with emotions shifting in shadows behind them. As if
he had a leash on the whole lot of those emotions and spent
all his energy keeping them heeled.
Just like that, he turned to leave, walking back toward the
offices with broad shoulders straight despite the weight they
carried. I wondered if he knew he didn’t have to bear his
burden alone. He had his brothers, the three of them mixed
in with the crew with beers in their hands and smiles on
their faces. I did my best to quell the thought that I could
help too. It wasn’t my place.
Though I kind of wished it was.
 9
COOKIE MONSTER

KEATON

I frowned at the cookie dough in the bowl, spoon in hand.

“Are you sure it’s supposed to look like that?”
Sophie nodded.
Cole looked over my shoulder. “Nope. Why’s it so dry?”
“I don’t know. I put in a half a cup of butter like it said.”
“Well, that’s why,” he answered. “It’s a cup and a half.”
I looked down at Sophie, who shrugged.
With a sigh, I stuck the spoon into the dough and turned
for the fridge.
Cole leaned against the island behind me with a Coke
bottle in his hand.
“Your build’s coming along,” he said. “It was weird to
stop by yesterday and see something vertical.”
“How’s the Blum’s barn restoration?” I asked, heading
back to the bowl with a couple sticks of butter in my hand.
“Just about done. Funny you’ll probably be finished
before me.”
“Mine’s prefab. You’re restoring a hundred-fifty-year-
old barn.”
“Rebuilding it, more like. I don’t see the Blums much. Not
as much as you do for sure.” He took a sip of his Coke, but I
didn’t take the opportunity to respond, focusing instead on
watching the microwave count down the melting of my
butter in the hopes he’d disappear.
No such luck.
“How’s it been with Daisy?” he asked.
“What do you mean? It’s just like working with anybody.”
I took the bowl out and poured it into our cookie mix.
He snorted a laugh. “I’ve seen the way you look at her,
and it’s not how you look at anybody else you work with.”
“She’s so pretty,” Sophie added, taking the spoon and
attempting to stir with her face all screwed up. “Will you
take me to the bee farm one day, Daddy?”
“Uncle Keaton will.”
“Why me?”
“Because making you squirm is my favorite hobby,” he
answered. “You oughta see her.”
I did my level best not to see Daisy, but I didn’t mention
that, knowing it would lead to a conversation with him as to
why. When she asked me the other day if I’d been avoiding
her, I’d dodged as best I could, playing dumb in the end.
There was no way to be honest with her, not that I wanted to
regarding that.
I couldn’t explain succinctly to Cole that I wasn’t fit for
the public. I never knew what to say, so if I could help it, I
didn’t say much. And when I did speak, I said the wrong
thing. I couldn’t tell him that thinking about Daisy made me
feel too many different ways to count. She made me think
about things I didn’t want to consider or remember. I didn’t
want to think about Mandy around Daisy, but I did. I didn’t
want to think of Daisy at all, but it was impossible not to. I
watched her across the office every day as she made calls or
sent emails or made herself coffee, the impulse to look so
strong, sometimes I’d make myself scarce just so I didn’t
have to fight it. I lived in a cycle of hope and guilt, opting to
keep my hands busy so I could avoid it—and her—as much
as humanly possible, considering we worked together.
Two months, and the project will be finished.
The thought left me both relieved and revulsed.
I was a contradiction in a hard hat, and I hated that too.
When I didn’t respond, he picked up where he left off.
“You should ask her out.”
“Man, you just don’t take no for an answer. Why do you
want me to go out with her so bad?”
“Partly for reasons I can’t mention around my child.”
Sophie rolled her eyes.
“But mostly because all you do is eat, sleep, and work,
which is both your hobby and your job. That alone is terrible
—hobbies are meant to be enjoyed, not monetized. Because
all you ever do is work. You can’t stop yourself, and it’s bad
for you.”
“I’m not working right now,” I noted.
“Making cookies with Sophie for an hour doesn’t count.”
“I think it counts, Uncle Keaton,” she said, abandoning
the spoon in favor of mixing the snickerdoodle dough with
her hands.
“Thank you, Sophie.”
“Why not date Daisy?” he pressed.
“Why are you so relentless?”
“Why won’t you answer the question?”
“I don’t have time to date, and you know it.”
“I think you’d be surprised by how much time you could
scrounge up if you had a reason.” He checked his watch,
polished off his Coke, and tossed the bottle in the recycling.
“I need to run an errand, is Sophie okay to stay?”
“’Course.”
“Bye, Daddy,” she said absently, watching the dough
squish out from between her fingers.
 “Bye, squirt,” he answered, kissing the top of her head
when he passed. As he grabbed his keys and opened the back
door, he said, “Speaking of Daisy, she has some papers I
mentioned I needed. Pretty sure she’ll be here in a few
minutes.” His smile was so absolutely terrible, I imagined
putting a fist through it.
Furious, I reached for him before remembering my hands
were covered in dough. “You did what now?”
“She should be here in five. Be nice to her, would you?
She’s the first girl to sneak into your bear cave in years.
Don’t scare her off just yet.”
“You set me up.”
His smile somehow got worse. “Just get the papers from
her, Keaton. You don’t have to propose.”
The door shut before I could bitch him out. My jaw
clamped shut and ground hard enough to make my teeth
squeak.
Unfazed, Sophie removed her hands from the dough and
held them up so she could pick the excess off.
“Your dad’s a punk, did you know that?”
“I think we all are,” she said, sager than her years.
“Guess you’re not wrong. Ready to ball these up?”
“Mhmm.” She nodded, her smiling lips together, though
the tip of her tongue stuck out just a little as she grabbed a
wad of dough and shaped it into a sphere. “This size?” She
held up the ball for my inspection.
“Looks good to me.”
Sophie set the dough ball in the bowl of cinnamon sugar
and rolled it around before placing it on the cookie sheet
next to her and went for another. “I think Daisy should be
your girlfriend too.”
“My dating life is none of your beeswax, nosy Rosy.”
She gave me a look.
“Don’t gimme that face.”
 “You should have a girlfriend so I can have cousins.”
“Girlfriends don’t guarantee babies.”
“No, but it gets me closer.”
“Do you do this to all your uncles? How about your dad?”
“Yeah, but it’s more fun with you.” She lined up a dough
ball and reached for another. “They laugh. You just get
mad.”
“You think it’s funny when I’m mad, huh?”
“Not mad-mad. That’s kinda scary.”
I chuckled.
“I just don’t want you to be lonely.”
“How could I be lonely when I have you?”
“I’m eight, Uncle Keaton. You shouldn’t be hanging out
with me.” That earned her an actual laugh from me, and she
smiled, pleased with herself.
When the doorbell rang, her face shot open with joy.
“Traitor,” I muttered, grabbing a towel on my way to the
door, steeling myself as I wiped off my hands.
Good thing I’d braced myself.
Daisy stood on my porch, inky black hair cut against the
creamy porcelain of her skin, framing her face beneath
bangs and her neck as it fell in waves, shining and lush.
She’d worn a skirt today that went past her knees, satiny and
pleated, her top tucked into the high waist. Nothing about it
was revealing, and yet my eyes traced the shape of her bare
arms, the curve of her hips, the fabric of her skirt swaying
with the gentle breeze.
Her eyes were bright, widening in surprise at the sight of
me, then shifting behind me, likely looking for my brother.
“Oh, hi, Keaton. I’m sorry to bother you on the weekend.
Is Cole here? He asked me to come by with these contracts,
though I don’t know why he needed them on a Saturday.”
I knew exactly why and blazed at his meddling. “He just
ran out for an errand, but I can take them.” But when I
reached out, I paused, remembering their buttery state,
which was not fit to handle contracts. I glanced at them
before lowering my hand. “Come on in. Just need to wash my
hands.”
I moved out of the way, and as she passed, I caught the
scent of fresh flowers and crisp soap. The slight waft was
enough to make me salivate.
Sophie turned and waved a doughy hand at Daisy as we
entered the kitchen.
“Hi, Sophie,” Daisy said, laughing. “Whatcha making?”
“Snickerdoodles,” she answered.
She looked me over, amused. “Well, that explains it. I
never thought I’d catch sight of Keaton Meyer in a pink
apron dusted with flour.”
“Pink isn’t just a girl’s color,” I noted from the sink
where I washed my hands, trained well by Sophie, who
nodded emphatically. She was also responsible for said
apron. Nothing like a child challenging the masculinity of
the men in this house to get us into pink.
“You know, I’ve thought the same thing.” She set the
papers on the counter and paused, seeming to debate what to
do next, one foot toward the door.
“Come help me make cookies, Daisy,” Sophie said. “But
wash your hands first.”
Daisy opened her mouth to answer, but glanced to me for
a signal. A slight nod gave her permission. Saying no would
have started a negotiation with Sophie that I was certain to
lose.
“All right,” Daisy said, making her way around the island
and toward the sink. “I think I can stay for a minute.”
“You have to stay for thirteen minutes,” Sophie noted.
“That way you can eat a cookie.”
“How can I say no?”
“You can’t,” Sophie answered with a know-it-all smile.
 Under her breath, Daisy said, “She’s good.”
I chuckled, moving out of the way as I dried off my hands.
“Too good, if you ask me. That kid is either going to end up
the dictator of a small country or a bank robber. It’s a toss-
up.”
Laughing, Daisy washed her hands, and I couldn’t help
but watch her long fingers as she did the most mundane of
things.
I handed her the towel when she was finished, and after
thanking me, she strode to Sophie.
“I’m ready for work, Miss Sophie. Show me what to do.”
For a few minutes, they rolled dough until the pan was
full, then smashed them flat with the ancient glass we
always used, the starburst in the glass imprinting on the
cookie top. And then they sprinkled cinnamon-sugar on top,
and Daisy slid them into the oven.
Sophie then set the egg timer for thirteen minutes and
stepped off her little stool with a smile that could only be
classified as mischievous.
“I need to go upstairs for a minute,” she said as she
untied her apron. “Promise you’ll tell me when the alarm
goes off.”
Holding my hand up in Boy Scout honor, I said,
“Promise.”
And off she trotted.
I shook my head, wriggling against the manipulation and
unsure what to do with myself. I wished it was as simple as
Cole seemed to think. I wished I was a normal guy with a
normal life who could do things like ask somebody like Daisy
out. But I wasn’t. Problem was, convincing my brothers I
wasn’t interested in her was becoming a full time job. They
knew better, and as such, they might never let it go.
The only thing to do was pretend being friends was a
viable solution.
 “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” I asked.
“That would be nice,” she answered.
Thankful for something to do other than stare at her, I
headed for the coffee pot and began assembly.
“Fifteen-year high school reunion, huh?” she said from
behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder to see her smiling, her
fingertips on the invitation laying on the island counter.
“Reunion.” I humphed. “Like we don’t all see each other
every time we leave the house. What do we need to have a
reunion for?” My heart squeezed on imagining it. Pictures of
the homecoming king and queen, me and Mandy, all blown
up for everybody to see. They always crowned the old king
and queen. Except she was gone, and I was alone. “No
thanks,” I tacked on to the end, scooping grounds into the
filter.
She chuckled. “Gosh, you were a star back then. I went to
every football game, watched you play all senior year.”
“Every game?”
“I was a band kid, so yup.”
I caught myself smiling. “Forgot about that.”
“It’s all right, Keaton,” she teased. “You don’t have to
pretend like you knew who I was.”
“Of course I knew who you were. Everybody knew you.
How else would I have known you played the …” I reached
for a second, finally landing on, “trumpet.”
“French horn,” she said as I filled up the pot.
“Damn. I knew it was brass.” Now that she’d said it, I
could even recall watching her at a school assembly with her
hand in the bell and her lips behind the mouthpiece. Every
hot-blooded straight guy I knew had noted her.
“Imagine that. Keaton Meyer knew my name. Good thing
nobody told me back then. I might have died on the spot.”
“Wouldn’t want that.”
 “I mean, I would have died happy, if it’s any
consolation.”
“That so?” A smile brushed my lips, unbidden. When I
started the pot, I turned and walked back to her, leaning
against the other side of the island.
She rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushed. “Don’t act like
you didn’t know everybody had a crush on you.”
I folded my arms. “Including you?”
She pinned me with an amused, come on sort of look.
“Remember when you were on the cover of the Lindenbach
Herald?”
My cheeks warmed a little, and I prayed they weren’t
pink. “Sure.”
“I didn’t know a single girl who didn’t have that picture
of you stashed somewhere in her bedroom.”
With a laugh, I turned for the cabinets to retrieve a couple
of cups, knowing my cheeks were pink. The photo was one of
me on the field after the homecoming game, helmet in my
hand and a smile on my face the size of the state. I was a
sweaty mess, my hair wet and unruly, my gaze somewhere
off toward the stands, the picture of triumph.
I didn’t know that boy, didn’t remember him. I wondered
with no small amount of longing whether or not he lived
somewhere inside of me still or if he was gone forever. The
call for him into the cavern of my chest echoed in the empty
space.
“Fifteen years,” she said in wonderment from behind me.
“I almost can’t believe it.”
“No amount of time will be enough to convince me to go
to a reunion. I’d rather eat a bucket of rusty nails.”
“I’m sure Janelle Jones would hold you to that if she
thought it’d convince you to come to her event.”
“I don’t get it,” I said, turning again to lean back against
the counter where the coffee was nearly finished brewing.
“Janelle Jones runs the choir at church and sees half our
class there every Sunday. You can’t take three steps in this
town without bumping into somebody you went to school
with. I’m not interested in going to a party to relive the glory
days.”
“To be fair, you’re not interested in going to any sort of
party, regardless of the occasion.”
“That,” I noted, “is a hundred percent true.”
When she laughed, her eyes fell to her hands as they set
the invitation on a stack of random papers that had
accumulated there. She didn’t speak, just smiled sweetly for
a moment.
“I’m sorry for all the commotion today,” I said, turning
for the coffee pot. “I hope you didn’t have anything to do
today.”
“Oh, I … nothing that can’t wait thirteen minutes.”
At something in her tone, I snuck a look at her and found
her smaller, her eyes cast down.
“I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Her smiled waned. “No, it’s okay.” With a breath and
straightening of her spine, she said, “I was going to see
Drew. Today would have been his twenty-ninth birthday.”
I stopped, silent for a second. “I’m sorry, Daisy.”
But she waved me off. “It’s all right. It’s been more than
ten years, after all.”
“Does that make it easier? Time?”
“In some ways. Sometimes it feels like something that
happened to someone else. Sometimes, it feels like the only
thing that’s ever happened. But maybe it’s different. I was
just a kid when he died.”
“Those years don’t feel like we were kids. High school, I
mean.”
“No, they don’t,” she agreed. “It feels like I’ve always
been a grown up. That every decision I’ve made was with the
knowledge I have now. Time just doesn’t make sense
sometimes. I can’t tell you how many times I think about the
call I got when he died. Probably one out of every five calls
we get on the home line, I think it’s his mom to tell me he’s
gone. Mama said the same thing about when Daddy died.”
“How often do you visit him?”
She glanced at her hands, then back up at me with a brave
face on. “Not often enough. It’s always strange, disorienting.
I live in this world, in my life now, but once upon a time,
everything was different. I had to make new dreams, new
memories. But when I go there, when I sit with him, I’m
eighteen again and all those dreams are as fresh as they were
back then.” Her gaze fell to her fingers again. “We all go
through stages, and the change that comes between those
stages are markers. But when that change is marked by
losing someone you love …” She shook her head. “The gap
may be shorter because the change happened in a heartbeat.
But the rift has no bottom. Crossing it is easy enough. But
going back to that other side is always overwhelming.”
I considered that for a moment, agreeing with every word.
No one had ever put it so succinctly, and I felt understood for
the first time in a long time. “I hate when people say they’re
sorry, but it’s what I want to say now, to you. I don’t have
other words for it. It’s just that I … I understand, in my way,
and I hate that you feel it too.”
“I know you do.”
“How do you live with it?”
She met my eyes and held them. “What else is there to
do? It’s a part of me, I’ve come to accept that. There’s no
getting rid of it, no forgetting. So you make room for that
pain, let it settle in for the long haul. Acceptance. I guess
that’s what it is.”
“But how’d you find it?”
 She considered, her eyes on her fingers as she toyed with
a placemat. “I think maybe it found me.”
A fire, hungry and hot, consumed my heart—I wanted it
to find me. Dad would have known how, having lost Mom so
long ago. But he was gone too. All I had were my thoughts to
guide me, and those were hostile. Always.
No one understood, except perhaps her.
I opened my mouth to press her for more, but the egg
timer went off, ending the conversation with a jolt. I moved
toward the racket and called Sophie’s name loud enough for
it to echo in the kitchen.
She popped around the corner where she’d apparently
been hiding with what was supposed to be an innocent smile
on her face.
“Come on and get your cookies,” I said, pulling on an
oven mitt.
“Give Daisy the big one,” she commanded.
With a glance of acknowledgement to Daisy, I said, “I
sure will.”
For once, I hated that timer instead of being grateful for
its interruption.
And I did my very best not to consider what that meant.
10
 T H AT F E E LI N G

DAISY

T he sun had barely crested the horizon, but I’d been up

for hours.
Rather than lay in the dark until my alarm went off,
I’d hauled myself out of bed and got dressed, heading out to
do my morning chores a little early. Since it was just a stall
muck day and I didn’t have to groom the horses, I’d decided
on a ride, hoping to clear my head. For the last hour, I’d
ridden my mare Gretchen through our property in the pale
early light, the valleys of hills thick with fog and the grass
shining with dew.
Gretchen’s breath puffed visible from her nostrils as we
clipped down a hill and up another, and when we reached the
crest, I pulled her to a stop. For a moment, we stood looking
out over the land, across patches of trees and stretches of
pasture. Buttery sunshine kissed the end of the world, a new
beginning to a brand new day.
It was around my tenth birthday when Daddy’s mare had
Gretchen. It was the first birth I’d ever seen on the farm, a
long, terrifying moment that stretched between life and
death. Or at least that was how it felt as a child, the weight of
life and the delicate deliverance of it overwhelming me.
When Gretchen stood up on wobbly legs, it was followed by
the collective sigh of relief that everyone survived. At that
age, I hadn’t lost many things that I loved.
Look at that, Daisy Mae, Daddy had said to me from where
he knelt at my side. Makes you feel small, doesn’t it? But it
reminds you that you’re here. Don’t forget that feeling.
What he hadn’t told me was that death gave you the same
feeling. The reminder that you’re here. The smallness you
felt. But joy was exchanged for pain. You were here, but
without the one you loved. You were small, insignificant,
your life so fragile that it could be gone in a second. A
heartbeat that might be the last.
I’d spent much of yesterday in the past, sitting at Drew’s
grave, thinking about him. About what might have been, the
life I’d imagined at eighteen with the boy I loved. For so
long, I’d only been able to imagine us together, never able to
comprehend the reality of relationships. He’d been set to go
off to UT, but I was going to stay home with Mama. It was
only an hour away. But what might have happened? He could
have met someone, fallen in love, left me. Maybe we’d
guessed right—we might’ve stayed together forever, if we
grew and learned and changed at the same pace. But the
older I got, the more I saw how rarely that happened.
It was strange to have years of certainty on a thing broken
and reshaped to fit reality. Like learning that fairy tales
weren’t real and the good guys won sparingly.
I knew it sounded cynical, though I was generally no
cynic. Truth be told, it was a little bit of a relief. It meant I
wasn’t forever shackled to him. We were bound, but I was no
prisoner of my love for him. The feeling came and went,
sometimes by the week and sometimes by the hour.
Yesterday, I was a pendulum. For a moment, I sat in
Keaton’s warm kitchen that smelled of cookies and hope and
believed in moving on. And then I sat next to Drew’s grave in
the thick, springy grass, caught in a past life. Split in two,
but the break wasn’t clean. It was a jagged edge, dangerous,
sharp.
Drew was still with me as Gretchen and I panted at the
top of that hill. He and I had ridden through here a hundred
times, ever since we were little. We’d grown together even
then, so who was to say we wouldn’t have been able to keep
that going?
There was no point in considering it. That life had been
lost to me long ago.
Didn’t stop me from wondering, though.
I’d told Keaton how to move on as if I knew how. It was
easy to be brave for the sake of someone else. But the core of
that courage wasn’t a solid. It wasn’t even a liquid,
containable by something as simple as bare hands. It was
like the slithering mist in the valley below me, never
stopping, never grasped, ever shifting.
A hard swallow did little to open my throat, tears clinging
to my lashes in defiance. And rather than let them take me, I
clicked at Gretchen, spurring her down the hill and toward
that sunrise, letting the wind carry those tears away.
We ran hard across the property, about two miles to the
house. Through fields of flowers, past cozy bee boxes lined
up in green patches. Past the tree house Daddy built for us so
long ago, past the cottages at the skirt of the big house. And
then the house itself was in view, bringing me back from the
past with every gallop.
Once in the stables, I brushed Gretchen out as quickly as I
could and made my way around the stable, giving everybody
an apple and telling them good morning. After that, I headed
inside, hoping no one was awake yet.
I’d never been one of the lucky ones.
The kitchen bustled with activity. Mama was at the
griddle cooking eggs and hash browns, singing along to
Reba. Poppy, Jo, and Grant sat at the table, coffees in front of
them and sleepy smiles on their faces. It was later than I
thought, and though I wouldn’t have wanted to cut my ride
short, I might have if it meant avoiding everyone.
So I did what I always did.
On went my smile and smooth went my brow as I closed
the door behind me.
“Hey,” Jo said fondly. “You ride this morning?”
“Gretchen wanted a stretch,” I answered, taking off my
jacket and hanging it on the hooks over the bench.
Mama turned around and looked me up and down,
pointing her spatula at me. “Take those boots off, Daisy
Mae.”
“Yes, Mama,” I said, taking a seat to pull off my muddy
boots, which would have been all right if the hems of my
jeans weren’t gritty and wet too.
“You have breakfast yet?” Mama asked.
“No, but I’m gonna go shower, if it’s all right.”
“Course it’s all right.”
I stood and headed for my room. “Be right back.”
I took my time getting ready for the day, changing into
something a little less cowgirl and a little more business
casual. It was my hope that everybody would be off for their
chores and I could eat without interference.
But again, luck wasn’t on my side.
It seemed they’d all waited for me, though their plates
were empty.
“Here, baby,” Mama said, hopping up to fetch the plate
she’d made up from where it was being kept warm in the
oven.
“Thank you,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee and
taking one of the empty seats.
“What are y’all up to today?” I asked so they wouldn’t ask
anything of me.
 “Well,” Poppy started, “Our doc for the shelter just got to
town, and I have two social workers coming down from San
Antonio, so I’ll be busy with them all day. Jo and Grant are
working on some fundraisers.”
Jo perked up at the mention, and Grant just watched her,
amused.
“We’re going to do a car wash,” Jo said, grinning.
I frowned. “Like, you’re gonna put on a bikini and wash
cars for money?”
“Nope. The guys are.”
One of my brows rose in Grant’s direction, and he
shrugged. “Including me.”
I snorted a laugh. “In a bikini?”
“Shirtless, in trunks with five-inch inseams,” Poppy said
on a giggle.
“Oh, you are gonna earn so much money.” I shoveled up a
fork of eggs and popped them in my mouth, cheery for the
first time today. When I’d swallowed, I asked, “Who else?”
“Notably, Sebastian, Wyatt, Evan, and the Meyer
brothers,” Jo answered.
I paused, fork loaded and midair. “All of them?”
Evilly, she smiled. “All of them.”
The thought of Keaton with no shirt on set my
temperature on the rise. I mentally double-checked that I’d
put on deodorant and was relieved to remember I had.
“And we’re all going to be their supervisors. I got us
matching coveralls.”
“Stop it,” I said, giggling.
“I can’t. It’s too much fun,” Poppy said.
“The idea is to get the community involved, so we’re
thinking a walk-a-thon, an auction, a pancake dinner. That
sort of thing,” Jo added.
“Pancakes, huh? Do they know that’s your specialty?” I
asked.
 “They’re about to find out.”
A moment of content silence stretched out before Poppy
asked, “How was seeing Drew?”
I took a heavy breath and set down my fork in favor of my
coffee. “It was like it usually is.”
They nodded their understanding, Mama knowing best of
all. Grant sat quietly at Jo’s side, his arm on the back of her
chair, an observer who never felt like an intrusion.
I changed the subject. “On my way, I stopped by the
Meyer’s to drop some contracts off for Cole. Problem was,
Cole wasn’t there. Keaton was.”
Jo snickered. “That sneaky son of a bitch set you up,
didn’t he?”
“I always knew I liked him,” Poppy said.
“Pretty sure he did. Although Sophie was there too, which
helped. They were baking cookies.”
“Oh my god, that’s so cute.”
“Keaton had on a pink apron and everything.” I chuckled.
“Sophie was no better than her daddy—kid guilted me into
helping and staying to eat some.”
“But were they good?” Poppy asked.
“They were.”
“Even better. The man makes delicious cookies, is good
with kids, and is built like that? Somebody better lock that
down,” Poppy said.
“Go right ahead,” I offered. “If you really think he’s on
the market.”
“Oh, no. He’s not my type. Too serious.”
I gave her a look. “Too serious?”
“Yeah, too serious. I need somebody with a smarter
mouth,” Poppy informed me. “Sarcastic. A little bit Han
Solo, a little bit Indiana Jones.”
“So, Harrison Ford?”
 “Listen, it’s not my fault Daddy made us watch those
movies over and over again when we were little. It gave me
unrealistic expectations of the world. It’s been a
disappointment ever since I realized men were mostly
garbage cans. Present company excluded.”
Grant gave her a nod of thanks but said nothing.
“Anyway,” Poppy continued, “he’s more your type,
Daisy.”
“Sorry, I’m cursed,” I said, stuffing a forkful of hashed
browns into my gob.
“Are you cursed, or do you just want to avoid getting
yourself hurt?” Jo asked.
“Iris Jo,” Mama chided. “You leave her alone.”
I withered at Jo’s suggestion, somehow made worse by
Grant’s presence, though I knew he didn’t judge. But that
bruise was deep enough that I didn’t want anyone around to
witness my reaction to my sister punching it.
I swallowed the rock that my food had petrified into.
“I’m just saying,” Jo nagged, “you and Keaton have
plenty in common, on top of being young, hot, and lonely.”
“Thank you for reducing my love life to something so
simple,” I snarked. “What would I ever do without you?”
Jo shrugged. “Probably make terrible decisions. We all
know you’re the irresponsible one.”
At that, we all chuckled, and Mama stood to pick up
plates. Everyone knew I was the one who couldn’t say no and
always followed through, leaving me the one holding the
bag.
It’d be worse if I minded. It made me feel better about life
to help others, to do the things they didn’t want to do. To
make their lives easier in an effort to avoid thinking about
mine.
“I know you’ve become a believer, Jo,” Mama clucked,
“but it wasn’t too long ago that you would have put buckshot
into any man’s rear who had the gall to cross our property
line.”
“Well, I was wrong.”
Mama turned once the dishes were in the sink and landed
a hand on her hip. “So instead of bullying her into not
dating, you’re gonna bully her into it?”
Jo shrugged. “I didn’t say it made sense. But I’m not
wrong, and you know it.”
“You always did have a lot of nerve, child.”
“It’s one of my best qualities, I think.”
Mama gave her a look but otherwise let it go, busying
herself with dishes. When she walked past me, she laid a
comforting hand on my shoulder and squeezed.
“You should just ask him out,” Poppy suggested.
“People don’t just do that, Poppy,” I noted.
“They absolutely do, weirdo. It’s not 1894. You can kiss a
boy without marrying him, and you can even vote. What a
time to be alive,” Jo said.
I picked up my plate, shaking my head at them. “On that
note, I’m late.”
“Seriously,” Jo prodded. “What could dinner hurt?”
“You’re assuming he wants to go out with me.” I scraped
my plate off into the trash and put it in the dishwasher.
“Aha! So you’re admitting you’d go out with him?” Poppy
asked.
“That’s a stretch.”
“I mean, is it?”
I headed for my purse and grabbed keys to Dad’s truck off
the hook. “Y’all need hobbies.”
“Aw, come on, Daisy—”
But I’d already opened the back door and was half out.
“Bye.”
I trotted for Dad’s truck, hoping they didn’t follow me as
they’d been known to do. Thankfully, I pulled away from the
house without interference, heading across the property for
the construction site.
It would likely be a day like any other. I’d become a
project manager of sorts, working as a liaison between my
sisters and the build, as well as taking on tasks at the
worksite with Millie as my supervisor. I’d also taken on the
interior design of the homes and common spaces, which was
almost complete.
In fact, the project was moving so swiftly, I couldn’t
believe the progress. Furniture and goods would be delivered
next week, and as soon as the community center and
facilities were complete, we’d be ready to open our doors.
Building this quickly was unheard of, but thanks to
Keaton’s standing not only with vendors, but his family’s
clout in town, he’d been able to pull off a miracle. The stars
had aligned, and it was all falling into place. Since the initial
fight to get our permits, nothing had stood in our way.
It was a streak I should have known wouldn’t last.
As I pulled up to the back entrance of the site, I saw no
one was working. But at the front gate near the county road
stood a knot of people, split in half by the gate.
When I cut the engine, the sound was replaced with
chanting. As I approached, I saw picket signs moving in a
circle. Inside the fence were our workers wearing grim looks,
many of them the very people those picket signs intended to
hurt.
Doug Windley led the charge, bullhorn in hand. Deep
down, I knew Doug didn’t really mean to hurt anyone.
Putting it simply, he saw the problems and not the people.
He saw crime and drugs and people who made bad choices—
he shouldn’t have to help someone who made bad choices,
should he?—deciding that the best course was to run them
out, let them be somebody else’s problem. Sadly, for some of
the vagrants in town, that might have been true. You
couldn’t help somebody who didn’t want it.
Our success rate might never be high, but if we could help
rehabilitate anyone, what a gift that would be.
Keaton stood between the two groups, massive arms
folded across his chest. He was made of sharp lines—brow,
nose, lips, jaw, all set and fixed on Doug and his picketers.
Braveness came in many forms, but the truth of courage
was that the act, whatever it may be, was in defiance of fear.
Courage wasn’t being big, looking strong—it wasn’t a
matter of being stronger that your opposition. You only had
to be stronger than your fear. Doug was afraid for his safety
and his town. But despite how brave he thought he was,
there was no sacrifice in his actions. It was easy to push
them off, let them be some other town’s problem. There was
no risk. Only posturing.
Keaton saw it plain as day.
But while Keaton made himself big, made himself strong,
he had everything to lose. His business relied on this town,
and if half of them boycotted him, he’d have a hard time
hanging on to it. Only he didn’t seem to care, not as much as
he cared about doing what he thought was right before
considering what was right for him.
Tension crackled through the crew as I wound through
them. The other Meyer brothers stood behind Keaton, the
four of them like a set of GI Joes, wearing matching
expressions of beat-down.
Cole noticed me and shifted to make room.
“How long have they been here?” I asked.
“They just showed up,” Cole said, everything about him
grim. “Of course it’s Doug fucking Windbag. Mitchell is
behind this, no doubt.”
“You think?”
 Carson snorted. “Windbag and Mitchell have been
buddies since the second grade. This was sanctioned by
Mitchell. Hell, it might have even been his idea.”
I drew a long breath and let it out. “What can we do?”
“Nothing,” Keaton answered without turning. “They’re
outside your property line, on county property and thus well
within their legal rights to be assholes.”
“Can they stop us?”
“No,” Cade answered. “But I think I’ll take our guys who
don’t have rides home out the back, if that’s okay with you,
Daisy.”
“Of course. Maybe we can even feed them supper up at
the house. Just let me clear it with Mama, see if maybe Bettie
can help.”
“That’d be kind,” Cole answered. “Just let us know.”
“All right.”
We fell silent, watching the thirty fearful people on that
side and the thirty afraid on this one, none of us knowing
what to say or do.
Keaton’s wide shoulders rose and fell with a breath that
seemed to steel him. He turned and started walking back to
the site.
“Come on, y’all. We’ve got work to do. Cole?”
“Yeah?”
“Round up a couple trucks and get them all tuned to the
country oldies station. Bet a little Johnny Cash will drown
them out.”
“Good idea,” Cole answered as he fell in step with his
brother.
In fact, we all did. As he walked through the crowd, people
turned to follow him. It occurred to me that many of them
would follow him anywhere, including me.
The feeling rose in me, filling up my ribs like fresh air.
Keaton was an anchor to everyone he knew, offering safety
and inspiring trust. He’d take care of anyone who needed it.
And I couldn’t help but want to be taken care of too.
11
 BETTER OFF

