Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(18)

“Oh, that Jedidiah was a handsome one,” Mrs. Varney said, fanning herself with her paper plate.

“You aren’t that old, Ethel,” Carolina Rae pointed out.

“Old enough to remember him tearin’ through town in his hot rod the day before he up and keeled over from a heart attack.”

“May he rest in peace,” the women chorused.

They launched into Volume One of Jedidiah Bodine’s colorful history, and I scribbled furiously trying to keep up with their back and forth. I was so engrossed in the story that I didn’t hear Jonah until his foot hit the first porch step.

“Ladies,” he said. He didn’t sound happy.

He was sweaty from his personal training session. I liked the idea that he worked out with his clients, suffered with them, not just told them what to do. I had to force my gaze away from that sweaty patch over his chest.

“Why, Jonah Bodine. You’re looking handsomer every time I lay eyes on you,” Mrs. Varney said flirtatiously.

“Thank you, Mrs. Varney,” he said. He was probably used to the embarrassing attention by now.

“We were just telling Shelby here all about your great-granddad Jedidiah,” Myrt cut in. “I bet you’d like to know a thing or two about him, seein’s how you grew up fatherless thanks to that no-good Jonah Bodine Sr., may he rest in peace.”

“May he rest in peace,” the ladies echoed.

“It’s so nice to see you ladies,” Jonah said, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were warding off a headache. “Shelby, can I have a word with you inside?”

“Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to go pour Jonah a nice glass of sweet tea,” I said, climbing gingerly to my feet.

He grabbed my wrist with his sweaty hand and dragged me into the house. He opened his mouth to start in on me then and there, but I shushed him and pointed to the screen door where four ladies had their ears wide open.

“I don’t like sweet tea,” he snapped when I pushed him into the kitchen.

“Preaching to the choir on that one,” I said, filling a glass from the tap. “Why not just eat seventeen packets of sugar instead?”

I handed him the glass. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before chugging it.

“Thank you for the water,” he said. “But I don’t like you bringing my clients to my house to grill them about my family. I’m trying to make this ridiculous living situation work, but you’re making it impossible, Shelby.”

I got goosebumps when he said my name.

He sounded a little close to the breaking point. “I asked them about the history of the town. Apparently, you Bodines are a big part of that story,” I explained.

He set the empty glass down with a hard click. “Stop asking questions about my family.”

I’d had just about enough of the Jonah Hates Shelby show. “Oh for Pete’s sake—”

“June said that you cornered some senior citizen at Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee and demanded they tell you everything there was to know about Callie Kendall. Then I heard through Jameson that you threatened the mayor with a Freedom of Information Act request to get your hands on the police records. And then your own brother starts telling me today in the middle of his workout how you’re thinking about producing a documentary.”

His voice wasn’t calm or annoyed right now. He was bright, blazing mad.

“And no one but me seems to give a damn!”

I laughed out a sigh. “Jonah, they’re teasing you.”

He was too mad for my words of wisdom to sink in.

“I don’t know what your game is or why my sister thought it was a good idea to have us live together, but if you’re stupid enough to think you can take advantage of me—”

“I’m not a reporter, you mule-headed moron!” I shouted. It took a lot to get me going. Calling me stupid was one of those triggers, and Jonah had just pulled it. Unfortunately for him, there was no safety.

“The entire town knows that I’m not a reporter. Yes—” I held up a hand when he tried to speak. “I write freelance articles for scientific publications and research pieces for academic journals. I could care less what happened to Callie Kendall or whether or not your father had anything to do with it. I’m here to write my dissertation for my Ph-freaking-D and find out how an entire town banded together to evict a bunch of journalists who were making their lives miserable.”

He blinked, then frowned.

“They’re all just messing with you because you’re showing signs of that world-famous Bodine stubbornness. Do I look like I would hold a senior citizen hostage with a knitting needle? Do I act like I’m writing a crime-of-the-century article on your damn father?” I gave a bitter laugh and didn’t even care that all four of my guests were pressed up against the screen door catching every word.

“Here’s a news bulletin for you, Jonah Bodine: I’m not interested in you. Or your family. I’m here for this town. And if you don’t believe me, well, then you can just go bless your own little heart!”

“Close enough,” Myrt called approvingly through the screen.

The ladies on the porch erupted into applause.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back to my friends who have been kind and welcoming unlike some other people in this house,” I shouted.