Page 229 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
I’ll never admit it, but something about her snarkiness does things to my insides.
“Jed was a straight shooter, sworn to the law, keepin’ the peace ‘round these parts.” Bronx unwraps the chocolate bar, setting chunks carefully atop the crackers on his lap. “Etta was raised in the shadows, runnin’ moonshine and secrets under the town and through the hills.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Josie’s legs bounce under her blanket.
“Pass me the damn poker stick, would ya?” Bronx holds out his hands. “Instead of bitchin’.”
“Um. No.” Josie doesn’t move, so Celi hands him her poker.
“Thanks.” He looks at Josie. “Marshmallows?”
She huffs, pulling the bag from under her blanket and throwing it at Bronx.
He curses when the crackers and chocolate slide to the crack between his legs again, and the marshmallows bounce on his lap.
“You two need a blanket?” The blanket hits my face before Levi even finishes asking.
“They met one summer night, at the county fair.” Bronx skewers a couple of jumbo marshmallows.
Just the mention of a fair and the day rushes back. I’d relive this day over and over with her if I could. It was a welcome change not having walls built between us. Hell, it’s nice not having them right now. It’s been a long time since this part of me has felt at peace—the part of me I’ve guarded for so long.
I feel different now. Alive. Brave. Not fighting to survive, not slowly dying from the inside.
“Here.” I spread the plaid wool blanket over her lap.
“I don’t mind sharing.” She holds the edge out to me.
Our hands brush as I take it from her, and that moment lights everything inside me. It takes me more than a second to move away from her touch and adjust the blanket over my legs.
Our space shrinks together, and I love it. I want to wrap my arm around her shoulder and let her sink into my side like my brothers and their women.
But I don’t. We have time, and this is not the right place.
“Jed was all pride and duty. Etta was wild as a storm brewin’ on the prairie.” Bronx continues the story in an almost lulling tone, so unlike him.
It’s slow and controlled, like the way he turns the roasting stick, moving it ever so slightly, adjusting the distance from the fire to get an even roast. His eyes focus on the softening treat.
“But love’s a funny thing.” He reaches for his beer, takes a long drag, while steadying the marshmallows over the flames. “Love doesn’t care ‘bout what’s right or wrong.”
His words hit home. He isn’t wrong.
“She’d sneak out past midnight, bringin’ jars of firewater.”
I remember the midnight meets when Jade snuck out of her house, and I out of mine. I also remember how hard it had been to convince her. She’d been such a goody-two-shoes, and I’d loved that rule-following girl.
“And Jed.” Bronx inhales through his teeth.
The marshmallows catch fire. He slowly brings the end of the stick to his mouth and blows out the fire with ease. A smile tugs at his lips at the perfectly golden-brown exterior form.
I’m with Josie on this one. Can we have any other person tell story time?
“Jed didn’t say a word about her side business, ‘cause no matter how hard he tried, his heart was hers.” Bronx pulls the marshmallow off the roasting stick and traps it between two graham crackers.
My heart has always belonged to Jade. I’ve known it forever. That’s why I never dated. That’s why I made my heart a cold, emotionless vessel because I was willing to live alone rather than with a woman who would never have my whole heart.
“Now, folks around Rocky Ridge Creek didn’t take kindly to love like that. The lawman and outlaw kin.”
Alright, he’s a good storyteller. I’ll give it to him.
