Page 23 of The Lonely Road

“I’m Jay Buck. I own this place.”

“Mason Brooks.”

They shake hands.

“You’re working with Brian.” It’s not a question. Jay knew who Mason was before he introduced himself.

A shadow of amusement flickers across his mouth. Again, it doesn’t commit. “Yes, sir.”

Jay nods. He scans a couple of items from my basket and then stops.

“You eaten at the Horseshoe yet, Mason?”

“A few times,” Mason replies.

“Eunice treating you all right?”

“She’s informed me of several things I didn’t ask about.”

A surprised chuckle slips out of Jay. “That’s Eunice.” He starts ringing up my stuff, now, with alacrity. “Last week, she wouldn’t give me salt for my soup. Said I ate too much of it, and it wasn’t good for my blood pressure, like I’m eighty or something.”

“Did she check your blood pressure herself?” Mason asks in good humor.

“She tried. Woman has one of those new-fangled machines with her.” Jay shakes his head. “I told her I’ll take my chances with the salt.”

Through the window, a fresh burst of noise erupts from The Lick—the school kids, someone shrieking with laughter, the door swinging open, and three of them spilling out onto the sidewalk before someone pulls them back in.

Jay watches them with the dry affection of a man who has been watching generations of Wildflower Canyon folk grow up through this window.

I hand over my card.

“You going to Mav’s thing next Friday?” Jay asks me.

Mav loves a good party, and he’s throwing an end-of-season barbecue up at Kincaid Farms. Every so often, I’ve been told, he does a whole spread.

“Yes.”

“I hear he’s going to try a new barbecue rub, too, this time.”

“I heard the same thing.”

“Elena is not happy about that.”

“I heard that, too.”

“You’re welcome as well,” Jay tells Mason and then grins at me, “if someone invites you, that is.”

It’s the least subtle thing I’ve heard in this town in six months, and that’s saying something.

I know Mason isn’t looking at me, and I’m not looking at him—and the space between those two deliberate absences is deafening.

“Ah…you’re most welcome to…ah…come along…be there.”

Good God!

I glare at Jay, who doesn’t care that I do. But I know Mav—for a party like this, he’ll say the more the merrier.

“Thanks. May I get back to you on it?” His words are even, but his eyes are bright with laughter.