KEATON

I was a prisoner, being dragged into hell by my eight-year-

old niece.
Her grip was stronger than any handcuffs, and harder
to escape. As wardens went, she was at the top of her game.
Sophie’s face was alight as we walked into the town hall
dance nearly a week later, an event I hadn’t attended in
many years. Her dark curls bounced and her skirt flounced,
her little cowgirl boots clicking on the ancient wood as she
marched us toward the dance floor.
I tried not to scowl, I really did. But with every pair of
eyes in the building on me, scowling was the Publisher’s
Clearing House of rewards. They were lucky I didn’t bark.
How I’d even ended up here, I barely knew. It had
happened quickly this afternoon—Sophie diving into my
arms in a wash of tears, Cole apologizing behind her that he
couldn’t take her to the first town hall dance of the season
after all, Sophie looking up at me with those big, shiny eyes
and her nose all red, begging, Please, Uncle Keaton?
There was no saying no to her on a regular day, but with
tears on her face and her lip stuck out far enough she might
have tripped on it, I didn’t even hesitate.
 My other brothers were suspiciously absent all day, and
as such, I had no one to rope into coming with me. Cole had
rolled up Sophie’s hair in my mother’s old hot rollers with
impressive skill, and Sophie schooled me in their removal.
She’d gotten herself dressed, though I’d had to fix the bow in
her hair and approve her fit check as she did a little runway
walk through the entry, tugging the bottom of her blue-jean
jacket and popping her hip like a girl much older than eight.
She was beautiful just like her mother, and remarkably
well-adjusted despite her mother.
Julie had always been one of the wild ones, a lawless rebel
and unmitigated charmer, and a damn good time at a party.
She was the girl at the party who’d do a keg stand, get into a
cat fight, and instigate skinny dipping all within a ten-
minute span. And Cole loved her, though I thought it had
more to do with him trying to save her than anything else.
Drugs didn’t surprise us. But it should have inspired us to
watch for more trouble than we did.
We watched her slip away after Sophie was born until she
was lost. She didn’t fight the divorce, didn’t fight custody,
and like the trusting fool he was, Cole not only started
paying her, but allowed her visitation. So when they finally
went to court, he had no way out. He’d set a precedent, and
the judge ruled to uphold that, so long as she followed the
rules and kept herself out of trouble. So she did. Except when
she didn’t. And the cycle would begin again, ending with her
doing what the court ordered in the way of rehab and drug
tests and the like so she could not only keep seeing Sophie
unsupervised, but maintain the money Cole sent.
Sweet Sophie was caught in the middle of the mess, a
daily source of pain and helplessness for her father and
uncles. So if she wanted to dance, I’d see that she would.
Honky-tonk filled the room, and townsfolk moved around
the dance floor like a bubbling river, just like they had for a
hundred years and more. It was a tradition, these town hall
dances, dating back to a time when the hitching posts
outside were the only form of parking. And up on the stage
were a pack of Blum women, just as they had been since
those same times.
Jo stood at the microphone in the center of the stage with
an acoustic guitar, with Poppy behind her on the drums and
their mother on the stand-up bass. Their cousin Presley
played guitar on one side of Jo, and on the other, with a
fiddle under her chin, was Daisy.
Her hair was up in a pretty bun on top of her head, her
bangs a little long and thick enough that you couldn’t see her
forehead, a curtain to hide behind. Those eyes I knew to be
the brightest of blues were trained on an unfocused spot on
the edge of the stage, her bowed lips forever smiling at the
corners. Occasionally, those lips would part, and out would
come a velvety harmony made with her family, rich and
warm and painfully lovely.
A tug of my hand snapped my attention back to Sophie.
“Come on, Uncle Keaton.”
“Sorry, squirt,” I said, following her to the edge of the
dance floor and then into the fray without so much as a
pause.
She whipped herself around and took my hand, resting
her hand on my waist before taking off, just like we had a
thousand times. Because Sophie loved to two-step and
forced her uncles to participate regularly. I was the only one
lucky enough to have my hair brushed, braided, and bowed,
though, thanks to its length. I’d almost cut it, but in the end,
I couldn’t bear to. She’d have been devastated.
Off we went around the dance floor, stepping and
spinning to the sound of her giggles and Dolly Parton. My
hands were low so she could maintain her form, one with her
hand in it, the other behind her shoulder, and enough space
between us to move freely.
It took a minute to remember that everybody was staring,
and not at Sophie. She was a regular fixture at these sorts of
things.
I was not.
Sophie noticed too, but where I was annoyed and
uncomfortable, she snickered.
“The ladies are all watchin’ you, Uncle Keaton.”
“Didn’t notice.”
“I think they want to dance with you.”
“Too bad I already have a dance partner.”
She had a funny look on her face, the kind she gets when
she’s keeping a secret.
My eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Nothin’,” she said innocently, which was how I knew for
sure it was bullshit. She glanced up at the stage as we passed.
“The Blum sisters are pretty, aren’t they? I wish I could sing
like that.”
I snuck a glance at the stage without really meaning to.
Daisy’s gaze tangled with mine for the briefest moment, just
a flicker that I felt all the way down to my toes.
“I bet they’d let you sing with them, if you asked,” I
offered.
“Oh, I’m no good. I don’t think I could sing in front of
everybody.”
“But you could dance.”
At that, she lit up again, her attention off the Blums. “I
could dance. ‘Specially if I ever get my pointe shoes.”
“You’re gonna clomp all over the house in them like a
baby deer when you get them, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “Probably.”
I chuckled, and as the song ended, we came to a stop and
clapped. Jo thanked everybody and announced a break before
a Patsy Cline song came on over the speakers, and the dance
floor came alive again.
But Sophie grabbed my hand with both of hers and started
pulling me toward the bar. Because yes, there was a bar in
our town hall. I was pretty sure they only used it for events
like this, but I’d been wrong before.
“Come get me a Shirley Temple,” she demanded.
“You’re actin’ funny tonight,” I noted.
“I’m thirsty is all,” she said, and like a dummy, I bought
it. For a second at least.
Because there next to the bar were all three of my
brothers with beers in their hands and smirks on their faces.
When I looked down at Sophie, the twin to her father’s
smirk met me. “It was Daddy’s idea,” was all she said before
bounding off toward him and jumping into his arms.
I fumed, stalking in their direction. “What the hell are
you three doing here?”
Cade shrugged. “Thought you needed to get out.”
“Didn’t know I needed you to decide what I needed for
me.”
“Don’t be mad, Uncle Keaton,” Sophie said, tucked into
Cole’s side.
“Yeah, don’t be mad,” Cole echoed.
I resisted the urge to grab him by his collar and take him
outside where I could yell at him without an audience.
“Y’all lied to me, and used Sophie to do it. You don’t want
me to be mad? Half the town is here, and the whole crowd is
watching me like a gorilla at the zoo.”
Sophie looked guilty, which left me feeling guilty too.
“Daddy really couldn’t go at first, right Daddy?”
“It’s true,” he answered, and I knew from his tone it was
true and potentially had to do with Julie.
“But then he could go,” she continued, “but he said it’d be
fun if you came. I thought so too. Plus, you’re a better dancer
than they are, and Daddy said the only way to get you to
come was to trick you. You aren’t mad, are you?”
She’d taken my hand again and was looking up at me in
that way she had about her. My asshole brothers smirked
louder.
I sighed. “I’m not mad at you.” My brothers were on the
receiving end of a look to inform them they weren’t included
in the statement.
She smiled. “Good. Will you dance with me some more
then? Daddy always steps on my feet.”
“That’s because he’s got all the grace of a blind
elephant.”
“Bye, Keaton,” Carson called after me.
“Have fun,” Cade said.
“Watch out for old Dolores,” Cole warned. “She looks
thirsty.”
“Should we get her something to drink?” Sophie asked,
concerned.
“I think she can manage that on her own,” I answered,
shooting my dickhead brothers a very subtle bird.
They looked so pleased with themselves, I enjoyed a
moment of daydreaming about turning their faces inside out
before turning my attention to Sophie.
“How’s school?” I asked.
“Well, Brinleigh and Ashton are in a fight because
Brinleigh said Ashton’s mom was a”—she dropped her voice
and glanced around—“bitch.”
One of my brows rose, but she shrugged, knowing I
wouldn’t rat her out.
“And Jared has given me his Ding Dongs every day at
lunch for a week. Brinleigh says boys only give a girl their
Ding Dongs if they like her.” She looked a little like she
might have known something she shouldn’t have. Or at least
like she thought she knew something she shouldn’t have.
 I cleared my throat to cover a confusing mixture of
amusement and discomfort and said, “Desserts are worth a
lot in the third grade. He must think something of you.”
“He wants me to play Fortnite with him, but I’ve never
played before. Have you?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“But you play video games?”
“I have before.”
She perked up. “Will you teach me? We could play
together.”
“I dunno—”
“Pleeease?” she begged. “It would be so fun, and you
could teach me to shoot all the guns.”
“I can teach you to shoot actual guns better,” when you’re
older, we said at the same time.
“I know. But we can play Fortnite now. Please, Uncle
Keaton?”
I shook my head down at her, but I was smiling. “You
know just how to get what you want, don’t you?”
“I can’t help it. You’re a sucker.”
A laugh burst out of me. “Just for you, kid.”
“Hey, brother,” Cole said from just behind me, and I
glanced at him, confused at the sound, downright shocked
when I saw he was two-stepping up behind me with Daisy
Blum in his arms. “Mind if we switch partners? Your date’s
too pretty for you.”
“Don’t I know it,” I answered, slowing to a stop and
passing Sophie to him. Because what else could I do?
This, I suspected, was my brothers’ intention.
Daisy’s cheeks bloomed pink and rosy, and she glanced
down, hiding behind those thick, shiny bangs.
With my heart thumping in my ears, I extended my hand.
“Care to dance?”
 She slipped her hand into mine, the sensation sending a
shock up my arm. When my free hand found the curve of her
waist, her chin lifted so she could look into my eyes.
I felt the music more than heard it, my thoughts on fire,
set aflame by her proximity. She smelled of flowers and
fresh-cut grass, and with her body so close to mine, I could
think of nothing else but her.
Neither of us spoke, shuffling slowly around the dance
floor to Brenda Lee. The last time I’d danced in this room, it
was with Mandy. The last woman I’d held in my arms was
her, so many years ago. I’d considered there might be a time
when I danced with someone else, but I’d expected to know
the moment was coming. In my imaginings, it was a stiff and
uncomfortable affair. I’d thought it would feel wrong.
The only thing that felt wrong was that nothing about
this felt wrong.
The second I thought it, she smiled and straightened up,
seeming to find herself. “They’re not very sneaky, are they?”
Her eyes were on my brothers, and I glanced over at them
too, the smug bastards. I shook my head.
“’Bout as sneaky as your sisters were the other day when
they roped you into showing me where the barn is.” Another
shake of my head. “My brothers have it in their minds that
they’re clever, but don’t worry. I’ll make sure they know
they’re not.”
Her laugh was small and light, the sound a wonder for
what it did to me. “May as well humor them.” She inched a
little closer, and I took her invitation, bringing her flush
against me so I could step us into a spin without losing her.
Again, she laughed, this time with her face up to the
ceiling, partly from the force of the spin, I supposed. Her
long neck was exposed—my eyes hung on the pale column
for a brief moment.
 I was smiling. How long had it been since I’d smiled at a
woman like this? I couldn’t remember and did my best not to
math it out.
“How’s all that going with Sophie?”
A heavy breath. “Julie’s custody was temporarily revoked
for leaving Sophie alone all night. Happened the day I came
up to the farm.”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you, but it’s all right. Worse for Sophie than
anybody.”
“So will y’all have her permanently?”
“For a while, but Julie always manages to get it together
before the custody hearing. Ten bucks says she shows up
with a signed letter from a therapist, a brand new steady job,
and a log of AA meetings.”
“Poor Sophie. Does she want to go see her mama?”
“Hard to say. I think Julie scares her a little, but what
little girl doesn’t want her mama? Any kid, for that matter.
The rest of us hate her for what she puts Sophie through.”
“And the judge won’t do what Sophie wants?”
“Julie’s her mother, and Sophie is eight. If Julie can prove
she’s trying to get her life together, they’re going to side
with an adult over a kid who doesn’t understand the adult
perspective. Otherwise they’d have kids picking their parents
over who made them eat less green beans.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It guts me every time. Never mind what Cole goes
through.”
“And here everybody in town thinks Cole’s the one
without feelings.”
“Well, the people who constitute everybody in town don’t
know much, do they?”
A soft laugh escaped me. “No, they sure don’t.”
“I’m surprised to see you here tonight,” she said.
 “Good surprised or bad surprised?”
“Good surprised. But you got roped into that too, didn’t
you?”
“Am I that predictable?”
She laughed. “Only in that nobody ever sees you. Breaking
from seclusion grants you automatic unpredictability.
Anything could happen.”
“You overestimate me.”
Her eyes sparkled in the low light of the room. “Oh, I
don’t know about that.” She glanced away, her cheeks
flushing.
For a moment, we danced, and I did my best to collect my
thoughts. “Staying away is easier than not, I’ve found. Here,
there are too many eyes. Too many questions. There’s too
much pity, and I hate the way it makes me feel.”
“Sure, but what about everything you miss?”
I chuckled. “Town gossip and conversations I don’t want
to have?”
“No, I mean dancing with Sophie. Or this.”
The way she said it—not this, but us—plucked a string in
my chest, the sound tuned to her. “This makes it easier.”
Her smile was hope and understanding. “You told me
once that everything abandoned deserves a new story. Do
you remember?”
I nodded, the stone in my throat heavy.
“Does that apply to you too?”
The question struck me hard enough to stun. Not because
I’d never considered it. But because I hadn’t realized until
then that I didn’t include myself in the things that deserved
a new life. I’d been living the same story for so long,
somewhere in the past when things still made sense. Here,
today, now was an enigma to me, one I hadn’t even tried to
grasp.
 We fell into silence, not because we had nothing to say,
but because there were too many things I didn’t know how to
say. Unspoken wishes, questions beyond what she’d asked
hung between us. No one had ever breached the walls I’d
built myself into, which was by design.
I wished she’d ask them.
“I’m sorry,” she said lightly, laughing in a self-
deprecating sort of way. “None of that is any of my business.
Please, don’t answer that.”
“No,” I answered. “It doesn’t apply to me.”
Quietly, she said, “Maybe it should.”
I was snared in that thought when the song ended, and we
came to a stop, motionless for a protracted moment, our
bodies pressed together. Daisy stepped back, and I felt the
space between us with every nerve.
The request for another dance brushed my lips when I
saw her family heading for the stairs, their eyes on us,
approving smiles on their faces. Jo called her name, and she
turned to the sound before looking back to me with a smile,
stepping backward in their direction.
“Thanks for the dance, Keaton.”
I nodded. “Pleasure was mine.”
She turned for the stage, and I stood there like a fool and
watched her walk away, finding my feet before she caught
me looking. I bid them to turn me toward my brothers, who
watched with smug looks on their faces.
And I fought every urge to look back at her, unwilling to
give them the satisfaction.
Unwilling to give it to myself, either. I was too broken to
get close to anyone no matter how I might want to. My edges
were jagged and dangerous, likely to cut up anybody who
dared get close. And I couldn’t bear hurting someone I cared
for. Including her.
 So I packed up any illusions of hope I had and locked the
box up tight, convincing myself it was better this way.
But it didn’t work.
12
 IT ’ LL B E F U N, T H EY S A I D

DAISY

I felt Keaton’s touch long after we parted, felt his gaze

from the crowd all night, though I didn’t see him again. It
was late when the dance ended, and I guessed they took
Sophie home to get her in bed at a decent hour.
But oh, how I wished Keaton had stayed.
I didn’t hear from him or see him until Monday morning,
and the next few days passed without incident. There was
something behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before,
something dark and quiet, but he had such a tight hold of it,
there was no other indication of change. He’d mastered
himself, leaving me feeling like the conversation had never
happened, if not for that roiling darkness he tried so hard to
hide.
As for the site, after the first protest, we were able to feed
the whole crew, thanks to Bettie and her biscuits, and by the
time everyone left, Doug and his gang had left the premises.
Finally, after a long day of them yelling and us turning up
the Kenny Rogers.
The next morning, there they were again, and though
they didn’t cause any actual trouble, their presence was felt
deep and wide. Tension was thick enough to swim through—
the crew had one eye on the commotion beyond the gate all
day. And the day after that. And so on.
But tonight, my family and I were set to have dinner in
San Antonio to celebrate our progress on the shelter. It’d all
happened a little last minute, and since they had shopping
they wanted to do beforehand and I had work to finish up,
they left before I was home. So I got myself ready alone, even
did my hair up and put on my fancy earrings, since we had
reservations at one of the nicest restaurants on the
Riverwalk, perfect for a little black dress and heels.
The note on the counter said to take Grant’s Audi, and if it
wasn’t written in his hand, I never would have taken the
infernal thing. That car cost more than anything with wheels
I’d ever driven, but Jo had made us all learn how to drive it, I
suspected because she reveled in our discomfort. She knew
the feeling, I guess. There was a time she’d cursed that car
and contemplated sugaring his its tank. Boy, how things had
changed.
Some days, it felt like everything was different. The town
had stumbled into a wood chipper and was left
unrecognizable. Some people had moved away, some had
moved back. Jo had gone off and found herself someone to
love, and that maybe brought the biggest change of all for us.
For the first time in more than fifteen years, a man lived on
the premises. A good man, one we were glad to have. But it
had shifted our dynamic, and like Mama had said—Jo went
from barking every man off the front porch to nudging us all
into suitors’ arms.
The pact we’d made after Drew died had lost its weight. At
the time, promising not to date until our mother did was
insurance that we wouldn’t have to. We could hide behind
silly curses and unrealistic promises made because it was too
scary to think about loving someone and losing them.
 But Jo was basking in the glow of love and wanted us all
to catch the feeling too. It was a thoughtful intention,
however hard she came at it. She’d never been the picture of
tact. More the picture of a swinging baseball bat.
If I were her, I’d be giving Poppy as much flak as Jo had
been giving me. But I was an easy target, simply because I
never let her know she got to me. Jo and Poppy would be
scratching each other’s eyes out if this had passed between
them. So I did my best to ignore Jo, smiling and nodding
while she went on. Let her get it out of her system and
(hopefully) give up the ghost.
There weren’t many single men in town of Mama’s age,
and truth was, she’d known most of them since they were all
kids and the rest because of their friendships with our father.
Dating out of town was too hard, especially when you lived
an hour away from a major metro area. And the last time
Mama tried to date, it was Grant’s father. That disaster was
its own story.
Part of me wondered if Mama even wanted to date. Was
she lonely? What would happen if we did all happen to find
somebody and move off the farm? She’d be all alone.
The thought made me sick to my stomach.
Fortunately, it wasn’t anything I had to worry about now.
Maybe ever. We were on the verge of some kind of change,
the kind you can feel in the breeze and hear in the rustling of
leaves. But for now, there was nothing to do but what we’d
been doing. So that was just what we’d do.
It was just past sunset when I pulled up to the valet,
which I’d maybe done twice in my life. My instructions in
regard to the car were very specific, including such things as
this. Knowing my inexperience—did you tip before or after?
—Grant even put a twenty under the keys and noted when to
hand it over. Sounded like too much to me, but Grant had a
different relationship with money than we did.
 Over the generations, our farm had done better than
most, though we had nothing near the millions Grant
possessed. Blum’s Bees had even survived the depression,
helping keep the town afloat in a time when everything
everywhere was sinking. When no one could afford or find
processed sugar, they could find and afford local honey. We
didn’t hit it rich or anything—we sold it for too little, more
inclined to help our neighbors than turn a profit—but we
were able to weather the storm and come out the other end
in one piece.
Helping people and giving back was an important part of
our history, a part we still held dear and true. That was,
perhaps, our greatest legacy.
I hated that the divide in our town had made that so hard
of late. Such were the times we lived in.
The valet took my hand to help me out, and once both
heels were on the pavement, I headed for the door, clutch in
hand, scanning for my family.
I found Keaton instead.
He stood just outside the front door, looking up the street
with consternation on his face. He glanced at his watch and
let out a breath, beginning his search for his guests again.
When his eyes caught mine, it was clear that he hadn’t
expected to find me either.
Those dark eyes widened, then smoldered as they traced
my face. And I traced his. The way the soft light kissed one
cheek, the bridge of his nose, half of his lips, casting the rest
in twilight’s shadow. His size wasn’t diminished by his suit,
cut to his shape and black as pitch. In fact, he looked bigger,
larger than life, a powerful man by right, whether it be in
denim and work boots or a suit and tie.
At the sight of him, I’d come to a brief stop just as I’d
stepped onto the sidewalk. When I realized it, I moved my
feet again, putting on a smile in a poor attempt to mask my
surprise.
“Keaton? What are you doing here?”
He shook his head just a little as if to clear it. “I was
supposed to meet my brothers and Sophie here, something
about celebrating how far we’ve come on the shelter.”
I sighed, knowing exactly what happened. “Wouldn’t you
know, I was supposed to meet my family here for the same
reason.”
He looked off as it hit him, his jaw clenching. “Those
assholes,” he muttered.
“I didn’t expect my sisters and your brothers to gang up
on us. One to one is inevitable, but this? You have to admire
their determination.”
He humphed. “They’re going to admire my boot in their
ass.”
“I hope you’re talking about your brothers,” I teased.
Surprise skittered across his face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, my
brothers.”
We fell silent, the two of us casting sideways glances in
whatever direction the other wasn’t. I wasn’t embarrassed,
exactly. More excitement than anything, coupled with a
hefty concern about what I was sure would end in some form
of rejection—I didn’t have gear fit to reach Keaton Island.
Despite that, I pulled up my big girl pants and smiled at
him. “Well, we came all this way. Would you care to have
dinner with me, Mr. Meyer?”
A returning smile tugged at his lips, his shoulders, jaw,
forehead easing with the expression. “Sure. Let’s see if they
actually made a reservation.”
He pulled open the door, and I walked past him with my
nerves firing. I hadn’t been on a real live date in a real long
time, and sharing a meal alone with Keaton was beyond my
imagination. But here we were, walking into a very expensive
restaurant in cocktail attire, just the two of us.
We were led outside to a table next to the river under a
canopy of ancient trees. Keaton pulled my chair out for me,
and I went a little knock-kneed as I whispered my thanks
and sat.
I watched him smooth his tie before sitting, his eyes on
the silverware as he settled in. The table was small, only
meant for two, lit by candlelight. Trees rustled above us, and
music played quietly from somewhere nearby.
Golden lights hung everywhere—strung in the tree,
hanging across the river, lining the bridges, clinging to the
edge of wide, slow boats as they drifted by, slow and lazy and
sighing.
It was nothing short of perfect, even if the man across
from me wasn’t mine to have.
But could he be yours?
There were moments when I thought the answer might be
yes. Like when he’d spun me around the dance floor and
looked so deep into my eyes, I thought he might have seen
my very soul. I thought I might have caught a glimpse of his
too. I’d sat across from him in his kitchen, his pink apron
dusted in flour and his eyes bright with hope that things got
better.
Somewhere, deep down, I believed he was interested in
me, and I was interested in him, despite whether or not it
was a good idea. Because although I had to admit I didn’t
know him well, I saw something of myself in Keaton, and I
saw the kind of person I wanted to be too. I admired him for
all he stood for, for all he’d done, and it left me wanting to
rise to meet him.
The server interrupted my thoughts for a drink order, and
once she was gone, we were alone again.
“Well,” I started, “They really outdid themselves.”
 He shook his head at his menu. “I’m sorry. My brothers …
they mean well.”
“So do my sisters, however heavy handed they may be.”
“Subtle, right?”
“Not exactly a Blum forte.”
“It’s not a dominant Meyer trait either.”
I glanced up and around us. “It’s beautiful though.”
“It is.”
Something about the way he said it made me look at him,
expecting to find him looking around as I had been. But he
was looking at me.
Our gazes held for a fluttering moment before his eyes fell
to his menu.
That two seconds of eye contact was all it took to double
my pulse.
For a little bit, we chatted about the menu, neither of us
seeming to know what to say. My mind scrambled around for
a direction to take the conversation, anything to make the
unexpected dinner easier, but I couldn’t seem to find a thing.
When the server brought our drinks and took our orders, we
were out of distractions.
I watched Keaton’s bear hands move his silverware and
open his napkin, laying it in his lap. He sat back, then
shifted. Put a hand on the table, then back into his lap.
“Do I make you nervous?” I teased.
A flicker of a smile just there, at one corner of his mouth.
“Do you always say what you think?”
“I do, sometimes to my peril.”
That earned me a chuckle.
“My sisters are worse. You can’t walk five feet in my
house without hearing what somebody thinks.”
“You can’t get five in mine without someone cracking a
joke. I don’t think any of them have a serious bone in their
body.”
 “Not even Cole?” I challenged.
“You know, when it counts, they all do,” he conceded.
“And Cole most of all, especially when it comes to Sophie.
But the rest of the time?” He made a derisive noise.
I laughed and took a sip of my wine, comfortable for the
first time tonight. I couldn’t help but notice he’d relaxed too,
just a little. “I admire them. My sisters too. They’re so … I
don’t know. Carefree, in their ways. Although your siblings
are more easy going than mine. But they’d fight to the death
for what they love, human, town, bee, or otherwise.”
One of his brows rose. “And you wouldn’t?”
“Not like they do. They chase down what they want. I …
well, I’m less certain about what I want. You’re more like
them.”
“You think I know what I want?” he asked, laughing.
I frowned. “To run your family’s business? To take care of
your brothers and Sophie?”
He sighed, still smiling, but the expression held a wry
edge. “Needs and wants are two very different things. I
doubt everything you want could be summed up in your farm
and family.”
“Then what do you want?”
Keaton shrugged, reaching for his glass. “I don’t know.
But let me know if you figure it out.”
I gave him a look. “Stop it,” I said, chuckling.
He set down his glass and eyed the wine inside.
“Everything I want is for other people, not myself. I want the
business to survive because it was my father’s, and even now
I want to make him proud. I want my family to be happy, and
I would take a bullet to ensure their safety. But what I want?”
He shook his head. “I thought I knew a long time ago. Not so
much anymore.”
“Well, what do you do besides whack stuff with a
hammer?” I asked lightly.
 A quiet laugh. “Saw stuff. A little light welding. What do
you do besides steal honey?”
“Play music.”
“You sit around in your living room playing your French
horn?”
“Nah, it’s not really a casual instrument. Mostly the
guitar or the piano. But that’s all of us, even Mama, though
she won’t sing. She’s tone deaf.”
“A tone deaf Blum? Never heard such a thing.”
“It’s true,” I promised. “She’s not allowed within ten feet
of a microphone. We stick her in the back with the stand up
bass where nobody can hear her if she decides to sing
along.”
His smile was like the break of blue sky in a thunderhead.
“Poor Dottie.”
“I like to read too, and draw a little. I appreciate your
hammer whacking. I can manage handiwork around the
farm, but I can’t build anything.”
“Sure you can. Anybody can. Take a look at my brothers,
for example. If those dummies can do it, anybody can.”
“If you say so.” I took a sip of my wine.
“What do you want to build?”
“Oh, all kinds of things. I had an idea for a table and drew
up plans for a window seat. I’ve always dreamed of working
with an architect to build my own house, but who knows if
I’ll ever leave the farm. I even drew up my own plans and
everything.”
“Build it on the farm.”
“So easy,” I joked.
“I know a guy.”
“You know a few, but I can’t afford you.”
“I bet you can,” he said. “Send me your plans.”
“Why, you’re not going to build me a house, are you?”
 “It’d be kind of a hard surprise to pull off.” When I
laughed, he added, “I’m curious. Plus, I’d like to at least get
you a quote. It’s worth having for down the line.”
My cheeks were warm from the wine or the proximity to
Keaton. Maybe both. “I’d like that” I said, trying not to
daydream about him without success. I could see us working
side by side, building my dream house. I could imagine us
together in that house, and let my mind run away with itself
all the way down to a wedding and babies and beyond.
He’d relaxed into his chair, his smile easy. I saw the boy
I’d known long ago with his whole life ahead of him. The
Keaton I knew now spent his time on the life behind him. But
this Keaton was somewhere in between, a fresh start. That
second chance he needed to give himself. I wondered if I
could keep this version of him, water and care for him. Bring
him back from the edge of death.
Could he be mine? I asked myself again, but for the
moment, the needle was moving decidedly toward the green.
“I’m kinda glad our families are nosy,” I noted, crawling
out on a limb and hanging on for life. “Thank you for joining
me for dinner tonight, Mr. Meyer.”
“Thank you for suggesting it, Ms. Blum.”
We raised our glasses and toasted, took a sip in silence.
“But yes, they’re nosy. And pushy.” His gaze shifted to
the river, watching it roll ever away. “Everybody wants to
give advice, don’t they? They tell me to move on, but what
does that mean? Time passes, but it doesn’t fix anything.”
I considered his question and only knew of one answer. “I
think they mean we’re supposed to date. Or at least that’s
what our families seem to figure.”
He laughed, the sound like a sigh at a change of subject.
“I’m gonna keep telling myself they mean well like you said.
Otherwise, somebody’s getting a black eye.”
 “Funny. Boys hit each other. Girls replace their sisters’
conditioner with lotion.”
“Oh, we do that too, just not with toiletries.”
“Like what?” I asked, amused.
“Stuff napkins in all their shoes so they don’t fit.”
“Oh my god,” I said, laughing.
“Gluing the end of the toilet paper to the roll so they can’t
get any off. Swapping out all their clothes drawers. Turn off
their fan and put glitter on the blades so when they turn it on
… poof.”
“Diabolical.”
“Those are the nice ones. There are more that are not so
nice.”
“I don’t think I want to know.”
“You definitely don’t, and my mama taught me better
manners than to mention such things to a date.”
“A date, huh?” I asked, praying I didn’t sound hopeful.
When he stilled, fear gripped my guts. But I put on my big
girl undies and forged ahead.
“You know,” I started, “I’m not sure if I’m mad that they
set us up.”
“I’m not sure if I’m with you on that one.”
“Ouch,” I said lightly enough to be considered flippant.
His cheeks flushed, which was quite a sight on a man of
his stature. “No, I didn’t mean—I only meant that they went
too far. Not because I didn’t want to see you.”
“So you did want to see me?”
“No. I mean, yes, but not like …” He sighed.
God, it was like pulling teeth. Maybe it should have been
easy. Except I got the feeling that if he’d quit being weird,
it’d be easy as pie.
I considered that he didn’t want it to be easy, and the
thought made me preternaturally sad.
 But in a grand farce, I laughed the whole thing off,
channeling my inner Poppy in an attempt to say what I
wanted while keeping it light enough that rejection wouldn’t
make the rest of dinner unbearable.
“I’m sorry to tease you. It was just that I was thinking our
families are so adamant to get us to date that maybe it
wouldn’t be the worst idea. Even if it was just to test the
theory of moving on.”
That flush he’d worn slid away. “I …”
“We do have a lot in common,” I said lightly, keeping a
playful smile on my face. “Who better to fumble through it
with?”
A long pause while I held my breath ended in the two
worst words in the English language.
“I can’t.”
My heart took a dive. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry. I just … I don’t have time for anything but my
family and my job. There’s no room for anything else.
Anyone else.”
I smiled through that thumping organ’s descent,
shrugging like I was unflappable. I wondered what
percentage of his answer was about Mandy, but decided I
didn’t want to know. “It was worth asking.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
I waved a hand. “You don’t have to do that. Really. Just
had to ask.”
Some unknown decision warred behind his eyes, waited
somewhere behind his lips. But before he spoke, the server
interrupted with our food.
Small mercies.
Through dinner, I carefully steered the conversation away
from all things meaningful. We talked more about his
woodworking and my bees, about his family and mine. We
talked about this, and we talked about that, filling the air
through our meal, through the check, until we were outside
the restaurant where we’d started.
Keaton waited with me while the valet pulled my car
around, at which point his brow climbed.
“It’s Grant’s,” I noted.
“I figured. Damn, that’s a good looking car.”
“Maybe someday I’ll take you for a ride.”
He laughed. “I’ve driven cranes and bulldozers and a
hundred other vehicles, but not a single thing with finesse
like that. Wonder if you couldn’t show me a thing or two.”
Neither of us acknowledged the potential double
meaning, but we both felt it. I thanked the valet and tipped
him with Grant’s twenty, and when I didn’t move for the car,
he gave up escorting me and went back to his stand.
Keaton and I stood under the awning for a moment, just
looking at each other.
I broke the silence, saying, “Well, thank you for dinner.”
“It was my pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“All right.”
We hung in that awkward place for a heartbeat before he
shifted toward me. His arm found my waist, his hand sliding
around with the intent of a hug. Surprised, my instinct took
over, raising my arms to loop around his neck, fitting us
together too easily. Rather than pull away, he wrapped his
other arm around me and squeezed, holding me close,
holding me tight. Our bodies were flush, my nose in the
curve of his neck where he smelled so strongly of amber, my
lids fluttered closed. I took a long, deep breath like I’d
daydreamed about for months.
He let go of me first, but didn’t move back, keeping me
firmly against him. I leaned back so I could see his face, and
the look he wore was thick with longing, touched with a
spark of fire. As our eyes connected, we stepped back,
bringing our limbs to our sides in a snap that was so sharp, I
practically heard it.
Flushed, I smiled. “I … um, well, be careful going home.”
“You too. There are deer out this time of year, so watch
the county road, all right?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, since I’d driven the road to my
house about a billion times. “I will,” I promised. Then
walked around the front of the car, turning to wave
awkwardly at him. And with his awkward wave back, I slid
into the car and took off.
“Smooth. Real smooth, Daisy. Just ask him out, they said.
It’s not weird, they said.”
And with that thought, I made plans to stuff napkins in all
their shoes.
Even Mama’s.
13
 M O N K EY W R E N C H

KEATON

I was an absolute fool.

