engine rumbled behind us. Gibson looked toward the street and his mouth dropped open.
“Holy shit.”
A black Charger—nineteen sixty-eight, if I wasn’t mistaken—pulled up next to the park.
“Is that your baby?” I asked.
“Darlin’, it sure is.”
The smile on his face made me giddy. He grabbed my hand and led me toward the car.
An older man with a long gray beard stepped out. He had a barrel chest and mechanic’s hands, the kind that were perpetually stained with engine oil.
“Gibson,” he said and stuck his hand out.
“Otis.” Gibson took his hand and they exchanged a hearty shake. “I didn’t know you were bringing her back today.”
“Figured I’d surprise you. How does she look?”
I waited on the grass while Gibson inspected his car. He ran his hands along the fenders. Checked the doors, the little grin never leaving his face.
“She looks perfect. Better than new.” He shook hands with Otis again. “Thanks, man. You need a ride somewhere?”
“No, my wife’s a few minutes behind. She’ll be along to fetch me. We’ll settle up later. I can see you’re busy.” He nodded toward the park.
“Thanks. Feel free to stay for a drink,” Gibson said. “Best moonshine in West Virginia.”
Otis grinned beneath his long beard and patted his ample belly. “I just might do that.”
I slipped my arms around Gibson’s waist and looked up at him. “Happy to have your car back?”
“Yeah. But it’s still not as good as having you back. Not even close.”
“Still, I can’t wait to ride in it.”
“We’ll drive it home,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I knew Gibson was anxious to get behind the wheel of his Charger again, so we started the long process of saying our goodbyes. Scarlett had already set up Quincy and Henna with a cabin for the next few days. They were especially excited about the hot springs. I heard Henna say something about skinny dipping—she was firmly of the mind that clothing was always optional—and I made a mental note to let them in on the location of the secret hot springs. And the sign-up sheet. It was for everyone’s benefit.
Once we’d hugged everyone goodnight, we walked back to Gibson’s car. Cash wanted to sniff it out first, walking around with his tail wagging, sniffing everything. He peed on the tire, but Gibson just laughed. He let him in first so he could smell the inside. Then he swung open the heavy passenger’s side door and ushered me in.
The smooth leather seat was comfortable and the interior was beautiful. It looked like it had been fully restored. I buckled my seat belt and Cash sat on the back seat, like he already knew that was his spot.
Gibson slid in slowly, clearly enjoying himself. He shut the door and ran his hands along the steering wheel.
“Damn, it’s good to have her back.”
With a grin at me, he turned the ignition. The throaty engine roared to life. He closed his eyes for a second, nodding his head. ‘That’s the stuff.”
I rolled down the window and rested my arm on the door. “Okay, sexy. You wanna take your girl home?”
He smiled again—slow and sexy and heart-melting. “Yeah, honey. Let’s go home.”
Epilogue
GIBSON
The Lookout was packed to the gills, everyone rushing in from the snowy cold night. Winter had its grip on the mountains of West Virginia. Puddles collected on the floor from bits of snow falling off people’s boots. They hunkered down with whiskey and moonshine, letting the liquor burn off some of the cold.
My family was here, and none of them had a single clue about what was going down tonight. They took up tables—a lot of tables these days—laughing and talking together. Drinking and eating greasy fries. My brothers—all three of them—happy as could be with the women in their lives. My spitfire of a sister with her man. A good man.
Jenny and Jimmy Bob Prosser, who’d tied the knot just a few weeks ago. George and June, who, as far as I was concerned, had beaten out Scarlett and Devlin for unlikeliest couple in town. George and Shelby’s parents, who’d settled here in Bootleg. Harlan and Nadine Tucker, enjoying a shared jar of moonshine.
I stood by the stage—I’d made us a slightly bigger one a few months ago—and pulled out my guitar. Glanced over at the tables filled with people I cared about.
This was going to be a real good time.
Scarlett was chatting up Oliver, Callie’s boss from Attalon Records. He and his wife, Nat, had come out to Bootleg to visit. Almost gotten themselves stuck