Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(25)

“I want you out of my life,” Shelby said. She gave me a solid push, both hands to my chest, and I went from standing on the deck to falling backward. I waved my arms like a bird trying to take flight, but the blue bathwater of the lake enveloped me.

I stayed under long enough to let the scene play out a bit on the surface.

When I surfaced, it was to pandemonium.

Sheriff Tucker was slapping handcuffs on Shelby while Cassidy looked on horrified. “Dad, what are you doing?”

“That was assault, clear as day,” Sheriff Tucker insisted. “And according to Ordinance 417.2, journalists that assault any resident are required to leave town immediately.”

“How dare you!” Shelby said, making a good show of trying to kick him.

“Oh my god. Don’t assault an officer!” Cassidy went low and tried to hold Shelby’s legs.

June stood in front of George, looking vaguely concerned and trying to keep him from jumping in the water and drowning me. Gibson was helping June.

“Let’s all calm down here,” Jameson said, standing on a beer cooler.

Scarlett had her hands to her face. “This is all my fault!”

“You’re damn right this is your fault,” Shelby howled as Sheriff Tucker tried to perp-walk her to his waiting boat.

Scarlett jumped in front of them, waving her arms like an inflatable car lot balloon. “Wait! Shelby’s not a journalist! It was a misunderstanding! We were just teasin’ Jonah, and maybe I was playing a little matchmaker, too. And it got out of hand. You can’t throw Shelby out of town and, Jonah, don’t you even think about moving away!”

I swam toward the nearest deck and let Nash Larabee and Opal Bodine pull me out of the water. George picked June up and physically moved her out of his way and then barreled in my direction. The deck swayed as the ex-pro football player charged.

Gibson slid between me and George’s helmet-sized fists at the last moment.

“No one treats my sister badly,” George insisted.

“Yeah, and no one pounds my brother into oblivion,” Gibson said quietly.

Shelby quit screaming and started laughing. I sloshed over to her and threw an arm around her shoulder.

“Think that about does it?” Sheriff Tucker asked, his mustache twitching.

“I’m happy,” I said. “Shelby? How do you feel?”

“I feel real good, sheriff.”

“What in the good goddamn is happening?” Scarlett asked from the prison of Devlin’s arms.

“It appears we’ve been had,” Bowie said.

Cassidy let go of Shelby’s legs. “You two planned this?”

Shelby nodded, still grinning. I gave her a soggy, one-armed hug.

“Of all the low-down, sneaky, underhanded…” Scarlett escaped Devlin’s grip and advanced on us. Devlin made a slashing motion across his throat, clearly not wanting any credit for being in the know. “Brilliant schemes! You really are one of us!”

Scarlett gave me a tight hug, not caring that I was wetter than the lake.

“I’m so proud right now,” she sniffled in my ear.

“I learned from the master,” I said, tweaking her nose.

“Sneaky son of a bitch,” Gibson said, no longer busy holding back George.

“I can’t believe this place rubbed off on you so fast,” George was saying to Shelby as the sheriff unlocked the handcuffs.

“I can’t believe you were in on this,” Cassidy said, shaking her head at her father.

“Can’t let you kids have all the fun.”

“Say what you will, Gibs, but you put yourself between Jonah and one pissed off football player,” Jameson pointed out.

“You looooooove him,” Scarlett crooned.

Gibson looked as though he was going to toss Scarlett in the water. And then he did just that.

Her shriek was cut off as the water closed over her head.

“Damn it.” Devlin sighed. He gave Gibs a shove from behind and sent him into the lake after Scarlett.

Shelby let out a snort-laugh that set everyone else off.

Gibson and Scarlett surfaced, spitting water and splashing each other.

“Can we all just agree to stop messing with each other and enjoy the rest of the day?” I suggested.

“I’ll drink to that,” Shelby said cheerfully, pulling a Mountain Dew out of her backpack.





*



We soaked up the sun and swam and ate. Late morning gave way to lazy afternoon. Folks coming and going. Because I said things like “folks” now.

I kicked back in a lawn chair, my feet up on the railing of Sonny Fullson’s deck. Shelby plopped a chair down next to me.

“You did good,” she said, grinning up at me.

I felt good.

“Thanks for talking me down before,” I told her.

“My pleasure.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a bottle of sunscreen. “Here, you’re looking a little pink.”

“What else do you have in there?” I asked, squirting the SPF 50 into my palm.

“Well, picky eaters can’t go to a floating deck party and expect to have their special dietary needs met,” she said, warming to the topic.

“Of course not.”

“I’ve got two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on white bread. Two bags of sour cream and onion potato chips. Another Mountain Dew.” She dug deeper, rummaging. “Oh, and some bug spray, spare sunglasses, and another shirt in case this one gets wet or stained.”