Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(10)

Beau’s hand dropped and his blue eyes narrowed. “Those women over there are seasoned professionals, with fifteen years or more in the business. Or they’re looking to dance someplace with lax rules. Jasper doesn’t encourage it, but he doesn’t step in either. This is Charlotte’s first gig. You need to help her out. And if you’re looking for a selfish reason to step in, then let me break it down for you: if you don’t offer her an alternative, folks in town will pick up their pitchforks again and blame you when she gets hurt.”

I hissed out a breath between clenched teeth and turned away. Well. This was fucking fantastic. Would I never be free of Charlotte Mitchell’s stupidity?

“Come on, Hank. You owe her.”

Rearing back, I spun around. “I owe her? I owe her? For what?”

“For Kevin.”

I blinked at my friend’s stern expression, atypical for his face, and I couldn’t believe my ears. He’d watched the last two years unfold; he’d listened to me bitch and moan about how things were with the townies, all the hoops I’d jumped through to turn things around. How I’d hosted the damn firefighter fundraiser without charging a fee last year. How I’d grinned politely in the face of that blowhard JT MacIntyre and his demands for the community commission singles auction. Beau had never said a word other than to commiserate. I thought he was on my side.

And now he . . . what? Agreed with them?

“What are you talking about?” I asked, seething.

“Why didn’t you step in with Kevin? Or with Carli? You knew what was going on.”

“It was none of my—”

Beau snorted. “Yeah, no. That’s not gonna fly. You’ve stepped in before and you’ve stepped in since. You’ve banned fellas from the club for giving too much attention to a particular dancer when they’re married—I know you do, I’ve seen you do it, though you justify it with some other BS reason. Or if the guy is reasonable and going through a hard time, you take the time to have a talk and strongly advise him to take a break from the club. But with Kevin, you saw it and you let it happen.”

Fucking Wednesday shot to hell.

“Hank.” He lifted a finger between us, looking irritated. Beau never looked irritated. Beau always sounded affable. He forgave easily. He laughed often. He told jokes. But I knew nothing he said next would be funny. “You could’ve stepped in with Kevin, and you made the decision to stay out of it.”

I was starting to resent the club. These days I netted more money in a month from my real-estate investments and rental properties than I made in a whole damn year at The Pony. Would the trouble and irritation it brought to my doorstep never cease? I swear, the only reason I kept it was to piss off the hoity-toity locals and because Jethro Winston was a silent partner. And, you know, I wanted to make sure my people were seen to, taken care of, kept safe, and—

“Hank. Answer me,” Beau pushed, cutting into my thoughts.

Grunting, I threw my hands up. “Fine. I did.”

“Why?”

“Why waste my time? Why step in when keeping quiet ultimately did everyone a favor? I know the Buckley family—I went to school with two of those kids at Belmont. They are pretentious, dishonorable bullies and no matter who Kevin had married, she was always going to be a first wife. Old man Buckley is on his seventh. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were related to Henry the Eighth.” I marched over to unwind the rope securing us to the dock and tugged. “If anyone owes anyone, Charlotte owes me. Where’s my thank-you note? A fruit basket would’ve been nice.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. And what about Carli?”

I waved an impatient hand. “Carli knew what she was doing. Her eyes were wide open. She probably cleaned him out and is living her best life in the Bahamas.” Unlike me, stuck here with scratches on my car and dirty looks whenever I went to the post office. With the boat unmoored, I stomped to the captain’s chair. “It worked out for everyone but me and I do not owe anyone a damn thing.”

“What about their kids?”

“I did them a favor, too. Who would want Kevin Buckley as a father? A crocodile would’ve been an improvement.”

I heard Beau heave a sigh. “You are such a grumpy asshole sometimes.”

“I never said I wasn’t.” I cut him a glance as he came to stand at my shoulder, leveling me with one of his I’m disappointed in you looks. I swallowed thickly, determined to remain unaffected. He would not talk me into this. I would not cave under Beau Winston’s do-gooder pressure. Not this time.

“Hank.”

I turned the engine. In my peripheral vision, I saw him cross his arms, and my throat worked again. Forget this. I should ask Patty to come fishing on Wednesdays instead of Beau. On the one hand, she didn’t know how to fish. On the other hand, since we’d broken up and become friends, she never pushed me to do pointless shit out of some misplaced, do-gooder instinct.

“You got to do the right thing,” he said, quiet and certain.

I scowled. “Why can’t you let things alone?”

“I leave you alone plenty and you know it.”

That was true. I’d known Beau for over twenty years and he rarely asked me for anything. I could count the number of times he’d asked me to do something altruistic on one hand, and he’d always been right to ask. The most recent example had been years ago when he asked me to give his brother Jethro a chance to do some carpentry work at the club, a simple favor that had turned out to be one of the best business decisions of my life.