After dinner, I drove home without even turning on
the radio. I didn’t need any more noise—my mind kept
itself busy with a scolding so hot, I might have given myself
third degree burns.
Daisy Blum had asked me if I wanted to date, and I said
no.
I couldn’t figure out why I’d said it like I had, quick and
cold and distant. Though I would have loved to blame it on a
black out or a possession perhaps, the truth was that I’d
overthought every word I said to the point of utter fucking
nonsense.
Every instinct said yes, but my idiot mouth said no.
I hadn’t lied—there was no room to add anything else
into my life, not without a sacrifice I didn’t know how to
make. A flash of guilt had cut me down the middle at the
thought of dating. Not that I hadn’t considered it, but I’d
never imagined anything with the detail I imagined kissing
Daisy. But I had kissed approximately one girl in my life,
outside of Jenny Andrews in the first grade under the
monkey bars. I’d only dated one girl, a girl I married.
 The obvious takeaway was that I had no idea what I was
doing, but that wasn’t the bulk of it.
It felt like a betrayal of my old life. Ridiculous, I knew. But
my loss dictated that I wasn’t allowed to be happy with
someone else, not without letting go of something I’d been
hanging on to for so long, my hands had turned to stone.
Truth was, it was easier to say no than deal with
everything that came along with saying yes.
If I wasn’t standing in my own way, Daisy was everything
I could ever want.
Giving and kind, clever and determined. She had a
softness about her that I knew could toughen in a heartbeat
if she had something to defend. She made me laugh when no
one—outside of people I shared DNA with—could. The more
I was around her, the more I wanted to be around her. And
though I didn’t know her well, I knew well enough. And I
wanted to know more.
I just didn’t know how to make that jump.
Instead of taking the time to figure it out, I reprimanded
myself the whole way home, then reprimanded my brothers
for having set me up. I would have reprimanded Sophie too,
if she hadn’t been asleep. Though by all estimates, she would
have gotten off with nothing more than a hard look and a
You too?
I thought all night about seeing Daisy the next day, found
myself unsure what to wear, wondered if I should clean up
my beard, wondered why I wondered about it, then realized
with no small amount of reproach that I was nervous about
spending the day at work with her.
My biggest problem was that I’d blown it with Daisy, and
I told myself it was for the best. I had enough to deal with
between my duty to our teetering business and the shelter
build. I couldn’t give Daisy what she needed. I didn’t know
how to give that much of myself anymore. Everything else in
my life wasn’t giving—it was doing, and for the sake of the
people I loved. The fortunate byproduct was that the doing
involved most of my time, giving me space to be alone.
It felt easier, being alone.
I thought about this all the way to the Blum’s property,
and when I pulled into the lot, I was both relieved and
disappointed that she wasn’t there yet. Once I’d parked and
made a few rounds, including a stop by the protesters so I
could glare at them for a long, hard minute, I headed into the
office and unpacked my laptop, shifting my thoughts to
bigger problems.
Our accountant—and the only other human who knew the
state of our books—had sent me the quarter’s reports. Red
was the color of my worries, as we hadn’t even broken even
for the month. We’d taken on too many new guys without
increasing our revenue. Then there was the Baker family,
their roof rotted and leaking, and Jessie Baker with a new
baby. The price I gave them was only a hair over what it
would cost me, and I’d told them to pay me back a portion
every month until we were square. Then there was the Main
Street restoration, which seemed to never end. But it was
another pro bono project, one of too many.
I’d spread myself too thin, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d
have a critical tear to mend.
I was deep in the midst of staring a hole in the numbers
on screen when Daisy walked in.
There was something extraordinary about her, something
latent in her that turned every face to hers when she entered
a room. It wasn’t just her smile, but the way the tilt of her
lips lifted her cheeks and what it did to her eyes, how it made
them spark alive. It was in the tone of her voice, the easy lilt
and sweet sound, a song that made everyone she spoke to
feel like they were important. Like they were wanted and
loved.
 It was how she greeted me, as if last night never
happened, a blip of fantasy we’d only imagined.
As she settled in at her desk, I wondered if I really had
imagined it.
Until she asked with that easy smile, “Do your brothers
sill have all their limbs?”
A laugh slipped out of me. “Yeah, but I can’t account for
all their teeth. How about your sisters? You didn’t do
anything rash like replace their conditioner with Nair?”
“I used your napkin trick on their shoes. They didn’t
think it was funny.”
“Good.”
Her face was light, full of hope without expectation. “But
I’ve gotta hand it to them—I really did enjoy your
company.”
“I did too. Enjoy your company, that is,” I stammered like
a dumbass.
Fortunately, she seemed to find my idiocy endearing.
“Maybe someday we can do it again. As friends.”
“Sure,” I answered noncommittally, but she was
unshaken as she turned to her laptop and got to work.
The thought struck me that maybe she didn’t really want
to date me after all. Maybe her suggestion was just that—a
convenience without any feelings to put behind it. My deep
and aching disappointment told me more than I wanted to
admit.
I played over last night through that lens, considering
everything she said from a place of mild interest, nothing
more. And there was nothing that indicated otherwise, aside
from the awkward, charged hug we’d shared. I didn’t know
how it’d happened, exactly. Maybe it was a telegraph of my
desire for her, the feeling I’d been trying so hard to keep in
check. But when she threaded her arms around my neck and
tucked her head under my chin, I’d closed my eyes and
basked in her, in the warmth of her touch, in the comfort she
gave with every breath that left her lips. It had been a long,
long time since I’d been hugged, truly hugged.
In fact, I’d been starved for affection for so long, I’d
forgotten how it felt to be loved.
My eyes were trained on my screen as my thoughts
wandered and the stone in my chest grew heavy.
Too many feelings. Just another reason to avoid Daisy—
she dredged up too many thoughts, thoughts that were
better off staying where they were.
The door to the temporary building flew open, and my
foreman Jace walked in, his face colored in anger.
“Inspector’s here.”
“Oh?”
“It’s Mason.”
I swore under my breath and pushed away from my desk,
rising to deal with the decidedly problematic extension of
our mayor.
John Mason stood just at the bottom of the steps with a
clipboard in his hand, scanning the site with the scrutiny of a
drill sergeant about to make an example out of somebody.
That somebody being me.
“Mornin’, John,” I said in my most diplomatic tone.
“What can I do for you?”
“Just a routine inspection, shouldn’t be long. Anything I
should know about?”
The weaselly son of a bitch wore a gotcha smile I’d have
loved to wipe off his face. Instead, I smiled.
“Nothing out of the ordinary. You’ll let me know if you
need anything?”
“Sure will. Mind if I pop in when I’m finished for your
signature?”
“’Course. I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee for you.”
 He didn’t answer, just gave me that terrible smile and a
nod before wandering off toward the site.
“Goddammit,” I said under my breath.
“I know,” Jace said. “He’s not gonna leave until he finds
something that’ll shut us down.”
“No, he won’t.”
I turned and stormed inside and made that pot of coffee
like I’d said, needing something to do.
“Is everything all right?” Daisy asked.
“Nope. Mason is about to shut us down.”
“What?” she breathed. “For how long?”
“As long as he can.”
“But why?”
“Because nobody paid attention to him in high school?
Too many swirlies in the locker room made him an asshole?
It’s anybody’s guess, but I’ve never met a man so thirsty to
swirlie everybody else.”
“Did you give him swirlies?” she asked with a touch of
amusement.
“I was the quarterback of the football team. My job was to
stop the swirlies, not initiate them.”
“Maybe in his grade the quarterback wasn’t so noble.”
I snorted. “You’re probably right. But whatever his
grudge, he’s easy to buy. Mitchell’s had his hand on Mason’s
back as long as he’s been an inspector.” When the pot was
full of water from the cooler, I poured it into the tank of the
coffee pot, fuming. “Honestly, I’m surprised we haven’t had
more interference from Mitchell. Windley was the first, but
this?” I scoffed, shook my head, but didn’t finish the
thought.
She was quiet for a second. “What are we going to do?”
I started the pot once the grounds were in and strode back
to sit at my desk. Unsatisfied with the texture of the chair, I
got up and paced.
 “There’s not much to do except wait for him to slap us
with whatever bullshit he comes up with and fix it. We
should probably call Evan.”
“I’ll take care of it,” she said, reaching for her phone.
I stopped next to the window, watching Mason poke
around a stack of lumber, with no idea how long this would
stall us.
I turned to the sound of Daisy’s voice as she caught Evan
up, and felt a flash of silver lining.
The wait would be brutal.
But I’d get Daisy for just a little longer.
And that tradeoff was one I could make.
14
 MAKERS AND DOERS

KEATON

“S on of a bitch,” I said when some dickhead Fortnight

kid shot me in the back.
Sophie just laughed, mashing buttons on her
handheld as she ran up structures she’d made to get to high
ground. On finding someone up there, she popped them from
behind, thus claiming the perch for herself.
“You don’t need any help from me,” I noted.
“You’re really bad at this.” She picked off somebody
running around like an ant below her.
“How about we play Tekken and see how you do?”
“Don’t worry, Uncle Keaton. You’d beat me with real
guns.”
One of my brows rose. “Are you patronizing me?”
She shot me a little sideways smirk. “I’m sure there’s a
video game you’re good at.”
I barked a laugh. “Jesus, kid. You’re lucky I’m not a
weaker man. You mighta hurt my feelings.”
“What did you play when you were a kid?”
“A lot of Street Fighter.” When she looked confused, I
explained, “A sort of karate, streetfighter kinda game.”
“PVP?”
 “One on one, yeah. Me and your dad and other uncles
used to sit in this living room and play just like this.”
“Was Mama here too?”
I nodded. “And Mandy too.”
The click of buttons was the only sound as she considered.
“Do you miss her?”
“I do,” I answered softly.
“I think Daddy misses Mom too, but he’d never say so.”
“No, I don’t suppose he would.”
“I wish I remembered Aunt Mandy,” she said.
“What do you wanna know?”
“Was she funny?”
“She’d have to be, hanging out with the likes of us.”
“That’s true.” She giggled. “She was so pretty. You know
that picture of you and her from the school dance? The one
with the crowns?”
“Homecoming. Yeah.” The photo stood on the bookshelf
next to the TV.
“When I was little”—I stifled a snicker—“I used to think
you were a real king and queen. In your wedding pictures
too. Her dress was …” She sighed.
“It was,” I answered fondly, thinking about both of those
nights and the magic they held in my heart. “You know, I
only cried a couple times ever in my life, but when the
church doors opened and I saw her at the end, there was no
helping it.”
“Did Daddy make fun of you?”
“No, he understood. He felt the same way about your
mom.”
She fell silent for a minute, focusing on her aim. “Does
everybody leave, Uncle Keaton?”
My brows drew together, and I watched her for some clue.
“What do you mean?”
 “Well,” she started with the practicality only a child
who’s been through a little hell can muster, “Grandma died
when you were a kid. Then Grandpa died when I was little,
and then Aunt Mandy. Mama left when I was just a baby. So
is that how it works?”
I didn’t know what to say, struck by the realization that
she didn’t know what it was like to have a nuclear family.
Hell, I didn’t much either.
“No,” I said after a moment. “That’s not how it works for
everybody. We’ve just had some bad luck, is all.”
“Hmm,” was her answer, her lips turning down. “I heard
Daddy talking about Daisy’s family. A bunch of them died
too, didn’t they? He said they were cursed.” I must have
looked upset about it because she added, “He didn’t know I
was listening.”
“How much stuff around here do you eavesdrop on?”
She shrugged a small shoulder noncommittally.
I sighed. “Curses aren’t real.”
“How do you know?” It was a sassy, rhetorical question.
“Because they’re not. Magic isn’t real either.”
“What if it is? What if we’re cursed too?” Her joviality
wavered a little at the admittance of her fear.
“Soph, we aren’t cursed.”
“You don’t know that.” She finally got merc’d and set
down her handheld with a sigh.
I shifted so I could get a solid look at her. “Sometimes,
bad things happen to good people. Much as we’d like to
believe there’s an order to things, life is chaos. Sometimes
things work out. Sometimes they don’t. There’s no rhyme or
reason to it.”
She slumped into the couch, frowning. “That sucks.”
I mirrored her, my eyes finding a wedding photo near the
homecoming one. “It sucks so bad.”
“Are you mad about it?”
 “Sometimes. Mostly I’m just sad, though,” I answered
quietly, honestly.
“Maybe if you had a girlfriend you’d be less sad.”
I chuckled. “Wow, even now you’re angling to set me up.
Your dad put you up to it?”
“Nope, I just like Daisy. I think she’s sad too. You could be
sad together.”
That time, I full-on laughed. “That’s not quite how you
want to pick a girlfriend, squirt. And anyway, Daisy and I are
just friends.”
“Daddy said you went on a date the other night though.”
“That’s what he was hoping when he tricked me. But
Daisy said we should be friends, so that’s all we are.”
“Well, that sucks too.”
I humphed a laugh. “You know what doesn’t suck?”
Her head rolled my way so she could see me. “What?”
“Pancakes.”
Her face lit up. “Bettie’s?”
“Special this week is cinnamon roll pancakes.”
She hopped off the couch and ran for the entry. “With
cream cheese frosting! Let’s go!”
Smiling after her, I picked myself up and headed for my
work boots, which hadn’t seen much work lately.
I’d been right—we’d been shut down and handed a
laundry list of things to address, everything from
underpinning and foundation fixes to electrical and
plumbing calls that were unnecessary by most any
inspector’s standards, things I’d never been called on before.
Nothing dangerous was on that list, just a million little
things that would take us a week to address and required
resubmitting our plans to the city, which was its own time
suck.
It wasn’t long until I was heading for town, Sophie in the
back seat singing along to the radio. I was thankful it kept
her occupied, using the time to get myself right after the
conversation with her. We rarely spoke of Julie and Mandy,
almost never addressing of how I felt about them. There had
been no point in veiling it for her, which was why I figured
she came to me so often. I was the only adult in the house
who wouldn’t bullshit her in an effort to protect her, shelter
her. I figured there was a way to talk to her about all of it in a
way that was appropriate for her age, so I did my best, which
I was sure wasn’t good enough. But I tried.
A song came on the radio from those years when we were
teenagers, when our only troubles were figuring out how to
sneak out for a party and finding a place to hook up where
we wouldn’t get caught. Cole and Julie were always around
me and Mandy, the four of us spending so much time
together, we were family long before we were ever officially
family. Julie even came to Mandy’s funeral, and for that one
endless day, the three of us mourned that time in our lives,
the people we were. The hopes and dreams that we’d held,
long slipped through our fingers.
As Sophie had so eloquently said, it sucked. And the pain
of that made it near impossible to ever risk heartache again.
Maybe she was right. Maybe we were cursed like Daisy’s
family was rumored to be.
The idea of it was a comfort, in its way. Rather it be a
thing that had rules than just shitty, awful luck.
Main Street was busy that Saturday morning, but I was
able to find a spot near Bettie’s Biscuits. The old diner had
been around since the fifties when Bettie founded it with her
husband. The sign featured a pinup girl rumored to be Bettie
in her youth, wearing a tiny waitress dress, the tray in her
hand stacked with biscuits, which were her specialty. Once,
in the eighties, a pack of women from Coleburn’s church
tried to have the sign removed for being too sexual in nature,
but in the end, nobody was going to strip Bettie of the
symbol of her youthful figure. Cold dead hands—that was
what it would take. Nobody’d questioned her since, lest they
lose favor at Lindenbach’s favorite breakfast joint.
As we walked up to the door, I noted the dwindled
numbers of homeless on the street. A few still sat or slept
under eaves, unwilling to comply to the rules of the tent
shelter or untrusting of the operation, I wasn’t sure. But
we’d at least made some headway in doing just what Doug
and the rest of them wanted—relocating the homeless to a
place where nobody had to see them. And yet, they protested,
working to stop us at every turn.
I couldn’t make it make sense.
Aggie, one of the waitresses, waved at us when we
entered, inviting us to pick a seat. So we ventured over to a
booth near the window overlooking Main Street. My brothers
were all busy with projects today, running errands and
getting themselves caught up for the upcoming week. We
were finishing several contracts at once, including the
Blum’s barn, and since we didn’t have much to do with the
shelter site temporarily shut down, I’d offered to keep an eye
on Sophie, grateful for the company.
As much as I reveled in being alone, I did not at all enjoy
being alone with nothing to do.
“So,” I started, sitting back in the booth, “wanna work in
the wood shop when we get home?”
“Can I use the table saw?”
“Absolutely not.”
She made a dismissive noise, but said. “I’m not a baby,
you know.”
“You say that a lot.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Your father would murder me if you got your hand
chopped off on my watch. So quit asking, for my sake.”
 “Fine,” she said with a sigh as Bettie sauntered up,
smiling.
The ninety-year-old woman was sprightly for her age
and had enough attitude to power a city block. Her silvery-
white hair curled and waved, cut to her chin, framing her
smiling face. Her lips were a deep red, her eyes bright and
blue behind chunky hot-pink glasses. Her black tee, which
read Back in my day … in the same shade as her glasses, was
tucked into high-waisted wide leg pants, and the tips of her
Converse poked out of the hem.
“Would you look at that,” she said. “Keaton and Sophie,
out on the town.”
Sophie beamed. “Can I pick a song on the—”
“Jukebox? You bet, kiddo.” She reached into her pocket
and dropped a few clinking quarters into Sophie’s waiting
hand.
Sophie took off running for the old jukebox, the records
the same as they had been since Bettie opened her doors.
Bettie shook her head, amused. “Cinnamon roll
pancakes?” she guessed.
I nodded. “And a chocolate malt.”
“Breakfast of champions. And for you?”
“Biscuits and gravy.”
“Coffee?”
“Always.”
The bell over the door chimed, and the world slowed
down for the time it took Daisy Blum to walk in, smiling. I
didn’t know why it happened like this, but seeing her did
something funny to time, stretching it out, and all I could
see was her. The little wisps of hair at the nape of her neck,
exposed by a high ponytail. The rosy smile on her lips as
Aggie greeted her, her eyes forward, not having seen me. The
shell of her ear, the shape of her jaw, the whole of her
capturing my attention and keeping it without a clue it was
happening. But it always did.
I must have looked as much of a fool as I felt, because
Bettie smiled with knowing and slid in across from me.
“Heard you and Daisy went on a date the other day.”
“Oh, did you?” I asked with a brow jacked. In my
periphery, I watched Daisy approach the counter.
“Course I did. I hear everything.”
“Hate to disappoint you, but Daisy and I are just friends.”
“Sure you are,” she said a certain kind of way that
indicated she knew I was full of shit.
“We are. Can’t be anything more than that.”
“And why’s that?”
“Too busy,” was all I said, shrugging like it was that
simple.
But damn Bettie—she knew things and had no qualms in
telling you so. “Did I ever tell you about when Jack died?”
I sobered at the mention of her husband and shook my
head.
“We’d barely been married but a handful of years—I was
about how old you were when Mandy died.” She paused,
considering it before continuing. “I never thought I’d ever
move on. And the trouble with that was, when the chance
came, I let it pass me by out of sheer stubbornness. Or at
least I told myself so … truth is, I was afraid. Don’t be like
me, Keaton. Finding somebody you want like that only
happens once for most people. If you’re lucky enough for it
to happen again, don’t waste it just to punish yourself for
something you didn’t do. Don’t let it walk out the door
because you’re scared of it. It’s scary, sure, but that’s life,
honey. That’s just life.”
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
“Bettie, I can’t—”
“Oh yes, you can.”
 Before I could argue, she winked and stood up, turning for
Daisy.
“Hey, Daisy,” she called from right there next to me.
Daisy smiled, flushing when she saw me. I smiled back
and flicked a small wave. On saying something to Aggie, she
headed our way.
When Bettie looked back at me, it was with a mischievous
look on her face.
“Don’t be a fool, boy,” she said so only I could hear,
squeezing my shoulder with her bony hand.
Bettie greeted Daisy, motioning for her to sit, offering a
cup of coffee that Daisy accepted. And then Bettie left on a
new mission, one that likely kept her away long enough for
me to get good and uncomfortable.
“You here for take-out?” I asked, jerking my chin at the
counter.
“Mama wanted biscuits, but she’s too busy today to make
any. Plus, if I’m being honest,” she leaned forward
conspiratorially, “Mama’s don’t hold a candle to Bettie’s.”
A small laugh rumbled in my chest. “Nobody’s do.”
“How about you? What are you up to?”
I nodded toward the jukebox. “Sophie and I needed a
break from Fortnight.”
“Fortnight, huh?”
“It was a special request,” I noted. “For the record, I’m
terrible at it. She needs no help from me—she whooped my
ass. But we’re working in the wood shop when we get home,
which is good. Gotta reclaim my place over my eight-year-
old niece. You know. Like a man.”
She chuckled. “She really puts you all to the test, doesn’t
she?”
“Only every day.”
Shoes slapped the checkered floor as Sophie came
running over, a big fat smile on her face. “Daisy!”
 “Hey, Sophie,” she said, looking like a goddamn angel.
“What’d you pick?”
Sophie looked up at the ceiling and counted them off on
her fingers. “‘Don’t Be Cruel,’ ‘Walking After Midnight,’
‘Sh-boom,’ and ‘Purple People Eater.’”
“Good choices,” Daisy said, scooting in so Sophie could
sit. The kid looked happier than a pig in shit, her gaze
bouncing between me and Daisy.
“How was your date with Uncle Keaton?”
Thankfully, Daisy was a good sport. “He told you about
that, did he?”
“Oh, sure,” she said as if it was an everyday old thing.
“And what all did he say?”
“That my dad is a punk and that y’all are just friends.”
“Both of those things are true,” Daisy said.
“But you were on a date. Daddy said it was very
romantic.”
“Well, your daddy would know. He tricked us into it.”
“I told Uncle Keaton he should ask you to be his
girlfriend.”
Daisy didn’t look at me, but her cheeks flushed again.
“And what did he say?”
“Just told me again you were friends. It’s so boring.”
Daisy laughed, and I scowled at my niece.
“Old people and kids can say whatever they want, and
everybody just laughs. Must be nice,” I noted.
Sophie shrugged.
Mercifully, Daisy changed the subject. “Keaton said
you’re working on building something when you get home.”
She nodded. “We’re building bird houses—lame. He won’t
even let me use the table saw.”
“Shame on him,” Daisy said, chuckling. “You know, I like
to draw things to build, but I don’t know how.”
 Sophie brightened up. “Uncle Keaton can teach you. He’s
real good at it and he teaches me all the time. Do you have
any pictures?”
“Sure.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and
swiped around before offering it to Sophie, who took one
look at it and handed it directly to me. “Look. Can you help
her build these?”
Daisy’s cheeks were smudged with color, and we shared a
look. But I took the phone, flipping through sketches she’d
made of all kinds of things, complete with measurements.
She’d sketched some rooms with design ideas, even had a
few floor plans.
“Why didn’t you show me these the other night?”
She shrugged, the flush in her cheeks deepening. “Oh, I
dunno. We were talking about other stuff.”
“What’s this one?” I asked, flipping it around to show
her.
“Oh, swipe one more. It’s a planter box and a bench with
storage in it.”
“This would be easy to make.”
“You should show her, Uncle Keaton,” Sophie offered
helpfully.
I didn’t think Daisy could blush deeper, but she proved
me wrong. “I’d like that.”
Sophie practically panted with excitement. “You should
come back with us after breakfast.”
Daisy and I spoke at the same time, listing reasons today
would never work out as I handed Daisy her phone back. It
might as well have been on fire.
“Speaking of,” Daisy started, looking in the direction of
Aggie who held up her bag, “I should get these biscuits
home. I’d hate for my family to starve waiting on me.”
Pouting, Sophie slid out of the booth so Daisy could pass,
then back in.
 “Good to see you, Sophie,” she said before turning to me.
“You too, Keaton.”
My tongue was fat in my mouth, so I nodded rather than
try to recall any of the words I knew. With a small wave,
Daisy walked away and gathered up her food, saying goodbye
once again as she passed to open the door. I watched her the
whole way, laying a look on Sophie when Daisy was gone.
“Judas.”
She stuck her tongue out as Bettie approached with coffee
and a malt.
“You too, Bettie.”
“Who, me?” she asked, feigning innocence. But then she
winked at Sophie and stuck her hand out behind her back for
a low five.
There was nothing to do but shake my head and take a sip
of my coffee, hating their intrusion and welcoming it all the
same. I didn’t want to want her as desperately as I’d started
to realize I did.
As much as I wanted to take Bettie’s advice, knowing the
truth of it in my bones, I didn’t know how to move on. I
wondered if I’d ever learn.
And if Daisy would still be around if I did.
15
 T H U N D E R A N D LI G HT N I N G

DAISY

T hunder cracked so hard overhead, the lights in the

temporary building flickered.
Our faces tilted up to the ceiling as rain pelted the
windows, the work in front of us forgotten for a moment.
The foreman Jace sat near me, and Keaton was at his desk on
the other side of the building, as far as he could get from me.
Or at least that was how it felt.
It’d been a week or so since we’d been shut down and all
the work on site had been fixed. We’d been hard at work
filing all the right papers, leaving us in a lurch as we waited
for them to be approved. Again. I’d been more of their acting
assistant than any real help, guided by Millie from the main
office. She was far too busy with the many other contracted
projects, but I was glad to help. Everybody won.
Except maybe Keaton.
He’d done his best to avoid me, which wasn’t unusual.
Stupidly, I’d thought we could be friends, but I wasn’t sure if
he even had room for that. I wished I could have said that I
hadn’t thought twice about him, but twice was long in the
rearview. I was somewhere in the hundred kabillions.
Nothing about him is easy. Shouldn’t it be easy?
 You know why it isn’t easy for him, I argued myself. I bet he
hasn’t opened up to anybody in a long, long time. You’d be scared
too.
Be careful—you’re headed into Beauty and the Beast fix him
mentality.
All right, if I say I only want to kiss him, would that be
acceptable?
Yes, but it’d also be a lie.
I sighed, garnering a look from the closest of the men,
which I ignored. I pretended to pay attention the email on
my screen, but really I was imagining what it would be like
to have Keaton for a boyfriend, as I had been for a longer
than I would have liked to admit. Or even better—to kiss him.
It had been so long, I barely remembered the feeling. Maybe
what I thought I remembered was derived from books and
television. Hopefully, it was like riding a bike. But it was
more likely that I’d probably be terrible at it, all teeth.
I swept the thought away at another crack of thunder,
white lightning washing the room in a flicker.
My phone rang, and Jo’s face lit up my screen. I answered
with a smile, figuring she was checking up on us with the
weather.
“Hey,” I started. “You hear that thund—”
“Daisy!” she yelled over the sound of rain and wind.
“What’s the matter?”
“Two horses got loose—storm hit when Poppy was in the
stalls, and don’t ask me how. They took off in a panic, but we
haven’t found them. They came runnin’ in the direction of
the site.”
“What horses?” I asked gravely, already standing.
Keaton’s eyes followed me.
A long pause. “Gretchen and Ginger.”
My heart lurched, my throat locking. I swallowed hard.
“I’m coming.”
 “We’ll find her, Daisy. I swear it.”
“I know. Call me if you find her. I’ll do the same.”
A brief goodbye before we disconnected, but I already had
my things bundled up in my arms.
Keaton was standing, moving in my direction. I barely
registered him.
“What happened?”
“Two horses are out, one of them mine,” was all I said on
my way to the door. “I’ve gotta help find her.”
“I’ll come with you,” he informed me. It wasn’t an offer.
“Thank you, but I’ll manage.”
“Not in your daddy’s old truck you won’t. I have four-
wheel drive—we’ll cover more ground this way. Plus, you’ll
need help with the second horse or risk losing it again.”
I was too frazzled to formulate any sort of argument. So I
nodded and said, “All right.”
We were running to his truck seconds later, feet slapping
in the mud, sending splashes in every direction. I wished I’d
at least known it was going to rain today. There hadn’t been
a cloud in the sky when I left the house, but just before lunch
it went dark, and the storm came quick, bringing a torrent
that had sent muddy rivers charging through the dirt
parking lot. I hopped one before climbing into Keaton’s
truck.
I was already soaked, my blouse clinging to my skin and
my skirt heavy, my hair sticking to my forehead and neck. At
least I had on sandals with an ankle strap. Anything was
better than barefoot.
“Did she know where they headed?” he asked as he
backed up and took off toward the house.
I shook my head. “Only that they were running our
direction.” I racked my brain, considering our favorite trails.
The one we’d just run the other day was nearby, and if we
topped the hill we might be able to see her, if we could see
much of anything. “Turn up here, between the trees. There’s
no road, but there’s a vantage point up there.”
A nod, and he pulled off the dirt road. The rain had come
so fast, the ground was spongey and slick, and the back-end
of the truck slid behind us. He pulled us to a stop and put it
in four-wheel, then climbed the hill where I hoped we’d find
salvation.
Panic sizzled under the surface of my calm, a hundred
thoughts and emotions changing second by second. There
were too many places on the property that could hurt her if
she ran into them unthinking. Rock-bedded creeks, craggy
limestone rises, jags and crooks for delicate legs to get
caught in.
I caught myself trembling and clasped my hands,
pressing them into my lap, locking my arms as my eyes
scanned the tree line in the valley below. The creek ran
through there, cutting into rocks to make a small ravine.
Frantically, silently, we searched without finding them.
“Where do you want to look?”
“Down by the creek,” I answered with terror clawing my
throat, my brain weaving sick visions of what we might find,
the worst case, and though I tried to hush them, the effort
was wasted.
He drove along the bed of the creek, careful to follow the
muddy, rocky bank.
My eyes combed lines of trees, searching for a patch of
white or tan, whispering nothing, nothing, nothing with every
shallow inhale and exhale.
In a break of trees, I caught a flash of movement, then
another, a blur of white and brown.
“There!” I pointed in the direction, and he hurried toward
them as they bolted through the trees.
I rolled down the window, squinting against the rain,
calling her name. Her head whipped in our direction, her
eyes ringed with white, but Gretchen slowed, bringing
Ginger with her.
Keaton knew what to do, hurrying alongside the trees to
get ahead of them, pulling to a stop. We burst from the cab,
running toward their path. Still I called her name, hands in
the air, moving toward her, and she slowed a little more,
rearing when she reached me.
I approached her from the side as she came down,
stroking her neck with shaking hands as she skittered.
Remembering Ginger, I whipped around, one hand full of
Gretchen’s mane. But Keaton had her still, though stamping.
Relief washed over me.
“There’s a barn nearby,” I yelled over the rain. “Can you
ride bareba—”
Before I could finish, Keaton grabbed a handful of mane,
steadied the other hand on her back, and swung up and over,
settling himself and comforting Ginger as I watched with my
mouth open. When he looked down at me, I got to mounting
Gretchen. I didn’t have his height and had to plant a knee in
her hip for leverage, but she was unbothered by that. The
lightning flash was another story.
I was barely seated before she reared and whinnied, and I
hung on for life. When she came down, I was somehow,
gratefully, still seated, and as she took off, I guided her
toward the barn, clinging to her with my thighs as my skirt
whipped my legs. I kept lock on the sound of hooves behind
me as we rounded a bend in the creek where, nestled in a
copse of trees, was one of our many ancient barns.
I pulled her to a stop in front of the barn door and slid off,
throwing it open and calling them in. The horses ran into the
familiar warmth, and once we were inside, I closed the door
again with a slam and click of the bar.
The rain pinged and rolled distantly off the roof far above,
the wind gone, the barn still. It was an older barn, left to
nature. Old piles of gray hay lay in corners, the dirt floor
dusted with more. The horses nickered, standing close to
each other for warmth and comfort.
I leaned against the door panting, my head against the old
pine planks and my eyes on the rafters before they closed. I
heard the soft pat, pat, pat of water dripping from every
angle of my body, heard my heaving breath and thundering
heart. Heard a crash of thunder, then Keaton speaking softly
to the horses when they stomped.
They were safe, I told myself. We were all safe.
But my body wasn’t ready to listen, still trembling and
sharp from adrenaline and fear. Every hair stood on end,
reaching for warmth, for danger.
When my eyes opened, they found both in Keaton.
He searched me with eyes and hands, checking for injury.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Looking up at him, I was anything but. His eyes were dark
as they scanned me, his brow low. Fat droplets of water
clung to the ends of his wavy locks, dripping on my hands as
he inspected them and my arms as he turned me and
squeezed. Plaid fabric clung to his chest, to his arms, a
perfect cast of his body. Rain and safety clung to him, though
he was perhaps the most dangerous thing I’d ever come
across. Like lightning thick air, he smelled of shocking
heartbreak and electric longing. I couldn’t have him, but I
couldn’t seem to stay away.
“I …” It was a word inside of a breath, the only sound I
could muster.
His eyes met mine, and no longer could I move. Breathe.
Consider anything but the depths of those eyes, which were a
brown so deep, you could only see his pupils for the
occasional fleck of gold. Those pupils were wide, and he
couldn’t seem to move, to breathe, either. His square hands
held my arms, their blazing heat radiating from the point of
contact. The tip of his nose was only inches from mine, his
lips close enough to feel his breath when he exhaled. My eyes
slid to those lips, on the wide planes, the curve of his bottom
lip just above the line of his beard.
I could have kissed him. All it would take was a shift. Just
a few inches, and those lips could be mine.
“Daisy,” he whispered.
“Yes?” I answered, lifting my chin both to look into his
eyes and to angle my mouth for his.
“I …” His eyes still on my lips, his brow heavy with
unknown pain. “I can’t…”
My own pain cut jagged. My chin fell, my eyes casting
away. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
Confused, I glanced back up at him only to be crushed by
the weight of his gaze. One hand moved to cup my jaw, to tilt
my face up to his as if to pour himself into me. The other slid
to my waist and pulled until our bodies were flush.
He can’t want me. He can’t ever love me. He can’t do this, not
with me. He can’t—
“I can’t stop myself,” he said, shaking from restraint.
Relief washed over me, left me sinking into his arms.
“Then don’t.”
It was a plea met with a long moment of indecision. War
behind depthless eyes.
The breath he took pulled me closer, and as he descended,
I rose to meet him with a crash of lips and a crack of
thunder, the boom of both shuddering through us. We
wound together, my arms twisting around his neck and his
around my waist tight enough to lift me off the ground. The
sweep of his tongue against mine forced my mouth open
wider, our lips sealed and seeking. Two steps, and I was
pinned against the barn door by his hips. A moan into his
mouth was answered by the deep rumble of his own, his
hand sliding down my hip to my thigh. When I lifted my
knee to brush his leg, he pulled that thigh up to his waist and
held it strongly enough to bear my weight. So I let it go, sank
into his grip, felt the heat of him pressed against the heat of
me.
Bruising was the kiss, punishing and possessive as his
hands, as the roll and grind of his hips. His free hand cupped
my breast, cold from the rain, warmed by his palm that
shifted against my peaked nipple. That hand wandered south
without hesitation, hitching my skirt, testing the shape of
my ass, sliding around my hip to the skin low on my
stomach. His hips were gone in favor of that massive hand
cupping my sex through my panties, the thick of his middle
finger stroking the hot line of my very core.
I broke the kiss with a gasp, my eyes slammed shut and
head pressed against the wooden door, an equal force to
match the pressure from his palm. He paused, and I knew
with deepening despair that he’d realized what we were
doing. He’d do what he thought was the right thing, the
logical thing. The respectful thing. He’d stop, and I’d forever
wish he hadn’t.
My eyes opened slow, lids heavy, my body pulsing with
every shift of his fingers, mourning what was sure to be the
end. Our swollen lips panted, and his forehead came to mine.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
My heart lurched, heat sinking low in my belly. “Don’t.
Please don’t.”
A gentle groan, the soft capture of my lips. The flex of his
hand, the flex of my core against it.
“If I kiss you again, I’m going to fuck you, Daisy.”
Desire was a hot knife through me, and there was nothing
to say, but, “Kiss me.”
A breath, and he did with slow purpose and determined
hands. Hands that rid me of panties, hands that slid under
my shirt, hooked the cup of my bra, released my breast so
skin could taste skin. My own fingers were clumsy, fumbling
with his belt, sliding into his pants, seeking the hot steel of
his cock. At my touch, he throbbed in my palm. But that was
my only taste before there was no room to tease, no room at
all. He was everywhere, in every breath I drew and in every
inch of my skin, one hand gripping his base, guiding himself
to my center.
The slow slide of our bodies was breathless, the deep
fullness I felt emptying my lungs. There was no room for air.
No room for anything but him.
He took my mouth as he took the rest of me, with
ferocious care. It had been too long since I’d been touched
like this to have time to savor him—I nearly came when he
filled me the first time. A few well-placed thrusts, and the
world caught fire from within me, a ringing silence, a
deafening quiet as my body stopped and started again anew,
baptized by release.
He held himself deep inside me, breathing into my neck
as I flexed and squeezed and drew him deeper. I wanted his
hips in motion, though distantly, I understood why they
weren’t. He held on to his orgasm as long as he could stand
it. Two thrusts, and when he groaned and pulled out, I kept
myself steady and reached for him, slick from my body, then
from his own, stroking him until he was spent.
We were locked against the door still, panting and feeling
and touching each other. I knew there was a chance that this
wasn’t more than right now, that I couldn’t have him beyond
this. All I could do was let him know that I was here, I could
be his, if he wanted me. So I looked into his eyes, touched his
beard, thumbed his bottom lip, and kissed him with all that I
felt. With tender appreciation, with a gentle ask for his trust.
With a returning kiss, he gave it to me. And when our lips
parted, the rest of us didn’t. We wound together again, our
faces buried in each other, our arms clasped tight and hands
splayed.
For the first time in a very long time, I felt whole.
Overwhelmed by the feeling, I held on to him. And when I
found myself, I eased my grip, wanting to see him.
He was as I knew him to be—strong, stoic, dark. But there
was something alive in him, like the bright edge of an eclipse
that promised the sun would shine again.
I smiled, and he smiled.
“Tell me we can do that again, but slower?” I asked.
When he laughed, his head kicked back a little, exposing
his Adam’s apple. And when he met my eyes again, his were
bright with joy.
“If I wasn’t secure in my manhood, I’d take offense.”
“If it’s been as long for you as it was for me, I’m
impressed.”
At the mention, his expression softened. Again I worried
he’d turn away, but instead he held my jaw, thumbed my
cheek. “Next time it’ll be slower. Painfully slow. Might take
all night.”
“I’ll go ahead and clear my schedule,” I answered with a
smile.
He picked me up, held me by my thighs like I was
weightless, kissed me like I was the only thing he needed.
And god, how I wanted to be.
16
 B EC O M I N G

