had to do with Callie or what happened to Mom?” Gibson asked, more wearily than angry.
Scarlett circled the table and put her arms around his neck. “It isn’t gonna do a damn thing other than remind us that we’re still here. We all survived.”
Gibson reached up and squeezed Scarlett’s hand tight, and I saw something that looked like grief flicker over his face.
“If you think you’re gonna talk me into taking Shelby to this party you’ve got another thing coming, sister dear,” I said, pointing my fork at Scarlett.
She snorted smugly, and I realized I’d just stupidly thrown down the gauntlet.
Q. How have your neighbors shown their support for you?
Gibson Bodine: By leaving me the hell alone. Not everyone needs a hand to hold or a shoulder to whine all over. Solitude is the best medicine.
8
Shelby
Moonshine Diner was my absolute favorite place in Bootleg proper. It served up good food, new rumors, and an opportunity to chat up half of the town on their way through the front door.
I waved at GT in the back booth. My brother, the football hero, was a head and shoulders taller than just about everyone else in here. He was also beaming like a man in love, I noted, sliding in across from him.
“Hey there, Shelby sweetheart,” Clarabell—the waitress, owner, and flesh and blood of the institution—called from behind the counter. “I’ll be right over with your ice water.”
“Thanks, Clarabell!” I turned my attention back to my brother. “Can you believe we have a place where the waitress knows our names and our drink orders?”
GT smirked. He’d spent the last several years living in Philadelphia, playing football and the field. At least until a career-ending injury brought him here. The healing powers of the hot springs and one June Tucker had lifted him from his forced retirement funk. “It’s a far cry from the big city,” he agreed.
He studied my face. “You look tired.”
I bit back a sigh. We weren’t biological brother and sister. I’d been adopted as a toddler by James and Darlene Thompson. Young GT and I had instantly bonded, or so the story the eight thousand pictures of our childhood told. Family didn’t require blood. We were living proof of that.
Even now, we were close despite the fact that we’d lived in different cities for the past several years. That distance hadn’t dulled my brother’s intuition when it came to me.
“I’m fine,” I assured him.
It was a fib. I’d been keeping a secret. GT had been a little distracted the past few months, what with his career ending, his assistant embezzling from him, and then falling in love with the quirky actuary, June. Now that he was happy and healthy, I should have known he’d zero right in on my problem.
“I just moved into the cutest little cottage,” I said, sidestepping his comment.
He held up a hand. “Shel, we live in Bootleg. I already got the low-down from Jimmy Bob Prosser and Sallie Mae Brickman yesterday. June filled me in on the rest and drew me a floorplan to scale. You and Jonah Bodine are roommates.”
I laughed. “Don’t even think about going big brother on me. I’m thirty freaking years old.”
“I didn’t say a word,” he said, feigning innocence. “But I have to wonder why you haven’t told the guy you’re not a journalist. Don’t you think he’d be a little nicer if he knew the truth?”
I rolled my eyes heavenward. The truth often had unintended consequences. I wasn’t a liar by any means. But sometimes it was better, or in this case, more fun to withhold information. “I’m just giving him line and letting him swim himself tired.”
“A fishing analogy already?” he teased. “We need to make a pact to urban heritage or we’ll be hoe-downing all over the place.”
Clarabell arrived with my water. She had two pencils stuck in her impressive coppery beehive. They were there as accessories since she never seemed to write down any orders.
“The usual, sweetie?” she asked me.
“Yes, please,” I said, sliding the menu toward her.
“And, George, your order will be right out. Threw me for a loop today changing it up like that.” She winked and disappeared back into the late breakfast crowd.
Watching my brother eat with his football player appetite was one of my favorite forms of entertainment. The man could easily eat half a turkey by himself on Thanksgiving. And since his career had ended, I’d noticed he’d put on a few comfortable pounds. It looked good on him.