Page 16 of Hold the Line

She sighed. “You’re not getting it. I want you here so I can get a good look at you, not so you can break your back for me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You need to look at me? I haven’t changed since the last time you saw me.”

She shook her head. “Do an old lady a favor and park your ass on a stool, all right?”

“You’re not old,” I gruffed, pissed at the idea of Joy ever getting old. She might’ve been nearing sixty, but I refused to think about her aging. “And if I don’t do the heavy lifting around here, you’ll try to do it yourself.”

She raised her arm, gesturing toward the shelves. “You stocked me up. Even if I wanted to carry a crate up front, there’d be nowhere to put anything. That’s why you can sit your ass on a stool and take a load off. Let me feed you.”

There was no arguing with Joy. I’d been about to do as she said when a guy who’d already had too much to drink hollered at her from the end of the bar.

“You hirin’ felons now, Joyful? Watch your cash register.” He snickered as the man next to him leaned away.

Joy whipped her head in his direction. “What did you say?” she hissed.

The guy kept laughing. “I’m just sayin’, having a Slater near your money is like having a paper cut and swimming with sharks. You’re living on the edge, Joyful.”

And there it was. I’d been stupid to think I could show up here to help my aunt out and fly under the radar. Didn’t matter I’d done my time and paid my due. The yoke of my last name would always hang on my shoulders in this town. I was used to it. And if it hadn’t been directed at Joy with Phoebe Kelly present to heat it, I wouldn’t give a damn what some drunk had to say.

That made it worse. She was dancing with her grandfather, looking so shiny and happy it was nearly impossible for me to tear my eyes off her. And her regal grandmother was perched near the asshole at the bar, taking in the entire scene.

Joy walked right up to the man and snatched his half-empty beer off the counter. “You’re done here, Bill. Get the hell out and find yourself a new drinking establishment.”

Bill raised his hands, still laughing. “Come on, Joy. You know I’m just joking around. If you can’t laugh at the Slaters, what can you laugh at?”

Joy fingered the bat under her bar. “That’s my nephew you’re talking about. I don’t play around when it comes to him, and I certainly won’t allow you to run your mouth about my boy. Now, are you going to get out, or am I going to have to force the issue?”

The men around Bill scooted away from him, making it clear he had no allies. That didn’t mean they disagreed with what he was saying; they were just smart enough to keep it to themselves. Joy’s was the only bar in town. They got tossed out, they were up shit creek, and they knew it.

After some grumbles and curses, Bill pulled his hat low on his forehead and stomped out. Joy scanned the other guys sitting at the bar. When no one had anything to say, she nodded and started refilling their drinks.

I took that as my cue to leave. Empty crate in my arms, I headed toward the end of the bar. As I passed Phoebe’s grandmother, she reached out, her manicured fingers snagging the sleeve of my shirt.

“He embarrassed himself, you know,” she stated.

I nodded, agreeing. Though only halfway. He might’ve made a fool of himself, but I hadn’t gotten off unscathed. My skin felt like it was burning from the cloak of shame I couldn’t seem to shrug off no matter how much distance I put between me and my family.

She huffed an elegant laugh. “Clearly, you don’t believe me, but as an unbiased third party, I have no reason to lie to you.”

That much was true. I’d never spoken a word to this woman, but I knew who she was. In Sugar Brush, Lily Smythe-Kelly stuck out like a sore thumb. Where most women wore jeans and cowboy boots, she lived in silk and high heels. She was older than Joy by a couple decades, but she was well kept, with pretty blonde hair and subtle makeup.

When I didn’t reply, she held up her near-empty wineglass. “Would you be a dear and pour me a refill before you go?”

“’Course.” I put the crate down and bent to check the cooler. There was only one wine bottle open, so I lifted it up. “This one?”

“That’s it.” She smiled, faint crinkles bursting next to her eyes. “Joy buys that brand for me. As far as I know, I’m the only one who drinks it, but she always has it when I come in.”

“She’s good like that,” I said as I filled her glass.

“She’s wonderful. Now, I’m not usually one to listen to gossip, but I couldn’t help overhearing you’re her nephew.”

“That’s right. She’s my mother’s sister.”

“Ah.” She picked up her glass, swirling the white liquid around. “Lucky her, she escaped the Slater name.”

I grunted in agreement and picked the crate back up so I could get out of there. I’d had enough for the night. Before I could, though, Lily grabbed my shirt again, bringing me to a halt.

“I grew up in a political family. In certain circles, the Smythe name was mud. In others, it brought expectations I always worried I couldn’t fulfill. But over the years, I learned someone was always going to have an opinion of me, and frankly, that was none of my business. The people who knew me didn’t give one damn about my last name, and they were the only opinions I valued.” She arched a brow. “Joy thinks very highly of you.”

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