Page 53 of The Lonely Road

I roll my eyes. “Mr. Brooks.”

I put my hand in his.

We walk through the gate toward the yard where the barbecue is already in full roar, and somewhere between the truck and the gate it stopped being notable—his hand in mine, mine in his, the two of us moving in the same direction like people who have quietly decided that’s just what they do now. Nobody announced it. We didn’t discuss it. We’re just together.

The yard opens up ahead of us and Mason slows slightly, taking it in.

Mav’s spring barbecue at full capacity is its own kind of spectacle. Long tables draped in checked cloth stretch the length of the yard—fifty matching chairs, because Joy cares about these things. Professional chefs work the grill alongside Mav, who is overseeing a new dry rub he’s been treating like a state secret. No one’s revolted yet, which for this crowd counts as a strong endorsement. The band is set up near the barn—fiddle, guitar, a stand-up bass that looks like it’s survived decades of exactly this. Children run in the uncoordinated way of kids newly released from winter, not quite believing the outside is theirs again. Dogs underfoot. The mountains above everything, the high peaks still holding snow while the valley below has given up and gone green.

“This is massive,” Mason says.

It is. Kincaid Farms, I’ve always felt, is how you understand why people fight to stay on their land. The main house sits on a rise above the valley floor, wide porch facing west, the mountains framed behind it as if placed there on purpose. The pastures are greening. The horses in the nearby paddock look like they’ve also remembered that winter was not permanent.

“You should see the Fourth of July.” As soon as the words are out, I wish I could swallow them back. He won’t be here then. I don’t even know how long he’ll be here.

Joy materializes from nowhere and grabs my arm. I let go of Mason’s hand.

“You brought him,” she gushes, with barely controlled delight.

“I did.”

She looks at Mason with the bright, assessing gaze she turns on everything she finds interesting. “He’s very good-looking.”

“Joy!”

Mason grins. “Thank you.”

“I’m just observing.” She links her arm through mine and steers us toward the food table.

“You’re subtle as a chainsaw, Joy Kincaid,” I mutter.

“You know it,” she says cheerfully.

Joy Kincaid at a party is Joy Kincaid in her fullest expression—warm and loud and moving through a crowd the way sunlight moves through a room, finding every corner. She introduces Mason to six people in four minutes, because Joy knows how to network. He is gracious through all of it, asks the right questions, remembers the answers, and by the time Joy drags us to the food table he has exchanged ten minutes of genuine conversation with Amos Langley about land surveying rates in the valley and somehow emerged with Amos’s business card and a standing invitation to the Blazing Saddles for a game of poker.

“Where’s the Blazing Saddles?” Mason asks, leaning in. “I haven’t seen it around town.”

I chuckle. “It’s a strip club at the edge of town.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And Amos plays poker there?”

It’s incongruous—Amos, who looks exactly like the accountant he is, playing poker while strippers dance around a pole.

“It’s what passes for underbelly in Wildflower Canyon. Will you go?”

Mason makes a production of shrugging and thinking about it. “I mean, I have to. But only to play poker. I’ll keep my eyes closed the whole time.”

I burst out laughing, which attracts attention.

Kaz comes by, and I leave Mason with him—he’s someone Mason seems to gravitate toward, subtle but consistent. Kaz is an enigma around these parts, and the feeling appears to be mutual.

“He’s good with people,” Joy murmurs close to my ear as we fill plates.

“He is,” I agree. Then, because I don’t want my friend to go off the deep end, I add, “He’s only here for a short while, Joy. It’s temporary.”

Joy looks at me. Then at Mason, who is now talking to Duke and a very enthusiastic Feig.

“Taya.” She turns fully toward me, dropping her voice. “Do you like him?”