Page 62 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
As I’m filling the kettle, a shriek of a ringtone I would never use on my cell phone makes me jump and slosh the water over the kettle.
Josie!She’s constantly changing my ringtone.
The piercing ring in my back pocket continues.
I feel the eyes of the staff heavy on my back, so I tell Siri to answer it.
“If this ain’t a fire, I’m hanging up.” I set the kettle on the stove and flip on the burner.
“Oh, honey, we heard there was a fire.” The old timber of Wilma’s stern voice drills straight behind my eyes, right where that headache has been threatening all morning.
“A romantic fire,” Faye’s squeal pierces deeper.
Oh, Lord, there are two of them. And I’m highly aware there’s also a room full of staff within hearing distance.
Why didn’t I ignore the call?
Or check the caller ID?
Both at this point.
Why didn’t I do both?
I know why. I’m in the middle of a commercial kitchen, and I’m unable to touch my phone while preparing food.
“That’s how the brawl started last night in front of Bucky’s. From a burning flame of love.” Faye drops her tone to a rich seduction.
Lord, make it stop.
“I’m at the Lodge.” The words come out quickly and ting with panic. “And you’re on speaker, ladies.”
I pull a couple of lemons from the fruit bowl and grab a small paring knife.
“Heard all about the throwdown.” Faye’s voice floats, light like it’s spun from clouds. “The dusty cowboy showdown of the decade.”
I groan.
Did I expect them to catch my meaning? To respect my location? I’m one word away from hanging up.
I set a cutting board on the counter and slice through the first lemon. The bright citrus scent fills my nostrils.
“Don’t you be groanin’,” Wilma snips. “We all know why Hart and his brothers went full Wild West on Main Street. Beer bottles smashed, garbage cans were knocked over, tires screechin’, and a Harley ended up in the town flowerbed.”
“Because they’re idiots.” I drop the thin slices into a tall glass jug and add a generous handful of ice before heading to the filtered water from the fridge.
“Idiot in love.” Faye made the word singular to pinpoint one specific brother.
“Let me stop you right there.” I see the staff’s heads tilting, the curiosity, waiting for the juice gossip. “Those men take any opportunity to fight.”
“Now don’t go pretendin’ you don’t know.” Wilma’s gravelly voice is sharper when it’s coming through the phone. “You know that boy doesn’t throw hands and catch charges for justanyone.”
Please don’t say it.
Not my name.
Not his name.
Not together in a sentence that could be misconstrued. Rumors can last for years in this town. Trust me, I’ve started enough to know.
