Page 32 of Just This Once

Before he turned, Wyatt paused. “You got him pretty good.”

My eyebrows raised.

“Rewiring the fuse box in Lee’s truck so the horn blared anytime the turn signal went off,” he continued with a laugh. “It was a damn good one.”

My lip twitched. I had laughed my ass off when Lee rolled through town and couldn’t figure out why his horn was honking in time with his blinker. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Wyatt raised the bags in silent salute. “Still. It was entertaining.”

The afternoon flew by. There had been no sign of Emily—a fact I found mildly annoying since I had been looking forward to ruffling her feathers a bit. It was probably for the best. I ignored my begrudging disappointment and did what I could to make the event as successful as possible. I was attempting to put my best foot forward, and Chief didn’t need to catch me mooning over his only daughter.

An endless stream of families picking up their platters and even donating extra funds for the foundation made Mother’s Day Off a resounding success. After the final orders were picked up, the rest of the barbecue was sold out in under an hour. Mama Faye had set some food aside just for the volunteers, and we greedily accepted.

My back was tight, but we hoped to make quick work of stripping the white plastic tablecloths from the long tables and cleaning up after the event. Rounding the corner, a hunched figure caught my eye. I instantly recognized the bunched shoulders and shuffling gait of Bootsy Sinclair.

Bootsy and his deceased twin, Bowlegs, were born and raised in Outtatowner. Though they often lived on the fringes of our town, they were still part of us. I glanced at my containers of food, and my stomach grumbled. With a sigh, I swiped the containers off the table and headed toward the back of the fire station.

“How you doing, Bootsy?”

He startled at my greeting. “Oh, hello. Hi.” He tipped his head. “Good to see you, Whip.”

His eyes snagged on the container in my hands, and I held it up. “There was an extra platter of food. It would be a shame to go to waste. You wouldn’t want it, would you?”

Bootsy was a proud man, and I assumed someone like him never wanted to be viewed as a charity case. Bootsy licked his lips and stepped forward. “If it’s just getting thrown away, I could take it.”

I handed him my platter and nodded.

When I went to turn, he called out to me. “There is one thing...”

I turned and waited, my stomach jumping.

“Your father kindly asked me to check in on you. He wanted progress on the historical society.”

My jaw flexed and I sighed. My father often used Bootsy’s circumstances against him, offering money, food, or housing in exchange for keeping an eye or ear on people in town. Apparently that also meant his own children.

“You can tell my father that if he has something he needs to ask me, he can do that himself.”

Bootsy shook his head. “Oh no, young man. Can’t do that. Mr. King is a good friend, and I made a promise to talk with you.”

Some friend—one who requires you to call himMr. King.

I gently placed my hand on Bootsy’s slight shoulder. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve just had a long day. You can tell him not to worry and that I’m taking care of it.”

He grinned up at me. “I did good then?”

My smile faltered, but I did my best. “Real good.”

With more pep in his step than before, Bootsy clutched my dinner and walked away. Exhaustion washed over me. Russell King had the special talent of draining my energy even when he wasn’t in the room.

My boots stomped across the grass but stopped short when Emily’s round ass came into view. Bent over, she was fighting with the folding legs of one of the tables. Denim stretched overher lush curves as she bent at the waist. My dick twitched, and I bit back a groan when she wiggled.

I hated the way her presence unearthed something carnal inside me. Everything about Emily Ward was wrong, but my body didn’t care. My traitorous mind had a field day with flashes of her face down, ass up in that exact position as I felt each row of my piercings slowly slip into her tight pussy.

I growled and suppressed the memory before stepping beside her. “You’re going to break it.”

Her face whipped to the side, sending her soft hair cascading over her face. She blew the strands with an annoyed breath. “I’m fine and don’t need your help.”

I crossed my arms. “I wasn’t offering it.”

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