June spares me a glance then. “Don’t look at my mom wrong.”
“I’ll get my hammer if he does,” Maisey says cheerfully.
This time, June doesn’t respond at all, and soon, she’s out of earshot.
Maisey looks at me.
I make a point of looking at the barn like I don’t know she’s looking at me. “Glad no one was inside.”
“I was going to reinforce a few beams in there and set it up like a haunted house for Junie and her friends before we tear it down—reinforcement would’ve only been a temporary situation given how much snow apparently usually lands here—but I suppose having it fall wasn’t bad. That was some kick. She must’ve been really pissed to see you. You give a pop quiz this week that I didn’t hear about?”
“You’re avoiding me again.”
“The hot-water heater broke Monday morning, and the dishwasher I had scheduled to be delivered Tuesday to replace the one that went possessed showed up without any working sprayers, which you’d think they would’ve checked before it left the warehouse, but didn’t, and yes, Mr. Deliveryman, the water was on and flowing into the dishwasher. Jesus, I hate men who don’t believe I know a thing about appliances. And then Charlotte called because the PTA’s fall fundraiser got dorked, so I helped her with that, and while I was at her house, I noticed a draft, and considering how cold it’s been getting at night, I couldn’t leave without finding where it was coming from. Heating bills suck when your house is drafty.”
“Maisey.”
“And did you know the tavern’s been doing patch jobs on their roof all summer while they wait for some contractor from Laramie to come up and finish it? Took us all of a day on Thursday to get the manpower to reshingle it once I drove down to town to get the shingles.”
“Maisey, if you don’t want—”
My words die on my tongue as she steps into my view. She doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t grab me by the face to make me look at her and to make sure I’m listening. The intensity in her blue eyes holds me captive without her even trying. “I want. I want very much. But I’m busy, because I also want to belong here and I want Junie to belong here, and I need to be able to explain this to her if we get caught, and I want to make sure I don’t have any regrets. Okay?”
I swallow.
Hard.
And then I nod.
She sighs and turns around, surveying the barn. “And it appears I’m tied up for the next few days getting this cleared. She must’ve put that ball through a support beam or knocked it just right. It shouldn’t have fallen this easily.”
I can’t remember the last time I let fear run my life the way it’s clearly running Maisey’s.
She’s afraid to have too much liability on the ranch.
She’s afraid of doing anything that would make June uncomfortable or unhappy.
She’s afraid of not fitting in here.
“You’re allowed to make mistakes as much as you let June make mistakes,” I say quietly, ignoring that voice in my head that sounds a lot like Kory lecturing me about how I can be a good friend without showing up for every volunteer effort anyone in town needs. “And I don’t mean doing things like fucking around with someone she doesn’t like. I mean all of the mistakes. Any of the mistakes. So long as your heart and intentions are in the right place.”
She shakes her head. “I’ve used up my quota of mistakes as a mother. Tell me that again when she’s off to college and her bills are all paid and I never miss one of her phone calls. Until then, I cannot afford to screw up with her again.”
I rub my neck and sigh, looking back at where June’s figure is steadily shrinking as she gets closer to the house and farther from us. “I’d vouch for her to any college soccer scout in the nation,” I tell Maisey. “She’s been as much a coach this year as I have.”
“You don’t say.”
She smirks at me, and it’s hot as hell.
I cross my arms. “You didn’t know she’d be good as a self-appointed assistant coach, too, when you bribed me with cherry crisp.”
“I did. But I was too stressed to remember it at the front of my brain. The back of my brain knew it the whole time.”
Not smiling at her sass is impossible. “You listening to the front or the back of your brain when you keep worrying that you can’t fix things with her?”
“Yes.”
“Take it from someone who spends every day with teenagers. You’re getting credit for trying. You’re getting credit for being honest with her. You’re doing the right stuff.”
“It’s really hard to not jump you right here when you say things like that,” she whispers.
“It’s really hard not to be jumped.”
She cracks up. So do I.
But it’s hard to keep being amused at not being able to touch this woman.
Chapter 22
Maisey
I recognize that it’s probably overparanoia to assume someone’s going to come onto the ranch and go digging around in the fallen barn while I’m with Junie at the soccer game, but I still rope it off with yellow caution tape before we leave for the hour-long drive.
The team pulls off another improbable victory, and we all celebrate at Iron Moose when we get back to Hell’s Bells.
I make sure to sit as far as humanly possible from Flint.
Charlotte notices, but other than a knowing look, she doesn’t say anything.
But it’s Sunday morning that surprises me.
Sunday morning, Junie and I are awoken by the sound of multiple cars pulling to a stop in our circle drive.
We meet in the hallway outside our bedrooms, then make our way to the front door together.
Half of Hell’s Bells has arrived, most of them in trucks, led by Flint. “Got a few helpers to clear out the barn debris,” he says.
As if it’s that simple.
As if it’s that easy.
As if none of these people has anything better to do on a cold Sunday morning than come out here and haul away the barn.
He shoves a stack of papers at me. “Liability waivers,” he adds.
Six months ago, when we were living in Cedar Rapids, I couldn’t get a neighbor to return a simple phone call or email about if I could sign up to deliver a meal as part of a meal train for a friend who’d had a baby.
Now, half a town has turned out to help me with what would be a major headache if it were just me but will be an easy day job with this many people.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
“Thank you,” I stutter. “I’ll get coffee going, and—”
“We brought coffee and donuts from town,” someone interrupts.
“Gonna ask that we get to keep whatever wood we take,” someone else says.
“Weird stuff, too,” yet another someone pipes up. “I live for the weird stuff.”
“Of course,” I reply. “Of course. Let me get dressed. I’ll come help.”
I shut the door before my eyeballs start leaking.
Junie watches me.
And then she does the last thing I expect, and she wraps me in a hug. “They don’t hate us here.”
I laugh into her shoulder. “They don’t hate us,” I agree.