The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(85)

I nod, not able to access words over the tornado siren that is my head. And then Winnie’s gone, leaving me alone, slumped over and breathing heavy in this tiny, airless room.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO





Winnie



I scan the crowd again for James’s dark head and broad shoulders. My gaze catches on Collin, then Tank and Pat. Similar frames, wrong men. Unease coats my stomach, dark and thick like the bottom of a coffee pot that’s been left on too long.

I’m aware the man doesn’t like crowds. And today is definitely a crowd. At the conference I saw the way he closed up like a Chick-Fil-A on Sunday. The tension didn’t leave his shoulders and neck until we got out of the crowded areas and into an empty hallway or the hotel room. Even with his family at brunch, I could see the strain in his eyes.

Today is a risk. I thought it would excite him to get a sense of how things could be—how they will be. I also hoped James would see my potential. What it would be like to give me a little more control, allow me to help him more. (Okay, yeah, and maybe to make him see it’s a waste of my time to try catching the Orange Cyclops.) But his expression was stunned, then closed off like he was more statue than man. He seemed wrong, even when I left him.

Should I not have left him? I got the sense he needed a moment alone, even from me.

Should I not have asked this of him? That’s perhaps the bigger question. I think of Chevy telling me I push people too hard. Is that what I’m doing? I thought this might overwhelm him a little, but also allow him to get a preview of how amazing Dark Horse could be once the doors are officially open.

Instead of catching the excitement I feel buzzing in the air, James seemed to shrivel up and fold inward, smaller and smaller.

Maybe this is pushing him too far.

I glance around at the smiling faces, the twinkling lights, the collection of Sheeters who have gathered. The smell of turkey and brisket coats the air and the band is warming up, an acoustic guitar strumming over the rest of the noise. It feels like home.

To me, it feels like home.

But maybe this isn’t what James envisioned for Dark Horse. I thought I’ve been reading him well, but maybe I’ve missed his vision, given that I’m trying to pick up on it by context clues and reading the man who is as closed a book as I’ve ever seen.

I’m grateful Eula Martin chooses this moment to whistle through her fingers. The sound is piercing and shuts up the people, though several of the dogs bark. Harper brought her two, and Lindy’s got Amber and Beast, plus a few other people have their dogs running around. Most are off leashes and ready for any scraps to drop under tables once we start eating.

The Orange Cyclops, still eluding capture, has wisely stayed hidden today. Or maybe he decided to take up a home somewhere else. I should be so lucky.

“Y’all take your seats now,” Judge Judie says, waving a hand. “Go on.”

Chairs scrape back as the stragglers find their places. Only then do I realize I’ve been so busy setting up I didn’t pick out my own place to sit. I crane my neck but still don’t see any sign of James. Lindy, Pat, and Jo are seated with Val, Mari, and Big Mo, the table where usually I’d be. Only right now, there are no open seats.

For just a moment, loneliness bites at my heels, the leftover vestiges of showing up to the cafeteria on the first day of school and not being able to locate my friends.

“You’re with us,” a familiar voice says, and I glance up to see Tank’s easy smile. He guides me with a gentle hand on my shoulder to a table with Chevy, Collin, Harper, Chase, and Chase’s sister. Molly—I think? She’s some kind of big-deal influencer Lindy was shocked I hadn’t heard of. I make a mental note to ask Chase if it would be weird to ask her to post something for Dark Horse. Next week, assuming James okays my plan, I’m going to start working on Dark Horse’s social media.

But first, the man needs to come out of the storage room.

“He’ll be here,” Tank assures me, as though reading my concern.

I slide into the seat Tank pulls out for me, adjusting as he scoots me in. Though Pat has more of Tank’s affability, James absolutely got his manners and gentlemanliness (is that a word?) from his dad. Collin gives me a wink and a nod from his spot just across the table. I manage to smile back, but my focus is on the empty folding chair next to me as Judge Judie begins her Feastivus blessing.

While her husband, Burt, looks on adoringly, Judie raises her arms above her head, not unlike a preacher giving a benediction. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the three Fs: family, friendship, and FOOD!”

The word food is shouted out by everyone except the Grahams, whom I forgot to warn about our traditions. Then again, it’s entertaining to watch their faces as they take it all in. Tank’s grin is huge, while Collin is frowning, and Chase whispers something to Harper, who gives him a small smile. Still no James.

Is he mad at me? Is he really so unhappy about the number of people here? The idea that I pushed him too far with this has me digging my nails into my thighs. I realize too late that I’ve torn the tights I have on under my black skirt.

Take a breath, I tell myself. This is amazing. You did an amazing job pulling this together. James will see that.

I fiddle with my glasses, trying to fight back tears as Judie finishes her thankfulness list, which starts with the basics like the weather, general health, and another year of life, and then extends to the specifics of Big Mo’s pies and Burt getting on medication for his IBS, which has lessened the amount of gas in society by at least twenty percent.