KEATON

T he storm passed as quickly as it had appeared, the rain

slowing to a drizzle as we righted ourselves, talking and
laughing. I couldn’t stop touching her, whether it be her
arm, her hands, her fingertips. The wet mass of her hair that
I gathered at her back, loosening the wet strands stuck to her
neck and shoulders.
Her smile, the one I’d admired for so long, was different
now—I instantly knew it was mine alone.
On inspection of the weather and the thinning clouds
behind the front, we mounted up and I followed her back to
the house. I kept my eyes on her every yard we covered, the
sight of her leaving me dumbstruck.
She was a force of nature, speeding through the woods
with raven hair whipping behind her in whorls. Her soaked
clothes clung to her skin, her skirt licked by the wind with
every gallop, her thighs pinned to her horse’s ribs and a
bundle of chocolate mane in her fists. She rode that horse
with no saddle as if she was born to, with the unnatural ease
of a queen born of fables—her torso barely moved, tuned to
her mount in a connection so close, it was unearthly.
 Neither of us had remembered our phones in our haste, so
when we approached, Mrs. Blum ran outside, flushed with
relief. A few minutes later, Jo bolted into the clearing on her
horse and Poppy from the opposite direction, her brute of a
mount stamping his general disapproval. And when the
celebration of safety had passed, she drove me to my truck
where we said goodbye, if only for a few hours.
The long, languid kiss we shared leaning against my truck
replayed in my mind as I drove away, replaced by the
memory of her body. It was all I could think of as I showered,
the evocation driving me to madness relieved only with my
palm on the cool tile and my cock in my fist. Not as I told my
brothers as little as possible while letting them know to
make themselves scarce tonight, which they owed me, and
more. I thought of that kiss as I prepared a simple dinner,
smoking steaks, asparagus, and potatoes, my stomach in
knots with anticipation of her arrival.
Had I ever felt this way before? I searched my memories
and thought maybe, once upon a time I’d felt this with
Mandy. But it was different at sixteen than it was at thirty-
three. At sixteen, my motives were very different, short-
sighted, not for lack of imagination but lack of experience.
After that initial burst of uncertainty, Mandy was
comfortable, without mystery.
Daisy was unknown to me, and I was hungry for the
knowledge that would change that.
The feeling zinged through me all day, firing nerves from
head to toe, to keep one corner of my lips raised all the way
down to putting a jaunt in my step.
Was this how it felt to be happy?
Why didn’t I remember the feeling until now?
A flash of guilt reminded me I wasn’t allowed to be happy.
I’d never thought to ask myself why. Why couldn’t I have
something, someone, strictly for the joy of it? Why was I
punishing myself? What had I done to deserve it?
When I did, that little voice in the back of my mind had
nothing to say.
Maybe this was my chance. And I wasn’t going to waste it.
The house was quiet when she knocked on the door, and I
opened it to find her just as brilliant as she ever was, fresh as
the flower of her name, bright as the sun in June. And
throughout the end of cooking dinner and then enjoying it
together, I watched her with fascination. The way she cut her
steak. The way she covered her mouth with the back of her
hand when she laughed with a full mouth. The way the dim
light of the dining room kissed the tip of her nose, the top of
her cheeks, the bare curves of her shoulders.
My memory had been wiped clean like a chalkboard,
leaving only the quiet reminder of what once was.
It was presence, an absolute being, the absence of future
or past. Just Daisy laughing at my terrible jokes with earnest
appreciation. Just the light in her eyes and that changed
smile, the one that was freshly mine.
After living so long in the emptiness of my past, it felt like
an awakening.
Our dinner was done, our plates empty. She sat back in
her chair at the head of the table, and I leaned back in mine,
at her right hand.
She was in the midst of telling me about her sisters’
reactions to the news.
“Jo,” she continued, “took a victory lap around the house
yelling We did it! I’m not sure when my love life became a
team sport. We’re a little too involved in each other’s
business, but they really went above and beyond the call of
duty.”
“It’s me who was the problem. I mean, you flat-out asked
me to date you at dinner, and I said no like a fool. I didn’t
even mean it.”
“You didn’t?”
I shook my head. “All I did between leaving the restaurant
and kissing you in the barn was beat the shit out of myself
over it.”
“You did a good job convincing me you weren’t
interested.”
“To be fair, I didn’t know if your heart was in it. You
seemed unbothered when I turned you down. Figured you
really did just want to be friends.”
“Guess I’m a decent actor too.” She wore that sweet
smile, touched with mirth at the corners. “If you’d told me
that night I’d be sitting here right now after the day we had,
I’d have called you a liar.”
“I should have taken you on a date first. But I couldn’t
stop myself.”
“Keaton, that kiss was the most right thing that’s
happened to me in a very long time.” I met her eyes as she
continued. “Dinner would have made it less right. All that
ceremony, who’s it for? I don’t need it. I get the sense you
don’t either.”
I considered it, thinking through what would likely have
been a quiet, stunted dinner conversation and a kiss at the
end. Today, I’d been stripped bare by circumstance, with no
armor to protect me from myself. That kiss was honest,
more honest than anything I’d said or done in so long that I
didn’t remember how it felt to show someone the truth of
what you wanted and have it returned.
“Quit feeling bad about it,” she said on a laugh, guessing
my thoughts. “My mama doesn’t think less of you for not
taking me on a date before ravaging me in a barn.”
One of my brows rose. “Your mama knows you were
ravaged today?”
 “Well, she thinks we just kissed, but that doesn’t change
much.”
“I think she might disagree.”
“Lucky for us, she’ll never know.”
I assessed her, amused. “Ravaged, huh?”
“Oh, yes. That was absolutely a ravaging. I’m surprised
you didn’t actually tear my clothes trying to get at me.”
“God bless what little restraint I did have.”
“Coming home looking like I’d been mauled would have
been more difficult to explain to Mama.”
We shared our laughter, then fell into a comfortable
silence.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” I said after a moment. “We
didn’t really talk about … well, we didn’t decide what this
is.”
“We kinda still haven’t,” she teased. “You really thought
I wouldn’t want to see you?”
“I was around sixty percent sure you did. But that forty
percent is loud.”
“I know what you mean. I was certain you were gonna
realize what you were doing and quit me right there in the
middle of everything. I might have killed you.”
A laugh barked out of me. “I did see some pitchforks on
the wall.”
“And they’re real rusty.”
I shook my head at her. “Daisy, it doesn’t matter what I
thought I should do—the only thing that would have stopped
me was a word. I’m glad you didn’t speak it.”
Again, she paused. “It had been a long time, Keaton. A
very long time.”
“For me too. Since Mandy.”
“I gotcha beat.”
“Since Drew?”
 She nodded as if in acknowledgement of a simple fact, the
touch of sadness maybe more about the timeline and less
about him. “Between the pact my sisters and I had not to
date until Mama does and half the town thinking we’re
cursed, there wasn’t a lot of opportunity.”
“I don’t know about that. I’ve watched the Jenkens twins
slobber after you for years.”
She sighed. “They send me and Poppy flowers weekly. But
would you sleep with them?”
I made a face. “Good point.”
“I’d say I’m surprised you haven’t seen anyone, but the
town’s barely seen you in a handful of years. I was starting to
think you were an urban legend.”
“It’s hard, being around them. They ask questions I don’t
want to answer, give condolences out with their pity. Even
now, years later, that pity’s still in their eyes when they see
me. Easier to stay away.”
“Even your old friends?”
“Especially my old friends. Those people knew me and
Mandy as a unit, and after she was gone …” I paused. “You
know how one person is always the glue?”
She nodded.
“I think Mandy was our glue. I didn’t have it in me to
hold us together. I didn’t even have it in me to hold myself
together.”
“I know how you feel. I see my old friends at church and
on Main Street. I ask them about their kids. They ask me
about my sisters and the farm. We smile and wave and
promise to get together, but we never do.”
“Do you want to?”
“Not particularly. It makes me look backward too much.
And I think…” Her face quirked. “I think they feel guilty for
having the life I didn’t.”
 “Well, those lives they have don’t always work out either,
do they? Half of them are divorced, a portion of those
cheating on each other with … well, each other. Trust me—
they don’t have it all.”
“No, that they don’t.” She shook her head, took a sip of
her wine. Smiled. “Tell me what you’ve been making lately. I
know you’ve got something in the works.”
A switch flipped in my chest at the mention of it. I stood,
extending a hand. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
With a light in her eyes, she slipped her long fingers into
mine, and I towed her through the house and out the back to
our workshop.
Once upon a time, the shop was a wide carriage house
with a tall ceiling and stalls for horses. But my grandfather
had converted it to a woodworking shop, using it to teach my
father all he knew. In turn, he taught me and my brothers.
Cole had taught Sophie a little, I’d taught her a little more.
I’d always hoped to teach my children here too. But I’d
resigned myself to living my days as nothing more than a
fun uncle years ago.
A tiny, premature spark flared at the thought of having
that future for my own. Not that it was Daisy, not exactly. It
was the glimpse of possibility she’d brought with her, a
glimmer of hope that I could feel something again. That I
could want someone again.
When we entered, I flipped on the lights and walked to
the old radio that was my grandfather’s, turning it on out of
habit as Daisy wandered around behind me. Doves cooed in
the lofty rafters—we’d given up trying to keep them out a
generation ago—the light shining down on long tables in
golden shafts, forming glowing islands that faded away,
disappearing into dark corners. Another set of lights would
have illuminated the counters that ran along the walls, but I
left them off. I wasn’t here to work.
 Randy Travis sang about forever and ever, amen, and I
watched Daisy as she made her way around the shop,
occasionally touching something she saw—a vice, the
counter, a smattering of wood shavings that she gathered
only to let them fall between her fingers. When she came to
my current project, which was deconstructed and laying in
pieces on the table, she stopped, her head tilting to decipher
what it was.
I strode to her, standing at her back, peering over her
shoulder. The feel of her against my chest sparked heat, my
hand touching the beginnings of something that I’d picked
up and put down too many times over the last five years.
“This was once a crib, older than living memory. If the
stories are true, my great-grandfather made it before my
grandfather was born. Do you see the hand painting here?” I
brushed the faded filigree. “The rockers had come off, some
of the wood rotten from neglect. I don’t even know where
Dad found it, but he took it apart, planned on making a bed
for Sophie. It was what he was working on when he died.”
She leaned back, resting easily against me. “When did you
start it again?”
“Few weeks ago. But Dad never wrote down his plans for
things like this outside of math and quick-hand
measurements. He just made it into whatever it was
supposed to be, he said. I kinda hoped the answer would
make itself known. I think that’s part of the reason I hadn’t
had the courage to start it again. It took me a year after he
died to even move it off the table.”
She didn’t prod, didn’t dig, just let us be silent for a
moment to see if I’d say more. But I didn’t.
“What if …” she started, reaching out her hand to brush a
patch of gloss on one of the rockers, “what if you made it a
chair instead?”
 I considered it, though I found myself frowning. “It
wasn’t what he wanted to make with it.”
“True, but maybe it’s not meant to be his anymore. Can
you see how to use the pieces for a bed?”
I couldn’t. “I was thinking maybe I could take the frame
and inlay it into a headboard.”
She nodded. “That could work. But then these would go to
waste.” Again she touched a rocker. A pencil and paper sat
on the table a little out of reach. She leaned, looking back for
permission, and when she got it, I shifted to stand at her
side, watching her sketch. “You could take the head of the
frame and make it the back of the chair, like this.” She drew
it to perfect scale. “Use the spindles to connect it to the seat,
except … oh. They’d be too short.”
“But I could make them longer, like this.” I took the
pencil and drew a spindle with a hole in the bottom and
another with a peg in the top.
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Are the rockers long enough?”
On some quick math, I answered in the affirmative. “I
don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it. I’d been working on
how to whittle the rockers into carved flowers.”
“You didn’t think of it because you were stuck,” she said
simply, softly, the layers of meaning landing on each other
like feathers.
“I’ve been stuck for a long time.”
She turned, resting her hip on the table. We were still
close enough that I could feel the heat of her in the chill of
the night. “Me too.”
Unable to bear the look in her eyes, I busied my gaze with
the lines of her face, touching her cheek with the backs of
my fingers. “Today feels like the first new day I’ve had in
five years.”
Her head tilted. “How do you mean?”
 My hands cupped her delicate jaw, my thumb stroking her
cheek. “I’ve been living in a loop, if you could call it living,
ruled by the past. Every day has been the same--it felt safe
there. I don’t think I even knew it was happening, that I’d
been lost. And now, with you and me …” I paused. “I don’t
know how to do this, Daisy.”
“Neither do I. Can we figure it out together?”
I nodded, brought my forehead to hers, closed my eyes.
The tip of my nose traced the bridge of hers, then her cheek
as my lips sought hers and found them.
Long and slow was the kiss, with her face resting in my
hands and her hair brushing my fingertips. I found the
present again in the depths of her mouth, in the warmth of
her skin. We parted long enough for me to pick her up, and I
found right now in the sweet sound of her laughter, in her
arms around my neck and legs around my waist.
My smiling lips came together to kiss hers. My grip on
her was solid enough that she didn’t need to hold on, so her
hands bracketed my face. I held her close enough that her
face was a little above mine, and she kissed me deep, poured
herself into me. A kiss of life.
The bedroom was very, very far away. Too far.
The moan she breathed into my mouth told me she’d had
the same thought.
I walked her back to the counter and set her down without
breaking the kiss, grateful for free hands. Those hands
wanted to taste all of her, the long column of her neck, the
dip above her collarbone. The curve of her shoulder as I
hooked the strap of her dress, the swell of her breast as I
lowered the loose neckline to expose her. My fingertips
traced the curve, eliciting a mewl and a wave of gooseflesh,
her dusky pink nipple tightening to a peak. It was a feather’s
touch, a teasing edge both for her sake and mine as my
fingers skated that curve, and when I could stand it no
longer, I held the weight of her in my hand, my thumb
brushing her nipple.
I descended for her neck, and she tipped her head in
supplication, her fingers in my hair and her body soft in my
arms. Her pulse fluttered against my lips, her breast still in
my hand, but it wasn’t enough. So I leaned her back until she
was propped on her elbows and I could do with her what I
would.
With heavy lids, she watched me kiss my way down her
heaving chest to the breast I’d held, parting my lips for the
tip, taking it into my mouth with a sweep of my tongue. Her
sigh filled my ears, and she relaxed into my arm hooked
under her. My free hand moved to cup her clothed breast for
a moment before sliding down her ribs and to her waist
where a single tie held the dress together.
I wound the tail of the bow around my index finger and
pulled.
Standing, my gaze sliding down her body. A sliver of blue
eyes beneath black lashes. Dark hair against pale skin. The
fabric of her dress exposing half of her ribs and one naked
hip. My hand looked big and clumsy as it traced a path down
that bare skin, pausing just above her thigh before drawing
the fabric across her stomach until the straps slid down her
arms, hooking her elbows, leaving her naked, bared in
fearless honesty, her thighs parting in absolute offering.
My heart thundered, hammering my sternum as I touched
her, my eyes on my hands as they made their way to the
fluttering flesh where her thighs met. A stroke, and her lids
closed, her head falling to one shoulder. Mouth watering, I
wet my bottom lip, tracing every ripple up to circle her
swollen desire.
I lowered to my knees, hooking her legs on the way to pull
her just off the end so I could get at every inch of her that I
wanted. Those legs, I rested on my shoulders, my trembling
breath against her thigh for a kiss, then another, closer, as
my fingertips learned her. And then that breath exhaled
against the very tip of her before taking her into my mouth.
My hands moved, sliding up her hips to hold them still,
my latch on her steady, my tongue silently teasing her—her
thighs jerked with each flick, gasps interchanging with
moans. I pinned her to the counter to stop her from getting
away from me and kept on, the flat of my tongue between
her flesh. The tracing first of lines and paths learned with
my hands, now known by my mouth. Then it was the
drawing of flesh in a rhythm, in a pull that drew her closer to
the edge. She swelled in my mouth, her hips trying without
success to find pressure of her own.
This was not the long and slow fucking I’d planned for
tonight. This, I decided, was foreplay, even though I reached
for my belt as I released her and stood with every intention
of fucking her thoroughly, right here.
She couldn’t seem to open her eyes more than a degree,
her bottom lip pulled into her mouth and her body flushed.
But she watched me rise, watched me reach between my
shoulder blades for a fistful of jersey and pull my shirt off,
tossing it aside. I unfastened my half undone belt and jeans,
and reached into my pocket for a condom, more prepared
than I was this afternoon. And all the while she watched me,
her eyes opening more by the second as she took in the sight
of me, naked to the V of my open pants, as I fisted my cock
and rolled the condom on.
I couldn’t hear anything but my pulse and my breath as I
stepped closer, lowered my torso to bring my lips to hers, my
shaft nestled in the heat of her. Her arms wound around my
neck, her mouth hard against mine, tongue seeking to return
what mine had given her. Braced on one arm, I reached
between us, angling my cock for her until my crown
breached her. I rose, my arm threading her waist to hold her
up, though she hung from her arms locked around my neck,
needing no help from me. A pull, a flex, and I slid into her
heat breathlessly.
For a moment, I couldn’t move, overwhelmed by feeling.
The tightening of her body drew the promise of release from
within me, the sweet sound of her breath in my ear, my head
tucked in the curve of her neck. I shifted to kiss her as deeply
as I found myself inside her, only breaking it to retreat my
hips and slam into her.
A moan from her, a grunt from me, my lips pinned
between my teeth and my body on fire. Time stretched long,
hung still as I gave to her and she gave to me. As I took my
fill of her and she took hers. I held my desire steady, tending
to hers. Listening to every sound, feeling every flex from her
that telegraphed what she wanted, what she needed. I
followed the sound until it was nothing but shallow breath,
until she tightened from every limb, every muscle, gripping
me so tight from within, my jaw clenched in pleasure-pain.
The moan and movement of her orgasm struck a match
down my spine, my hips flexing with purpose, the tether on
my own orgasm loosed.
I came with a long flex and burst, holding us both still for
a protracted moment before slamming into her to the
rhythm of my heartbeat as it raced, then as it slowed, and
when it was the sated beat of release, I drifted back to myself
and kissed her so long and slow, it felt like forever.
She leaned back, a lazy smile on her flushed face. “Are we
ever gonna do that in a bed?”
“Sure are, as soon as you put that dress on and get your
ass inside so I can take it again.”
When she tipped her head back in a laugh, I took the
opportunity to nuzzle in her ear, my eyes closed and my
heart open just enough to let her in.
17
 B R A N D N E W D AY

DAISY

I t was late enough that morning that the sun slanted into
Keaton’s bedroom and the kitchen downstairs bustled
with distant noise. But that wasn’t what woke me.
It was Keaton’s arm around my waist, his lips on my
neck, and the promise of a grand fucking pressing against
my ass. Before we spoke, we kissed. Before we greeted the
day, we greeted each other, skin to skin, body to body,
thoroughly and completely in a soft echo of our long night.
At the moment, I was splayed across his chest, listening
to the solid thump of his heart beneath my ear, my face
rising and falling with every heavy breath. His skin under my
cheek was damp from exertion, dusted with dark hair, our
legs still twined together and one arm wound around me.
The other was next to him, slack as if in sleep.
I’d never woken up with a man before, not like this.
A few times, Drew and I had snuck off for a night,
sleeping in a tent or in the bed of his truck, but that didn’t
hold a candle to sleeping in a real bed like adults. Instead, I’d
spent a whole night with a man who’d given me more in
those dark hours than anyone had given me in years. A night
filled with adoration and devotion. Of discovery and desire.
 Now that I had him, I didn’t know if I’d be letting him go
anytime soon.
He sighed and rolled over so we were on our sides, facing
each other. Squared fingers brushed my cheeks, swept my
hair from my face, and his lips, framed by his dark beard,
smiled.
“Mornin’,” he said, his voice low and rough from disuse.
“Mornin’,” I answered with a smile of my own. “How
long you think until the house is empty?”
A chuckle. “If I know them? They’ll wait us out all day.”
I groaned through a laugh. “Sophie’s down there too,
huh?”
“Oh, she’s down there. Cole’s probably keeping her in the
room just for grins.”
“Won’t she have questions?”
“She knows more than she lets on. Trust me, you’ll scar
her less than the lot of us running our mouths off when we
think she’s not listening. She’s always listening.”
“Good thing I had the foresight to pack a bag.”
“Awful presumptuous of you, that.”
“Listen, Jo might not mind if Marjorie sees her walking
down Main Street in last night’s clothes, but I do.”
Laughing, he kissed me, and we climbed out of bed to get
our day started. I was late for my chores, but there was
plenty of time before the car wash this afternoon. The upside
was that my family would likely be busy doing their chores,
which would mean less badgering. For a minute, at least.
I’d thrown on a pair of shorts, a tee, and white canvas
sneakers, twisting my hair up in a messy bun. When I came
out of Keaton’s bathroom, it was to find him standing with
his back to me, jeans slung low on his hips and hugging that
sweet ass of his. He was pulling on his shirt, arms over his
head, the muscles that made up his expansive back bunching
and easing until they were all swathed in jersey and sadly out
of view.
When he turned and caught me gawping, he laughed. I
flushed and rolled my eyes. And before I could pop off
something funny, he was kissing me. After that, I didn’t have
much to say at all.
As we walked down the stairs, I braced myself for the
publicity, putting on a smile and sharpening my wits. The
only way out was charm. Or, at least, was the least
embarrassing option.
The three Meyer brothers cheered at our entrance, Carson
splitting a whistle through his fingers. Sophie’s face quirked,
though her eyes were sharp with humor.
“We had a sleepover,” Keaton clarified in her direction.
Her expression brightened. “A slumber party? Did you
have a pillow fight?”
My brothers turned to give me looks that inspired
violence in me.
“Yeah,” Cade said. “Did you have a pillow fight?”
“No, they were too busy—oof,” Carson grunted when Cole
elbowed him in the solar plexus.
“What people do at slumber parties is none of our
business, Sophie Marie,” Cole said with an authoritative tone
I’d never heard from him. He pinned his brothers with a
warning look they heeded as best they could with Carson still
rubbing his torso and Keaton red in the face, from anger or
embarrassment, I couldn’t tell. The thought of him blushing
made me giggle, and he swiveled his head to face me, brow
arched.
I shrugged, too amused for my own good. “Well,” I
started, changing the subject before Keaton withered from so
many eyes on him, “I’ve gotta get back to the farm. Sophie,
will you come tend the bees with me one day? Or if that’s too
scary, we can just pick flowers.”
 Sophie lit up. “Can I wear a bee suit and everything?”
I nodded. “We’ll even eat a comb fresh out of the hive, if
you want.”
“Can we go today?” she was already half off her chair.
Cole answered. “We’ve got the car wash today, so how
about we wait for Daisy to tell us when she’s free?”
Disappointed, she flopped back into her seat.
“Don’t worry,” I promised her. “Maybe tomorrow?”
She grinned, nodded, and tucked back into her breakfast.
“Bye, guys,” I sang, Keaton in my wake as I headed for
the door. “See y’all in a few hours.”
They called their goodbyes behind me.
“Sure you don’t want to stay for coffee? Breakfast?”
Keaton asked, holding the door open for me and following
me out.
“It’s so late, I’ve gotta get back. We wasted coffee time
with a different sort of pick me up.” I smiled at him over my
shoulder.
When he laughed, my heart nearly shot out of my ribs like
a dove from a box. That sound was maybe my favorite sound
in the whole world.
“I should say I’m sorry for that, but I’m not,” he noted.
“I’ll take that over coffee any day of the week.”
I turned when we reached my truck, but he was so close,
there was nothing to do but lean back on the door, his hand
planted on the metal next to me as he descended for a kiss.
And for a moment, we just enjoyed that kiss for exactly what
it was, without promise or preamble. Just an honest
appreciation for one another to enjoy as desired.
He packed me into my truck and stood there while I
backed out, hands in his pockets, waving when I turned onto
the road with a smile still on his face. I didn’t think I’d seen
him smile so much in all the time I’d known him. The sight
left me light and happy, my windows down and the music
loud as I drove home. And I sang all the way, my joy fed by
flickers of the night before and the imaginings of what would
come.
I felt like a different person than I’d been just yesterday at
this time. I’d spent too much of that time caught up in
magic, I supposed, disconnected from reality, safe in
Keaton’s arms.
If I didn’t remember every vivid moment so well, I’d
think it was a dream. Things like this didn’t happen to me.
Except yesterday, they did. Because Keaton kissed me,
and now I’d never be the same.
When I neared our driveway, I turned my radio down and
rolled up the windows, hoping to avoid alerting my family of
my arrival. I’d have to face them, true. But if I could get out
onto the farm, I hoped I could face them one at a time rather
than as a united front.
I parked in the front instead of the back, grabbed my bag,
and snuck in, closing it behind me without making much of a
sound. I paused just inside, listening for any signs of life,
and sighed my relief at the silence.
Silence that ended just before my bag hit the ground.
“Shit,” I said under my breath, taking a deep breath to
prepare myself for the onslaught as my sisters ran in like a
couple of puppies looking for bacon.
“You stayed all night!” Jo crowed, looking mighty proud
of herself for having done virtually nothing to secure that
particular point.
Poppy had started giggling and couldn’t seem to stop.
“Daisy. Daisy spent the night with somebody. I was so sure
I’d be next.”
Jo whacked her arm and said, “So did I!”
“Thank you for your love and support,” I said sweetly.
“Oh, stop it. That’s not what I meant,” Poppy clarified.
“Well, what did you mean then?”
 “Only that I didn’t think you had it in you.”
My face flattened. “Should I get you a shovel? Might make
digging that hole a little easier.”
But Poppy was unfazed, hooking her arm in mine to drag
me over to the couches. “Tell us everything.”
“I most certainly will not,” I answered, laughing.
“Oh, come on. Give us something.” She plopped us onto
the couch, “Or at least give me something. Jo’s got Grant. All
I have are romance novels, porn, and this.”
Jo sat on the other side of me, putting her back to the arm
and pulling her legs up like a pretzel. Her smile was
absolutely diabolical. “Yeah, do it for Poppy.”
“You two are the worst.”
“I don’t think she knows what to say, Poppy,” Jo said
with a wicked look on her face.
Poppy nodded in mock disappointment. “She’s new to all
this.”
I scowled at her. “As of last night—and this morning, if
we’re counting—I have more recent experience than you.”
Poppy rolled her eyes.
Jo’s smile widened. “This morning, huh?”
I pretended to pick something off my shorts. “And in his
workshop, up on the counter. And twice after that before the
sun came up.”
Poppy’s jaw dropped.
“Honestly, I didn’t even know I could have that many
orgasms in that amount of time. Must have been saving
them up for a rainy day.”
Jo laughed hard enough that it couldn’t be considered
anything less than a cackle.
Poppy wore a look of appreciation. “Well, would you look
at that. Guess Keaton wasn’t rusty.”
“Oh, no. Man was oiled up and firing on all pistons.”
 They howled with laughter that I couldn’t help but join. I
didn’t realize I’d feel relieved. There was a part of me that
thought maybe they’d be disappointed, despite all their
pushing. That maybe they’d think less of me. But that said
more about what I was afraid of than it did about them.
Before their riotous laughter had died, Grant strode in
with purpose, his expression more annoyed than amused.
When he found me sitting between my sisters like we were,
he shook his head at them.
Jo lit up. “Grant, she stayed the night with Keaton!”
He extended a hand when he reached her and said,
“Mhmm.” When she didn’t take his offering, he flicked his
fingers in the universal sign to come on.
Rolling her eyes, she unfolded her legs and put her hand
in his. “You’re no fun.”
“I know.” He turned to Poppy and gave her a look.
“What?”
“You too. Come on.”
Poppy folded her arms. “You can’t make me.”
One of his brows rose.
With a huff, she made to stand. “Oh, fine.”
He waited for her to pass him, then towed Jo away by the
elbow. When he smiled at me over his shoulder, I mouthed
Thank you, to which he nodded, ushering my sisters out the
back.
I sighed, smiling, sinking into the couch for just a
moment.
Just long enough to let myself be happy.
18
 SUDS AND DUDS

