Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(105)

Fantasizing about a two-liter bottle, I limped down the stairs into a fantasy land.

“Am I hallucinating?” I whispered.

Every flat surface in the living room was covered with takeout containers and junk food.

Jonah sat on the couch eating a fried chicken leg. “Surprise!” he said with his mouth full.

“What is all this?” Onion rings and cheese sticks and an entire tray of dino nuggets crowded the coffee table. There was a six-pack of Mountain Dew in a bucket of ice on the floor. The table I used as a desk now held a greasy bag of fast food burgers. There was an entire apple pie and more fried chicken sitting on the TV stand.

“It’s a pig-in,” Jonah said cheerfully. He crossed to me and gave me a gentle kiss. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I don’t know what to dive into first,” I said, reverently.

He handed me a plate. “You once asked if I ever ate garbage.”

“I didn’t mean an entire convenience store and fast food restaurant,” I laughed.

“Every time I finish a big event that I trained hard for, I treat myself with a pig-in.”

“I didn’t think it was possible since you saved my life and all. But I think I love you even more right now than I did before I fell asleep,” I whispered, sniffing the fried chicken.

“Have at it, honey.”

He grabbed the pain meds while I loaded up a plate and fished out a can of soda from the bucket.

“I am so happy right now,” I said, biting the head off a stegosaurus nugget.

“There’s also some regular nuggets and a bunch of sauces in that bag,” Jonah said, pointing with an onion ring to another bag.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” I said, feeling way too emotional for this to be just about junk food.

“It’s all about balance,” he said, with his mouth full.

“You’re really sexy when you gorge yourself,” I told him.

He grinned at me, half of an onion ring hanging from his lips. I laughed.

“How are you really?” he pressed.

I grabbed a burger, unwrapped it, and took a bite. My eyes rolled heavenward. “I feel like so many weights have been lifted that I might float away,” I confessed.

“I talked to Cassidy,” Jonah said. “Christian was treated at the hospital and taken to a secure mental facility where he’ll be evaluated to see if he’s fit to stand trial.”

“He won’t be,” I guessed.

“He’s not getting out again, Shelby,” Jonah said. “Not even if he stays on his meds. His mother wants to talk to you when you’re up for it. She feels responsible.”

“She’s not,” I said, shoving a few French fries into my burger bun.

“She probably just needs to hear it.”

“What about Gibson? What was all that about this morning?”

“Cassidy was pretty cagey about that. But I managed to drag some info out of her playing the ‘my girlfriend was abducted from your wedding’ card.”

“Mean.”

“Yeah, well. You’re my girlfriend, and Gibs is my brother.”

“So what did Misty Lynn find in his wallet?”

“A picture of Gibs and Callie together.”

The burger stuck in my throat, and I coughed. I took a swig of soda. “Like from before she went missing?”

He nodded.

“What kind of a picture?”

“It was one of those photo booth deals. A strip of pictures. They were making faces.”

“I didn’t know he even knew Callie,” I said, going for another nugget.

“No one did. That’s the problem. He never said a word in all those years, so naturally the cops have some questions.”

“Where is Gibson now? Did they let him go?”

“He was released after a formal interview. Now he’s back to playing hermit. He won’t talk to anyone.”

“No charges, at least. That’s good.”

“For now. We’ll see what happens next. The judge is going to know that Gibs was interviewed. The why is gonna come out.”

“Maybe he’ll stay away? If he did turn Christian loose on me, wouldn’t he want to stay out of Bootleg for a while? Keep his hands clean?”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll steer clear,” Jonah said stonily.

“You Bodines and your Bootleg Justice,” I sighed.

“This will end with him in a cage,” he promised. “And it’s all going to be okay.”

“It will be,” I said, reaching for his hand and bringing his bruised knuckles to my lips. “What next?” I asked him.

“We wait for law enforcement to sort the shit out, I guess. Keep our mouths shut. You and I are gonna do some house hunting. You’ll do some job searching and schedule your dissertation defense and an appointment with your rheumatologist to head off the flare that’s probably headed in your direction. And after your brother proposes to June in a few months, I’m gonna start ring shopping for you. We Bodines take turns.”

I gaped at him. “First of all, I meant what are we eating next? Secondly, I forbid you from proposing for the first eighteen months of our relationship. We’re still in the honeymoon period. We need more time to make sure you don’t turn into a jerk.”