North Country(33)

“You are such a pain in my ass.”

“Good friends always are.” She collects a cape and towels from the shelf. “Now make that call.”

With a sigh, I dig out my phone.





Chapter 13





Logan




“You remember this place?” Mak holds the door open as I file into the Bale House behind my father and Jon.

“Vaguely.” I scan the barn board walls and mounted horns, the lengthy bar on the far end with open shelves of booze behind it. “Wasn’t it something else before?”

“Roseanne’s,” he confirms as the door shutters, sealing us in. “New owner’s smart. Did good things here.”

He’s gone country is what he’s done. Everywhere I look, there’s a nod to farming—horseshoes nailed to an archway, old-timey lanterns hanging from hooks. “It sure as shit’s busy.” Almost all the tables are taken, and all but two seats at the sizable bar have occupants.

“Weekends always are. They get bands in here.” He nods to the guitarist tuning his instrument by a bank of windows. “Plus, it’s Thanksgiving weekend. It’ll be rammed tonight.”

“Great.” Just what I needed.

Mak laughs. It’s an easy-going sound that I appreciate. I’ve spent more time with the ranch hand than anyone else this week, mending old fences, building new ones, and clearing trees from the hundred-and-sixty-acre lot Jon and Sarah bought behind us. I must have split, hauled, and stacked ten cords of wood. It was grueling work, and I earned a dozen scratches and cuts from branches and wire, but I didn’t mind in the least .

We came in from the fields today to the smell of grilling burgers and the picnic tables set. It was the perfect day for a BBQ, my mother insisted. I had barely finished my last bite, intent on showering and relaxing, when Jon announced that “The boys are going out.”

My mother beamed.

The last place I want to be is in a crowded bar, and I was about to tell her as much, until I caught Holt Landry’s warning look. So, I shut my mouth fast, and here I am, moving through the jam-packed place to a corner where Jameson and Uncle Wyatt sit with half-finished pints.

“Good thing we came when we did. This place filled up fast.” My cousin gestures at the row of three small round tables butted together. “Not our usual but will this work?”

Their usual?

“It’s tight, but it’ll do.” My father clasps hands first with his brother-in-law, then with his nephew, before taking a seat on the end, leaving me baffled. Growing up, I don’t remember him ever doing much socially, let alone having a regular table at the local bar.

Jameson’s on his feet to slap my shoulder. “Hey, cuz. All good?”

“We’ll see. Gimme your seat, would ya?” I nod toward the one he just vacated, because there is no way I can relax in a place like this with my back to people.

Jameson frowns with confusion. “Uh … yeah, it’s all yours, man.”

He has no idea what it’s like to sit down to a bowl of porridge and have an asshole come up from behind to slice your face open with a smuggled razorblade. An inch to the right and the doc said I could have lost my eye.

“Thanks.” I wedge myself into the corner, the rickety chair creaking under my weight.

“Shawna!” he hollers at the blond strolling past with a tray of drinks, twirling his finger in the air.

She nods, capping it off with a grin.

“So, this is a thing? Coming here?” I ask.

“We aim for at least once a month, but now that they’re carrying my beer, I try to come in on Fridays. This place is a fucking gold mine. I’d buy it in a heartbeat.” Jameson eases in beside me, taking the opposite end from my father. The others have already fallen into easy conversation. “So? How was the first week back?”

“Tiring,” I admit, feeling eyes on me but doing my best to ignore them. No doubt there are at least a few people who know the Landry history and can put two and two together about the stranger suddenly at their “regular” gathering.

“I heard you’re an animal with that axe.”

I snort. “Who told you that?”

He juts his chin toward Jon, who’s on his feet again, babbling about forgetting something in the truck, patting his pockets as he searches for his keys. “He says you worked really hard.”

“I’m not looking for his approval.” Jon learned that pretty quickly after he tried to correct how I was stretching mesh. Jay and I spent a lot of time out in those fields as children, mending fences as punishment. I hated it at the time, but when I was on the inside, I’d lie in bed, fondly remembering the smell of damp grass in spring and the bite of the wire against cold skin in the winter.

Jameson holds up his hands in a sign of surrender before leaning back, splaying his legs as he surveys the crowd. “You recognize anyone here?”

“I haven’t looked.” I follow his gaze now. There’s a mix of everything from solo drinkers at the bar to elderly couples settling their bills, to families devouring their meals and friends enjoying dinner and drinks out. None look familiar, but I shouldn’t be surprised. I don’t look like the eighteen-year-old kid who went away.

A thought strikes me. “Are Jessica Whitley or her kids here?” Jameson must know her face.