DAISY

A smorgasbord of virile male torsos and curiously sexual

kneecaps glistened in the afternoon sun.
My sisters and I had donned coveralls and tied
bandanas around our heads before heading to the parking lot
of Abuela’s restaurant where the men would be washing cars
all day. In the logic center of my brain, I knew there would be
some very fit men without shirts on, and I knew that I would
enjoy this immensely. But when we pulled into the parking
lot and those men were right there in front of me, I realized
I’d had no idea what I was in for.
A collection of Lindenbach’s finest young men were
scattered about the parking lot, busy talking and filling up
buckets of soapy water, which, on its own was of little
consequence. But when coupled with a dozen sets of abs,
pecs already shining with sweat, rolling shoulders and
biceps, and thighs on full display in those short five-inch
inseams, every female in the vehicle ovulated
simultaneously. Truly, the appeal of the many thighs and
kneecaps shocked me. I didn’t know what it was about the
rectangular shape of their thighs or the dip above their
knees, but with all those thick and gorgeous tree-trunk
thighs on display, it was a wonder any of us could keep
ourselves upright.
“Honestly, how in the hell do all of them have abs?” Jo
asked. “I’ve watched Wyatt Schumaker house two full racks
of ribs and a baked potato. It’s not natural.”
“You’re one to talk,” I noted. “Your man is one of them.”
“Well, Grant runs every day and works out—”
“I literally watched him eat half a cake last week,” Poppy
said flatly.
“Someday, they’re going to be old and squishy,” I
reminded us all.
“But not today,” Poppy said, pulling the truck around to
where Grant and Wyatt stood with Wyatt’s boyfriend,
Manny, a bucket of soapy water between them. Lindenbach’s
favorite cattle rancher and rodeo king was very much gay
and could very well kick any man’s ass who had anything to
say about it. As such, nobody did. In true fashion, Wyatt was
wearing very short swim trunks, a cowboy hat, and a pair of
old boots. He shot us a million-dollar smile and approached
Poppy’s open window.
“Howdy, ladies,” he said with a flick of his brim. “Looks
like you need a scrubbin’.”
“Wyatt Schumaker, don’t you go makin’ promises you
don’t intend to keep,” Poppy said. “It’s just not fair.”
“That’s life, sweetheart.” He opened her door and jerked
his chin. “Come on. We need bossin’ around, and who better
to do that than three pretty Blums?”
Jo shook her head at him as we climbed out of the truck.
“Thank God you didn’t wear a Speedo.”
One of his brows rose, and he hooked a thumb in his
waistband, tugging just enough to reveal a sliver of bright
red spandex. “Best not count your chickens, Jojo.”
“Sweet lord,” Poppy said with the shake of her head.
“You’re gonna give the quilting circle heart attacks if you
keep on like that.”
“Good thing I know CPR.”
I gave him a look. “You know that would only encourage
them.”
“Anything for the cause, Daisy.” With a wink, he hopped
into the truck and pulled it around closer to the water hose.
Jo led us in Grant’s direction, offering him a brief kiss
before directing us to the groups of men. She would manage
Grant’s group, Poppy would handle Evan’s group, which
included Sebastian and a couple other guys from town, and I
would, of course, be with the Meyer brothers all day.
My smile as I approached them was unstoppable. Keaton
had been watching and waiting since we pulled up, and when
I approached he stepped into me and gave me a kiss that was
somehow both tender and deeply sexual. How he managed
all that without even a whisper of tongue was beyond me.
When we parted, it was to stunned silence. Twenty of our
closest friends and townsfolk stared at us in utter shock.
Wyatt had stopped in the middle of moving the hose,
streaming water midair to slap onto the pavement, wasted.
I flushed and shrank into Keaton, who tucked me into his
side.
And then they all broke out in congratulations.
You’d think we’d gotten engaged the way they mobbed
us, reaching to take turns pumping Keaton’s hand and
offering their well wishes and happy surprise.
It was, perhaps, the most bizarrely joyful moment of my
admittedly sheltered life.
After a little bit, cars began to file in, dispersing the
crowd. This included ninety-year-old Bettie, who had tied
her coveralls around her waist, exposing her pink polka dot
bikini top. She was, of course, in charge of holding up signs
at the street with our cousin Presley and a few other girls.
Bettie was the only one showing off the goods, though.
 No one was surprised.
The line was long most of the day, and mostly full of
women, though not all. Plenty of men came to show their
support, and in an effort to protect their manhood against
the suggestion of male objectification, they made sure to
spend the time they waited for their cars talking to the
women. They paid the men with powerful clasps of hands
and made sure to avoid direct eye contact with any nipples
they came across.
The women, however, enjoyed themselves thoroughly,
and though they’d never admit it, so did the men. A few of
the more judgmental women of our town circled the block
and tried to look disdainful. They only managed to look
thirsty.
At the Meyers Construction stall, the brothers were all
smiles, goofing around and spraying each other in the face at
close range, laughing and singing along to the music
blasting from the speakers someone had set up outside
Abuela’s.
Fortunately, my job did not require concentration. There
was no executive function happening with Keaton on full
display, every glorious inch of him, save that small bit of
fabric that kept him decent. His physique was easy enough to
imagine when he wore a T-shirt and jeans, but when I said
imagination was nothing compared to the real thing, I meant
it.
How a body could have that many muscles, I couldn’t
comprehend. I could have taken a pointer and asked what
twenty different curves on him were for. What did he do with
the little muscles on his ribs? Or the ones on his back that
sprang from a place I always thought of as smooth? I’d seen
him carry stacks of lumber on his shoulder like they weighed
nothing, and it made me curious as to how many of those
rarely seen muscles contributed to such effortless strength.
 The physics of it fascinated me. For scientific purposes, of
course.
There were times when I couldn’t avoid a good long look,
and now that the whole town knew we were kissing, I didn’t
have to. Like when the brothers got in a bubble fight—it was
as ridiculous as it sounded—and Keaton ended up with
foamy clusters of soap over his nipples. In retaliation, Cade
got squirted straight in the ear.
By the late afternoon, we’d earned a shocking amount of
money, further proof that women were as piggish as men,
given the opportunity.
The sun had started to dip and the flow of cars ebbed the
closer we got to supper. Poppy had me and Jo in a huddle to
decide if we should call it or hang on for a little while when
she paused mid-sentence, her eyes shifting to a point behind
me.
Frowning, I turned to follow her gaze and found a vagrant
teetering into the parking lot.
One of his legs moved slower than the other, his age
unknowable beneath his dirty hair and beard. I knew him
from around town, one of the handful of homeless that
wasn’t interested in our help beyond the occasional meal. I
wasn’t sure what he’d been through, as he didn’t trust us
well enough to say, despite our outreach. At town hall
meetings, he was one who was brought up nearly every time.
Doug Windley loved to use him as an example for the whole
of them rather than the exception that he was.
Although the man had wandered into allies, everyone
stilled, trying to go about their business without drawing any
attention from him. Well, with the exception of Keaton, who
had already approached the man as he peered into the pink
plastic bucket where we’d put the money.
“Hey, friend—” Keaton started.
 “Ain’t your friend,” the man answered with surprising
ambivalence.
Keaton paused. “Can I do something for you?”
The man sniffed, ran his hand across the back of his nose,
and headed for one of the cars. Until he saw my sisters and
me.
He’d only taken two steps in our direction before Keaton
put himself between us. “If you’d like to help out, we’d
gladly give you a portion of the money.”
“Work for you? No thanks.” He tried to sidestep Keaton
without luck.
“Can I get you somethin’ to eat?”
The man stopped, turned icy eyes on Keaton. “I don’t
need your fucking help.”
“Fair enough. But I’m afraid you can’t be here if I can’t
help you with something.”
Those eyes flashed. “Who are you to tell me where I can
be and where I can’t? Looks like a parkin’ lot to me. Don’t
think you own those, do you?”
“No, sir. But—”
“Then kindly fuck off,” he raved in an unexpected
escalation. “You don’t wanna help me—you’re locking up
whoever doesn’t agree with you. You’re gonna put me in jail,
ship me off to the FBI, and I’m supposed to eat your shit?”
Keaton straightened up, his face drawn. The men present
began to move in his direction the second the man came
unhinged.
“No, sir, but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to leave.”
“Fuck you. I don’t have to do shit.” He looked around at
the advancing men. “You can’t tell me what to do. Who the
fuck are you?”
When he didn’t stop rambling, Keaton spoke over him,
told him again he needed to leave. Made the mistake of
putting his hand on the man’s arm.
 It happened too fast to track. From where we stood at
Keaton’s back, all I saw was his dodge and a glint of metal
before he was subdued by the Meyer brothers and a few
other men. Someone screamed, Presley, I thought, and the
man thrashed, screaming his paranoia laced with obscenities
at no one and everyone, his face pressed against the
pavement.
From the knot of naked backs, Keaton stood first and
turned. It was only then that I saw the weathered knife in his
hand.
His chest heaved, his brows heavy, his eyes dark. The
crimson streak across his ribs beaded and ran down to his
hip, but he approached without noticing.
“Somebody calling the police?” he asked. On the
affirmation of someone behind me, he glanced behind him
where Wyatt worked on tying the man up with a rope he’d
had someone fetch him from his truck. The men stared down
at him for a moment, panting.
But I’d hurried to Keaton, my eyes on the cut.
“You’re bleeding,” I said with a shaky breath, using a
small towel on my shoulder to clear the wound in an effort to
determine how bad it was.
His arms opened a little as he looked for the wound,
leaning when he found it. “Felt like a scratch—ahh!” He
hissed when I tugged at his skin to open the cut.
With a sigh, I straightened up. “I don’t think you’ll need
stitches. Are you all right?”
He nodded, dark as pitch. Glancing back at the man, he
shook his head. “I tried to help. I didn’t want … he’ll be
arrested. Only thing anyone can do at this point.”
Just behind me, Poppy said ominously, “Doug is going to
have a field day with this. That man just handed Windbag all
the ammunition he needs to lead a serious charge to stop us
—a documented assault.”
 “Have a little faith,” Keaton said. “Let’s not count our
people out yet.”
As the words floated away, they took a little bit of our
hope with them. Because Doug would make this his new
campaign slogan, and anyone teetering on the fine line
between us might be convinced to join him on this alone. It
was possible even people on our side would flip at the sign of
danger.
Because our jobs had just gotten a whole lot harder.
19
 GREEN FL AG

KEATON

B ees flitted around the other side of my mesh hood with

nothing more than mild curiosity as Daisy explained to
Sophie how to harvest honey. I was only an observer
and child-lifter, but I watched and learned and soaked up
every word she spoke.
That wasn’t new, but every day, I enjoyed it a little more.
Her face was shadowed by the mesh, but she was
otherwise just in a long sleeved shirt and jeans, no gloves.
Sophie was in head to toe gear, and though I had elbow high
gloves in my back pocket, I hadn’t needed them yet.
Daisy used a tool to pop out a frame and slid it out for
inspection, shaking it firmly. Bees fell off it in a curtain.
“Wow, look at that, Soph—this one’s perfect. See how all the
ends are capped?” She motioned at the wax with the tip of
her tool. “This frame is almost completely full.”
“Can I do it?” Sophie asked, reaching for the frame.
“Sure. Hold it up here by the wood. Got it?”
She nodded, stepping off the small ladder she stood on
and moving delicately toward the box we’d been filling with
frames to harvest.
“There’s a lot of bees on here still,” she said warily.
 “Don’t worry—they’ll leave when they realize the queen
is still over here.”
Sophie slid the frame in and turned with a mighty air
about her. “Can we find the queen?” she asked, hurrying
back to climb on her box.
“I bet we can,” Daisy answered. “We won’t take any
frames from there, though. Gotta leave the brood alone so we
don’t disturb the eggs. Plus, they might get real mad.”
“Like when Daddy puts my shoes away and I can’t find
them?”
“Just like that,” Daisy said, slipping her hands beneath
the hive box to lift it. But before she got far, two walls came
apart at the corner. “Damn. We’ve gotta fix that.”
I was already moving for an empty hive box, setting it
next to them as the three of us went to pull frames.
“Let’s start at one end and put them back in the same
order as they were.”
“How come?” Sophie asked.
“Well, the bees lay their eggs in one frame at a time, so
we don’t want to confuse them by mixing them up.”
Sophie nodded thoughtfully, and once the frames were
relocated, Daisy picked up her smoker while I took the
broken box and put it in the back of the golf cart, wishing I’d
brought my tools with me. When I approached them again,
they were both hunched over, looking at the frame, covered
in wiggling bees.
“Uncle Keaton, look!” Sophie waved me over, bright with
excitement. “Daisy painted her so you can find her easy, see?
She’s right there.”
I followed her index finger to the bees, and in the middle
of a knot of insects was one that looked a little different, a
hot pink spot on her back. She was longer, shinier than the
fat bees, without stripes.
“Wow,” Sophie breathed. “She’s the only girl?”
 “No, there are girl worker bees, but only one queen,”
Daisy said as we watched the queen wander around,
surrounded by drones. “Any female can be turned into a
queen. When the queen starts to get old or sick, the nurse
bees will pick around ten larvae and start feeding them royal
jelly, which turns on their reproduction system. Makes it so
they can have babies.”
“Royal jelly?” Sophie asked skeptically.
“It’s a … kind of a milk they produce. But the only bees
allowed to drink it are baby queens. So about two weeks after
feeding them like that, they cap the cell with wax, and when
she’s grown, she chews her way out.”
“How do they decide which queen gets the hive?”
Daisy glanced at me as if to apologize. “Well, she calls to
them all with a little chirp, and the queens chirp back from
their cells so she can find them. And then … well she has to
kill them.”
Sophie’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t get upset. All she
said was, “Rude.”
On a bout of laughter, Daisy shook her head and slid the
frame back into its box, then stacked another on top of it,
effectively topping it off. Sophie didn’t say anything until we
were headed back to the house with a massive basket of
flowers we’d picked and two boxes of frames to harvest.
Though she hadn’t said anything, her brain hadn’t
stopped working.
“So … honey isn’t like … dead bees or anything. Right?”
she asked.
Again Daisy laughed, the wind lashing her hair and her
rosy cheeks high. “No. You know how every bee has a job?”
When Sophie nodded, she continued. “Well, forage bees
collect the nectar and eat it until their bellies are full.
Processor bees collect the nectar and crawl up to where the
bees are storing honey in the honeycombs, which are built by
architect bees.”
“Like uncle Cade!”
“Sorta like all your uncles. They build honeycombs out of
wax—”
“Where does wax come from?”
“It comes out of their bodies, sorta like sweat.”
Sophie made a face.
“And so the processor bees spit the nectar into the cell
and wait for the hive’s warmth to evaporate the water. And
then they cap it off and use it to eat off in the winter.”
Sophie’s expression was still sicked out. “Honey is bee
puke.”
Daisy bobbed her head. “Technically, I guess it is.”
Sophie made a gagging noise and stuck out her tongue.
“Doesn’t taste like puke though, does it?”
“No,” she conceded. “And I like that they all have jobs.
And they build things like Daddy. I think I’d want to be an
architect bee, even if I had to use sweat to do it.”
My arm rested on the back of the seat behind Daisy, my
fingers toying absently with the fabric of her shirt. “I’d be a
builder too, I think. Can’t imagine doing much else. How
about you? What would you be?”
Daisy tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear only for
it to come loose again. “I think I’d like to be a forager. I
could fly around and see the world. Taste all the flowers, feed
the hive. They only live a month or two—the queen lives up
to five years—but I think I’d live a whole lot more life in
those couple months than a queen who was stuck inside
laying eggs all day. Plus, I’d rather not murder my sisters,
thank you.”
We pulled up to the house as she finished and climbed
out, unpacking our things. Sophie started talking about the
things you could do with a honeycomb, but my mind
wandered as I considered the bees. I imagined myself in the
warm dark place, building every day, every night. Only one
job, nothing else to think about but making structures to
care for my hive. No decisions to make. It sounded like bliss.
The sun was low, shining golden sunlight through the
trees. We’d been here the better part of the afternoon picking
flowers and harvesting honey. Well, they had. I’d just carried
around a basket and listened. A week had passed quickly,
which in and of itself was strange. Considering our site was
shut down, leaving me with virtually no work to do, it was a
miracle. Any time before a few weeks ago, I would have
busied myself with every project we had on contract,
micromanaging my brothers to the point of a potential fist
fight.
Lucky for all of us, I had Daisy.
Lucky for me most of all.
We hadn’t been apart for more than a few hours since the
day of the storm, our lives intertwining with a natural ease
nobody questioned, least of all me. Her family and mine
welcomed us like we were already part of each other’s lives.
Like they took one look at Daisy and I and agreed that it was
right and good with absolute certainty.
With so much time on my hands, I had nothing to do but
tag along with Daisy around the farm. And because I couldn’t
let anything go without fixing it, I usually kept my tools in
the back of her truck so I could attend to anything I found.
Leaning fenceposts and barbed wire were righted, loose barn
doors tightened and leveled. The chicken coop was in need of
a new ramp, so I built one in a few hours, along with
installing new hooks and racks in the stables.
There was plenty to do, so I did what I could. I ate meals
with the Blums, and Daisy ate with us. I managed most of
the business from home, and when Daisy asked me one night
on finding me in Dad’s old office how long it’d been since I’d
stayed out of the office so long, I couldn’t recall. Before he
passed, that I was certain of. I’d pulled her into my lap and
kissed my thanks, unable to tell her with words that in a
heartbeat, I had changed. I owed that to her for waking me
from endless sleep, a debt I could never repay.
Nights were spent at my place, many of them sleepless,
occupied by sighs in the dark and hearts sparked alive. There
weren’t enough hours in the day. I needed the hours of the
night too.
Sophie had been waiting all week to come to the farm, so
here we were, sun kissed and happy as we headed inside.
The kitchen bustled with activity as the Blum women
moved around the room in a harmony that only comes with a
lifetime of togetherness. Grant sat at the island cutting
circular biscuits out of dough. It was the only job they’d let
him do, that much I knew. I’d been assigned to biscuit duty
myself a couple of times. Didn’t even know if anyone ever ate
them or if it was just a ploy to keep us out of the way. I had
to favor the latter, based solely on the knowledge I’d gained.
The doorbell rang, but no one stopped moving.
“I’ll get it,” I offered, knowing who it was.
Daisy kissed me on the cheek. “I’m gonna go change.”
Dottie waved Sophie over with her hands in the universal
position of a messy cook. “Come on, honey. Wanna help snap
peas?”
Sophie skipped across the kitchen—seriously I didn’t
know if that kid walked anywhere—and as I walked out, it
was to the sound of Dottie’s gentle voice, instructing Sophie
on what to do and where she could sit. I wondered if my
mother would have been like this with her. I wondered how
dad would have been with her too. Remembering that she
only had a pack of unruly assholes and her deadbeat mother
cut me to the quick. But seeing her with Dottie was a balm on
the wound. Every little kindness was.
 When I opened the door, it was to the knot of my
brothers, who were so imposing in size, they made the front
porch seem smaller than it was.
“You bring those potatoes?” I asked with narrowed eyes.
Cade held the casserole dish up from behind the other
two, his hands in oven mitts and his face flat. “We’re not
completely useless, you know.”
With a tilted smile, I stepped out of the way so they could
file in. “Debatable.”
He rolled his eyes at me as he passed and I closed the door
behind him, following them past the atrium in the middle of
the house, and into the kitchen.
The room erupted into greetings, everyone wearing a
smile as they said their hellos. Dottie, whose hands were now
clean, hugged Carson, kissed Cole on the cheek, and took the
casserole from Cade, offering her cheek for a motherly kiss
that he provided.
Grant had cleaned up, abandoning his biscuit endeavor to
get everybody drinks. And within a few minutes the men
were sitting around the kitchen table with beers in hand
while the women worked.
“You sure we can’t help?” Carson asked, not liking the
imbalance of work.
Dottie waved him off. “I’m sure. We have a system.”
Jo snorted a laugh. “Yeah—the system is that we cook
and y’all clean up after us.”
They looked to me for confirmation, and I shrugged one
shoulder, bringing the bottle to my lips.
Dottie smiled at him. “I appreciate the offer though. Most
men wouldn’t.”
I set my beer down, turning it in my hand on the table.
“Forgive us, Dottie. We aren’t used to having things like this
done for us.”
“Green flag,” Poppy joked from the stove.
 “Green flag?” Cole echoed.
“You know. The opposite of a red flag.”
When the laughter died down, Carson said, “Seems the
campaign is going well, Poppy,” His eyes betrayed his
interest, and it had nothing to do with the campaign.
“I saw signs for the charity all downtown,” Cade added.
“And Bettie’s windows are all soaped. She’s donating a
portion of her proceeds, isn’t she?”
“She is,” Poppy answered. “It’s going well, I think.
There’s a town hall meeting tomorrow night that I’ll have to
argue at, but to be honest, I kinda enjoy it. Especially when
I’m arguing with Doug Windbag. He has the IQ of a koala.”
My brows drew together. “Are koalas dumb?”
“They have the smallest brains of any mammal, eat food
they can’t digest, and they carry chlamydia. They’re dumb as
shit,” she answered.
“I gotta admit,” Carson started, “I do love watching you
argue with those assholes. Might have to make that
meeting.”
“Bring your popcorn,” she said, plating what was in the
pot.
“If there’s popcorn, can I come?” Sophie stood next to
her at the stove, poking at the bubbling peas with a wooden
spoon.
“No,” several of us said at once.
Grant, smiling, spoke up. “Poppy is a machine. She
single-handedly organized the entire town campaign and
started a charity in such a short period of time, it gave
everybody whiplash. I keep telling her she oughta run for
mayor next term. Mitchell could use a boot in his ass.”
“Here, here,” Cole said, raising his bottle.
“What are we toasting?” Daisy asked as she entered in the
cornflower blue dress I’d seen her in that first day, the day I
started losing myself to her. I wish I’d known then what I
knew now. I’d have scooped her up right then and kissed her
stupid. After beating Windley’s ass, since we were
daydreaming.
“Poppy for mayor,” Jo cheered.
Poppy rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Can y’all
imagine what a mess that would be? I hate rules and
authority. It’s a problem for me.”
Daisy, on seeing dinner well attended to, headed in my
direction, resting a hand on my shoulder. When I looked up
at her, she smiled, leaning in to kiss me gently. With no
chairs left at the breakfast table, I pulled her into my lap,
enjoying the warmth of her body against mine.
They were still talking about Poppy’s candidacy, or Jo was
at least, ticking off reasons on her fingers. But I was barely
listening, too busy toying with Daisy’s fingertips.
I realized that the warmth I felt wasn’t just from her. It
emanated from the busy kitchen, from the laughter and
sardonicism and even the air in this room, filled with these
people. I sat quietly and enjoyed the feeling, marking every
moment as best I could, in case I didn’t get more of them.
Why I wouldn’t, I didn’t know. But I didn’t get to keep all the
things I loved, especially not things so good as Daisy. So I
vowed to soak up what I had while I had it, enjoying
moments that made me feel like this, that foreign,
weightless freedom of not carrying a burden alone. Here, I
didn’t have to make sure everyone else was cared for. When
Daisy was by my side, the yoke lightened, and I could be
something I hadn’t been in a long time.
I could be me. I didn’t need to be any more than that.
Dinner was a rowdy affair, thick with revelry. Dottie
mothered us and doted on Sophie, my brothers and the
Blums ribbing each other like siblings. We ate until we were
stuffed, then ate some more when the massive slab of
chocolate cake found its way to the table. By the end of the
night, Sophie was half asleep in Cole’s lap, and the lot of us
were full and happy, satisfied heart and soul.
The night was crisp, but we were warm under blankets on
the front porch, listening to the crickets and telling stories.
But it had gotten late, so Cole scooped up Sophie and stood.
“I’d better get this one in bed.”
“I’m not tired,” she said in such a way that no one
believed.
We said our goodbyes, and Cole carried Sophie to the
truck with my brothers in tow, the lot of them heading out
with the rest of us waving from the porch. Before the Blum
crew sat back down, they took a look at Daisy and I on the
big porch swing. Poppy made a show out of yawning, Dottie
gathered up empty drinks before Grant took from her, and Jo
shooed everyone into the house, leaving us alone.
For a little while, we sat contentedly, listening to the
sounds of the woods as I rocked us gently. Life, for once, felt
easy, and it wasn’t just tonight. Every day I woke up happy,
slipping through my day without resistance. I wanted this
life, wanted it with every cell in my body. I wanted her.
I wondered if I could have her.
I wondered if I could keep her.
She was tucked into my side, her feet pulled up next to
her on the bench, but I wanted her in my arms. I shifted,
guided her to lay cradled in my arms so I could see her face
in the moonlight. My big, clumsy fingers stroked her cheek,
thumbed her lip.
“Keaton,” she said softly. I didn’t know if it was a
question or a call. Or perhaps she only wanted to hear my
name, wanted to feel the shape of it in her mouth.
I didn’t answer, not with words. I held her face with one
hand and kissed her with a tender desire I only felt for her.
And I prayed to God I wouldn’t lose her.
20
 S L AY E R O F D R A G O N S

KEATON

T he lights in the dance hall were low, the music slow,

Daisy Blum was in my arms, right where I wanted her to
be.
Everything was right in the world.
Our bodies were flush as we circled the dance floor, her
head tucked under my chin and her hand warm in mine. It
was Daisy’s first break from playing with her family, and I’d
taken full advantage, grabbing her by the waist before
anybody could stop us. Which they would—the town was
entirely too invested in our love life after so many years of
pity. Our happy union had given us the Lindenbach
equivalent of celebrity status. If our town had a gossip
magazine, we’d be on the cover for two straight weeks
Every time we were in public together, be it the grocery
store or at the one stoplight in town, we were greeted with
smiles and waves and congratulations. Claps on the
shoulders when I was within reach and kisses on Daisy’s
cheek from ladies in town. You’d think royalty had wed for
all the attention we got. Attention I would have been loath to
endure, if not for Daisy. Truth was, I wanted everybody to
see me with her, know me with her.
 Of course, not everybody was thrilled. The Jenkins twins,
for instance, were absolutely crushed for five minutes before
deciding to pour all their efforts into Poppy. The mayor’s
wife, my former mother-in-law, had plenty to say at
Lindenbach’s only country club, her opinions having made
their way around town, as I was sure she intended. Who
knew what Mitchell thought. But I very much doubted it was
good.
Doug Windley was not team Keatsy, as someone had
decided to call us, the stupid nickname sticking so fast, we
couldn’t get away from it. A shock to no one, Doug had
redoubled his efforts after the assault at the car wash, the
town up in arms as a result. Between that and the hold on
the project while we addressed the laundry list of inspection
requirements and refiled our permits, there were moments
of deep concern that we wouldn’t get back in the air again.
But Daisy, ever the optimist, never let the thought last long
before steering us back to the sunny side, always on the
sunny side.
The Patsy Cline song came to an end, and with a sigh,
Daisy leaned back.
“Nope,” I said. “I’m keeping you. They’re gonna have to
sing without you.”
She laughed, winding her arms around my neck. “You’d
be willing to fight Jo for me?”
“Darlin’, I’d fight dragons for you.”
“Is Jo a dragon?”
“Absolutely yes.”
Another laugh, and she rose on her tiptoes to kiss me
before I had to let her go, though I held onto her hand until
her fingertips had slid from mine.
When I finally broke my gaze from her, it was to find half
the town smiling at me with dopey looks on their faces. But
as I waved them off and told them the show was over, I had
on a dopey smile of my own. There was just no helping it
these days.
I headed for the bar, and beer in hand, I stood at the edge
of the dance floor and watched her up on stage. Every minute
was a wonder, and I soaked them up like sand greedy for
water.
“So. Daisy Blum,” Mitchell said from my elbow.
And just like that, the cheer drained out of me as if it had
never been.
Disappointment hung thick in the air between us. His face
was hard and weathered beneath a spotless dove-white
Stetson, his steely eyes on the stage, hooded by heavy brows.
Once upon a time, I’d watched that man walk down an aisle
toward me with my future wife on his arm.
“Yessir,” I said with deference, my stomach twisting.
“Of all the women in this town, you picked her.” The
slight shake of his head was of disgust. “Do you have any
idea what trouble they’ve caused me? Our family?”
I didn’t miss his inflection on the word our.
“Sir, with all respect, I didn’t have much of a choice, not
when it comes to her.”
“Don’t lie to me, boy. I might be old, but I’m no fool—
you made a choice. I just cannot comprehend why you’d
want her.”
The way he said it, like she was tainted and unclean, had
my hand squeezed to a fist.
“I didn’t expect you to mourn forever, Keaton,” he
continued. “Mandy’s been gone a long time. You should move
on. But not like this. Not with her. Mandy wouldn’t have
approved.”
My heart thumped in my ears, pulsed in my neck. “I don’t
presume to know what Mandy would have thought, but I’d
like to believe she loved me enough to give her blessing in
what made me happy.”
 He harrumphed, still glaring in the direction of the
Blums. “I’d like to believe she’d choose the welfare of her
family over whatever tail you’re like to chase.”
I shifted to look him full-on. “I’d be careful what you say
about her, sir.”
He turned his hawkish gaze on me. “And I’d be careful
what you say to me. I don’t know what you think you’re
doing, son. Her aside,” he jerked his head in Daisy’s
direction, “you’re playin’ a dangerous game, taking on this
homeless shelter when half the town wants it shut down. I’d
be hard pressed to find somebody on that side of things
who’d be willing to hire you next time they need work done.”
“If there are people in this town who would boycott me
for helping the homeless, I don’t know if I want their
money.”
“Careful what you wish for. By my math, you seem to be
givin’ a whole lot more than you’re gettin’. Gotta say I’m
surprised to hear you can afford to turn down the work.”
My throat squeezed shut, every muscle in my body coiled.
I found myself dangerously close to hitting the mayor in the
middle of a town hall dance. So I gathered up the reins to my
fury and held tight.
“’Preciate the advice. Next time, keep it to yourself.”
I brushed past him, heart banging like a string of Black
Cats, my eyes searching for my brothers where I’d be safe
from myself.
They frowned nearly in unison as I approached taking a
hard swig of my beer to buy me another second to get ahold
of myself.
“What happened?” Carson said.
“Mitchell. He’s lucky I’ve got self-control.”
“Or maybe you are,” Cade noted. “Hate for you to end up
in jail.”
 “Woulda been worth it,” I said, taking another long pull
of my drink, nearly emptying the bottle. “I need another
beer. Y’all want one?”
They watched me with curiosity as they answered, and I
felt their eyes on me as I walked away, thankful they didn’t
press me for details. Because in the span of a few minutes,
Mitchell managed to prove my happiness paper thin,
shredding it with memories and accusations, with veiled
threats and straightforward ones too.
Resolve to get out from under Mandy’s money steeled me.
It was the last true power he held over me, one I’d leaned on
for too long.
And now was the time to end it, once and for all.

