Page 27 of Something Like Sunflowers

“Dustin, do you happen to have Miss Clara’s number?”

His eyes go wide like he’s seen a ghost.

Oh, no. My heart stills. She isn’t…

My brother scrubs his hand over his face and furrows his brow. It tells me the answer before he even voices it.

“Clara died five years ago, Dev. She was surrounded by her whole family, but you know, she was eighty-two.”

“Eighty-two? There’s no way.” I shake my head in disbelief. Tears are starting to pool in the corners of my eyes, but I hate crying in front of people. I won’t do it. I push them back until they sting, but I don’t let them fall.

“Yes, Dev. You’ve been gone ten years, you know?”

And that stings worse than the tears. It stabs me raw right in my gut, because while I’ve been off getting manicures and attending social events in the city, trying to make a name for myself that would shine so bright I’d forget how much I hate being me, trying to destroy Devyn Lynn so I didn’t even recognize her, Shana was hurting, Hunter was changing, people were dying, and I’ve not even been aware.

“What about the pageant?” I suddenly blurt through my anger and sadness. “Who runs it now?”

I know from the look he gives me that I’m not going to like his answer, and when he confirms my suspicions and says, “There is no program anymore,” that sadness and anger and excitement and confusion that have been swirling inside of me since Hunter Isaac spilled my stupid macchiato on that street corner come crashing together in the cataclysmic explosion I’d warned myself about.

Then it hits me.

Good luck with the pageant. I look forward to seeing how you pull it off.

Hunter Isaac isn’t playing by the rules. He’s playing dirty.

What he doesn’t realize, though, is that two can play at that game. And if he wants dirty, he hasn’t seen a thing yet.

This cowgirl’s about to get filthy.

Enemize.

Chapter 14

Devyn

Why didn’t you tell me they transformed Cowboy’s Paradise into a badass nightclub, Shay?” Shana’s curly brown hair bounces in waves down her back as I follow her to the dimly lit booth on the dining side of the new…rave hall, it seems.

Cowboy’s Paradise used to be a hole in the wall bar that only locals knew about. The seats were that sticky kind of plastic that you try not to think too hard about if you’re gonna eat without barfing.

This? This is not Cowboy’s Paradise.

But it is.

There’s the cowboy boot the original staff hand-signed when the bar opened years ago, under a glass display by an axe throwing station that used to be the rusted gumball machines that routinely stole your quarters. This is more what paradise should look like than the alternative I keep recalling. Looking around for merely a few minutes already tells me a ton of money went into the renovations here. There’s an entirely new sound system, new flooring, paint, beautiful glass panel roofing over the center of the building lined in petite fairy lights just above the dance floor, and the most spectacular difference I spot is the life.

There are locals, yes, but also professors and students from the college an hour north of us, and other random faces I can only imagine must be tourists.

Tourism was shot when we were growing up. The railroad line that used to go through Pine Forest was out of commission for decades, and there wasn’t much to bring folks out to our little town aside from those who traveled in the rodeo or racing circles.

This place must bring in bank for our town.

“Wow, Shana. This is insane!”

We’re seated and given actual menus. They used to be crumbled and grease-stained card stock. “Who funded all of this? What happened here?”

Shana’s cheeks redden. Her complexion is a lot like Bella’s from Classy Country, aside from the red hair, that is. Shana’s is a deep, silky brown, but she’s just as pale as Bella, and all her emotions tend to show when she blushes.

“All right, what aren’t you telling me?” I level, but we’re interrupted by—

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