Page 43 of The Tattered Gloves
We’d decided that, since we were both stuck in the store during the weekdays anyway, we might as well use some of that time on our project and not waste our weekends. The store was usually pretty quiet unless there was a new comic book coming out or news got out about some steamy romance novel women just had to have, so our plan seemed to work.
Honestly, I was just glad he was talking to me again.
The awkward silence at work had started to get to me, and it was me who usually relished in it.
“And here I thought, I was the one who was born in a barn.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just because I was born in the city doesn’t mean I have to be tech-savvy. I like not being attached to a phone all the time, like the rest of you. You’ve seriously checked that stupid thing twenty-five times since we got here.”
“Have not,” he retorted.
“Have too. And I know you weren’t born in a barn. Although the local hospital isn’t much different.” I laughed.
He joined in, adding, “Laugh all you want, but at least there is a local hospital. My grandfather was born at home because his parents knew they wouldn’t make it to the hospital that was two hours away.”
“That’s scary,” I replied. “And can I add, it’s really weird that you know that?”
He shrugged. “I know all sorts of stuff about my dad’s side of the family. We’ve been here for generations.”
“Here, as inhere?” I asked, meaning the town.
“Yes, the Shepherds founded Sugar Tree.”
“And you decided to name it Sugar Tree?”
He grinned, taking another sip of his coffee. “I honestly don’t know why my great-great-great—”
“I get it.” I laughed.
“Grandpappy Samuel Joseph Shepherd chose that name for the town. I could find out for you if you like.”
I should have said yes. It would have been an excellent addition to my report. Who knew I’d landed the gold mine for partners — the freaking ancestor to the town’s founder?
But my mind was already focused on something else.
“Wait, there’s another Samuel? How many of you are there?” I asked.
“Let’s get one thing straight.” He leaned forward, his eyes turning an intense shade of green that made my heart race. “There is only one of me.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I just sat there, awkwardly staring at him.
His grin turned lopsided. “But there might be a few other Sams in our family tree.”
“How many?” I finally managed to say.
“About a dozen.”
“A dozen?” I blurted out, completely shocked.
He shrugged, a bit of brown hair falling in his eyes. I watched him brush it back, wishing it were my fingers touching his dark brown locks.
Wait, what?
“It’s a Shepherd tradition.”
“It’s weird,” I said, trying to move on from the odd hair thoughts running through my head.
“Oh, and the name Willow isn’t?” he countered.