DAISY

I paused on the stairs in the dark, unwilling to break the kiss

as I slowly ascended the steps of his house backward.
Breaking my neck would have spoiled an otherwise
perfect evening.
I was a couple steps above him, putting me at an
advantageous angle to enjoy the depth of that kiss for a
moment, only long enough for him to lose his patience and
pick me up to carry me the rest of the way. Laughing against
his lips, my hands on his face, he kicked the door shut
behind us and laid me down slowly, climbing on top of me as
he did. His brothers had taken Sophie for ice cream with
meaningful looks shared with Keaton. Enjoy the quiet, was
what I read, though I was sure their interpretation was far
less polite.
If my sisters hadn’t done the same, I might have been
offended.
 His lips left mine in favor of my neck, his hands gathering
my wrists to pin them over my head. One hand was big
enough to hold both in place, and so he did, allowing his free
hand to roam as I lay supine beneath him. My lids fluttered
closed as I sighed up to the ceiling, the weight of him
pressing me into the bed a comfort I craved.
I’d spent every night in this bed since the first, a
scandalous habit that I expected my family to judge fiercely.
But they were strangely elated, even Mama, at the thought of
me with someone, especially Keaton. Such a strange thing, to
be with someone for so short a time and no one questioning
it. No one had anything to say but yes. Something about us
made sense, and so inherently that we had the enthusiastic
and immediate backing of everyone we loved.
I didn’t want to think too much on it, but it was hard not
to imagine a future with Keaton. It was too easy, the way our
lives fit together. The way we fit together. Like we’d been
waiting for each other all this time, for the right time. When
that time finally came, it was on an easy sigh. We’d been so
alone, so lonely. So hurt and so afraid. Trusting each other
came easy, perhaps too easy. But it was the truth. I knew
Keaton was worthy of that trust in my marrow. And I
thought he might feel the same.
In moments like this, I was certain of it. When he climbed
up my body, held my jaw in the dark, the planes of his face
touched with the deep blue of night, his eyes catching that
small light as he looked down at me with devotion. Never
had I been unraveled by a gaze, the gaze of a man who knew
exactly what he had to lose. A man who was willing to risk
his heart on the chance at happiness.
That look was a mirror to my own, the honesty
staggering, stealing my breath every time he bestowed it on
me.
 He wanted to speak, but instead he kissed me again,
tilting my face to his, telling me everything with the soft flex
of his lips, with the sweep of his tongue against mine, with
his fingertips against my skin.
Slowly, deeply we kissed, undressing each other without
hurry, breaking only to rid ourselves of a shirt or a dress or
to kick off our shoes with twin thunks on the floor until we
were bare chest to chest, his jeans half off and his hand
stroking me through the silk of my panties. He lay at my
side, my leg pinned beneath his thigh and his lips against
mine. To remember that at one point not too long ago, I
thought I’d forgotten how to do this was absurd. But if
nothing else, Keaton had not forgotten, and having had so
much more experience than me, I never left this room
anything but sated.
Even now, as he trailed the length of my core, toying with
me in a long tease, I was satisfied. Even as I wriggled against
him in desperate anticipation of his body in mine, I was
content. When he hooked his fingers in the waistband of my
panties and pulled them over my hips, I gratefully complied.
I rolled to lay a bruising kiss on him, my hand reaching into
the V of his unfastened pants for what I knew would fulfill
me in ways that only he could.
He caught my wrist before I had what I wanted, earning
him a mewl of frustration as he set my hand at my side,
effectively putting me on my back. He shifted to kiss down
my body, putting anything but his broad shoulders and dark
hair out of reach. His first pause was to trace the curve of my
breast, to fill his palm with my flesh, to taste my peaked
nipple with an eager tongue until my hips shifted against his
torso and my thighs spread wider in invitation. An invitation
he took, though too slowly for my liking. His breath teased
the flushed skin low on my belly, then my thighs as he
maneuvered them to part wide, fitting his shoulders beneath
them. The feather brush of his tongue was torture, the stroke
of his finger parting my rippling flesh. Impatient, I slid my
fingers into his hair and squeezed, only needing to tug to put
myself into his hot, waiting mouth.
The sigh was long, as was the roll of my hips, taking him
along by way of lips latched to that sacred place, caught in a
twist of his tongue. It was all I could think of, the vision of
his broad shoulders hooked under my legs, his denim-clad
ass in the distance, one thigh hitched in my direction. His
hands, big and tan, curling around my legs, his face buried
between them. That face, all strong angles and shadows, his
black lashes brushing his cheeks as he took my pleasure for
his.
Then, all I could think about was how terribly empty I was
of him and how desperately I wanted him inside me.
When I rose so I could reach him better, his heavy lids
opened, his eyes meeting mine and holding them for just a
moment longer. A breath later, his lips were against mine,
the taste of my body mingling with his. But he broke the
kiss, laying me down without joining me. Instead, he rid
himself of his jeans, rising to his knees between my legs,
spreading them wider. His face was shadowed by his hair,
the moonlight kissing every blessed curve of his body, every
plane, all the way down to the V between his hips and the
shaft of his cock, where my eyes stopped. My heart fluttered
in my chest painfully as I watched his fist close around
himself and pump until his head disappeared. On
reappearing, my body flexed, squeezing nothing, imagining
him.
On earning my moan, he descended, one hand on his base
and the other planted in the bed next to me. His head tilted,
lips parted until his crown found the heat he sought,
stroking the line, slicking my tip. And when it reached the
dip again, it was to slide into me in a long, breathless thrust
that he held, trembling, when he’d filled me to the hilt.
When his lips found mine again, our bodies rolled,
meeting in flashes of desire that lasted too long and were
never enough. Through an eternity and a heartbeat. Time
was a construct decided by the heat of our bodies as they
drew closer. As breaths shallowed, hearts racing. As the
advance and retreat of his body struck a flame in mine,
stoking it to a wildfire. He swelled inside me or I tightened,
drawing him closer, begging him deeper until I came around
him in a rush of delirium. I was still pulsing when he sped,
rising, hips pumping, jaw clenching, and when he came, my
own release came to second life at the sight of his.
Spent, he sagged, his weight crushing what little breath I
still had out of me. I barely noticed it, wrapping my heavy
arms around him, holding him to me in the hopes he’d stay
there with me, forever sated in each other’s arms where we
were safe.
21
 S I N C E R E LY

KEATON

T he entirety of Tilly’s bar was singing along with Uber

Stan as he sang “Friends In Low Places,” half-drunk
and wholly off-key. And by everyone, I meant everyone
but me. But I had on a smile that couldn’t be stopped, which
was enough for a participation prize from Daisy in the form
of a kiss.
Old Stan went on, hamming it up for the crowd, strutting
around the stage like a peacock. Our town didn’t actually
have an Uber driver, just Stan, his flip phone, and an old
Suburban with a makeshift Uber sign stuck in the window.
Nobody had the heart to tell him that wasn’t how it
worked.
When his song ended, he bowed to the whoops and
hollers from the crowd before shuffling off the stage,
waving. Tilly took his mic.
“Thank ‘ya, Stan. And somebody volunteer to Stan home,
would you?” When somebody yelled, I got him! She answered,
“Thanks, Eugene. And for the rest of you, y’all are gonna
have to find your own way home tonight.”
Stan waved his hand and picked up his beer, plunking
down on his stool to a number of shoulder claps.
 “Now, I know y’all get to hear these lovely ladies sing all
the time, but up next we have the Blum sisters, singing a
little ditty about love—and why not, since two outta three
got snapped up by somebody who wasn’t as lazy as the rest
of you. Here’s ‘Sincerely’ by the McGuire Sisters. Cheer ‘em
on up here, won’t you?”
Daisy stretched to kiss my cheek, and Jo took her hand.
Poppy rolled her eyes and shoved her cousin Presley.
“You go. I’m the odd man out,” she said.
“Poppy, I don’t even know this song all that well. We’ve
only done it a couple of—”
“Oh, just go. Sing it to Sebastian. He wants to hear it,
don’t you?”
Wisely, Sebastian put up his hands. “Oh, no. I’m not
getting in the middle of that.”
Poppy put both hands behind Presley and walked her
toward the stage until the three filed up, leaving Poppy in
the crowd. I didn’t miss her exit—she wound her way toward
the bar where I figured she’d ordered a double of something
flammable.
And so, Sebastian, Grant, and I stood in front of our bar
tables while a substantial percentage of the town watched on
with googly eyes. The swingy, slow song that was probably
played in a thousand proms in the fifties began, and they slid
into a perfect three-part harmony, smiling at the trio of
schmucks that consisted of their boyfriends. I liked to think I
didn’t possess eyes that googled, but as Daisy sang to me,
begging me to be hers, letting me know she’d do anything
for me and she’d never, never, never let me go, my eyes
googled real hard. Mighta had little pink hearts floating out
of them and everything.
My was too big for my chest, stretching my ribs to the
point of sweet, sweet pain. I’d never felt such a feeling from
something that made me so happy. And I’d never known that
I would crave that ache all day, every day, even when she was
in my arms. Not ever, not in my whole life.
I’d considered it often enough lately, about why I never
felt this way about Mandy. When we first started dating, this
sort of feeling was all wrapped up in the physical, too
entwined to untangle. After that, we were a fact, a certainty.
A sure thing. My whole life felt like a sure thing, one I’d
imagined and expected to turn out just like I planned.
Maybe that was the heart of it. Now I knew what I had to
lose. Now I knew what it meant to be alone, truly alone. And
I knew what it felt like to find deliverance, thanks to her.
When the song finished, the crowd erupted in praise, but
before Jo could hang up the mic they’d been circled around,
somebody started chanting for an encore. Tilly blocked their
exit, and after a side conversation, she snuck off to a laptop
just off stage where she started another song by a different
set of sisters from the same era. With everyone’s eyes off us,
we relaxed just a little.
I took a long pull of my beer, sidled up next to Sebastian,
Presley’s boyfriend. Grant was on the other side of him, a
crooked smile on his face and eyes soft as he watched and
listened. Jo hadn’t broken eye contact with him yet. I
wondered which blinked first and huffed a little chuckle.
When Sebastian elbowed me, I frowned. When I saw the
direction he was looking and the grave expression on his
face, I steeled myself and took a look of my own.
Marnie Mitchell had just walked in with a friend of hers
from high school.
Mandy’s little sister had been difficult from the day she
was born, so her family said. She came into this world
screaming and pushed those lungs to their limit until she
was in elementary school. When she mellowed, it was only
by a degree, aligning herself with the bullies and mean girls,
running her social circle with an iron fist. She’d dated
Sebastian off and on through high school, and when his
mother’s cancer returned, Marnie had been his life jacket.
He’d made the mistake of marrying her, but it didn’t last.
None of us were surprised, with the exception of Mitchell,
who had adopted the two of us like the sons he never had. As
such, Sebastian and I had suffered enough family functions
and interventions to forge a steel bond, regardless of time or
distance.
“Didn’t know she was back in town,” I said.
“Me neither.” Sebastian’s voice was filled more with
concern than anything. His eyes cut to Presley, who then
followed his previous gaze. She tightened, her brows
drawing together just a little.
When we looked back to Marnie, she’d stopped, frozen in
indecision, her face unreadable. After what had gone down
between the three of them last year, it was no surprise.
Marnie’s friend put on her beat-down face and was saying
something to Marnie with emphatic rage. Marnie laid a hand
on her arm and shook her head, reducing her friend’s fury to
a simmering glare that she cast first in Presley’s direction,
then Sebastian’s. Searching the crowd, Marnie found him
too, raising her hand in a halfhearted hello before heading to
the bar.
Sebastian let out a breath and brought the bottle in his
hand to his lips. Grant was in his own little world, oblivious.
“Think she’ll start anything?” I asked.
“No. She’s not like that anymore.”
One of my brows rose.
“I mean it. We have an understanding.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“She figured out we were bad for each other. Wasn’t easy,
but we got there. Though I haven’t seen her since she left to
go back to nursing.”
I nodded and took a drink.
 “Mitchell give you any shit for dating Daisy?”
“Only a little.”
“I’ve officially pissed him off the the point that I’m as
good as dead to him after the whole Goody’s debacle. Being
with Presley is the cherry on his shit sandwich.”
“We didn’t need that big-box store, not if we wanted to
keep Main Street. Y’all did the right thing.”
“Well, so are you with the shelter,” he said. “Mitchell has
good intentions, however misguided they are. Can’t say he
isn’t passionate about what he wants.” After a beat, he said,
“Remember that time at Thanksgiving when he went off
about immigration during his prayer over the turkey?”
“Oh god,” I said, laughing. “I don’t know where his head
was at. Did he just forget you’re Mexican or was he making a
stand?”
“His head was in Jack Daniel’s ass, if I remember right.”
Sebastian shook his head. “Point is, you can’t let him get to
you, Keaton. No matter what he says. You deserve to be
happy. Don’t let him throw Mandy at you in an attempt to
take that away from you.”
I nodded again and turned, not wanting to say too much,
not wanting to open a box I couldn’t put the lid back on.
“I need a beer. Y’all empty?” I asked.
They raised their bottles in the affirmative, and Sebastian
and I shared a look of camaraderie and a nod of agreement
before I headed for the bar where Marnie and her friend sat.
I’d known the girl since high school and could never
remember her name, never cared to find out as despicable as
she was. But Marnie and I had kept in touch, occasionally
reaching out to check in, but nothing more.
When she saw me she smiled, but the expression was
weary. Like she’d run two emotional marathons without
stopping and could fall down dead at any moment.
 She slid off her barstool when I approached, opening her
arms for a hug, which I granted.
“Hey, twerp,” I said.
“Hey, goon,” she answered, smiling.
That smile was an echo of Mandy’s, as was the shape of
her face. But where Marnie had her father’s eyes, which
could flip to cold and sharp in a heartbeat, Mandy had
favored her mother. Marnie still looked like a kid to me,
though life had worn down her sharp edges, softening her in
a way I didn’t expect to ever see from her. She went through
life with a baseball bat in hand, ready to destroy anything
that got in her way. But not so much anymore.
“Buy y’all a drink?” I asked.
“Sure,” Marnie answered just as her friend said, “Fuck
you.”
Marnie gave her a bored look and rolled her eyes. “Ignore
Chantelle. Her thong’s too small. Can’t make peace with
buying a bigger size.”
“Whatever.” Ignoring the jab, Chantelle said with a
shitload of sass, “I don’t know why you’re talking to him,
fucking traitor. A Blum? I mean, seriously, Keaton. First
Sebastian, now you. And after everything Marnie’s been
through—ow!” she squealed when Marnie pinched her arm.
“What the hell?”
“Leave Keaton alone—he didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yeah, but—”
“If I’m not mad, why should you be?”
With a spectacular roll of her eyes, she turned back to her
drink. “I don’t know what happened to you, Marnie Mitchell.
Five years ago, you woulda handed me your earrings the
second we walked in.”
“Well, a lot happened in five years, didn’t it?”
Again she blessed us with an eye roll, followed by a
dismissive hand gesture that only involved one finger. But
she shut up, turning her attention to her phone.
With an apologetic look, Marnie changed the subject.
“You doing okay?”
“I’m good. What about you? What are you doin’ in town?”
A long sigh. “Mama needed my help around here. She
hasn’t been feeling well, said she missed me, guilt trip, blah
blah blah. You know how it is with her.”
I nodded. “How long you here for?”
“Who knows. I took a leave from work in Austin, and I’m
sure she’ll keep me here as long as she can. I don’t blame her
for needing a buffer. It’s hard enough being stuck in the
house with Dad on a regular day, but with your homeless
project, he’s downright impossible to live with.”
My brow quirked. “Really? He’s stayed quiet about it for
the most part. Just a little bit of inconvenience.”
“And you think that means he’s not working on getting
his way?”
“I suppose he probably is,” I said, my stomach sinking.
On a glance to make sure Chantelle wasn’t listening—she
was currently trying to hit on the poor guy who made the
mistake of sitting next to her—she leaned in, hooking her
finger for me to get closer.
“I’ll keep an eye on him, if it’ll help,” she offered.
“Wouldn’t be the first time. Who do you think busted his
Goody’s deal?”
“Marnie Mitchell, you sneak,” I said with small smile.
“He’d kill me if he knew. I could definitely kiss my trust
fund goodbye.” She was half laughing, but worry shot
through my chest like a comet. “Good thing I decided to get a
job instead of letting him turn me into my mother. She
doesn’t even know how to pay her bills. Keaton—my dad has
never even given her a credit card. He gives her cash and pats
her on the head, and she eats it up like she’s the lucky one.”
She shook her head in disgust. “I probably wouldn’t have
risked it if I relied on the money. He always has his best
interest in mind, but I always thought the town was a close
second. Lately, I’m not so sure.” With a sigh, she put a smile
back on. “Anyway, your discretion is appreciated. And know
you’ve got a friend on the inside.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I promised.
“I wouldn’t believe it from anybody else, Keaton.”
I ordered drinks, toasting with Marnie before we said our
goodbyes and I headed back to our group. My stomach
knotted up at the thought of the delicate nature of the trust
fund. It had always seemed so solid, a sure thing if there ever
was one. But that was an illusion. He could take it just as
easily as he’d given it.
When I’d passed out drinks, I grabbed Daisy for a dance,
spinning her around the open space near our tables to the
tune of Wyatt Schumacker singing “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”
He shook his ass in a pair of Wranglers and a pressed pearl
snap, his rodeo championship belt buckle marking the time
his hips made, which had the crowd’s full and undivided
attention. But not mine.
It was on the weight of my financial situation, the woman
in my arms, and the tenuous posessession I held on them
both.
I might not have been able to do much about the money, I
could hold onto Daisy with both hands.
So that’s just what I did.
22
 ROCK/HARD PL ACE

KEATON

A week later, I watched as Daisy held her hand over her

mouth in an attempt to stop coffee from exiting it with
her laughter at something dumb I’d said.
My laughter, however, was free, partly at the sight of her
and partly from the sheer joy of her company. When I’d
become a man who not only laughs, but cracks jokes, was
unknown. All I did know was that I hadn’t known this self in
a long, long time.
It was good to see him.
We were just a few minutes from leaving for work for the
second time in weeks. Our permits had come in, and we’d
called the crew back the next day, anxious to get started
again and to get the shelter ready for tenants. The break had
done everyone well, Daisy and me most of all.
I almost ignored my phone when it rang, one of the many
things I never believed I’d consider, much less do. But when
I glanced at the screen from its place on the counter, I
frowned.
Seeing my foreman’s name minutes before we got in was
not a good omen.
I answered, “Yeah?”
 “You’re gonna want to get down here.”
“What happened?”
Grim, he answered, “The equipment is down. All of it.”
“What do you mean, all of it?”
“Three engines blew when we started them. Sand in the
oil, I think. A couple of the engines that were too hard to get
at have metal superglued in the ignition. Cables clipped, tires
slashed—you name it. Every piece of machinery on the site is
down. Cops are on their way.”
My breath came in sips, my heart drumming, a string of
obscenities beneath the sound of my pulse in my ears.
“I’ll be right there,” I said, hanging up and moving for
my keys in the same motion.
“What’s going on?” Daisy asked.
“Site’s been sabotaged,” I answered. “I need to get down
there.”
She was already off the island bench and collecting her
things. “I’m coming with you.”
I nodded, unable to speak or swallow. We were in the
truck within a minute, heading for the construction site as
fast as we safely could. When we got there, it was to a flurry
of action and inaction. The crew stood mutely near the office
building while a handful of police walked around, making
notes and picking things up with gloved hands and plastic
evidence bags. Another officer was in deep discussion with
my foreman, and the two looked up on my arrival with a
morbid relief.
The damages were extensive even though none of the
equipment was ruined. As the tally climbed, my stomach
sank, twisting, into my guts. Ballpark, we estimated
somewhere around seventy-five thousand, all done with a
pair of bolt cutters, some sand, and a tube of superglue.
Daisy checked on the crew, made coffee, kept everyone
calm and cool while the police talked to them all
individually, and I stormed straight inside to call my
insurance company. My mind raced with accusations and
assumptions about who had done it while my mouth
answered questions at some distance from the rest of me.
Doug, it had to have been Doug and his cronies. We didn’t
have a ton of security cameras, just a couple on the corners
of the temporary building. But they’d been disabled.
Whoever did it came in from the back entrance and disabled
them from beneath—all we could see were their hands and
the top of a baseball hat.
After the insurance company, I started the arduous
process of calling San Antonio and Austin, looking for parts
and shops that could accommodate us immediately. Because
the bulk of our equipment was here, and with it down, we
were shut down. The longer this project went on, the longer
it would be until we could move onto something that might
pay us better.
The prognosis was not good.
Only two shops had room for us, and we’d have to
transport the massive equipment over an hour in different
directions to have it looked at. And after waiting for parts
and the labor, we were looking at three to four weeks,
minimum.
My forehead rested in one hand, my eyes closed, fear and
guilt galloping through me. My livelihood, the livelihood of
my brothers, and every person who worked for us had
suspended indefinitely. And I didn’t know what any of us
were going to do.
The coffers were empty but for the money in the trust.
And that money wasn’t mine.
Fear turned to panic, the twist in my chest hard and
painful. My eyes squeezed shut a little tighter.
When Daisy’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, I
snapped up like I’d been whipped. Worry drew her brows,
lowered the corners of her mouth.
“Hey,” she said softly.
I turned my chair and pulled her into my lap, wrapping
my arms around her. Surprised only for a split second, she
threaded her arms around my neck, cradling me. And I held
onto her like she was the only thing keeping me tethered. In
that moment, she probably was.
After a long moment, my grip on her eased. She leaned
back to look down at me, brushing my hair back from my
face and holding my jaw.
“It’s gonna be okay,” she promised.
And for the next three days, I did my best to believe her.
Police reports were filed, the equipment picked up and
carted off by rigs. Unable to spare anything from other sites,
we were shut down. Again.
That third day, I was sitting at my dad’s old desk, trying
to make impossible math possible. Daisy was gone for the
morning to work their farm, my brothers gone at work,
Sophie at school. That deep and painful squeeze in my chest
had been present nearly every minute since the shutdown. At
times like this, when there was no one around to keep it
together for, the feeling overwhelmed me, dragging me
under. Once, I’d been unable to keep myself upright,
dropping to my knees in the kitchen to try to regulate my
breath, wondering if I was having a heart attack. When it
passed, I was left shaking and sweating, exhausted for no
reason, counting the seconds until someone came home so I
could pretend everything was fine again.
It was easier that way.
I rubbed at my sternum, my stomach churning. I tossed a
couple of antacids down the hatch to keep it at bay, the
chalky taste still in my mouth when the doorbell rang.
On the porch I found Jensen, a football buddy of mine
turned local cop, his partner standing behind him. At the
matching looks of pity on their faces, my pulse doubled, my
mind taking me right back to the spot when two uniformed
officers told me my wife had died.
I took a step toward them, outstretching my hand. “Is
everyone okay? Is somebody hurt?”
The relief I felt when he shook his head was immediate
and intense.
“No, nobody’s hurt, Keaton.” My worry resurfaced,
growing as the look on his face deepened. “You know a guy
called James Jordan? Works for you on the site, he says.”
“Sure, I know Jimmy, one of the first guys I hired after
Windley ran him off his stoop. He’s from Houston, been
hitching this way over a year, right?”
A solemn nod. “He’s just turned himself in. Confessed to
wrecking your site.”
Shocked, wounded, relieved. “Jimmy? I …” I raked a hand
through my hair. “Jesus, Jensen. Need me to come down with
you?”
“Yes, but …” He shook his head again, warring with
words. “Keaton, he said you paid him to do it.”
My ears rang, my heart beating so hard, the ache radiated
from my ribs. “What?”
“He says you paid him to do it so you could collect the
insurance on it.”
“He what?” I shot. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Another shake of his head, and he explained that Jimmy,
a homeless guy I hired on getting kicked off Doug Windley’s
stoop, had turned himself in, unable to live with himself,
he’d said. He detailed an elaborate plan, including providing
him the materials with which to commit the crime, which
he’d brought with him and did appear, in fact, to be mine.
He’d been paid in cash in an amount I’d recently withdrawn
in cash from the business, for the business, though I didn’t
tell Jensen.
 I held my breath steady until he was finished.
“I didn’t do it.”
“I figured you didn’t. But Keaton, I need you to come
down to the station with me.”
“Am I … are you arresting me?”
“No, but we need to talk. Have your brothers meet us at
the station. We’ll get it all cleared up.”
I nodded, checking my pockets for my keys, following
them to the driveway, then downtown with my guts twisted
in fear. Fear that I’d be charged, fear that I’d be tried. And
the deepest, darkest of fears—insurance wouldn’t pay our
damages.
And there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it but
pray.
23
 THE LURCH

DAISY

T he kitchen was silent.

I sat at the island with my hands threaded on the
surface, my eyes on my fingers. Carson sat at my elbow
with the bottom half of his face in his hand. Cole paced, Cade
took a seat at the breakfast table. And Keaton stood across
from me, his palms planted on the surface and his head too
low to see his eyes.
I’d gotten the call from Keaton to tell me all that had
happened, though he didn’t know much then, only that he
and his brothers were on their way to the police station.
Statements were taken, and an investigation was opened. I’d
met them here at the house, rushed into his arms where he
crushed me with a mix of fear and relief and fury that left me
dizzy.
He hadn’t said much since. Just told us what he knew,
which was very little.
His head rose, but he looked toward the office. “I need to
call the insurance company.”
“What are you going to tell them?” Cole asked,
suspicious.
“The truth.”
 Cole shook his head. “How does this even work?”
“Jensen said the insurance company will have a special
investigations team come down to determine whether or not
I did it. Until then, they won’t be paying for our repairs.”
“How long does that take?” Cade asked gravely.
“Months probably.”
We all shifted at the same time in our discomfort.
Carson let out a long sigh and scrubbed his hand over his
face. “You didn’t do it. They’ll figure it out. And in the
meantime, we have equity. We can pay the bills ourselves
and they can pay us back.”
Keaton stiffened almost imperceptibly, trying so very
hard to keep his composure. “After rig transport and the
rest, we’re looking at near a hundred thousand.”
A long pause stretched between us.
“We’ll sell equipment. Scale back for a while,” Carson
offered. “We’ll get through it.”
Every muscle in Keaton’s body was taut as he lowered his
head, his shoulders rising and falling. “We’ll get through it,”
he echoed darkly before pushing off the island. “Lemme
make some calls.”
With that, he strode out of the room, and the four of us
watched him go. And when the doors to the office clicked
shut, we let out a collective sigh.
“Of all the fucking things,” Cade spat. “Keaton
committing fraud? Surely nobody believes Jimmy. And after
everything Keaton’s done for him.”
“Wonder if he’d tell the truth if I turned his face inside
out?” Cole mused. “Seems worth a shot.”
But Carson was dark as midnight, his brow low. “The only
person who would set us up is Doug.”
“Doug doesn’t have the money or the sense,” Cole
countered. “The only person who would do this is Mitchell.”
 My fingertips rose to my lips. “He … he wouldn’t. Would
he?”
“Of course he would,” Cole said with the shake of his
head. “He thinks he’s doing the right thing, thinks that
helping these people will hurt the town. He’s afraid, that’s
what he is, but he’s trying to protect us. He’d even lie, cheat,
and commit fraud to do it.”
“We can’t let him,” I said.
“We won’t let him,” Carson assured me. “We’ll take a
look at the books and figure out what we can do. In the
meantime, Daisy, will you take care of him? He won’t let any
of us close enough to do it.”
I nodded, receiving appreciative looks from the brothers,
hoping I could reach him.
For most of that day, I didn’t know if it was possible.
The insurance company confirmed the next steps, and all
of them hoped that getting the process started quickly would
help speed it along, but in truth it was going to be a
minimum three months before we had an answer one way or
another.
Keaton had reentered the room resolute, told us we’d
figure it out, there was money to pull from, not to worry.
Sophie came home from school, and everyone pretended for
her sake, though I knew she knew we were shaken. Cole
explained what happened, and she asked her questions, and
then suggested we make cookies. So for a few hours we
baked cookies and tried to distract ourselves from the
circumstance. Keaton barely spoke. He stayed close to me,
even though he was a thousand miles away. I couldn’t reach
him, but he reached for me, kept me near. Pizza was ordered
and picked at, and then it was dark out and everyone
dispersed for their sanctuaries, wherever they may be.
For Keaton and me, that was his room.
 We slipped inside, but when I tried to turn on the light, he
stayed my hand, pulling me into his chest instead. He held
me painfully close, and I held on to him in the hopes I could
ease his suffering.
“I thought …” he whispered roughly, “I thought one of
you was hurt. When I opened the door and saw them there, I
thought … I remembered when she died and I thought …”
He squeezed tighter. I closed my eyes and tightened my
arms.
“It’s all right, Keaton,” I promised. “It’s all gonna be all
right.”
He released me only so he could look down at me. “When
you say it, I almost believe it.” But he shook his head. “I
have the money,” he said, though I wondered why he’d said I
and not we. “We’ll get this cleared up. But … for the life of
me I can’t figure out why Jimmy would accuse me of this.”
“It reeks of a setup. And the only person I can think
who’d do it is—”
“Mitchell. Yeah, I know. And if that’s the case, we might
be in more trouble than we can get out of.”
My blood simmered painfully, but I held onto the burn
with both hands. “I hate him.”
At that, one corner of his lips flicked in a sad smile. “You
don’t hate anybody.”
“Well, he’s a worthy exception.”
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to my temple. “That he is.
Now come with me to bed, Daisy Mae, and let’s put today out
of its misery.”
“With a bang?” I asked with a brow arched.
“Can you think of a better way?” The words brushed my
lips as he inched closer.
“Not a single one.”
With a searing kiss, we did just that.
And it almost worked.
24
 SNARE

KEATON

T he math didn’t work.

