Page 14 of When You Got a Good Thing (Misfit Inn 1)

“You’re right. Xander, I’ll see you later. And thank your mama again for the enchiladas.”

He wrapped an arm around Pru and gave her another squeeze. “I know you’ve still got your hands full, so if you need anything, just ask.”

She smiled. “You’re the best.”

He made no move to touch Kennedy. As they made their way to the checkout, she told herself that was for the best. She didn’t need any reminders of what it felt like to be pressed up against him. There couldn’t be anything between them now, and she had plenty of mental fodder for torture without adding that to the mix. If she was truly moving home, she had to find a way to coexist with him in some kind of platonic-acquaintance way.

Still, as they loaded bags into the back of Pru’s car, Kennedy couldn’t stop herself from asking, “So you and Xander, huh?”

Pru stared at her with a blank expression. “Me and Xander what?”

Oh God, was she really going to make her spell it out?

“Together?” Pru laughed. “Oh, honey no. He’s like my brother.” She sobered, laying a hand on Kennedy’s arm. “And even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

The relief that flooded through her was appalling. In defense, she jerked her shoulders in a shrug. “It’s no big deal if you did. We were a long time ago. Just kids.” Kids who’d done naked things, but kids nonetheless.

Pru grabbed on to her other arm in a half embrace. “No. Never.”

Kennedy fought the urge to shrug off the touch and the expression of gentle understanding. “Just thought I should check so I didn’t stick my foot in it. Let’s go home.”

~*~

By day’s end, Xander’s patience was at an all-time low. He’d have given a great deal for one of those calls about loose livestock that would’ve taken him to the ass end of the county for hours at a time. But no. He’d been inside the Ridge proper and one call after another—from traffic stops to vandalism to welfare checks—every-damn-body in town was asking him about Kennedy. Which meant he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her for longer than five minutes since their encounter this morning. He just wanted a beer and an uncomplicated hour watching the latest basketball game in the March Madness tournament with his best friend. Logan Maxwell was a transplant to Eden’s Ridge, so he wouldn’t have the million questions all the locals did. Thank God.

With that in mind, Xander tugged open the door to Elvira’s Tavern and stepped inside. He scanned the space, already noting a few locals who liked to over-indulge on a regular basis and a couple on the far side he was expecting a domestic disturbance call on any day now. He nodded a greeting to the various patrons who waved. Logan had beat him here and currently occupied a stool at the bar. Across from him, her tray tucked under one arm, was Trish Morgan. She leaned conspiratorially toward Logan, her generous cleavage on display in the tight Elvira’s t-shirt. Please, dear God, let him not be in the mood tonight. Xander needed some guy time, not to play wingman.

“Everybody expected him to blow up, but he was nice as could be, right there in the grocery store.”

Xander stopped dead in his tracks and gave serious consideration to just turning right back around and heading home. But he was out of beer at home, and he hadn’t picked any up when he’d been at Garden of Eden this morning. Setting his teeth, he stepped up to the bar.

“Do people really think I’m enough of an asshole to tell her off when her mama just died?”

Trish straightened, plunking a hand down on one hip and giving the same toss of her hair she’d been giving since she was a cheerleader back in high school. “Of course not. Your mama would’ve tanned your hide. But it would’ve been understandable if you had...all things considered.”

Denver Hershal, lumbered over from the other end of the bar. “We’re short-handed and you got tables.” The beefy bartender crossed his tattooed arms and gave a pointed look across the restaurant.

With a sassy salute, Trish sashayed off to deal with them.

“Thanks,” Xander muttered.

“No problem. Usual?”

Given the pounding behind his eyes, Xander was pretty sure a Corona wasn’t going to cut it, but when you were one of only a few cops in town, you were never really off duty, so the one beer it was. He nodded and turned to Logan. “Get a table?”

“Sure. I could eat.”

Xander scooped up the longneck Denver set out for him, and they made their way to a table in the corner. It was in the shadows, with a decent enough view of one of the flat-screens playing the game.

As soon as they were settled, Trish was by the table. “Y’all eatin’?”

He and Logan exchanged a glance. “Loaded fries and an onion bomb.”

“Comin’ right up.”

She headed for the kitchen, and Xander settled back in his chair, lifting the beer to his lips and checking out the score.

“So you finally saw her.”

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