Page 50 of Bad Cowboy, Tennessee

A darker thought crossed my mind.

Maybe I have been a villain to everyone at home, for longer than I ever knew.

I’d always been known asthatLyons kid. The bad seed, the bad apple. In school I’d been the boy everyone’s parents wanted them to avoid, and later on, I’d been worse.

Not that it stopped certain people from coming to my parties, time after time.

There were men who couldn’t look at me in public but would beg for my cock at my house later that night. There were women who would strut around town with their boyfriends in the day but end up naked in the middle of my living room, railed on each end by strangers a week later.

And there were guys who wanted to fight me, and did, when I welcomed it with closed fists.

Sometimes it felt like the only respect I got from them was when we exchanged scars and bruises rather than words.

Butnice?

It had been a long time since I’d experiencednice.

“Hey, Dave, if you need any help repairing the old house, my son and I are handy enough,” Amos said now.

“Draven,” I corrected him.

“Right, right,” Amos said, waving a hand through the air. “Draven. Never heard a name like that before.”

“I’ll be fine on my own for the repairs. I like working with my hands.”

He nodded at me. “Hah. Max said you were a good egg. Glad to meet you.”

I paused, glancing back at him. “I’m sorry? Who said that about me?”

“Max Burnett. You were sweet with Lily Burnett, weren’t you? Was sorry to hear things went south with her.”

“Max said I was agood egg,huh?”

“Oh, he came by here a couple of days ago. Needed some replacement bulbs for the bar.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And he said…”

Amos scratched his head. “Said you were new in town. Said you were a good man. Not much else.”

I couldn’t help but let out a quick laugh.

A good man.

I was certain that I wasn’t good, and certain that Max didn’t think so either.

Was that how small-town Bestens worked? Max didn’t trust me but he put in good words for me, anyway?

“Interesting.”

“I’m sure he’ll be at the beer fest,” Amos said. “He runs a sort of beer-cocktail stand. Think he’s been filming it, too. To me, a beer is just a beer, but Max mixes them with… I don’t know. Cherries or lemon or whatever the concoctions are.”

“He does enjoy mixing drinks.”

“Glad you’re making friends in town already, Drave.”

Apparently Amos wasn’t much for names, even if he was the friendliest person I’d met in years.

He gave me a little salute, heading back into his hardware store to help a young couple who had just walked inside.

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