Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(7)

4





Jonah





“What do you think? Is it big enough?” Bowie asked.

I peered over his shoulder. Bowie and I were the same age, half-brothers who shared a father who’d disappointed us in different ways. I’d have expected him to have the biggest problem with me when I’d showed up in Bootleg Springs last year.

But it had been Gibson, the oldest of all of us, who’d had the hardest time warming up to me. At least Gibson didn’t seem to warm up to anybody, so I couldn’t take it too personally.

His usual cheerless mood had taken a nose-dive in recent days. He hadn’t wanted to come on this outing and was scowling over Bowie’s other shoulder.

“Can you go bigger?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his forehead like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“Size definitely matters,” Jameson agreed, leaning his elbow on the glass. “You want one that could take an eye out.”

“Yeah, but Cassidy isn’t gonna want to have to push some mammoth thing around in a wheelbarrow. Not with her line of work. You need to get her something she can have at work. Something that won’t hinder her from chasing down a drunken lawn mower driver or locking up Gram-Gram,” I pointed out.

Devlin leaned in on my right. “I agree with Jonah. That one sticks out too much.”

“You’re the expert here,” Bowie said to the woman in front of him. “Is it too big? Not big enough? Does it stick out too much?”

The jeweler was staring at us with wide eyes. “Uh, what does your fiancée-to-be do again?”

Bowie sang Cass’s praises as sheriff’s deputy, and the jeweler took in the new information. She nodded. “I’ve got some ideas. If y’all will sit tight, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I can’t believe you’re finally buying a ring for Cassidy Tucker,” Jameson teased his brother.

Gibson snorted. “I thought you two idiots wouldn’t make it down the aisle until you both were in your eighties.”

I looked around the store, hands in the pockets of my shorts. We’d made the trip into Perrinville so Bowie wouldn’t get ratted out by any big-mouthed Bootleggers.

Devlin was peering into the case at a bunch of the sparklier rings a few feet away. “Scarlett said not until she’s thirty,” I reminded him.

“My plan is the second that woman turns thirty, I’m putting a ring on her finger,” Devlin said, still eyeing the diamonds in the case.

“Couldn’t hurt to look at a couple,” Bowie told him.

“Maybe they’ll give you a discount if you buy in bulk,” I offered.

“You want in on this engagement action?” Devlin asked me.

“No thanks. I’ll leave it you all.” After a year here, I was constantly battling the contagious “y’all.”

“What’s your deal? You haven’t dated since you showed up here,” Gibson demanded, crossing his arms and turning his back on the case full of futures.

I couldn’t say that Gibs got nicer to me the longer he knew me, but he did get more aggressively curious.

I could have answered the question, but I’d learned a lot from the Bodines. “Could say the same about you,” I shot back.

Bowie snickered. “Gibs doesn’t date. Once every couple of months, he picks a lucky lady up at one of his shows, bangs her until she makes noises about commitment, and then shows her the door.”

“You don’t even do that,” Gibson pointed out, ignoring our brother’s criticism of his sex life.

My face must have done something stupid because they all zeroed in on me.

“You’re into guys?”

“You’re married but secretly running from your shrewish wife?”

“You’re monastic?”

“Those jeans do highlight your ass,” I told Jameson, who snorted approvingly. “But none of those creative scenarios apply.”

“What’s the deal then?” Bowie asked.

This was not a discussion I wanted to have. Especially not with a man buying an engagement ring to seal his future. “I was seeing someone and thought it could be serious, and then it… ended.”

“She dump you?”

“You chickenshit out?”

“She crawl out of bed in the dead of the night, steal your wallet, and leave town?”

That last one was from Gibson, and we all gave him a good long look. He shrugged. “Not sayin’ it happened to me.”

“It was oddly specific,” Devlin put in.

“Can we get back to grilling Jonah?” Gibson asked.

“Right,” Jameson said, warming to the game. “One brother at a time. Was she a mail order bride that took one look at your ugly face and ran screaming back to Russia?”

“You’re all the worst. Literally terrible human beings,” I insisted.

“I’ve got a few options that I think you might like,” the jeweler said, returning with a velvet cushion of sparkly rocks.

“Hang on a sec,” Bowie told her. “We’re interrogating our brother. It’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time,” she said sweetly. She took her glasses off and started polishing them as if used to ring shoppers pausing to perform interrogations.