Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

“Best barbecue in town,” I say, pointing at a half-fallen down shack on the side of the road. “Doctor’s office, dentist, hair salon,” I add, pointing at each in the strip center of offices.

“Just one of each in the whole town?” Willow asks, craning her neck to look back.

“Pretty much. I mean, we have more doctors, I guess, at the hospital. Or Doc Jones for animals. There’s a barber shop for the guys too, and a few ladies who make house calls for hair, but they’re more the ‘set and curl’ type.” Willow smooths the short hair at the nape of her neck. “And there’s stuff like that at the resort. It’s probably different from what you’re used to, but we’ve got everything we need out here.”

She has the good grace to cringe. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to seem critical. It’s just different. But I think I like it. It’s simple and easy. The whole town feels like that. Like a warm hug from a friend you never knew you needed.”

“Pretty imagery. Mind if I write that down?” I ask. When she smiles, I pull my phone out and hit Record on my voice notes, which is my version of ‘writing it.’ I hold it out to Willow and she leans in to repeat herself.

“Like a warm hug from a friend you never knew you needed.” She laughs a little at the awkwardness of talking into my phone, and I make sure to get that too. I toss the phone into the console and we roar to the outskirts of town.

“You’d be able to get some great shots downtown during the day of the hustle and bustle of folks visiting and shopping on the square. There’s a park on the east side where ducks and geese congregate. But if you want animal shots, I’ve got a whole zoo’s worth at home you’re welcome to photograph. Horses, cows, pigs, goats, dogs, a barn cat, and a bunch of asshole guys who’d probably smile pretty for you. Well, except for Mark. He don’t smile much.”

“That’s the oldest Bennett brother, right? The one in charge of everything and married to Katelyn?” she says. We’ve talked through a lot of this already, but I like that she remembers the details.

I nod. “Yeah. If you wanted some nature shots, we’ve got fields and trees and crops that’d be pretty too.” I’m trying to give her as many things as I can, hoping she’ll want to photograph them all and that it’ll take a long, long time to do so. Time she can spend at my side and I can spend soaking her in.

“We’ll see. I usually take pictures of whatever I’m doing that day, nothing special, nothing particularly planned out, but I like to take the opportunity to explore and see what I can experience and share.”

I can feel her eyes on me, tracing over my profile as I keep my eyes on the road. “You can take a picture of me if you want to.” I’m half-joking and half-serious, but I’m still surprised when she dives for the floorboard and comes back up with her good camera. Richard was right, it’s nearly as big as she is, especially with the lens that she’s got on it. She does a quick change, carefully setting the lens back into the bag and coming out with another, smaller one, which she attaches easily.

“Tell me about you,” she orders gently, already snapping away.

I chuckle, self-conscious. “I don’t know what to say. I’m just me—a farmer, a singer. Not much to tell.”

Click. Click.

“That’s a bold-faced lie, and you know it, Bobby. Don’t go getting shy on me. I like when people talk as I’m taking pictures because then I catch every expression. Tell me . . . about when you were a kid. What was little Bobby’s big dream?”

She never goes for the obvious question, that’s for sure.

“That’s easy. To be a famous country musician one day. I thought I was going to get out of this small town, never have to shovel shit a day of my life, and would fill stadiums with people chanting my name.” I smile at the ease with which that dream comes roaring back to life. “Younger me thought this town was basically a prison. I guess all small-town kids think that to some degree, drawn to the excitement of the flashing lights of the big city. Probably the same way city kids think life out in the country is slow and easy.” I throw her a knowing sideways glance.

Click.

“And now?” she says.

I can’t see her face, not really. She’s hidden behind the camera, and I’m trying hard to keep my eyes on the road so I can get us safely to Lookout Point. But there’s a deeper meaning to what should be a light question. Surprisingly, with my attention half on driving and half on her, the words spill out.