I’m having with Bobby’s family. Scratch that, it’s not a conversation I’m having with anyone, period. Privacy is a good thing, and as someone who picks and chooses what parts of my life I share, I recognize that more than most.
Shay realizes the direction of my thoughts and waves her hands spastically. ‘No, no, not like that. I mean ‘what about you?’ like ‘tell us about you.’ I wouldn’t go straight for sex life questions. I save that stuff for meeting five, at least. Unless you’re feeling like there’s something you want to share with the class?” She swirls her straw in her glass, one brow raised in question.
Every pair of eyes around the table weighs on me.
“No, uh . . . nope. I’m fine,” I stammer out.
“Don’t scare her,” Sophie whispers out of the side of her mouth to Shayanne. “We’re supposed to make her want to stay, not run for the hills from the crazy hillbillies.” To me, Sophie says, “I swear you get used to it. I’m a city girl too. Used to be all designer clothes, mani-pedis, and nightclubs every weekend. Now, ‘fancy’ means it hasn’t had cow shit or placenta on it, James painting my toes, and Hank’s.” She looks around the bar, sounding wistful. “Came here for a summer internship with Doc and never left. One day, when he retires—which he never will—I’ll take over the whole practice. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
“That’s mostly because of James, though,” Katelyn says.
“How’d you two meet? Not to gossip, but I heard he used to be a professional bull rider?” I ask. The grapevine works well around here, and I guess I don’t mind it so much when it’s not about me. At dinner, they’d obviously been deeply in love, with each other and their little girl, but I didn’t exactly get everyone’s life story.
Sophie’s smile is wide and her eyes grow bright at the memory. “I delivered a colt at the ranch. He yelled at me and called me a bitch, and I hated him on sight and put him in his place. So your basic love at first sight story.”
All the girls smile a little.
Katelyn holds a hand up. “Mark and I were friends. Poor guy didn’t even know the meaning of the word. Literally.”
Shayanne pipes up, grinning. “Threw myself at Luke.”
I have no problem believing that. Shay is a see it, want it, get it sort.
Allyson adds, “Bruce and I were high school sweethearts. We broke up for a long time, but we got back to where we were supposed to be all along.” That sounds like a story if I’ve ever heard one.
“Fuck buddies who caught feelings,” Rix says on a sigh.
Last but not least, I say, “Saw each other from across a crowded room.”
Rix doesn’t leave it at that, though. “But you made him work hard for it. Good job, Willow.” She holds up a hand, and I high-five her, feeling like part of the group.
Actually, I don’t know that I’ve ever felt accepted like this. A whole group of women who, from the outside looking in, don’t seem to have all that much in common. Loud and brash, soft-spoken and sweet, sharp and witty—all so many different facets, but somehow, they’ve blended together into a family. I’m barely on the edge of their group, but their warm welcome is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I was always the quiet, shy weirdo on the outskirts of what was going on, the one nobody noticed, the oddball. But these women don’t care that I’m weird, or quiet, or sometimes still a bit awkward.
Come to think of it, nobody in Great Falls has made me feel like an outsider. I’m sure some of that has to do with my relation to Unc, but even beyond that, they wave when I drive down Main Street, they greet me by name at the coffee shop, and they comment on the photos on my blog. I think the largest demographic of my new followers is the people of Great Falls. They’ve accepted me as one of their own.
My eyes burn hot with unshed tears, happy ones. But I blink them away and join back in on the conversation where the girls are talking about . . . stinky guys?
“I’m telling you, make a whole line marketed toward men. Make it smell like wood campfires, pine trees, leather, and diesel. Do one of your pun things with a goat logo saying, Don’t smell like goat ass. I’d