North Country(34)

“Huh?” He frowns and then does a quick scan. “Nope. Don’t see her. No idea what her kids look like, or if they’re even still around. Why?”

“No reason.” If she were, would my being here be considered restraining-order worthy to her father-in-law?

A gray-haired woman is hunched over her table in the far corner, whispering something to the man sitting across from her before stealing a glance my way.

Shit, that’s Mrs. Doyle. She taught me math. Was it grade ten or eleven? I can’t remember, but it’s obvious she remembers me .

“Here you go, fellas. One pitcher of the very fine locally brewed Barrow Ale.” The waitress—Shawna—sets the frothy-capped jug down, followed by enough empty glasses for everyone.

I’m about to ask for a Coke when she sets a bottle in front of me. “And I was told the new guy would want a nonalcoholic option. I’m guessing you’re the new guy.” Bright blue eyes smile down at me. She’s cute. Youngish. Mid-twenties, if I had to guess, with deep dimples and a tiny diamond stud in her nostril.

“This is my cousin, Logan.” Jameson drops a hand on my shoulder again—he’s very touchy. “He just moved back home, and he’s gonna be coming out with us from now on, so get used to him.”

“Yeah?” She balances her tray holding two more pints for another table with little effort. “Where you comin’ from?”

“Kingston area,” I answer vaguely, hoping that’s the end of the conversation.

Her eyes widen with interest. “One of my best friends went to Queen’s. She tried to get me to visit. They have those thousand islands. I’ve heard they’re incredible. You ever been?”

“Nope. Didn’t make it there this time.”

“Well, there’s always next time, right?”

Jameson snorts into his beer before cutting in to change the subject. “Hey, so how’s my beer been moving?”

“Decent.” She nods. “Sold two pints and a pitcher so far today.”

He frowns. “But … you sold those to me.” His shoulders fall with dismay as the rest of our table bellows with laughter.

With a wink for Jameson and a parting smile for me, Shawna trots off to the next table, her hips swaying.

“It’s good beer!” Jameson laments, holding his glass out so Uncle Wyatt can top it up.

“It is good beer, son,” his father placates. “It’s why you’re my favorite.”

“Look who I found outside.” Jon returns from his trip to his truck with Jack in tow, earning another round of greetings.

“And I heard that.” Jack points an accusatory finger at his father before appropriating a chair from a nearby table and making room on the other side of his younger brother, across from me .

“I thought you had Olivia tonight,” Jameson shifts over to give him room.

“So did I,” Jack mutters, and leaves it at that. From what I’ve heard, the separation has been rocky, his ex-wife using their daughter against him at every turn. He juts his chin at me. “How’s it goin’?”

“It’s goin’.”

“Yeah. Same.” He grabs a spare glass and pours himself a drink.

“So, I couldn’t help but notice …” Jon saunters over to our side of the table then, a large Kraft paper bag in his grip. “Somethin’ was missing this week, while we were all so hard at work, and I had to rectify it fast.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a sable-brown cowboy hat.

“A Smithbilt.” Mak nods with approval. “That’s a nice one too.”

“Made in my hometown.” Jon offers it to me, his chest puffing out with pride as if he cut the fabric with his own two hands.

“I … uh …” Fuck. Collecting the gift—because it’s obviously a gift—I mumble, “Thanks.” It’s soft within my grip.

“Beaver pelt,” Jack says, as if reading my mind. “I got one just like it.”

Is there no one in my family who hasn’t been influenced by Jon?

“Well! Go on!” Wyatt pushes, elbowing my side.

“You’re really going to make me do this in here?” I look around the table. “Isn’t that bad luck or something?”

“No, that’s breaking a mirror. Come on!” Dad pushes, a smug grin on his face. The bastard knows I hate this whole production.

They all stare at me expectantly.

Stifling my groan, I slip the stupid hat on.

The table erupts with cheers and loud applause, earning plenty of head turns—definitely not what I’m aiming for.

“All right, fuck off, all of you.” But I can’t help my smile as I hang it on a nearby coat hook.

“The first and last time that boy’s gonna wear that. I’d put money on it,” my dad says through a sip.

“I’ll take that wager. You just wait. Logan’ll see the light.” Satisfied, Jon retakes his seat, tapping his glass against my father’s in cheers, like they’ve achieved something .

A hint of jealousy burns inside my gut, even if I had no expectations for decent relationships with anyone.

“Hey, did you know Keegan is friends with Chandra?” Jameson asks his brother, pulling me back to this side of the table.