When You're Back - Abbi Glines Page 0,10

smile plastered on his face.

“I can park my own truck,” I informed him.

He looked confused. “Uh, well, it’s out there . . . but it’s a walk.” He pointed out toward the left of the house, where several cars were already parked.

“Thanks,” I replied, then glanced back at Reese and Aida. “Y’all can go ahead and get out here so you don’t have to walk.”

Reese reached up and took my arm. “I’ll stay with you. I don’t mind walking.”

Aida rolled her eyes and reached for her door. “I’m getting out.”

The valet hurried to open her door the rest of the way and helped her out. As soon as he closed it, I drove down to the parking area. I never liked leaving my keys with some stranger. A man could park his own damn wheels.

Reese

The backyard where the barbecue was being held looked like something out of a magazine. Lanterns hung from massive oak trees, casting their light as nightfall approached, and twinkly white lights were strung from tree to tree, making a whimsical canopy over the tables and white upholstered chairs, which didn’t look like they belonged outside.

A band was on the stage playing everything from popular country music to classical. There was even a dance floor, with the same canopy of lights as the eating area.

But what stood out the most was the way the women were dressed. Aida had been right—a blue-jeans skirt didn’t fit in here. Not even men were wearing blue jeans. I should have questioned the fact that Mase had on a pair of straight-legged khakis with his boots instead of his usual jeans. The button-down baby-blue Oxford shirt was dressier than anything he ever wore. Why hadn’t I insisted that he let me go back and change?

His hand rested on my lower back as he directed me toward the crowd. People stood around in groups, champagne glasses in their hands, as they talked among themselves. Diamonds glittered on the women’s hands, wrists, ears, and necks. Had Mase never been to one of these “barbecues” before? I figured he’d come to many of them. Why had he said Aida was over-dressed?

“Mase Colt,” a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair at his temples called out in a deep voice as we stepped into the light. “It’s good to see you. I wasn’t here for the last exchange. Hawkins said everything went smoothly, as always.”

“Yes, sir. Dad was pleased¸” Mase replied.

This was the second time he’d been referred to as Colt, not Colt Manning, tonight. I’d never heard him drop his last name before.

The man’s attention moved to me, and for a moment, I wanted to run and hide under a table. “And I see you’ve brought a beautiful woman.”

Mase’s hand remained on my back. “Yes, sir. This is Reese Ellis. Reese, this is Arthur Stout, a business partner of ours and the host of this ‘modest’ barbecue.”

Arthur chuckled. “That’s actually my wife’s fault. She can’t do anything small. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Reese. About time Mase had a woman on his arm. Every good man needs a good woman at his side. Been trying to tell Hawkins that for years, but he doesn’t listen.”

“When he meets her, you won’t have to tell him anything. It’ll just happen,” Mase said, making my heart thud and my chest feel warm.

Arthur Stout grinned and nodded his head. “Reckon that’s so. God knows that’s how it was with his momma. God rest her soul, she took a part of me when she left this world.”

“Arthur, honey, you must meet Chantel. She’s from the club. I was just telling you about our lovely tea the other day,” said a woman who looked only a few years older than me. The diamond on her hand caught the light and twinkled.

“Coming, darling,” he replied. “I must go. You two enjoy yourselves.”

I watched him go, then looked up at Mase, a little confused.

“Piper is his second wife. His first wife passed away ten years ago from cancer. He married Piper four years ago,” Mase said, understanding my confusion.

“But she looks so young,” I whispered, watching the woman cling to the arm of a man who had to be in his sixties.

“She was twenty-two when he married her. His son, Hawkins, is a year older than her.”

Ew.

Mase looked at my face and chuckled. “Come on. Let’s get a drink. Stout started his own brewery about seven years ago. He has some ciders you might like; I know you’re not a fan of