I glance at Libby dryly. “As you can see, he’s the smart one in the family.”
Blake snorts. “I just know this shit because knowing how weather affects dispersal patterns helps with knowing how weather affects brush fires, they—hey!”
He breaks off sharply, head swiveling around, and fixes a fierce glare on Clark and Andrea.
They’re still in the saddle, leaning closer, their lips almost touching, acting like we’re not even here.
But that holler from Andrea’s daddy bursts them apart real fast.
They break back so sharply their horses kick.
Clark lets out a startled sound. A blush lights up his face around all those punk piercings. Andrea gently pulls on the reins and pats her mare’s neck, her mouth thin and her face red.
Blake glowers. “You two wanna get down and tie your horses up instead of trying to suck face on my watch?”
“God,” Andrea mutters, rolling her eyes. “You’re so embarrassing.”
They oblige, though, swinging down from their saddles.
I glance at Libby, whose lips are twitching almost uncontrollably.
“You thinking about having kids? ’Cause this is what you’re in for.”
Andrea hisses at me. “Don’t embarrass me, Uncle Holt.”
Libby doesn’t say anything.
She’s just giving me a weird look, oddly wide-eyed and stricken.
What’d I say?
I don’t get the chance to ask. She just turns away, flicking her fingers and stepping off the saloon porch.
“Let’s take a look around and see if we can find anything new.” Then she points a stern finger at Andrea and Clark. “Saloon’s off-limits, guys. Stay where I can see you. If I catch you trying to go in there, I’ll get your daddy to ground you.”
“You’re just making me more curious,” Clark says. Little punk to the core with his blue-tipped hair and ripped-up black clothes. “And Blake—uh, Mr. Silverton’s not my dad. He can’t ground me.”
“Bullshit, boy. I’ve got your Uncle Rog’s number on speed dial,” Blake growls.
Clark blanches, then wrinkles his nose at Blake.
“You still suck,” he says.
“I could’ve said you can’t even come,” Blake mutters. “Shut up and try to have some fun.”
I smirk while the kids cluster together and wander off toward the old church, holding hands the whole time.
It’s almost a bonding activity, having a common enemy.
“I don’t really think that’s how it works,” I say mildly, and Blake groans, dragging a hand over his face.
“Maybe not, but they’re too distracted being mad to think about disobeying me, so that works for now.” He tosses his head. “Give me the grand tour, bro.”
“Sure thing.”
Libby’s walking ahead of us, not looking back, her shoulders tight as we wander through the town, looking into the various buildings: shanties, the bank, a boarding house, the old sheriff’s station.
I want to ask her what’s wrong, but not now.
She’s too proud.
If I ask her, she won’t tell me in front of Blake.
Guess I’m being kind of obvious, though.
While Blake walks next to me, he nudges me with his elbow.
“Well?” he asks, his voice low, but just to be safe I drop back a little. I know what he’s about to get into. “What’s going on with you and the firecracker?”
I stuff my hands in my pockets, shrugging. “What makes you think there’s anything going on at all?”
“Aw, don’t even fucking try it.” He smacks my arm. “Everybody’s seen you two around. At the barn dance, at the drive-in…”
Shit.
I don’t know why I’m defensive about this, but all my hackles go up.
Maybe I’m so used to everyone having a say about what I do, who I sleep with, that I want this to be private. Don’t want other nosy townsfolk prying.
My business is with Libby and nobody else.
“What about it?” I snarl. “We’re dating. That a problem?”
“Not for me.” Blake holds his hands up. “Hey, man. Cool it. I’m not judging. This just seems different than usual for you. I just wanna know if you’re happy.”
I eye him. “Shouldn’t you be asking if she’s happy? Since I’m such a loser gigolo who fucks everything that talks?”
“Think that’s between you and her.” My brother chuckles, watching me with eyes that seem to know me too well after being estranged until recently. “But is that what you’re doing here? Being a loser gigolo who fucks around with everyone? Who’s fucking around with her?”
“Enough.” It comes out of me in a seething growl, my voice pitching louder.
Libby turns her head as she stops on the porch of a little mini-barn up ahead that looks like it might’ve been a craftsman’s place, judging by the horseshoe hung over the door.
One blue eye flicks over us curiously. “Everything okay?”
“We’re fine,” I say, forcing my mouth into a smile and lifting a hand. “Just arguing like we always do. You wanna check that out while we look in over here at the…” My eyes land on the nearest building, the wooden shanty with a faded red cross painted over the door. “Hospital, I guess. Or what passes for the nearest thing.”