Fools (Licking Thicket 3)

“Just not Rafe,” I said, standing back up to leave. The day was getting away from me, and I still had more work to do on the farm.

Ava tilted her head at me and smirked. “Why not?”

“He’s too slick,” I muttered. “Always doing good deeds for people and stuff. I don’t buy it.”

The women exchanged another knowing look before shooting me innocent faces with little spinny halos above their heads. “If you say so,” Mama said.

I studied them for a minute before nodding. “Good.”

The sound of their laughter as I made my way out of the back gate followed me all the way to my truck. Lord only knew what was going to happen, but at least I could keep my promise to Tucker.

I wasn’t going to set him up on any more dates.

My mama was.

5

Tucker

4-Across: Useful for screwing or nailing (4 letters)

I turned down the gravel lane to Dunn’s farm like I’d done a billion times over the years, and I swore to myself that this time—this time—when I talked to him, it was going to be different.

I wasn’t gonna let him do that thing he did with the charm and… and… and the wounded doe eyes, and the disarming smile that said, “I know you from the inside out, Tucker Wright, and I like you lots.” This time, I wasn’t going to let him talk his way out of accepting total responsibility for his actions.

This time I was going to be immune to his wiles.

And this time, for maybe the first time, I was going to make him listen to me… because this time he’d gone too far, and I was one hundred percent pissed off.

I hadn’t seen Dunn in the six and a half days (not that I was counting) since I’d laid down the law outside the Tavern and told him I needed a break. He hadn’t even texted in the two days since I’d re-laid down the law and told him to leave me be.

But, Dunn being Dunn, that hadn’t stopped him from finding a way to be allll the way up in my business. Oh, no. Instead, the man had infected half the town with Find Tucker A Date disease—a plague twice as contagious as chicken pox and three times as annoying—and suddenly gay men were popping up all over the place like a bad rash.

First there’d been Carole Phipps, who’d ended up in my office yesterday with her five-year-old, Little Timmy—not to be confused with his daddy, Big Timmy, our town plumber—because Little Timmy had somehow managed to bruise his, er… littler Timmy while climbing a tree. As if that weren’t traumatizing enough, at least for Timmy and me, as soon as I’d given him some ice and pain relievers and Mrs. Phipps had distracted him with her phone, she’d turned to me with a gleam in her eye.

“Doc Wright, while I’m here… What would you say you look for in a partner?”

Naively enough, I’d thought this was some kind of cry for help. “Well, I’d want him to be patient and kind. Never rough or abusive. You know, if you ever feel—”

“Right, sure. But what about, like, eye color?” She’d gotten her phone out like she was making a note and looked at me expectantly. “And would you say you’re more of a lake man or a mountain man?”

“What? Uh… lake,” I’d replied absently, thinking of Dunn’s cabin on Bull Lake. “Carole—”

“And for eye color, I’ll just say lake green?”

I thought of Dunn’s eyes and nodded. Then I shook my head. “Wait, what’s going on here?”

“Not a thing, Doc! I’ll just ask Jenn to book us a follow-up for next week.” She’d winked, stood, and carried poor Timmy—and his ice pack—to the car.

Then this morning, after listening to Vienna complain for a literal hour about how Jenn had de-alphabetized my patient files and instead put them in order of who drove the best cars in the Thicket because “That’s just how they organize themselves in my brain, Vienna! God, open your mind,” I’d walked down the street for a coffee, only to be accosted by Amos Nutter on the sidewalk.

If you’ve never been accosted by an octogenarian, you cannot understand how horrifying this was.

He’d seen me coming and raised his cane in salute, and I guess I must’ve telegraphed my intent to avoid a conversation, because he’d immediately clutched his side and cried, “Oh, no! Catch me, Emmaline! There goes ma’ hip!” I’d detoured back to offer assistance, of course, and that’s when the man had slow-motion bodychecked me, right up against the Wisteria Cafe’s window.

“Doc Wright,” he’d yelled in my ear. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Are you okay?”

“Who, me? Just fine. Fit as a fiddle.” He’d leaned his body weight more heavily against me and spoken even louder. “But while I have you, have I ever mentioned my nephew Elmer? He’s a mechanic over in Dooberville. From what I heard, the boy knows his way around some hot fluids, and he’ll take real good care of your crank shaft.”