I sat at Dad’s old desk that morning in the silent
house, the only sound the squeak of his chair when I
shifted. Sophie was at school, my brothers at work, and
Daisy was at the farm, leaving me alone to wallow around in
my mess.
Our equipment was being worked on, the completion—
and the bill I’d have for it—looming. I’d met with our
accountant to discuss options, and they were slim. We could
sell off equipment, scale back, lay off a portion of our crew.
We could offer no charity. In fact, we’d have to likely raise
our prices. Because we weren’t just combating the massive
expense of damages, but our trickling income and red
budgets. It wouldn’t be enough, even after all that sacrifice.
I’d walked us too close to the edge, and there we teetered
with my family’s legacy and future in the balance. He’d
suggested I sell everything. It was the only way to get out of
our predicament intact.
Unless I used Mandy’s money to bail us out. Again.
There was no contest. The money was there, no matter
how much disdain I had for it. I believed without question
that she would have wanted me to use it, especially if it
meant saving the company. And for the first time, I didn’t
feel guilty about touching it. I was too desperate to be
righteous.
The doorbell rang, and I frowned, pushing back from the
desk. I considered a number of people who could be on the
other side of the door—a delivery guy, a salesperson, a
missionary, or even a vagrant looking for work, which was
commonplace once word spread.
I did not expect to find Mitchell on my stoop, his leathery
face hard and his clothes starched stiff enough to stand on
their own. But he filled them up, larger than life as he was,
his eyes cold and sharp.
For a heartbeat, we just glared at each other across the
threshold.
“Mornin’, son,” he finally said. “Mind if I come in?”
I should have said no. I should have run him off my porch,
into his dualie, and away from my home. But deference was
hardwired into my DNA. I felt myself nod and stepped out of
the way to grant him entrance.
His boot heels clicked on the hardwood as he entered. I
closed the door behind him.
“Is there somewhere we can sit and talk for a minute?” he
asked.
Again, I said nothing, offering a nod. I made for Dad’s
office, hoping a desk between us would stop me from
throttling him.
Should have made him leave. I regretted this mistake
forever after.
Neither of us spoke again until we were seated, and even
then there was a long stretch of silence.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Just wanted to talk. I know you’re in a bind, what with
your equipment down.”
 “And what do you know about that?”
“Only what I hear. And what I hear is that you’ve got
more debt than you can handle.”
“I don’t know who told you what, but—”
“I see you skimming money off Mandy’s trust, Meyer. I
know you’ve done a whole lotta free work, and I have it on
good authority that your business is in danger of failing.” I
opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off. “Do you really
mean to tell me it’s not true? Don’t lie to me, boy.”
My teeth ground hard enough to hurt. “My affairs are no
business of yours.”
“They are when my money’s involved.”
Cold fear shot through me with hot fury in its wake.
“I didn’t want to have to do this. I don’t want your
business to fail—it’s a part of this town’s foundation. If you
want to use Mandy’s trust to save yourself, you have my
blessing.”
“But?”
A cool smile. “You know I can’t put my money behind this
homeless shelter business. That’ll have to stop.”
I’d known he was going to say it before he’d opened his
mouth. Rage bucked against my ribs like a bull. Did I have a
choice? I was too furious to know.
“That all?” I said through my teeth.
His stony eyes flared with emotion. “I remember the day
you married my daughter, the day you became my son. You
already were to me, you know. The second you two started
seeing each other, I knew. I wasn’t blessed with a boy of my
own, not until you.” A pause. “Keaton, I have supported you
your whole life. Every football game, every endeavor. When
Mandy died, we shared our grief, you and me. Nobody else
quite understood, not in the way we did.”
The hot coal in my throat stuck fast, singeing. I couldn’t
speak.
 “I understand that we don’t see eye to eye on some
things, and I don’t expect us to always agree. But there are
two things in this town that I cannot abide. One is a project
that doesn’t align with the town’s views, values, and safety.
The other is the Blums.” He pinned me with his gaze, full of
hate. “You know how they’ve gotten in my way, opposing me
at every turn. They stopped me from bringing Goody’s to
Lindenbach, campaigning across town, starting a social war
for no good reason. They crashed an oil deal that could have
meant money for our community, and now they want to
house dangerous people who leech off our good will and
kindness. I can’t stand for it, Keaton. I lost Sebastian to that
family already. I can’t lose you too.”
“And you’ll gut and cage me to make sure of it?”
He shook his head. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I
hoped you’d get her out of your system and that red tape
could stop your shelter. But here we are. You have a choice to
make. Save your family and business, or lose it all for a girl
and a bunch of strangers.”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “A choice. Only you would
believe an ultimatum is a choice.”
“It’s up to you. But that trust is only yours by my grace,
and I’ll be goddamned if I let you use my money in such a
despicable way.”
My hands trembled, my voice low. “Did you do it? Did you
set me up?”
“Does it matter? Wouldn’t change anything.” I must have
had a look about me because he added, “And before you
think about pulling something, just remember who I am and
think twice.”
Trapped, caught in his snare, with no way out but
surrender.
He seemed to know it, but he didn’t look smug.
Disappointed, perhaps. Angry, most definitely. But he wasn’t
proud.
I didn’t hate him any less for it.
He stood, looking down at me for a long moment. “End
things on both fronts, or your name will come off the
account. It’s suspended at the moment, but as soon as I get
word from you, I’ll approve any withdrawals you need. And
they’ll be held for approval from here on out.”
Without waiting for my response, he headed for the door,
pausing in the threshold to look back at me.
“One more thing,” he said. “No one can know about our
… arrangement. If anyone in this town even whispers that I
had something to do with any of this, you’ll never see
another penny. Am I understood?”
I understood well enough. I nodded once, barely
restrained. With an answering nod, he saw himself out.
My breath came in bursts, blood whooshing in my ears,
clouding my vision. Somewhere far away, the door closed,
and my happiness was on the other side, in Mitchell’s
pocket.
I could save everything I loved, everything that meant
anything to me. Except for her.
A roar ripped from my throat, my hands sweeping the
desk, sending everything on the surface crashing to the
floor. I laid my palms flat on the bare desktop, shoulders
heaving and head hung, my mind a maze. But there was no
escape.
Only dead ends.
25
 W H AT IT I S

DAISY

T he second I saw Keaton’s face on opening my front

door, I knew that something was wrong.
Pain. He was composed of dark and heavy pain,
bolted to the ground, immovable.
“What happened?” I asked, stepping toward him.
He closed his eyes when I reached for him, his brows
knitted and his face tight. He wrapped his arms around me
and squeezed like he’d never touch me again.
The thought sent a shock of fear through me.
“Walk with me,” he said roughly, pulling away and taking
my hand.
Silently, I closed the door, my hand still in his as he towed
me away from the house, up a path into the woods where our
old treehouse still stood, waiting for a new generation to
occupy it.
He said nothing for a long time, and I didn’t press, giving
him the space to say what he needed to say. But dread sank
through me until my feet were cement blocks.
“I’m sorry…” he started, but trailed off.
I snuck a glance at his beautiful profile, watching him
grapple with what he needed to say. I knew, somehow, that
this was the end. Of what exactly, I wasn’t sure. But the
distance between us was deep and wide, the gap bridged by
my hand in his. When he let it go, there would be no
reaching him again. This much, I knew.
He swallowed hard, the knot at his throat bobbing. When
we were in the shade of an ancient oak, he stopped and
turned to me, though his eyes were on our hands as he toyed
with my fingers.
“Daisy, my business is in trouble. Big trouble I’m not sure
I can get out of. I … I have to stop work on the shelter.”
My disappointment was overshadowed by relief that the
end wasn’t what I imagined. I stepped into him, laid my
palm on his chest. “Keaton, you have to take care of your
family. If that means the shelter is on hold for now, I
understand. There might even be a way for Grant to—”
He shook his head. “No. I have to stop for good. I can give
you the name of a few other companies I’d trust. They might
be more expensive, especially since they’re in the major
cities, but they’ll finish the job and do it right. But I … I
can’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. I know, but I need you to accept it all the same.”
Solemnly, I nodded against my disappointment. “All
right.”
“There’s more. I just … I don’t know how to …”
His voice was tight, strained as he kept hold of his
emotions. I saw them behind his downcast eyes.
“Keaton, it’s okay,” I soothed. “You can tell me anything,
if it’ll help.”
He shook his head. “It’s not okay. Nothing about this is
okay.”
Any relief I’d summoned drained out of me.
“You are the best thing to happen to me, maybe ever. I
can’t remember ever being so happy. I can’t remember
loving like this, but I do. I love you, Daisy Mae.”
My lungs filled in a gasp and locked. Tears pricked my
eyes. “I love you too. I didn’t think I ever would again, not
until you.”
“But I can’t see you anymore.”
That hopeful breath slipped out of me with my heart on
its tail. “I … you what?”
He still hadn’t looked at me, just kept shaking his head
and working the lump in his throat. “I can’t … I can’t see you
anymore. And I want to tell you why, I want to tell you
everything. But I can’t. Daisy, my family and my business
depend on it—I’ll lose everything. I’m sorry. I wanted … I
want to …” His voice broke. He didn’t finish speaking.
“I don’t understand, Keaton. What do you and I have to
do with your business?”
“I can’t. Please. Please don’t ask, or I won’t be able to
stop myself.”
My brain zipped and scrambled to make sense of it. What
conditions for his livelihood could have to do with me? How
could his being with me stop his business from surviving?
Unless …
“Mitchell,” I whispered.
His face broke, and he pulled me into his arms, crushed
me to his chest, buried his face in my neck, his trembling
breath warm against my skin. For a long moment, we held
on to each other, and my tears fell silently, rolling down my
cheeks until they were caught by Keaton’s shirt. There was
nothing left to say. He was a victim of his circumstance, and
I accepted our fate with the bitter pain of futile injustice.
Keaton was always too good to be true. Deep down, I think
I’d always known I wouldn’t get to keep him. History was
never in my favor in this, the curse I didn’t believe in but
wholly consumed me making itself known. It was easier to
subscribe to it. At least this way, there was something to
blame.
Beyond Mitchell, of course, never above extortion. He
almost always got his way, in the end. The only times he
didn’t were due to my family’s interference. It was no
wonder he hated us.
The feeling was entirely mutual.
Keaton leaned back only far enough to kiss me, a kiss
deep with longing and goodbye, with silent prayers and
dreams lost. A kiss made on salty lips from tears shed over a
thing we could never have.
Love.
The kiss broke, our foreheads together, his hand in the
curve of my neck and our breaths mingling.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Me too,” I breathed back.
And with a kiss on my forehead, he was gone.
I watched him stalk back to his truck, his shoulders low
and head down. Our gazes caught and held for a long
moment. My hand rose in a small wave, and he offered one
back, before driving away.
My cheeks were cool where rivulets of tears had run,
clinging to my jaw before falling away. I climbed up the
ladder of the treehouse and sat inside against the thick
trunk, the musty smell of timeworn wood a testament to the
years since I’d been here. Last time, I’d lost someone else,
the boy I loved, the one I was supposed to marry. This time
was only different in that Keaton was alive and well and
loved me—he loved me, he said he loved me—but I couldn’t
have him.
So I sat in the treehouse, watching branches sway and
leaves tremble in the wind from the small windows, and
thought of nothing else.
Only him.
26
 PIE FIXES EVERYTHING

DAISY

A long and terrible week passed with impressive

slowness.
My family was properly and understandably
shocked, armed with questions that I dodged as best I could.
I gave them a version of the truth—Keaton and I just didn’t
work out, and he had to scale back business to pay for his
repairs. Eventually, they accepted it. And fortunately, I was a
master of secrets. The rest of my family were not. They said
whatever they thought, whenever they thought it. I preferred
to only give the emotions that I’d already processed and
packaged, thus training me for situations like this.
I hated everything about it.
Alone in my sadness, I spent my days smiling and my
nights crying. The construction site had been deserted, the
materials left haphazardly stacked, the community center
only half finished. The spot where the temporary office had
been left a bleached rectangle on the slab, nothing more than
a ghost.
Mercifully, Poppy had taken over the task of finding
another construction company, and I’d been moved to assist
her rather than oversee the work, my family correctly
assuming that I wasn’t ready to keep on keeping on. And so,
we carried on that way for a week that felt like a year, doing
our level best to get back on track.
Grant had offered Keaton more money for the project, but
he’d respectfully declined, citing larger financial troubles
that one contract couldn’t make up for.
I hadn’t left our property much, though I’d spent quite a
bit of time away from the house, volunteering for anything
and everything that would keep me isolated. Because
pretending I was fine exhausted me to lengths I didn’t know
were possible. I kept hoping if I faked it long enough, I’d
make it.
So far, that had not proved to be true.
This morning, I’d been sent out by my family to pick up
an order of pastries from Bettie’s. We’d been burning
through a pie every two days—every night after dinner,
someone would inevitably shove a piece of pie in my face,
likely in the hopes that it would cheer me up. They, of
course, wouldn’t leave me to eat pie alone, and as such,
everyone’s pants were a little tight. Except for Grant, who
had the metabolism of a sixteen-year-old, the bastard.
I walked into Bettie’s to the ding of the bell and Brenda
Lee playing from the jukebox, a little bit lighter for being in
public. As much as I hadn’t wanted to see anyone, it was nice
to pretend for a minute that things were normal and my
heart was still in my chest instead of stomped to death under
my childhood treehouse.
“Daisy!”
When I heard my name from a little girl’s mouth, I froze
dead and turned, hoping I wouldn’t find Sophie. But there
she was, in all her raven-haired glory, charging me like she
hadn’t seen me in a year.
And behind her was Keaton, tall and dark and utterly
devastating.
 Emotion clamped my throat shut, and I swallowed hard,
opening it enough to greet Sophie. I was even able to plaster
on a smile for her sake, kneeling to catch her. She wrapped
her little arms around my neck and squeezed.
“I miss you,” she said in my ear.
“I miss you too,” I answered.
“So does Uncle Keaton,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes and squeezed her. “I miss him more.”
When she let me go, it was to launch into a story about
dance class. I did my best to listen, but Keaton had
approached, stopping close enough that I could smell the
earthy scent that had once driven me crazy. Now it just made
me miserable.
“Sophie,” Keaton started—Jesus, even his voice triggered
a chain reaction through me, “I’m sure Daisy is busy and
needs to get on with her day.”
Sophie pouted. Keaton extended his hand.
“Come on, squirt. Let’s—”
“Sophie Meyer,” Bettie called from behind the pastry case
with a know-it-all look on her face, “come here and get
yourself a cookie.”
Sophie glanced at Keaton for approval, and on his nod,
she bolted for the case, planting both palms on the glass in
an effort to maximize her inspection of Bettie’s wares.
We were almost alone, if not for the restaurant’s patrons,
and without Sophie as a buffer, we were silent.
I broke the quiet with a smile and a tried and true,
“How’ve you been?”
“Fine,” he said with an undercurrent of misery. “You?”
“Same,” I answered, hoping he knew I was miserable too.
“Thank you for the referrals, by the way. I think Poppy’s got
it narrowed down.”
“Good.” It didn’t sound like he thought it was good at all,
proving what a terrible liar he was.
 For a moment we shared a stretch of awkward silence,
taking me back to the time before, when possibility hung
between us instead of heartache.
“How’s business?” I asked, genuinely curious as to
whether or not it was worth it.
“Better.” He started to say something, and my heart
lurched in his direction. But he caught himself.
Tears stung my nose, and I looked toward Sophie so I
wouldn’t have to face him.
“Daisy, I—”
His pain was thick in his voice, heavy on his face when I
met his eyes. But before he could finish, Sophie came
running up with two cookies in a bag under one arm and one
in her free hand, a perfect crescent bitten off the edge.
Keaton sighed, smiling sadly at her. “Three? Really?”
Sophie shrugged. “I couldn’t decide, so Bettie let me have
all of them.”
Bettie waved from behind the counter, just a twiddle of
her fingers in the air.
Keaton raised a big, square hand of his own before
extending it to Sophie. “You ready?”
She nodded, and rather than take his hand, she slapped
the bag of extra cookies into it. “Bye, Daisy,” she said, then
waved emphatically at Bettie.
Keaton still wore a sad smile, nodding at me once before
shepherding Sophie out of the diner. I forced myself to turn
around and head toward the counter rather than watch them
walk away. I couldn’t hide how I felt in front of all those
people.
Bettie waited patiently behind the register, her apple-red
lips smiling. “Hey, Daisy. Three pies, ready to eat.”
She retrieved a bag from beneath the counter and set it
between us before punching buttons on the register. “I’ve
never seen worse puppy dogs in my whole life than you two.”
 “Thanks for your help with that, Bettie.”
She shrugged, taking my offered cash and working on my
change. “Easier just to face each other, isn’t it?”
“If you say so.”
One of her brows rose from behind her chunky, mint-
green glasses. “You mean to tell me it wasn’t just a little
good to see him?”
“If by good you mean my chest feels like a bomb went off
in it, then yes. It felt great.”
She chuckled, handing over my change, which I dumped
promptly in the tip jar.
“I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but
I have a theory about what’ll happen next.”
“Do tell.”
“You don’t often see two people so well suited for each
other, especially not two people who have suffered alone as
long as you have. Whichever one of you ended things will
figure that out and make it right, or I’ll eat every pie in this
case.”
I chuckled, but tears stung the corners of my eyes. “From
your lips, Bettie.”
“Have faith, Daisy,” she said without humor, just genuine
care, her hand covering mine and giving it a squeeze that
very nearly sent me into a full-blown sob.
“I’ll try,” I answered, turning my hand in hers to squeeze
it back before reaching for my bag of pies. “In the meantime
…” I lifted the bag in solidarity, and she nodded, laughing.
“Eat every bite, darlin’. It’ll be all right.”
We exchanged goodbyes, and I headed out, slipping into
Daddy’s truck and turning over the engine, backing out of
the spot through a sheet of tears I shed the whole way home.
And I prayed to God she was right.
27
 EVERY MINUTE

KEATON

“U ncle Keaton saw Daisy at Bettie’s just now.”

Sophie’s smile was smug and her eyes all sly as
we walked into the kitchen where my brothers
milled around. Their eyebrows rose.
Surprising no one, I wore a mighty frown. “Traitor,” I
said, closing the door behind me.
Sophie strutted in, her ponytail bouncing as she made her
way around the island to climb up on a stool next to her
father.
“She looked so pretty,” Sophie continued. “Bettie gave
me cookies so Uncle Keaton would have to talk to her.”
“Cookies are mine now, squirt. You done messed up.” I
held up the wax pouch and shook it.
She rolled her eyes. “You won’t eat them.”
“Won’t I?” I opened the bag slowly, maintaining eye
contact. She met it, folding her arms across her chest in
defiance.
I sighed and closed the bag back up, tossing it onto the
island. “You’re no fun.”
She shrugged, reaching for the cookies as she spoke.
“They both looked real sad. I told Daisy that Uncle Keaton
missed her, and she said same.” She took a bite while
everyone processed.
“It was no big deal,” I said, putting my back to them so I
could empty out my pockets where the keys went.
“No big deal,” Cole echoed. “First girl you dated since
Mandy, and it’s no big deal. You’re so full of—” Sophie shot
him a look. “It,” he finished. “You’re so full of it.”
Carson nodded. “No way does anybody buy your whole It
didn’t work out line. I just don’t get why you won’t tell us
what happened.”
“Because you wouldn’t understand,” I argued, flipping
through my wallet like I was looking for something so I
wouldn’t have to face them.
“Try me,” Carson shot.
“Grow up,” I shot back.
“Tell the truth,” he challenged. “We’ve given you a week
—it’s time you told us why you broke up.”
“Mind your own business.” I closed my wallet and
slapped it onto the countertop. “I’m going out to the shop.
Don’t follow me,” I warned. And though their eyes were all
narrowed at me, they stayed put.
I stormed away from the house and into the workshop,
slamming the door behind me. But as much as I thought I
wanted to be alone, when faced with the silence of the room I
determined I was wrong. Clicking on the radio at least
produced sound enough to offset the noise in my brain.
Looking at the projects strewn on the long table set the stone
in my stomach sinking. Daisy was even here, in this sacred
place. I felt her loss in every corner of my life. In every
painful, waking minute.
I hadn’t seen her in a week, and while I’d once believed
that seeing her might soothe me, I realized today just how
wrong I was. The sight of her traced the edge of my wound,
reminding me of the tear with a wash of pain so intense, I
was surprised I was able to walk away.
The rocking chair sat on the table in pieces. I picked one
of them up despite the pain and got to work. Maybe I enjoyed
that pain, the reminder of the sacrifice I made. Because I
could wish things were different, but they weren’t. Hurting
was my reward for doing the right thing.
I shaved the wood down, slivers of wood curling from the
blade, falling to the table to lay freshly cut on a pile of raw
remnants. One for Mitchell, one for my father. One for our
business, another for my family, one by one by one.
The rest were for Daisy.
And they were too many to count.
28
 G O D B LE S S B E T T I E

DAISY

I tried not to cry on my way home from Bettie’s. I really

did. But somewhere between Main Street and the county
road I lived on, I failed.
Whatever I’d imagined it would be like to see Keaton, it
was so much worse.
I held myself together long enough to get the pies and get
in Dad’s truck, but when I was in the silent cab, the walls I’d
erected eroded and washed away, made of nothing more
than cardboard and papier-mâché in the first place. But
when I pulled into our long driveway, I did my level best to
put that soggy wall back in place with my tears, hoping it
would hold better when it dried.
Sniffling, I parked the car, checking the rearview. I looked
like hell, which was to be expected. It was how I felt. Only
problem was, I didn’t want to talk about it. And on seeing
me, my sisters would want to talk about it.
So I took a breath, steeling myself before climbing out of
the truck, a stack of pies in hand. I wore a passable smile,
and since my face was bare, I didn’t have mascara to contend
with. I thanked God for small miracles and headed inside,
hoping everyone was gone.
 I didn’t know why I bothered. When I hoped for it, it
never happened. Pretty sad metaphor for my life, truth be
told.
They were standing in the kitchen, smiling when I
entered. But the second they saw me, they knew. Jo leaned
into Grant and whispered something—with a kiss on her
forehead, he made an excuse and headed out.
I set the bag down and began unpacking the pies, grateful
for something to do.
“Bettie gave us an extra pie—chocolate mousse,” I said.
“Bless that woman,” Poppy said, sifting through the
stack of pies as I set them on the table.
“What should we eat first?” Jo asked. “I vote lemon
meringue. Which do you want, Daisy?”
“I’ll get some plates,” Poppy informed us.
“A little too early for pie, don’t you think?” I asked.
“No such thing,” Jo noted.
I sighed. “Lemon meringue it is.”
There was coffee on already, so we busied around the
kitchen until we all had a cup and a plate and were sitting
around the breakfast table.
I’d taken the responsibility of cutting the pie, divvying it
out slice by slice.
“How was Bettie?” Jo asked with impressive will,
considering that wasn’t at all what she wanted to know.
“She was fine. Keaton and Sophie were there,” I admitted.
No point in dragging out the inevitable.
They glanced at each other in my periphery.
“How’d that go?” Poppy asked gently.
“As good as can be expected.” I handed her the plate. “He
looked good. A little too good, if I’m honest.” I chuckled, but
everything about me said sad.
“Well, I wish he’d looked like shit,” Jo said.
I agreed and said so.
 Once my own pie was on a plate, I sat, lifting my fork. But
I couldn’t seem to bring myself to eat anything. I set the
utensil down with a sigh.
“I’m still mad at him,” Jo noted, stabbing her pie. “I can’t
believe he just abandoned the project. Nothing about it
makes any sense.”
“It was just about money,” I reminded her. “Nothing
personal.”
“My ass,” she scoffed.
“You know if he could do it, he would.”
“And how about you? If he could stay with you, would
he?” Poppy asked with an edge to her voice.
I shrugged. “The timing was just bad, Poppy. Nothing
more.”
“Didn’t seem bad to me.” She was practically pouting
until she forked a rude bite into her mouth. After that, she
moaned. “Damn, Bettie knows how to make a pie.”
“Listen,” Jo started. “We respect your privacy—”
A laugh burst out of me. “Iris Jo, you liar.”
“Okay, fine, but I want to respect your privacy. Does that
count?”
“Maybe in points for effort, but otherwise, no,” I said.
“What happened?” Poppy asked simply, gently.
“Like I said, it was bad timing. Bad luck.” I worked on
destroying the meringue with my fork, sliver by sliver. “I’m
all right,” I lied. “I just need some time, that’s all. And by
time, I mean y’all quit asking me.”
“I just hate it, that’s all,” Jo said, wearing a twin pout to
Poppy’s.
“Well, I don’t love it either, but we all have to accept it,
don’t we?” I noted.
“I just—”
I set my fork down with a clank, my emotion flaring into
anger. “But that’s just it. It’s not about you. I’m the one who
lost Keaton. I’m the one who cried all the way home from the
diner. And here I am trying to make you feel better? It’s not
fair. It’s just not fair.” Tears sprang, my words choked off.
With pained faces and much apologetic cooing, they rose
and converged on me, wrapping me up in their arms, a knot
of teary Blum girls, comprised of dark hair and a whole
bunch of appendages.
When they let me go, Jo took her seat next to me and
Poppy knelt at my side, still holding my hand. Their eyes
were big and sorrowful, which made me feel worse.
“We’re sorry,” Jo said. “You’re right. You don’t owe us
anything, but we’re worried about you. And you haven’t told
us anything. You tell us everything, but you’ve been dead
silent and … well, we can’t help you through it if we don’t
know what happened.”
“I know it feels that way,” I said, dabbing at my nose
with a paper napkin, “but if I needed you, I’d come to you.
Just … you just have to leave me be, let me do this on my
own.”
“All right,” Poppy said, her eyes big and earnest. “We
will. And if we don’t, call us on it and we’ll shut up. Deal?”
I nodded, sniffling. “Thank you.”
She stood and kissed my temple. “We love you, you
know.”
“I do know,” I said on a quiet laugh.
“Good. And I think we should open a second pie,” she
decided.
“Fuck that,” Jo said. “We’re sampling all four of them.”
“We’ll ruin our dinner,” I noted.
“Good,” Poppy said with a wicked smile, knife raised like
a psycho before she went to town on the pies.
The conversation didn’t turn too far—Poppy began a long
discussion regarding the project’s future, from halted
production to the questions as to our opening and the people
she’d hired to work there, promising them income sooner
than we’d be able to finish, even if we stumbled across a
miracle. And I ate pie, speaking when necessary, otherwise
thinking. Thinking about Keaton, about the unfairness of it
all. About the curse and the many ways it could present
itself, like this. About Grant and my prayer that nothing
would happen to him. Or that he wouldn’t decide to leave.
I didn’t fault them for prying—I’d have done the same if
the tables were turned. Hell, I had been so nosy, inserting
myself into their lives when I thought they were making
mistakes. If I could have told them, I would’ve. But I
wouldn’t risk Keaton’s sacrifice simply because I was
heartbroken. I’d find a way to let him go, I just needed more
time and the space to work through it on my own.
Absently, I wondered if there was such a thing as enough
time and decided there probably wasn’t.
But I’d try anyway.
29
 A LL T I E D U P

KEATON

F or a few days, they left me alone.

I’d redirected my efforts lately to our other projects,
including wrapping up all of our pro bono contracts and
overseeing my brothers with a little too much authority.
They were annoyed with me, and I didn’t blame them. Didn’t
mean I’d stop, but I didn’t fault them for fighting it.
As the days crawled by, I avoided giving Mitchell a hard
affirmative. He’d reached out a few times for an answer, and
I’d told him I was working on it. But I knew he’d heard Daisy
and I were through, and I knew he knew what that meant
regarding our shit garbage deal.
Still, I needed to give him an affirmative before our
equipment was finished in the next few days, and I dreaded
that encounter more than I’ve dreaded anything in my life.
The thought of bending to him made me sick to my stomach,
to my heart. It felt wrong, the sense of warning climbing up
and down my spine like an bug with too many legs. Bending
to him went against every instinct I had. But it was the only
way. I’d lose everything else in my life if I didn’t.
Trapped. I was a caged animal, stalking and growling and
wishing I could shred my keeper and get myself free. But I
depended on my keeper to feed me, to keep me alive, our
relationship founded on oppression and manipulation.
I’d just picked up Sophie from school, not because Cole
couldn’t—I needed to get out of the house, and Sophie was
an excellent buffer. I’d been using her as such daily lately,
grateful for someone to pretend for, but more importantly
someone who wouldn’t ask questions I couldn’t answer.
No, that wasn’t true. She asked so many questions, I
sometimes wanted to knife my eardrums. But at least she let
it go if I so much as gave her a certain look. It was a respect I
didn’t get from my brothers.
I’d taken her by Bettie’s again, this time for a chocolate
malt. As planned, it kept her quiet most of the way home. But
when we got there, all of my brothers were home, sitting in
the living room with ominous looks on their faces.
I frowned. “What?”
Sophie’s eyes bounced between us as she nursed her malt.
She might as well have had a bag of popcorn too for as
entertained as she was. She plopped down next to Cole, who
kissed her head briefly before returning to his part-time job
of glaring at me.
“We let you off the hook enough times. It’s time you came
clean about Daisy.”
“What is this, an intervention?”
“Sorta,” Cade answered. “Sit.”
“Pass,” I said, heading into the kitchen to put away my
keys.
They followed me with Sophie in their wake.
“Come on, Keaton. Why’d you and Daisy break up?”
Carson asked. “You’re not getting out of it this time.”
“Wanna make a bet?” I threw my keys onto the counter
and turned to eye him.
He rolled his eyes. “Just tell us.”
 “I can’t.” I stepped to the fridge, figuring I was about to
need a beer.
I heard Cade frowning when he said, “Because you don’t
know how you feel?”
I turned on my heel and slammed the fridge door empty
handed, fuming at the intrusion. “I know exactly how I feel,
it’s just none of your business.”
All three of them narrowed their eyes at me.
“What?” I snapped.
Without looking at her, Cole said, “Sophie, take your
milkshake up to your room.”
“Why?” she asked with her mouth full.
“Because we need to talk to Uncle Keaton.”
She gave me a Oooh, you’re in trouble look as she took a
long pull off her straw and headed for the stairs.
Ten bucks said she sat just out of sight and listened to
every word, the little sneak.
We were silent through her exit.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said through my teeth,
turning for the door. “Don’t follow me.”
“Not so fast. Cade, stop him.”
Cade outpaced me and blocked the exit, leaning on the
threshold and inspecting his nails.
“Really?”
He shrugged. “Why are you bein’ weird?”
“Because if it wasn’t clear, I didn’t want to break up with
Daisy.”
“Then why did you?” he asked.
“Are you gonna make me move you? Because I will,” I
promised.
“You gonna make all three of us?” Cole said from my
elbow.
“If I have to.”
 Before I could get out of the way, Cole pinned my arms
behind my back and Cade braced me from the front. I kicked
him in the shin, but when he buckled, Carson took his place.
“Cade, go get the zip ties,” he yelled over his shoulder.
“What the fuck?” I thrashed, but Cole had me too tight to
get far. “God help you when I get loose, dick.”
“If you get loose,” he corrected.
I stomped Carson’s bare foot and he grunted but didn’t let
me go. They wrangled me into a chair, the three of us flailing
and yelling until Cade entered the kitchen with an evil smile
on his face and a bundle of zip ties in his hand.
I roared, breaking loose long enough to clock Carson in
the mouth, but the three of them had me outmatched.
“Had to do it the hard way, didn’t you?” Cole said, pulling
a zip tie around my wrist too tight. The wooden dowel of the
chair pressed into my vein, the plastic tie biting my skin, and
I imagined standing and breaking the chair over his back.
“Jesus, you split my lip,” Carson panted when I was
subdued, thumbing his mouth and inspecting the digit.
“I’m gonna split more than that once I get free.”
“What do you think, should we hose him down with the
sink sprayer?” Cade asked thoughtfully, his chest heaving.
“Let’s see if he behaves first,” Cole decided, trying to
catch his breath.
I rumbled and fought my bindings until I realized I was
just hurting myself. There was no getting out of it, easy to
see by my brother’s expressions as they watched me,
amused. It took me a minute after that to calm down enough
that I could see straight.
“All right,” Cole said. “What the hell’s going on.”
“Nothin’! We just broke up. It didn’t work out. What the
hell do you want from me?”
“The truth, for starters.” Carson worked his bottom lip,
which had started to swell. “You two had practically moved
in together overnight, and out of nowhere it’s just over with
no explanation?”
“It’s none of your business,” I ground out.
“She didn’t cheat on you,” Cade guessed. “I know you
didn’t cheat on her. Her family approves of you, and I can’t
imagine you got in a fight. I don’t think she left you either.”
“Well don’t you just know fucking everything?” I spat.
“You oughta go on the road.”
They laughed, the fuckers.
“You must be right,” Carson said, elbowing Cade.
“Eat a dick,” I suggested.
“Which would mean,” Cole picked up where Cade left off,
“you broke up with her. Why the hell would you do that?”
“It’s none of your—”
“Business,” Cole finished. “Yeah, yeah. Does it have to do
with the shelter? I could see her dumping you over that.”
Carson’s forehead was wrinkled up in thought. “It doesn’t
make any sense.”
“Maybe we should get the hose,” Cade suggested.
After a heavy sigh, Cole said, “All right. Make sure it’s
real cold.”
“Don’t. Don’t you fucking—” Cold water shot me in the
mouth, then soaked my face and hair. I sounded like a
grizzly bear caught in a trap, roaring and gnashing.
“You gonna tell us yet?” Cade asked, his finger still on the
spray trigger.
I burned a hole in him with my glare.
Cade shrugged. “Your funeral.”
Before he got off another shot, I shouted, “Wait!”
The room was silent, my head hung. If I didn’t tell them
something, they really would keep me here all day. But I
couldn’t tell them everything. I scrambled for a half-truth.
“I … we’re quitting the homeless shelter.”
They stared at me, gawping.
 “We’re what?” Cole asked stupidly. “Why?”
“Because we don’t have any equipment, asshole.”
“Right now we don’t, but we’re getting it back soon
enough.”
I shook my bowed head. “We just … we can’t do it. It’s
costing too much, and now that I have to pay for the expense
of repairs out of pocket, there’s no way we can take on any
more charity.”
“We don’t have any more expenses on the project past
labor. Everything’s paid for.” Carson noted. “You gonna fire
the guys?”
“No, I—” I swallowed. “We just can’t work on it
anymore, okay?”
Cade shook his head. “And you didn’t tell us?”
“What good would it do? No point in all of us upset about
it.”
“And Daisy … is Daisy mad at you for quitting?” Cole
asked. “This doesn’t make sense. If she knew you had to do
it for the business, she wouldn’t fault you.”
The walls closed in, my half-truth sporting too many
holes to appease them, nosy bastards. My heart twisted and
shook in my chest.
“Why won’t you finish the project, Keaton?” Cole asked
darkly.
“Because I can’t.” Three miserable words cracked as I
spoke them.
“Why?” he asked again, firmer.
Defeat left me sagging in the chair. “Because if I do, we’ll
lose the business.”
Silence.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Carson asked.
I shook my head, shaking water droplets off my lank hair.
“We’ve been in trouble for a long time. Since Dad died. I’ve
been … I’ve been trying to make ends meet, but the only way
I’ve been able to keep us afloat is with Mandy’s trust. I’ve
been skimming off it.”
Cole sank into a chair, his eyes sharp. “Mitchell’s trust.”
The weight of my shame dragged my chin to the ground,
too much to bear. The admission was too much to make, too
much to say after so long. Now that I’d opened that door, the
weight had multiplied by exponents. I couldn’t lift my head,
couldn’t meet their eyes. All I could do was nod.
“Mitchell made you quit?” Carson’s voice shook with
fury.
“And not just the job,” Cade guessed. “He made you quit
Daisy too.”
I couldn’t acknowledge the words, just sat there, hating
the truth with my entire heart and soul. But they heard my
answer in the thick, heavy silence.
“No,” Cole said softly.
I raised my head. “What do you mean, no? I can’t pay for
the damages and keep the business open without that
money.”
“Then we’ll close it.” The words were quiet. Resolute.
I barked off a string of dissent, arguing fiercely. They just
watched me, lips flat.
I met each of their gazes, one by one. “That’s not an
option.”
“If we liquidate, we can get out of it with money left over,
at least a little,” Cole noted. “You can’t tell me we’re that
deep in the hole. Are we?”
“Not, but—”
“Good,” he said. “We all have savings, and we’ll take
whatever’s left and figure out what’s next. Start a new
company, maybe. Do custom jobs for people. We can make it
work. What we can’t do is let Mitchell keep us under his
thumb. What we won’t do is give up our integrity to him. And
what you absolutely are never going to get away with is not
having Daisy. Not over this. Not because of him.”
“But we can’t—”
“It’s our legacy,” Carson said. “We all know it, Keaton.
But do you think Dad would have bent to Mitchell? If Dad
were here right now, what do you think he’d tell you to do?”
I didn’t answer.
“He’d say, Fuck that sonofabitch and sell the business
before letting someone else dictate what we did. He’d tell us
that our morals and our commitment to this town were more
important than his money.”
“Even if it ruined us?”
“Even if it ruined us,” he echoed. “And especially if he
knew you’d found somebody to love after Mandy.”
My throat locked, tight with emotion.
Cole squatted, looking up at me with Mama’s eyes and
Dad’s grit and said, “You’re gonna go tell Mitchell he can
shove his money up his tight, crusty ass. And then you’re
gonna go get your girl.”
“I can’t,” I said miserably.
“You can.” He reached up, cupped my neck, bowed my
head to touch his forehead. “We’re gonna figure the rest out.
And goddammit, if you ever keep something like this from us
again, expect to spend a lot of time in this chair.”
A choked laugh escaped me. I nodded. He squeezed my
neck and let me go.
I sniffled to address the burn at the tip of my nose and
looked up at them. “Gonna untie me now?”
With horrible looks on their faces, they made for the back
door.
“Sure,” Cade said.
“Let us just go get some scissors,” Cole added.
They left me there in the kitchen to think about what had
happened and what I was about to do. Relief that they knew
the truth swept over me like a tidal wave. I wondered how
different things could have been if I’d told them when Dad
died and I found out the state of things. I wondered how
much easier it would have been not to shoulder it all alone.
But I’d held on so stubbornly, they’d had to tie me to a chair
to get it out of me.
Thank God for those assholes.
I laughed, the sound tight and painful, choking me before
I could get it all out.
But that wasn’t all I’d gain.
Somewhere, Daisy was out in the world loving me, living
the pain of thinking we were through. But she could have all
of me, if she still wanted it. The future I’d lost when Mandy
died had reappeared when Daisy did, like a mirage wavering
on the horizon. I’d been afraid all this time that she’d
disappear. That what we had wasn’t meant to keep. But I
loved her, that I knew for sure. And she loved me, an
admittance that had felt like a curse when she’d spoken the
words.
That knowledge wiped away any illusions, bringing that
transparent hope to full focus, whole and real and just a few
steps away.
I just had to find her and tell her.
A noise came from the direction of the stairs, and I
remembered my niece.
“Hey, Sophie?”
Thump, thump, thump, she ran down the stairs and hung
over the banister. “Yeah?”
“Do me a favor and grab some scissors, would you?”
Smiling, she came down the rest of the way and entered
the kitchen.
“You heard all that, didn’t you?”
She nodded, digging around the junk drawers until she
found my salvation. “I heard, and I think they’re right. Fuck
Mayor Mitchell.”
I gave her a look, but she shrugged, holding the scissors
up.
“You gonna tell Daddy I said so?”
“You know I won’t.”
“Promise you won’t hit Daddy too hard?”
“Don’t push it.”
She gave me a look.
I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Fine. I won’t hit him too
hard.”
I didn’t promise not to otherwise torture him, but
thankfully earned my freedom. I kneeled, scooping her up in
a hug and squeezing her tight enough that she grunted in my
arms.
“You gonna go find Daisy?”
“Oh, I’m gonna find her. Might even ask her if she wants
to be your aunt.”
She snapped away with her face all lit up. “Does that
mean I might get cousins?”
“What’d I say about pushing it?” I asked with a wink.
But rather than answer, she flung her arms around my
neck, squealing and squeaking and giggling her approval. I
held on to her, barely containing my own terrifying joy,
hoping Daisy would be the next thing in my arms.
And the only one in my arms forever after.
30
 W H IT E-K N U C K LE

