Highball Rush (Bootleg Springs #6) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,4

her head, like she was explaining something obvious to a child. “All I’m saying is this could lead to something. There are lots of people whose careers began with a YouTube video.”

“I have a career.”

“Stop bein’ so grumpy, Gibs,” Scarlett said, handing the phone back to Leah Mae. “You know, some people would do anything for a big break like this.”

I grunted again.

“He’s hopeless,” Scarlett said.

I liked to play, but I’d never pursued music as a career. Never would. It was what my dad had wanted for himself. What he’d blamed me for never having. An unplanned teenage pregnancy had robbed him and my mom of their dreams. That baby had been me, and my dad had never let me forget it.

Besides, some video on the internet didn’t mean shit.

I had to tolerate four extra people in my space for another twenty minutes, which irritated the shit out of me—especially after everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. I’d already had to attend my brother’s wedding. Although I was actually happy about that, and it hadn’t been a bad time.

Until fucking Misty Lynn had broken a window out of my truck and stolen my wallet. And some psycho had kidnapped Jonah’s girlfriend Shelby right in front of Sheriff Tucker’s house. We’d found her, and she was all right, but then I had to deal with that business with the sheriff.

I was done with people in general. Just wanted my house to myself.

After snapping at everyone a few times too many for their liking—and Scarlett calling me grumpy again—they left. With my uninvited guests cleared out, I went to my back porch. Took a seat in my homemade deck chair—I only had one, to discourage company—and breathed in the silence. Birds chirped in the distance, and the August heat felt good.

Movement caught my eye near the edge of the woods. Might have been an animal, but I didn’t see anything. I narrowed my eyes, watching with mild curiosity.

Henrietta Van Sickle poked her head out from around a tree. I lifted my hand in a wave. She crossed my land sometimes when she was heading into town for supplies. Once in a while I gave her a ride. Even less frequently, she wandered down here and joined me on the back porch for a spell. I liked Henrietta, in large part because she didn’t speak.

“Afternoon,” I said as she approached.

Her appearance put people off, and I wondered if she knew that, and did it on purpose. Her clothes were ragged, but she was always clean. Straggly hair hung from beneath her old Cock Spurs cap, and her shoes were looking worn. I made a mental note to pick her up some new ones and leave them where she’d find them.

She came onto the porch and sat cross-legged next to me. I didn’t get up and offer her my seat. Knew she wouldn’t take it. She never did.

We sat in silence for a good long while. Although I’d wanted to be alone, Henrietta sitting here on my porch didn’t grate on my nerves. We both just stared into the distance, enjoying the quiet.

“Surprised to see you,” I said finally. “After all the excitement, I figured you’d stick close to home for a while.”

Henrietta had probably saved Shelby’s life. The kidnapper had stuck her in the trunk of his car and drove her out to an old shack in the woods. Luckily, Henrietta had either seen or heard something, and followed them.

She’d called me—an actual phone call—and rasped out a few words. It was the only time I’d ever heard her speak. It had been enough for me to understand her meaning, and where to look for Shelby.

After we’d found Shelby and turned her over to the paramedics, I’d gone out and looked for Henrietta. She’d been watching not far from the road, keeping low behind some trees so she wouldn’t be seen. I’d made sure she was all right and offered to help her get home. She hadn’t taken me up on it, but that wasn’t unusual.

“Hungry?” I always offered her something to eat, but not because I thought she needed it. Her brand of subsistence living seemed to suit her, and she was good at it.

She shook her head, but kept looking at me, her brown eyes clear.

“Need help with something?”

She nodded and dug in her pants pocket, then pulled out her cell phone and handed it to me.

I’d gotten her a phone several years ago, mostly for emergencies. For

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