Page 34 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

“Sounds ominous,” I remarked.

“Well…” Luke drew out the short word so it sounded like four syllables, clearly enjoying the drama. “The Harts raised sheep. They were sheep farmers, every last one of them. But you’ll notice that Hart’s Ridge doesn’t have a whole lot of sheep these days. What we have is cows.”

“Cows are not a Hart family business,” Eli explained. “Cows are a Locklear family business. As in, Kate’s dad.”

“Dammit, Eli. You stole the best part,” Luke complained. “Drink your beer and let me tell the story.”

Eli took a swig but didn’t let that keep him from talking. “You’ll have to excuse Luke. He loves gossip, even when that gossip is two hundred years old.”

“Anyway. As I was saying.” Luke shot Eli a dirty look. “As the Locklears prospered, the Harts faltered. Like a seesaw. The Harts had a rough couple of years. Disease decimated their herds. Fires burned their crops. And the Locklears took advantage of that, buying up their land for low prices. There have always been rumors that the Harts’ misfortunes were not accidents but were actually foul play at the hands of the Locklears. An accusation they adamantly deny, of course.”

“Of course,” I said diplomatically. Was it disloyal to Kate to admit it did sound a little suspicious? Or was it disloyal to my possible family to take her side?

Two hundred years ago, I reminded myself. Did anyone really still care?

“Which brings us to today,” Luke said, as though reading my mind. “Violet, Hannah, and Olivia are great-great…” He paused, considering. “Great-great-great-granddaughters of Hiram Hart. The last of his direct line. Nice girls. Friendly with Kate. But anyone who thinks the blood feud is bygones is forgetting that their granddaddy, Walter Hart, has it carved into his granite tombstone that his grave is the only Hart land a Locklear couldn’t steal.” Luke grinned. “I admire his commitment to holding a grudge, to be honest.”

“Two hundred years.” I shook my head. “That’s a long time to keep a feud going.” Good thing Kate isn’t that petty. Except I knew she was. My heart jumped into my throat as an even worse thought occurred to me. “Did a Hart ever marry a Locklear? In some kind of star-crossed-lovers thing?”

Eli hooted. “Hell, no. They might be on friendly terms, more or less, but that’s one line neither family would ever cross.”

Thank god. Because dating my own cousin was a line I wasn’t willing to cross.

“Well.” I stood. “This has been fun, but I need to get home.” Where I had plans to sit on a bag of frozen peas to ease the ache where I’d landed on my tailbone, thanks to Goat, but I kept that information to myself.

And maybe I might take a few minutes to do an internet search on the owners of Kiss Our Axes. Because once upon a time, my mother had shared their last name. I didn’t know what that meant, exactly. Right now, I had a lot more questions than answers.

“Have fun on your date,” Luke said sadly.

I gave him a questioning look.

“I knew George,” Luke said quietly. “He was a good guy. A few years older than me, but I used to see him skate the half-pipe at the park. He taught me a few tricks.”

I nodded.

There was nothing I could say to that. I sympathized. But Kate deserved to own her life fully, not be some living memorial to a dead man.

“Thanks for the beer,” I said. “And the advice.”

It was time to ice my ass.

Chapter 12

Kate

I didn’t know what I had expected for our date, but axe throwing wasn’t it.

Max hadn’t given me any information when he called to let me know when he would be picking me up for our date, other than to warn me against open-toed shoes. Which was unnecessary, because the only open-toed shoes I owned were flip-flops. Sexy shoes did not have a place in my life as a widowed single mother who was on my feet all day selling candy. While I loved wearing bright-colored dresses with cheeky prints, I mostly paired those with thick-soled white sneakers—which was exactly what I was wearing tonight.

The doorbell had rung at precisely six p.m. on the dot, making me wonder if Max had driven around the block to make sure he wasn’t early or late by even a minute. I had ordered pizza for Jessica while she made small talk with Max. It hadn’t been nearly as awkward as I had feared it would be.

“I’ll be home by eight thirty, but you know how to reach me if you need anything,” I had told Jessica before I left. “My phone is on, and the volume is up.”

Jessica had rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Mom. You two have fun.”

I had given her an impish grin. “I intend to.”

To which Jessica had made an exaggerated puking face, because the idea of two adults having fun the way teens did was, like, super cringe.

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