Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(52)

“Excuse me,” I called after her. “Henrietta?” The woman continued to walk toward the road.

The door opened and closed again behind me.

“Henrietta,” June called. “Come meet my pet pig.”

The woman paused and turned slowly.

“Come on,” June said, nudging me and Katherine forward.

Henrietta ignored us and crouched down to the pig’s level. She held out a wrinkled, ringless hand. Katherine’s black nose snuffled the woman’s skin.

“She’s nice,” June told Henrietta. The woman nodded slowly.

“Are you going into town?” June asked.

She nodded again, tentatively petting the pig.

“Did you remember your cell phone?”

Henrietta shook her head.

I blinked in surprise.

“She only texts,” June said in an aside to me. “Would you like me to call Gibson and see if he can give you a ride?” she offered.

Henrietta hesitated and then nodded.

“I’ll do that,” June said, pulling out her phone. “This is my friend, Shelby. She is pursuing her PhD in social work. She would like to tell you about her project.” For the first time, Henrietta looked up.

She had brown eyes ringed in wrinkles as if she’d spent much of her life smiling.

June stepped away, and I heard her dial the phone.

“Hi,” I said, suddenly self-conscious under Henrietta’s quiet stare. “I’m, uh, Shelby. Like June said. I’m studying small-town community and the hierarchy of neighbors for my dissertation. I have a survey for Bootleggers. I don’t know if you have a computer…”

She continued to stare blankly at me.

“Um, if you do,” I fished a card out of my back pocket. “This is the URL, I mean the web address for it. I’d love your input. You don’t have to do anything but type,” I promised.

Reluctantly it seemed, she took the card.

“It would really help me out,” I told her.

There was no response. Just those wary brown eyes.

“Is Gibson your friend?” I asked.

Her unpainted lips curved slightly, and she nodded again.

“I like him, too,” I confessed. “He’s nice. His brother Jonah is my roommate. And I really like him.”

Henrietta paused and then, to my delight, flexed her arms, pointing to her biceps.

I laughed. “Yes. That’s Jonah.”

She nodded more warmly now. Inspired and curious, I pressed on. “Do you know the Kendalls?” I asked quietly.

The ghost of a smile flickered away as quickly as it had come. She shook her head vehemently. No. No. No.

“Gibson will be here in two minutes,” June said, returning to us. “He was out at the lumber mill.”

Henrietta, studiously avoiding me now, crouched down again and began to pet Katherine in slow, soothing strokes.





28





Jonah





Crickets and tree frogs provided the backdrop to my evening as I pulled up the spreadsheet I was working on and adjusted the number of reps. Once a week I went through all my personal training clients, checking their routines, their results. Reassessed goals. Adapted as necessary.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Victories and failures. Constant adjustments to keep everyone moving in the direction of their goals.

Night had fallen and with it came a crisp breeze cool enough that we’d opened the front and back cottage doors for the air flow.

Usually I worked at the dining room table. However, tonight, I was sprawled on the living room floor with a puppy sound asleep between my legs. Billy Ray had exhausted himself chasing butterflies around the bush in the backyard that afternoon. His chin rested on my shin bone as if he couldn’t bear to be separated from me.

Shelby was in her corner of the living room squinting at her laptop. Headphones at full volume, glasses perched on her nose. Constantly shuffling papers, tapping pens, jiggling feet. I could tell she liked the work, was energized by it.

I liked watching her work. Hell, I liked watching her. There was something about her that drew me in and held me there.

It was a cozy scene. A quiet Thursday night with a dog and satisfying work. I had to admit it was nice having someone to share it with. Nicer still to know that my mom was here in Bootleg Springs, that she’d be here for my birthday Saturday. A quiet cookout here at the house. That was the plan. I’d never been big on parties. Not with a single mom trying hard enough as it was to fill both roles. Even as a kid, I recognized that making sure Mom knew she was enough for me was important. It was easier on us both to keep the celebrations simple.

Turkey burgers, grilled veggies, cold beers on the porch while the sun set. It sounded just about perfect.

For once, everyone that I cared about happened to be in the same spot. I liked that feeling.

Shelby sighed again, and I wondered if her arthritis was flaring up.

I fired off an email to Doris with some cardio and flexibility outlines for the upcoming week. And then started on my newest client. One Shelby Thompson. My gaze flicked back to her.

Her shoulders were tight, hunched. Long hours spent sitting usually led to poor posture. A problem common to most. Unfortunately for my pretty roommate, a hallmark of ankylosing spondylitis was the fusing of vertebrae, which could lead to spinal deformity.