so badly if Willow had freaked the fuck out. But looking at her now, wind blowing her short hair around, eyes bright behind her glasses, and a sunny smile on her face, she seems perfectly at ease. Thank fuck.
Knowing what I have to do to get the keys, I grab Shayanne around her middle, picking her up so her booted feet kick the air. Spinning her around, I tell her loudly enough for Brutal and Willow to hear, because public humiliation is key to this apology. “Thank you for inviting Willow out to the farm. I appreciate it. Now, can I have the keys . . . please?”
Sitting her back down, she laughs, her mouth open wide and grinning. “See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” I hold my hand out, and she drops the key into my hand. “We’d best get to the house, no dilly-dallying. Mama and me made pot roast.”
I groan. Pot roast is delicious, Shay and Mama Louise’s even more so, but when they cook roast, it means they planned the day with ideas in mind, like ambushing me with Willow and spending the day fucking off with the goats. Shayanne is such a schemer. God, I love that girl.
At the house, we wash up on the back porch and I can feel the tension in Willow now. I throw my chin at Brutal and Shayanne, telling them to go in without us. With my hands on Willow’s shoulders, I turn her to face me, quietly asking, “Hey, you okay?”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, just a little nervous to meet the infamous Mama Louise. Unc talks about her too, you know? Basically makes her sound like a fictional warrior woman, battling for her family and the power of love. He talks about her pies too, says they’re better than Ilene’s but that I’d best take that to the grave if I know what’s good for my stomach.”
I laugh a little. Hank’s not that far off. “Actually, that’s pretty true. She’s a force, but in a good way. I think you’ll have that in common.”
It’s on the tip of her tongue to refute my assessment, but her mouth closes slowly and I can see the compliment sink into her in stages—ears, mind, heart, body. “Flattery will get you everything, Bobby. But I’m guessing you already know that,” she replies, lighter than she was a moment ago.
“Not flattery if it’s true,” I reply. Brushing her sweep of bangs to the side, I meet her eyes. “You ready for this? You already met most of the gang, and they like you more than they like me at this point. Just the kids and Mama Louise left, and I have no doubt they’ll feel the same way.”
She pushes at my chest, smirking. “Pretty sure the whole town is in love with you, so quit fishing for adoration.”
She thinks she’s telling the truth, that the whole town loves me, but she couldn’t be more wrong. They love the image they’ve created of me, some sappy singing cowboy who loves the limelight, when the truth is much darker and my singing onstage is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
“Don’t need the town’s love, just yours,” I tell her, touching toward what I really want.
Her smile is the real deal this time, and feeling like she’s as ready as she’s gonna be, I take her hand and lead her inside.
“’Bout time,” Mark grumbles, spooning more than his fair share of potatoes onto his plate.
All conversation stops and all movement freezes as eyes cut to me and Willow, who’s got a death grip on my hand.
Breaking the solid block of ice in the room, I say, “Everybody remember Willow?”
There’s a round of ‘hey, Willow’ and ‘welcome’ as the girls all high-five. I hear Sophie tell Shayanne, “Hell yeah, girl. Good job.” Guess that’s about Shay getting Willow here when I hadn’t so much as asked her to come out, too fearful that she’d balk.
I lead Willow to the end of the table across from Mark. “Mama Louise, this is Willow Parker. Willow, this is Mama Louise.”
Willow shakes Mama Louise’s hand, “Nice to meet you, Louise.”
Mama Louise shakes her head, gray-streaked blonde hair and blue eyes dancing. “None of that. I go by Mama or Mama Louise. Even your Uncle Hank calls me that, and he’s a good ten years older than me, not that we’re discussing age, mind you.”
Willow catches the important thing. “Nice to meet you