Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

Brutal snorts. “I do it all by myself every year. This year, I just won’t have to give you busy work to keep you out of my way.”

Bobby punches Brutal’s shoulder, more of a love tap than anything. Brutal’s brows jump together, and he swats at the empty air around him. “Y’all gettin’ eat up by mosquitoes? I swear one just took a nibble out of my arm. Must be ’cuz I’m so sweet.”

Brody steps between them, sensing the tussle that’ll hide their emotions. “Stop the lovefest, you two. You’re giving me cavities with all the sugar.” In a fatherly move, he lays heavy hands on Bobby’s shoulders and meets his eyes. “You be careful out there. Don’t let them take advantage of you or change you. If I see one picture of you with sparkly shit on your ass, I will pull up to that concert venue and remind you of exactly who you are.”

“Won’t be necessary. I’m a Tannen. I’d rather die than have a rhinestone ass.”

They laugh, somehow bonding through the weirdness of the conversation and situation. Brody hugs Bobby too, and though it’s quiet, I hear Brody say, “Glad you’re getting outta here, man. You deserve it. You always did.”

When they break apart, I step forward. “Tannens, get together.”

They look at me, instantly standing side by side—three men, so alike but so different, all standing shoulder to shoulder, matching mean mugs on their faces, and Shayanne, looking like a dirty tomboy princess beside them with a big smile. Click.

“And Bennetts.” They step up, filling in around Bobby. Arms go around each other, making the group look like a big dog pile of rough cowboys and a mix of women. Click.

Mama Louise approaches me. “Get in there with them. Let me take one of the next generation.” Her blue eyes are bright with unshed tears, and I wonder what she thought her future would hold when she was younger and if it looked anything like this motley group.

I lift the camera strap over my head, handing the delicate machine to her. “Press the button halfway and it’ll focus, then the rest of the way and it’ll take the picture. Hold it down and it’ll take several shots in a row so we get everyone’s eyes open.”

She nods but whispers, “Take care of each other, okay? Let his strengths balance your weaknesses and yours his. Love him—not the noun, the verb—and he’ll love you too.”

I hug her, knowing that she loves each of us—her whole family.

I join Bobby, and he tucks me into his side, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Are we doing this?” he whispers.

I look up at him, sure. “Dream come true.”

Click.

Epilogue

Bobby

“Hey, Dallas. I’m Bobby Tannen,” I rumble into the microphone. The crowd instantly screams, chanting my name. It’s wildly, crazily insane, and I will never get used to it. I still think that I’m going to walk out every time and people are going to ask ‘who’s this guy?’ and boo me off the stage.

Tonight is my last show of the tour. My first tour.

It’s been all I dreamed of and then some. This is what I hoped it would be. Stephen Wheatley has done right by me at every turn—arranging sessions with Miller when I have songs ready, helping me pick a great group of musicians to back me up every night, and managing the tour so that I never have to worry about a thing.

I couldn’t have done any of this without him, or the guys playing with me, or most of all, Willow. She’s been by my side the whole way.

Even when the three months we planned turned into six.

We’d talked it out, called her Mom and Hank, talked to Brody and Brutal, and decided to do it. Hank had sworn up and down that he was fine, and he even hired another bartender, which made Willow jealous but also less guilty about being gone. Brody and Brutal promised that the farm was doing well. They had to hire on a helper full-time, and I’d bristled at being replaced too, but I’d understood. Brutal had bitched about having to teach the guy how to plant and harvest and said he didn’t know shit from manure, but I think that was mostly to make me feel better.

Still, even with everyone singing along with me, I’m ready to go home. Both Willow and I are.

The last note of the last song fades into the night. “Thank you everyone!”

It’s done. The tour is over, officially.

The guys invite me to party with them—nothing too hardcore, we keep it pretty chill—but I turn them down. I’m exhausted and need to fall into my girl and nothing else.

We did it. We actually fucking did it. Together.

On the tour bus, I jump in the shower to wash the sweat of the stage off. Willow curls up on the couch, sipping tea and flipping through pictures on her computer, waiting for me. It’s our nightly routine these days, but tomorrow will be a totally different thing. I can’t wait and have already made my requests for fried chicken, fried okra, green beans, macaroni and cheese, and honey biscuits with Mama Louise.