Dobie held up his hands. “All in the past. We’re responsible adults nowadays. Well, semi-responsible.”
“Growing up here must have been fun.” She didn’t quite conceal the wistful note in her voice.
“It was pretty cool, I guess,” Dobie said. “Boring sometimes. Especially as kids, there was nothing to do but sneak into R-rated movies at the lame-ass Bluelick Bijou or go swimming at the Browning pond.”
“That sounds awesome. You want boring, try sitting in the back of your parents’ van, passing the miles between yesterday’s gig in Houston and tomorrow’s show in Memphis with nothing but a guitar for entertainment.” In truth, her parents had always done their best to take the drudgery out of the travel. They’d made up silly songs together and taught her about the history of the places they’d visited. She’d happily accepted their vagabond lifestyle until puberty. In her case, teen rebellion had taken the form of demands for conformity.
“I would have traded a limb to move here and spend my Friday nights at the Bijou or the Browning pond.” And like a typical teenager, she hadn’t been shy about letting her sentiments show. She’d sulked in the backseat and longed for a normal life with normal parents who worked normal jobs. She’d fantasized about living in a real house, doing regular stuff families on TV did, and having a tight group of friends to hang with. Funny how those so-called normal things still eluded her, and yet now she’d give anything—including Gibson—for the chance to take another road trip with her parents.
Dobie sat up straighter. “Let us show you around. Kenny and I will acquaint you with all the shit you missed out on.”
“You’d play tour guide for me?” They were sweet to offer, and honestly, the idea held appeal. The only real look around town she’d gotten so far had been from a police car. Speaking of which, she didn’t need to land in one again. Now was not the time to release her mostly untapped inner delinquent. “Nothing illegal, right?
“Scouts honor.” Dobie held up his fingers in a peace sign.
“You guys were Boy Scouts?”
“Um, no. But that doesn’t mean you can’t trust us. What time do you get off?”
“Three.” She looked down at her white blouse and black skirt. “But I’ll need to go home and change.”
“No problem. Pick you up here at four. It’s going to be ninety in the shade this afternoon. What’s say we head to the Browning pond?”
“Sounds great as long as I’m home by seven.” Addy had invited her to a place called Rawley’s for an informal meeting with Roger Reynolds, the lawyer who had handled her grandmother’s estate.
“We’ll have you home in plenty of time.”
“All right. Jeez, I hope I still have a swimsuit somewhere in my things.”
“Skinny-dipping’s kind of a tradition ‘round here.” Dobie gave her puppy-dog eyes. Kenny added an eager nod.
Roxy laughed. “You guys feel free to uphold tradition. I’m wearing something.”
Chapter Six
“Jesus. What the hell is she wearing?”
West blurted the question to himself as he stomped on the brake of his Silverado and pulled to the side of Haymaker Road. On the dirt shoulder across the street, Roxy, Kenny, and Dobie gathered around the open hood of Dobie’s piece of shit Honda. West craned his neck and blinked. If his eyes could be trusted, she wore the red cowboy boots she used for cigarette storage, a barely there bikini bottom emblazoned with the stars and stripes—guaranteed to inspire patriotic impulses in any straight man with a pulse—and a white T-shirt knotted at the waist. The black ink of some sort of tattoo peeked out from old glory. Wings, or maybe flames?
He should have stuck to the main road, but no, he’d opted for the scenic route home from a day of sweat and sawdust. Entertaining as it had been to trade insults and bullshit with Tyler, Shaun, and some other locals at the build, his mind had constantly strayed to Roxy.
Three heads swung his way when he whipped a U-turn and pulled in behind the Honda. Kenny and Dobie recognized his truck and saluted.
Roxy’s expression remained a good deal more cautious, and she kept her eyes hidden behind mirrored aviators that transitioned from blue at the center to deep purple around the edges. He lowered his window. Dobie ambled up with Kenny on his six. Roxy hung back.
“Dude, you’re so on it, saving us two days in a row!”
His eyes were half-mast, his smile crooked. Four-twenty had come and gone with the proper acknowledgment in Dobie’s world. West briefly considered calling one of the officers on duty to come out, search Kenny’s car, and try to hit the fool with a Class B misdemeanor, but decided it would be pointless. Kenny and Dobie didn’t have the money or ambition for trafficking. They fell into the personal use category, and at least one of them had obviously taken care of whatever stash they’d set aside for this afternoon’s adventures.
“What are you doing out here?”
“We were showing Roxy around the Browning place,” Kenny piped up. He looked marginally less wasted than Dobie but had a longneck dangling from the hand he used to gesture in the direction of the former horse farm.
“That’s private property, not a community swimming hole.”
“No doubt.” Kenny raised a hand, palm forward in a placating gesture. “We just walked the perimeter.”
Yeah, right. “How’d your clothes get wet?”
“Sweat, man,” Dobie interjected. “It’s muggy as hell out here.”
“Anyway,” Kenny continued, “when we came back to the car, the bitch wouldn’t start.”
West closed his eyes and counted to ten. “I hope you weren’t planning to drive.”
“I’m fine, dude. No problem.”
He pointed to the beer. “Open container, dude. That’s a problem.”
“I was going to drive.” Roxy’s silk-lined voice slid into the conversation.
“Your driver’s license is expired.”
She had the good grace to blush. “Oh. Right. I forgot.”
“But nobody
