Page 33 of Bourbon and Secrets

Lark and Lily don’t need to be told twice as they rush past Griz.

Hadley barks out a laugh before she asks, “Both?”

“What? It’s hypothetical. I’m not getting them a dog or a cow.”

Laney and Hadley share a look, a quiet exchange where I’m clearly the topic of their raised eyebrows and whatever other facial expression I might have missed.

“Lark has slept with a stuffed highland cow since she was a toddler. I’m not surprised she’d want a real-life Dottie.”

Hadley says, “Oh my gosh, I remember when Liv bought her that stuffed cow.”

I remember too.“She still sleeps with Dottie. But don’t tell her I told you that.” If my girls want to think about animals and all the ways a dog or cow could make them feel like our family wasn’t broken, then I’ll indulge them. The truth is, I couldn’t bear to see them lose an animal, which is why I haven’t given in yet. Dogs have maybe ten to fifteen years, if we’re lucky, and then a cow, who the fuck knows. Watching them mourn Olivia was, and still is, enough sadness to witness for a lifetime. I wouldn’t give them something else to love and lose. “We’re good. Just the three of us.”

Chapter 12

Faye

Penny draftsand country music are what brings most people from around the county to Bottom of the Barrel, but it’s the way I know these southern boys could move a person around the barrel wood dance floor that had me anxious to come here on a Saturday night.

The weatherman’s promise of a good dusting of snow throughout the entire county didn’t keep anyone from driving here tonight. The place is packed and overflowed all the way into the church’s lot across the street. I stomp off my boots when I hit the landing and smile at the bouncer. Even though he’s easily ten years younger than me, I flash him my ID, then head straight for the bar.

It only took me a few minutes to shower and find something to wear. My clothes were thrown around my makeshift bedroom, but I had organized it into a system of sorts. Tonight called for a flirty skirt with some movement and my favorite pair of purple suede cowgirl boots. Any combination of those two things is likea uniform when coming to a place like this. And I wanted to fit in.

I haven’t seen Maggie since I left Foxx Distillery, which is fine by me. I’m not interested in running into her again today. We both said enough to each other. As far as I’m concerned, she didn’t deserve any sort of asshole beating her up, but if she wants to keep playing whatever games she has been and dancing in the same circles that had gotten her into trouble, I’m sure as hell not going to stop her.

I lean up against the oak bar and smile at the bartender. Her pretty tattoos cover both arms and wrap around her neck in a way that screams confidence. I love women who have no problem showing off the parts they’re proud of—clean skin or decorated in ink. Anybody who works in a bar or club would tell you that the more skin on display, the better the tips, and people who balk at that clearly haven’t done that kind of work before.

“Hey there, what’re you having?” she asks me.

“Just water for now.”

She nods and pulls a glass, filling it with water and propping a lemon on the rim.

My phone buzzes.Anothertext from Blackstone.

BLACKSTONE

To my disappointment, Rosie Gold isn’t at Midnight Proof tonight. I thought you liked me, but I’m not feeling very special lately.

I send him a picture of the outfit I’m wearing. Maybe that’ll hold him off. But a few seconds later, he responds.

BLACKSTONE

Pretty. But I’m getting tired of just pictures, Rosie...

Dammit. Dirty pictures and suggestive text messages are only going to satisfy someone for so long, and now he’s getting impatient. Blackstone might have every aspect of the creep-factor, but I need to deliver more.

“You’re going to be a cheap date, I see,” Cortez says as he slides in beside me.

“This is business, Cortez. You know that.” I give him a flirtatious smile, thinking about how at one time I wouldn’t have minded if he’d called this a date.

He leans in, looking at the text exchange. “Looks like someone is getting demanding.”

“I can handle keeping him occupied if you tell me what the end game looks like.”

Cortez just looks at me for a minute, without giving me an answer. “Alright. Let’s talk, then.” He nods toward the crowd. “Come on, I’ve got a high-top closer to the dance floor.”

The bartender cracks a fresh Corona for him in exchange for his empty bottle before he lifts my drink as well and carries it to the massive dance floor that’s flowing with people all lined up and moving in time with some combination of a two-step shuffle.

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