“God only knows. We’re hoping documented evidence of the abuse will help support her son’s case and prove he legitimately feared for her safety.” What the district attorney would do with that, Ethan had no idea. He hadn’t been around long enough to have a feel for the man. “But either way, Harley Forbes is behind bars at County for the time being, and I, for one, feel better having him off the street.”
“I’ll drink to that. You want a beer?”
“Damn straight.”
Clay disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a couple of long-neck Shiner Bocks.
Ethan set his guitar aside, twisted the cap off, and took a pull, feeling the muscles that had been knotted since early this morning begin to relax. “I needed that.”
“I reckon an hour or two with your guitar ought to take care of the rest. And whatever’s left over can be worked out by the lovely Dr. Campbell.”
Ethan leveled him with a glare. “Watch it.”
Clay just grinned. “Oh no, it’s too late for that, son. You can’t be caught all but in flagrante on her front porch in a towel—by a member of the Casserole Patrol no less—and not expect to catch some shit. Everybody in town now knows y’all are sleeping together.”
Ethan winced. He’d been afraid of that. “It’s not just sex.”
“Didn’t figure it was after that little stunt you pulled at the bonfire the other night. You’re stuck on her.”
As Clay knew him better than anybody else, Ethan didn’t bother denying it. “Seems I am.”
Clay tapped his bottle in a toast. “Well, I say good for both of you.”
He took another pull and rolled the bottle between his palms. “I didn’t plan on this.”
“So the hell what? You can’t plan for everything. To my way of thinking, finding a good woman’s a bit like being struck by lightning.” Clay tipped his own beer back for a swallow, then pointed it at Ethan. “And you, my fine fellow, are still smokin’ from the strike.”
Ethan shot his friend a bland stare. “And are you already planning our wedding and two point five kids, too?”
“Just stating the obvious. I know you. You’re a slow mover, but once you set your sights on what you want, that’s that.”
“Yeah, well, after what happened with Becca, I’m a little more cautious this go round. Trying not to be blinded by lust or anything else.” And yet, despite his best intentions, every instinct he had wanted him to throw caution to the wind.
“Miranda Campbell is nothing like your ex-wife. As somebody who’s known her my whole life, I can say this with conviction.” Crossing the room, Clay picked up his own guitar from the stand.
“In most respects, no. But I don’t know if she can handle the realities of being with a cop long-term any better than Becca did. It worries her.”
Clay began to pick out some warm-up exercises. “Brother, it worries me. It worries my mama, who considers you a second son. It worries all of us who give a damn about you because we don’t want to see you hurt. That doesn’t make her like your ex. She deserves more credit than that.”
Ethan thought about what she’d said. That her need to see him safe didn’t outweigh his need to put himself on the line to save others. That was a concession he’d never have gotten out of his ex-wife. But that was after just one incident. What would happen in a few months? A year? Five years? Would her ability to tolerate it wear down?
No reason to borrow trouble. Where they were right now was very, very good. Ethan could roll with that.
“Let’s take the set from the top. I want to get out of here in time to swing by Miranda’s on the way home.”
“As you wish, lover boy.”
Chapter 15
“We need more lights!” Norah declared.
Miranda eyed the maze of outdoor cafe lights currently stretched across the floor of the community center gym in a spoke pattern. “You seriously need an intervention for your love of John Hughes movies.”
“First off, Footloose was not a John Hughes movie. Second, it’s going to be beautiful once we get them all suspended. We’ll have paper lanterns as accents, and I’ve got Kendall Westin from the Chadwick Gallery working on origami centerpieces for the tables.”
Shaking her head, Miranda slung an arm around Norah’s shoulders. “I love you, you know that?”
“I do. And hey, at least I’m not going overboard on the crepe paper streamers.”
“Thank God for small mercies.”
Cam strolled up, rolling another canister of helium. “Be grateful I talked her out of the Cinderella’s coach picture station.”
Miranda stared at her friend, aghast. “Oh God. You wouldn’t.”
Norah pouted. “You have no sense of romance.”
“You have always had enough for the both of us,” Miranda told her.
“I hear that may be changing.” Shelby arched both brows as she grabbed another balloon out of the bag and fitted it over the nozzle of the helium tank.
“I already told you that’s not up for discussion. I shall neither confirm nor deny.” Who knew she’d be legitimately grateful for an outbreak of strep to keep her staff hopping enough this week not to hound her about her love life?
Shelby snorted and tied off the balloon, passing it to Delaney, who attached it to the growing chain that would ultimately be an arch. “I’m off the clock, and honey, Betty Monroe is doing all the confirming you’ll ever need.”
“I would like it noted that this is me pointedly not demanding details for why Ethan was standing on your front porch in nothing but a towel,” Norah announced.
“Your restraint is noted and appreciated. Because I’m not gonna talk about it.”
Over the past week, Ethan had managed to keep news of the mutilated raccoon from spreading, for which Miranda was grateful. She didn’t want her family to worry about who was harassing her. But he couldn’t do anything about people’s wagging tongues. In the past several days, assorted versions of their encounter with Miss Betty had run rampant.
Time for some deflection. “What I want to talk about is who’s taking who to the dance.”
Norah’s eyes lit with humor. “All our crew is paired off, and with Mitch out of the country, there’s no speculating to do there. You and Ethan are the the topic of interest.”
“Well that’s no fun. Somebody fill me in. Any interesting matches coming up this go round?”
“Reuben Blanchard is taking Violet,” Cam offered.
“That’s no surprise. Everybody knows Mama Pearl’s been trying to make that happen since Vivian’s wedding.” Miranda scanned the assembly, looking for who could help dig her out of this hole. “What about you Cassie? Surely you’ve gotten the latest dirt on somebody at The Grind.”
Cassie Callister, everybody’s favorite coffeeshop owner, looked reflective. “I heard Charlotte Ballard asked that new guy. The volunteer fireman who used to be a hotshot. Does something with Eli Hamilton with the forestry service. What’s his name?”
“Sean Murphy?” Delaney suggested.