Page 20 of Bourbon Bliss
“You finding what you need, there, sweetheart?” I asked. “Are you supposed to be on the street, or did you get out of your coop?”
“She’s free range.”
A man with a bushy white mustache stood nearby. He wore a sheriff’s uniform, complete with a star-shaped badge. His name tag said Sheriff Tucker. I wondered if he was related to June. Looked a bit like her, and in a small town, it seemed likely.
“I guess I won’t worry about finding her owner, then.”
Sheriff Tucker shook his head. “Nah, no need. This here is Mona Lisa McNugget. She’s our town chicken. Doesn’t really belong to anyone.”
Of courseher name was Mona Lisa McNugget. “She’s a fine-looking hen, Sheriff.”
“That she is. I hope you don’t mind me introducing myself.” He held out a hand. “Harlan Tucker.”
I took his hand and gave it a solid shake. “Pleasure to meet you. GT Thompson.”
He cracked a smile as he let my hand drop. “Yeah, I have to admit, I know who you are. There’s been a bit of buzz in town about you.”
I shrugged. “That can happen.”
“Shame about your knee,” he said, gesturing to my leg. “You had a good two more seasons in you.”
“I’m not so sure about that. One, more likely. But thanks.”
“I tell you, that touchdown reception you had against Texas last season was amazing. I think we watched that catch a hundred times.”
“Thanks. You follow football?”
“Sure do. I’m a sports fan in general, but there’s nothing like some good old-fashioned football.”
A man on the street caught my attention, and I watched him, my mouth partially open. Long white hair spilled out from beneath a black top hat and a white beard hung to his belly. He rode down the street on a skateboard, holding a drink of some kind in a mason jar.
“Sheriff,” he said, tipping his hat as he passed.
“Morris,” Sheriff Tucker said.
This town was something else.
“I won’t keep you.” Sheriff Tucker patted his pockets, like he was looking for something. “But if it wouldn’t be too much to ask, I was wondering if I might get your autograph. My daughter is a big fan. I’d love to surprise her.”
His daughter? Was she June?
“Of course, I’d be happy to.”
A pickup truck drove up the street, slowing when it came near. Sheriff Tucker put his hands on his hips, watching as the truck came to a stop. Two men sat in the cab, and three were in the bed. I recognized one of the men in back as Gibson Bodine. The others had to be his brothers, or related somehow. The resemblance was clear.
Gibson tipped his chin to me and I nodded back.
I blinked a few times, wondering if I was seeing things. Did they have a barbecue in the back of the truck? They certainly appeared to. The black contraption stood in the center of the bed, and Gibson held a long metal spatula. They couldn’t be grilling while they were driving… could they?
“Afternoon, Sheriff.” One of the men in the back nodded to him, looking a little sheepish. I was fairly sure he was the same guy who’d picked up Gibson after he’d almost hit that deer.
“Bowie,” Sheriff Tucker said. He nodded to the others. “Boys. What are y’all up to?”
“Going fishing,” Bowie said.
“Are you now?” Sheriff Tucker asked. “That grill isn’t on, is it?”
The mouth-watering aroma of cooking meat wafted toward us. My stomach rumbled.