KEATON

M y damp hand squeezed the wheel of my truck until my

knuckles strained.
Once my brothers had received corporal
punishment, I went upstairs to shower and change, working
over what I was about to do. Part of me—a large part—was
scared to death to do it. Everything would change, everything
would end, and in ways I couldn’t begin to imagine. Our
business, the welfare of my family and our employees, it was
all up in the air, suspended and waiting for the gravity of the
situation to bring it to the ground. On realizing I did have
options, thanks to the brotherly love I’d received that
afternoon, I began coming up with a solution. Maybe we
wouldn’t have to close. Maybe there was a way to scale back.
Maybe if I sacrificed the broken equipment, sold it off to pay
for repairs, maybe there was a way to keep going. Maybe all
wasn’t lost.
And if it was … well, with my brothers behind me, we
might be able to start over with something new.
Something new. My stomach lurched with possibility, but
not about the business.
Daisy.
 I could have Daisy back.
This first. Then you’re gonna find her, and this time, you won’t
let go.
With a deep breath, I opened my door and climbed out in
front of Mitchell’s house.
My heart hammered as I climbed the steps, the sound of
my pulse deafening as I waited for him to open the door.
When he did, he stood surprised on the other side of the
threshold.
“Keaton? I’ve been waitin’ to see you,” he said with a
pleased smile on his face. “Come on in.”
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”
As it dawned on him, his smile fell.
“Sir, I came to tell you that I won’t be needing your
money.”
He stilled, still with a warning smile on his face. “You
find a buried treasure, son? Because by my estimate, you
won’t survive without it.”
“And if we don’t, that’ll have to be what it is. We’ll sort
through that on our own. Five years ago, I tried to give
Mandy’s trust back to you, and I wish you’d taken it then. I
never wanted a penny of it. I never should have touched it,
because then it was a matter of dependence on you. I even let
you convince me that your money was the only option. Lucky
for me, my brothers disagreed.”
He drew a controlled breath, his eyes narrowed. “This will
be the end of your business, Meyer. What would your daddy
say?”
“He’d say to hell with anybody who tried to stop me from
doing what I thought was right.”
“One word from me, and nobody in this town will hire
you ever again. You’re willing to lose everything, and for
what? A homeless shelter and some stupid girl?” he shot, his
grip on himself loosening.
 “For my integrity. And if you call the woman I love stupid
again, you’ll regret it fiercely.”
He said nothing. His nostrils flared.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”
“I’ll ruin you if the money doesn’t.”
“I’d welcome you to go ahead and try,” I said evenly.
“You have a nice day, now.”
Trembling, I turned to walk down the porch steps. The
door slammed shut so hard behind me, I heard the windows
rattle.
As I got into my truck and left that godforsaken property,
I let myself revel in the freedom I’d just gained and the sick
excitement at not knowing what we’d do next. One thought
soared above the rest, heading straight for the sun, blinding
me.
And I was on my way to find her.
I was a twisting knot of hope and fear as I drove to her
house, imagining what might happen in a frantic loop,
fueled by the adrenaline from blowing up the vast majority
of my life. When I pulled up to the house, I threw the truck in
park and climbed out, almost forgetting to cut the engine in
my daze—my only objective was to get to her.
I took the porch steps two at a time and rang the second
life-altering doorbell of my day.
Thirty seconds passed, but I didn’t hear even the slightest
movement from the other side of the door. My hope waning,
I rang the bell again and cupped my hand to look in the
curtained window.
A full minute later, my heart sank into my shoes,
weighing them down as I trudged down the stairs and got
back into the truck.
I picked up my phone and texted her, Can we talk? For a
minute, I just stared at the screen, waiting to see her type
back. When she didn’t, I put the damnable thing down and
backed up, swearing as I pulled away.
She’ll get back to you. You’ll see her. You can tell her
everything, just be patient.
I could have repeated it all day and it still wouldn’t have
helped.
My mind chewed on my thoughts until they were pulp,
but I had no better grip on myself as I turned back toward
home. I had nowhere else to go.
I never expected to find her truck in my driveway. My
heart climbed from my shoes into my throat.
She sat on the steps of my front porch in that cornflower
blue dress, her hair down and her face worried. When she
saw me, she shot to her feet. When I saw her, I slammed the
brakes and was out of my truck in a heartbeat, striding
toward her until the distance between us closed.
“Keaton, I—”
I kissed her, her face resting in my hands, her lips soft
and pliant and familiar. The gape of longing in my chest
filled with our mingled breath, the sweep of tongues, her
body against mine, our hearts thumping at a matched pace. I
kissed her until longing melted into languid appreciation,
releasing her so I could peer into her crystalline eyes.
“I told him no,” I whispered. “I told him—”
“To fuck off?” Daisy said on a laugh, that sweet, sweet
sound I’d missed so much. “Sophie told me.”
“Of course she did.” I was smiling. I forgot I knew how.
“How’d he take it?”
“Not well.”
“You didn’t hit him or anything, did you? We don’t need
you locked up for assaulting the mayor.”
“Woulda been worth it. But then I wouldn’t have been
able to come find you and tell you and …” My lips slid into a
frown. “Wait, what are you doing here?”
 “Well, a little birdie told me what happened, and I wanted
to be here when you got back from … well, telling Mitchell to
fuck off.”
I glared at the house. “Which of my brothers told you?”
“None. Sophie texted me.”
Laughter barked out of me, my joy so deep that the
corners of my eyes stung. “Goddamn that child.”
“I’m sorry, Keaton,” she said, her eyes cast down. “If it
wasn’t for me, none of this would have happened.”
“It would have eventually—I’ve been skimming off that
money for too long. It was only a matter of time until
Mitchell flexed. I didn’t … I didn’t want them to know we
were in trouble. But if they’d known? Well, then this
wouldn’t have happened. None of this is your fault.”
“Doesn’t feel that way.”
“It is. I thought all this time that the only way to take care
of everyone was to suffer. To endure. The less I had, the
more I could give them. I didn’t … maybe I didn’t trust them
to be able to handle it like they did. Too often I think about
them as the punk-ass kids we were when Mom died. But
they’re not. I should have trusted them. And I never should
have touched Mitchell’s money.”
“And it only took your brothers waterboarding you to get
you to figure it out.”
“She told you about that too, huh?”
Daisy nodded, stifling laughter.
“You wish you’d seen it, don’t you?”
She nodded again, letting that laughter loose. For a
second at least—I swallowed her laughter with a long and
deep kiss, thick with possession and gratitude and awe.
The sound of vehicles approaching broke the kiss, and I
turned, confused.
Because trucks and a few cars of various sizes were filing
onto my property, parking in the lawn and anywhere else
they could find.
“What the hell?” I asked, stupefied.
Daisy wound an arm around my waist and watched the
parade with a look of knowing on her face. “So, you know
how you needed that money to save your business?”
Frowning, I nodded.
“Well, I might have made a few calls.”
Every car door that opened revealed the face of a member
of our town, heading in our direction with wallets in hand
and thanks on their lips. Stunned, I stood in front of my
family’s home as those people I’d helped began to crowd,
handing over cash and checks and words of affirmation.
Someone crowed Fuck Mitchell! which was followed by waves
of laughter, snapping me to my senses.
“Hold on,” I said, but either no one heard me, or they
ignored me. “Hold on!” I shouted.
They quieted, and I looked them over in wonder.
“What in the world are y’all doin’?”
Pastor Coleburn stretched to his full height and said in his
Sunday service voice, “Keaton Meyer, this town owes you a
great debt, a debt beyond words. But not a debt beyond
action. We’re here because you’ve helped every single one of
us in some way. You’ve saved this town time and time again
in small ways, sometimes in magnificent ways. And we
won’t let you go under.”
The throng of my town family cheered and began handing
money over again. I couldn’t catch it fast enough.
“I can’t … I can’t take this,” I said, scrambling to gather it
all up. It just kept on coming.
Daisy stood next to me, collecting their offerings with her
cheeks high and flushed.
“Sure you can, Keaton,” Chris, one of our foremen, said.
“If it wasn’t for my job with you, I don’t know what I
woulda’ done. I was one foot out of jail when you found me.
Now I’ve got a wife, a baby, a house—I never could have
done it.” He handed over a check for five hundred dollars.
I shook my head, uncomprehending.
Jensen, my buddy from the police department, said,
“When my pipes busted a couple years ago right before
Christmas, you came in the middle of the night and fixed
everything yourself, wouldn’t even take money for it,
knowing we didn’t have it. So I owe you for labor and
interest.” Smiling, he passed me a wad of bills that I stared
at stupidly.
“I can’t take this,” I said to my hands. It was the only
sentence I could recall.
“Yes, you can,” Daisy said. “All your sacrifice, all you’ve
done … this town loves you, Keaton. You helped when you
didn’t have to, even when it was to your detriment. Even
when you had to lean on Mitchell’s money to stay afloat, and
for no other reason than it was the right thing to do. Let us
take care of you this time.”
I shook my head to clear it, but it did no use. Would my
father have taken the money? If it meant saving everything, I
had to believe he wasn’t too proud to accept help from those
he’d helped. But when faced with these people I knew so
well, some who had so little, I couldn’t bear to let them
sacrifice on my account.
“Take the money, you proud son of a bitch!” somebody
shouted from the back, setting another chuckle through the
crowd.
“I don’t know how,” was all I could say.
“Say thank you and cash the checks!” somebody else
yelled.
When we laughed, tears pricked my eyes, but they were
too strong to swallow. “Thank you,” I said, my head bowed.
“Thank you.”
 A small eruption of joy was muffled by Daisy, who
gathered me up and held my face. Kissed me hard with cool
tears on her cheeks. My brothers had come out and were
clapping townspeople on the back and taking donations. I
didn’t know if it’d be enough, but it would help.
And here I’d thought it was hopeless.
Daisy’s sisters had pulled in late, but found their way to
our side of the crowd. When Grant reached me, it was to pull
me into a hug that caught me off-guard.
“You should have told us, Keaton,” he chided. “I could
have helped.”
“I don’t generally take charity.”
“Well, too bad—you work for one. Whatever this doesn’t
cover, I’ll make up.”
“Grant, I ca—”
“I swear to God, if you say you can’t one more time, I’m
going to shove a check so far into your throat, you’ll shit
hundred dollar bills.” I must not have looked convinced
because he added, “Consider it payment for your services
that you stupidly didn’t charge us for. It’s a fair deal, so long
as you finish the job.”
He extended a hand for a shake, and I clasped it, pumping
once. “Yessir.”
He clapped me on the shoulder again, and for the next
half hour or so, we collected donations as a group, the Blums
and the Meyers, and when the last few people had accepted
my gratitude and headed off, our families made their way to
the front door.
I snagged Daisy’s hand, pulling her to a stop. Pulling her
to me. And when we were alone, I kissed her again in
benediction and disbelief.
Eyes closed, I pressed my forehead to hers. “I love you,” I
whispered, the words trembling with my heart.
“I love you too,” she whispered back.
 “Will you stay with me?”
“As long as you want.”
“Forever?”
She leaned back to meet my eyes, her cheeks flushed and
lips swollen. “Forever.”
I kissed her again to seal the promise, holding her tight,
vowing to never let her go again.
31
 T H E G R E AT D I V I D E

DAISY

K eaton and I spent two full days in bed.

In an attempt at privacy, we packed up some clothes
and food and moved into one of the cottages near Jo
and Grant where we could be alone. Our phones were
somewhere in the small house, though I doubted either of
them still had batteries. We figured if anyone needed us, they
knew where we were.
Blissfully, nobody did.
Our clothes were still neatly packed in weekend bags.
Mostly we’d eaten grilled cheese sandwiches and PB&Js—
everything else too much trouble. Took too much time, time
we could have spent stretched out in bed. Time that had lost
its meaning. Sleep came when we were tired, meals came
when we were hungry. The rest of the time we spent talking.
Dreaming. Wondering. And, of course, doing naked things.
Many, many naked things.
“You know,” I said as Keaton lazily kissed my neck, “we
should probably find some real food at some point.”
He gruffed his disapproval against my skin, and between
that and the scratch of his beard, I giggled, wriggling against
him.
 Laughing, he pinned me first with a hand on my hip, then
with his body. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“You don’t have to be done with me ever. But I would like
a hamburger. Or some bacon and eggs.” I salivated like an
animal. “Or viscuits and gravy.” I moaned.
He hovered over me, smiling. “So Bettie’s?”
“Admit it sounds good.”
“Steak and eggs wouldn’t kill me. But I still don’t want to
leave.”
“We have to eventually.”
“Do we?”
“I mean …” He was kissing my neck again, and I was
laughing, and the birds were singing outside, and everything
was right in the world. When his face reappeared in my
vision again, I asked, “You really don’t want to leave?”
His amusement softened to adoration, laced with longing.
“If we leave here,” he said, stroking my face, “then life can
get to us. In here, we’re safe.”
“In that case, I have good news.”
He waited, one of his brows arched.
“Now that we have each other, we’re going to go get life.
And as long as we’re together, we’ll be safe. I’m pretty sure I
can do just about anything, as long as I have you.”
His dark eyes searched mine. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
A shift was all it took to connect our lips, and the kiss we
shared was deep and long, filled with promises and hopes
we’d once believed were lost. But they weren’t lost at all.
We’d found them in each other.
It was nothing short of miraculous.
A knock sounded at the door, followed by Jo’s voice.
“Put some clothes on, lovebirds. You need to see this!”
Keaton and I blinked at each other, and while we were
staring, Cole shouted, “Don’t you assholes ever check your
phones? Ow!”
“My sister is not an asshole,” Jo said. She knocked again.
“We know you’re in there! Put on some pants.” Again with
the knocking.
Smiling, we climbed out of bed.
“Yeah, yeah—we’re coming,” Keaton called in the
direction of the door while he dug through his bag.
“Yeah, I bet you’re coming—ow! Goddammit Jo, if you hit
me one more time—”
“You’ll what?” Grant asked.
I laughed, pulling on a sundress and twisting my hair into
a bun. “You’d better open that before Cole gets himself
hurt.”
Keaton had stepped into some jeans and thrown on a
shirt, raking his hand through his hair as he pulled open the
door.
All of our siblings and Grant stood just outside looking
pleased with themselves. Well, except for Grand and Cole,
who were eyeing each other.
Carson stretched on his toes to see over everyone, then
made a face. “I’m not goin’ into their sex den.” Louder, he
said. “Y’all are gonna have to come out here.”
“What’s this all about?” I asked tucking into Keaton’s
side in the threshold.
Poppy was so excited, she looked like she was about to
split out of her skin and shed it like a cocoon. “Oh, you know.
Just this.”
She shoved a newspaper at me, and I turned it around in
my hands, confused as I looked for the front and floored
when I saw the headline.
MAYOR ACCUSED OF EMBEZZLEMENT, MISCONDUCT,
FRAUD.
Under which was a photo of Mitchell being escorted from
his home.
 “What?” I breathed.
And they all began to talk at once.
What we gleaned from their story, told in non-linear bits
and pieces, was that sometime yesterday, Marnie had shown
up at the police station with a thumb drive and asked for
Jensen, one of the police not in her father’s pocket. On that
thumb drive was damning evidence, not only that Mitchell
had hired Jimmy to wreck Keaton’s equipment—when she’d
really started digging, she’d found emails between Mitchell,
his accountant, and his lawyer about the money they’d been
skimming from the city for a decade in a gross misallocation
of city funds.
So she’d filed a report, submitting the drive as evidence.
Judging by the newspaper in my hands, she’d sent that
information to the reporters too.
The town was in upheaval. Main Street was full of people
milling around, gossipping, arguing. Tensions were high,
and apparently a few fights had broken out. Doug Windley
had gotten punched by the sporting goods store owner. I
didn’t wish many people ill, but boy, I hoped somebody got
that on camera.
“They’re holding a town meeting in a few hours to
discuss removing him from office,” Poppy said, grinning and
breathless. “Can you believe it?”
I closed my mouth. Opened it again. “No. I cannot. Why
would Marnie turn her own father in?”
“According to the article,” Poppy started, “she said she’d
always thought he had the town’s best interest in mind and
that their family’s legacy was more important than anything.
When she found out what he’d done, she knew her great-
greats who had been mayors before him would have done the
right thing. And the right thing was to tell the people of the
town he was meant to protect that he’d been stealing from
them.”
 For a moment, we were all silent.
“She just blew up her whole life, her family, and our town
in one move,” Keaton said solemnly. “She told me she’d
watch my back, but this?” He shook his head, guilt wafting
off of him. “The sacrifice … it’s too much.”
“She’s outed him before. Threw a wrench right into his
Goody’s deal and didn’t feel bad about it at all,” Jo noted.
“Say what you will about Marnie, but she knows right from
wrong. And nobody can deny she’ll fight when compelled
to.”
“Maybe she wants to run for mayor,” Poppy guessed.
We all fell quiet again.
“Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Cole said. “I heard
she went home to Austin. Can you imagine what it’s like
inside Mitchell’s house right now?” He shuddered.
“But the good news is,” Grant said, “there’s no one left to
stand in your way. You’re free, Keaton.”
I felt his knees tremble, the weight of him sagging onto
me just a little, just enough to betray his ever-stoic exterior.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough. “For letting us
know, for coming here. Kinda wish you’d brought food
though.”
Through the laughter, Carson tossed a plastic bag at
Keaton, who hooked it with his arm midair.
“Protein bars,” Carson explained. “Figured you could use
them.”
“Too bad Uber Stan doesn’t deliver food,” Poppy noted,
then lit up. “Hey, I bet he’d be all over a new business
venture.”
“Y’all come up to the house whenever you’re settled,” Jo
said. “Mama’s got enough food to feed an army.”
They’d begun to disperse, Cade saying over his shoulder,
“And next time, charge your phone so we don’t have to know
what your sex hair looks like.”
 Faster than I could register, Keaton let me go, reached in
the bag, and threw a protein bar at Cade’s face, hitting him
in the temple with a smack. Cade jerked back in surprise, but
scowled, bending to pick the bar off the ground and soft
pitch it back to Keaton, saying, “You can have that one, but
don’t try it aga—” The bar hit him in the forehead, and
when he’d recovered from the surprise, he stomped toward
us, muttering a string of threats. But two steps in, Keaton
stepped us back inside and slammed the door in his face.
After a brief brotherly exchange through the door, Cade
gave up and left with the rest of them. Keaton headed for the
spot where he’d thrown his clothes a couple of days ago,
rummaging around for his phone, which was dead as a brick,
just like mine. Seconds after plugging them in, a cascade of
notifications pinged on our screens, but Keaton’s went on
well after mine stopped.
Eyes on the screen, he sank into a chair, his brows drawn.
I moved to his side, and without breaking his gaze, he
opened one arm and widened his leg so I could sit in his lap.
He turned the phone so I could read too, first message
threads from his brothers. Then his foreman. Some from my
sisters, and a few from Jensen at the police department.
And then there was a string from Marnie.
First that her dad was acting strange, then a phone
conversation of his that she overheard after Keaton had gone
over there to refuse him. The threat of the trust fund and the
state of Keaton’s business. That I was part of the deal.
And then it was the embezzlement.
She noted what she’d found out about the bribe to Jimmy
and how it’d led to the emails that led to locked and hidden
spreadsheets, all of it using the same password he’d used for
everything—one of two versions of Mandy’s birthday. What
she’d found, questions as to what she should do, but after
that, the messages went from shocked and frantic to
resolute. She let Keaton know what she was doing, that she
wouldn’t let him sacrifice his business or me, wouldn’t let
her father take advantage of anyone else, especially the
town. And he’d never use Mandy as leverage ever again.
For a long while, we sat there reading, rereading. He
reclaimed his arm from around me to text her back, and I left
him to it, kissing his temple and smoothing his hair, getting
up to shower and to think.
The water was scalding hot, tendrils of steam rising to
lick the ceiling. I closed my eyes, tilting my head back into
the stream, and I sighed out a million worries to be carried
away on the rising mist.
My fingers were buried in my sudsy hair when Keaton
joined me silently. He stepped in behind me, replacing my
hands with his.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I dunno,” he answered, turning me around to rinse me
out. His eyes were on his hands as they tilted my chin and
sloughed away the majority of the suds. “Marnie … I think …
well, one of the things I think pushed her over the edge was
that he used Mandy. She gave plenty of reasons, but my gut
says that was the last straw. Marnie looked up to her, but
more than just a sisterly way. Mandy was who Marnie
wanted to be, the only person Marnie would listen to. After
reading all that, I get it. She was half done with her father
anyway, but this went too far. I’m gonna call her later on.
Maybe drive to Austin, if you want to come with me.”
I looked up at him, and he met my eyes, abandoning my
hair to cup my jaw. “You go. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Good,” he said softly, the smallest smile at the corner of
his lips. “Tell me you’ll always be here.”
“Where else would I go?” I teased.
A chuckle. “I dunno. But when you’re not with me, I have
this … this feeling like you’re gone. Gotta talk myself down
from it every time.”
“I’ll have to give you something then, something you can
carry around with you and hold when you feel that way.”
“I think I have an idea of what that could be.”
“Oh?”
He nodded, smiling as he lifted my chin to angle for my
lips.
“You gonna tell me what?”
He shook his head. “You’re gonna have to wait for it.”
I groaned and laughed until his lips were against mine.
He didn’t give me a chance to tell him I’d wait forever, if
that was what it took.
But I was awfully glad I didn’t have to.
32
 T H AT V I E W T H O U G H

DAISY
Two months later

T he shelter opening had been a smash.

Lindenbach had come together today to do what we
could to celebrate our new residents, and we’d turned it
into a festival of sorts. Three food trucks were set up,
offering free barbecue, street tacos, and cupcakes and coffee.
Donations had been collected and distributed, and plenty of
music and smiles and happy chatter, enough to fill my heart
to bursting.
The residents had moved in a couple days ago and were
getting settled in, facilitated by the lead social worker Poppy
had hired. Emotions were so high, so overwhelming,
producing many tears and many grateful hearts. The
community center had been full for every waking hour, the
washers and dryers always running, the showers always
occupied, and the couches stuffed with congregating
residents. The TV and the two computers we’d set up were
nearly always in use, and the sight was as fulfilling as it was
heartbreaking. To be afforded the small luxuries we so often
took for granted had already changed them. It had changed
all of us.
 The day was winding down, the food trucks packing up
and the crowd beginning to thin. Poppy called everyone
around to thank them and dismiss them to leave everyone in
peace, and Keaton had taken my hand and led me to his
truck to head back to the house.
It had been a wild few months for Lindenbach.
As we worked to finish our project, the town exploded in
tumult. At first, Mitchell tried to spin the situation around,
barking and squawking and denying any wrongdoing. But
the investigation turned up more and more dirt, including
incriminating evidence regarding the sheriff and many of
our town’s politicians and the hundreds of thousands
Mitchell had paid out over the years to ensure he’d get his
way.
In the end, they’d all either resigned or been booted.
Mitchell had sequestered himself in a ranch outside Dallas
and was awaiting trial, never risking showing his face in
town after a nasty run-in with some angry townsfolk.
Nobody was hurt, thank God. Couldn’t say as much for
Mitchell’s ego.
As such, the political future of our town was up in the air.
There would be a snap election for mayor, that much we
knew, but we needed to reassign our council and sheriff first.
Jensen was up for the job, and he looked like a shoe-in. A
number of people had thrown their hat in the ring for mayor,
including Poppy, and under duress. But despite her
insistence to the contrary, she was gobbling up every
minute. The woman was ready to fight, and I was putting my
money on her.
Keaton and I rumbled down the dirt road to the house, my
hand under his on the center console. A happy smile had
graced my lips every minute of every day, pretty sure even in
my sleep. We’d been staying in the cottage, though I wasn’t
sure for how long. His house just felt crowded these days,
and all we wanted was to be alone with each other, and as
such, the cottage made the most sense.
We did decide to buy and cook actual food. After the first
week, at least.
When Keaton turned unexpectedly up a trail in the woods,
I glanced at him, confused.
He kept his eyes ahead of him, but his lips were tilted up.
“What are you doing?” I asked, looking back out the
window. I knew where we were, though I had no clue why we
were there.
“You’ll see.”
Frowning, I kept looking out the windows, trying to guess
and coming up with nothing.
The sun was a finger’s width from the horizon, bathing
the meadow and hill we pulled into in golden remnants of
sunlight. He pulled to a stop at the top of the hill and opened
his door.
“C’mon,” he said with that smile on his face and the jerk
of his chin.
Confused but smiling, I followed.
We walked to the crest of the hill and looked out across
the rolling land. Below us was the valley I rode in so often,
the stream cutting through the land below—we stood in the
place I’d often stopped to admire. In the fading sunshine, it
was as beautiful as it ever was, and I sighed, despite having
no idea what we were doing.
He took my hand and pulled me to the west, talking as we
walked, the tall grass rasping against our legs.
“So I’ve been thinking a lot, wanted to get your opinion
on something.”
“Sure.”
“Well,” he stopped and motioned in front of him, “I
figure the kitchen could go here, the living room over
there”—My heart quit beating, springing back to life
straight into my throat—“but I was thinking, if we put our
bedroom above it instead of in the front where you wanted it,
we can see the sun set over the valley every night. The worst
part will probably be the driveway—we’re almost smack in
the middle of the property—but your mama said we could
cut through to the highway anywhere we wanted.”
He was still talking, but I heard nothing. No longer was I
looking where he pointed. I was staring at him with my
mouth hanging open like a trout.
“Keaton …”
He looked down at me with an expression too amused to
be legal. “Hmm?”
“Are you … are you seriously talking about building a
house?”
“Not just any house. Your house. The house you drew up
and gave me back when. Cade’s working on the plans but
they’re pretty close to—”
“Keaton,” I said on a laugh edged with hysteria. “You
can’t build me a house.”
“Can I build us a house?” The amusement on his face
shifted to earnest hope as he dropped to one knee.
It was impossible to breathe—my ribs were locked, my
heart still, my breath hanging somewhere in between.
With my hand in his, he looked up at me, his eyes deep
and shining. “Everything abandoned deserves a new story,
and you’re mine, Daisy Mae. I love you. More than anything
on God’s earth, I love you. Marry me. Let’s write the rest of
our story together.”
He let go of my hand to dig in his pocket for a ring box.
He opened it in display. Inside was a a glittering diamond,
exquisite and timeless, on a band of gold.
I stared at it, stunned, blinking to clear my eyes of tears
that rolled down my face. I couldn’t speak, the silence
stretching on in the absence of words.
 Uncertain, Keaton’s brows knocked together. “I … was the
house thing too much? I knew it was too—”
I flung myself at him, knocking both of us to the ground
as he caught me. Our lips crashed together with the rest of
us, and once the surprise ebbed, the kiss was a pliant
possession, a sweet forever, a hundred thousand million
yeses with a chorus of angels singing behind us.
He rolled, separating our lips. “Was that a yes?”
“That was an absolutely yes forever,” I said and kissed
him again, both arms around his neck like a monkey.
Laughing, he separated us again. “Can I at least put the
ring on you?”
My face shot open. “Oh my god, the ring. Did I knock it
out of your hand?”
“Oh my god, the ring.”
His smile faded, and hurriedly, we got onto our hands and
knees, patting around in the grass for the box which
thankfully still had the ring inside.
He took it out with hands that made it look so small, then
reached for my hand and slid it onto my ring finger.
“Now can I ravage you some more?”
With the happiest smile I’d ever seen in my life, he
answered, “Yes, please.”
And so I did, right about in the spot where the kitchen
table would one day be.

Thank you so much for reading On The Honey Side!

Make some biscuits and use them as a honey scoop.
You earned it.
Interested in finding out what happens when Poppy
Blum runs for mayor? Run For The Honey is coming
May 2022, so don’t forget to preorder here! And if you
didn’t catch Jo and Grant’s book, you can pick that up
here.
Want to read about Presley, Sebastian, and the
drama with Marnie and the mayor? Check out Friend
With Benedicts here!
I’d love to keep in touch, so come join us in my
Facebook group, Read Your Hart Out, and get exclusive
giveaways and sneak peeks of future books. And to be
sure you don’t miss any releases, you can get the
newsletter here.
Thank you for all your help in spreading the word
and telling a friend. I appreciate each and every one of
you, and I hope you’ll consider leaving a review on
your favorite book site.
 A L S O B Y S TA C I H A R T

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 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I was the kid who stayed inside to read.

As a four-eyed nerd with a bad perm, I was no one’s dodgeball pick, but I had
a lot of friends. Frodo and Bilbo, for instance. Kristy, Stacey, Claudia and the gang
(iykyk). Once, in the third grade, I wrote a teen murder mystery inspired by
Christopher Pike. On solving my mystery in twelve pages, I decided I was a
terrible writer and should never, ever do that again.
Fortunately, I didn’t take my own advice.
I write romance for that feeling you get at the end, like you’re standing on top
of a mountain with a backpack full of hundred dollar bills. I write romcoms
because is there anything better than banter and grand gestures? I write because
I love to create and I love words. I love books, and I love stretching my
imagination. I love love, and if you do too, bring your coffee and have a seat. I
think we’re gonna be friends.

www.stacihartnovels.com
staci@stacihartnovels.com