Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

“Thank you for the picture of Katelyn,” he grits out, sounding like it pains him to have proper manners.

“Of course! Happy to do it.”

“Just to be clear, no one ever sees that picture. Burn the negative.” The order is clipped, allowing for no argument.

Except . . .

“Uhm, that’s not really a thing. It’s a digital file,” I explain.

“Then burn the computer. The whole fucking thing.” He seems to think that’s completely reasonable, and I can’t help but giggle at his all-consuming love of Katelyn, though I keep it inside, which makes my shoulders bounce. The girls were right. You get used to them, and it’s cute after a while.

“How about this? I’ll delete it, and the print you have will be the only one in existence.”

He thinks it over, then grunts, appeased. Grabbing a stack of glasses, he helps me deliver the beer to their table.

Katelyn stands up, Mark sits down in the seat she just vacated, and then he pulls her into his lap. See? Cute.

This time, they’re not the only ones being extra touchy-feely, though. We’ve gotten so busy, and there are so many of them, that the girls are all perched on their guys’ laps as everyone talks.

I set the drinks down, pop another kiss to Bobby’s cheek, and get back to work before I put Olivia in the weeds.

Impossibly, we get even busier. I’m prepping Girly Beers, Unc is pulling drafts, and Olivia is running them around as fast as her legs will carry her.

But I pause for a preferred customer. “What can I getcha, Sophie?”

“Four Girly Beers and a water with lime.”

“Mama Louise keeping it light tonight?” I ask, assuming the drink distribution.

Sophie blinks, staring at me and not saying anything for a long second. “Uh . . . No, we told her she had to try the Girly Beer.”

“Okay.” I don’t get the importance until the weight of her silence makes me pause. “You drinking water?”

She still doesn’t answer, but her smile is answer enough.

“Congratulations,” I whisper.

“Shh,” she orders, and I lock my lips, promising her that I won’t say a word.

She holds the handles of the beer mugs, dancing her way across the floor to take them back to their table. Curiously, I wonder which one of them will come up next to tell me something private. Perks of being a bartender . . . I know what’s on everyone’s mind and heart.

Like now.

Everyone is ready for Bobby, though it doesn’t take a brain trust to figure that out because the crowd has moved from doing walk-bys to chanting his name and telling him, “Come on, man. Get up there.”

Before the crowd gets too carried away, Bobby takes the stage. The hoots and hollers get louder and louder, and his smile gets wider and brighter.

Instead of his usual introduction, he goes off-script. “Thanks everyone. I know you thought I might have something to tell you tonight.” The crowd quiets, hungry for news. “Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me. Assholes out in Nashville—”

“Language!” Mama Louise shouts, and everyone laughs.

Bobby looks to the ceiling as though praying for patience. “Sorry, Mama Louise. I meant, the people in Nashville weren’t what I thought they’d be, and most importantly, Willow’s here. And wherever she goes, I go.” His shrug is easy, as if that’s the most obvious thing in the whole wide world. His eyes lift from the crowd to meet mine across the room. “Love you, sweetheart!”

“Love you, too!” I yell loudly.

“Aww,” several female voices sound out.

It’s a sweet moment until a deeper, masculine voice shouts, “Fuck those city boys! Stay here with us, Bobby!”

Hats wave around, hands lift beers in the air, and a general sense of laughter washes over the crowd, though I see a few raised brows. I’m betting those are the tourists from the resort.

Amazingly, not too long ago, I was a tourist, a short-timer planning to stay for a few months. Now, I’m one of the locals. This town is my home. That man on stage is my home. He said he’ll go wherever I go, but the opposite is true too. I’d follow him to the ends of the Earth and enjoy every step of the journey at his side.

He sings all my favorites, both his own and covers. His gravelly voice hits me soul-deep, and I fall a little more in love each time I hear him. I dance my way around behind the bar, singing along quietly with him as I fill orders.

“This is a new one I wrote recently. One of those Nashville people told me that a broken heart can be the best inspiration. I hate to admit this—you have no idea how much I hate to, though some of you might’ve seen the fallout of that—but he might’ve been right. Though it’s a theory I’m not willing to test again.” I can see the pain he went through written in the lines of his frown. “Anyway, may you never feel this way.”