Page 5 of Here With You

Miles’s eyes widened. “You got a girl?”

Cormac lowered his head and shuffled his feet. “In my head, she’s mine, but she doesn’t know it yet.”

That boy was definitely his kin. Emmaline was his, too. Only, she hadn’t been informed. He made a mistake over thirty years ago. He’d caught his father, the cattle marshal, falsifying documents to sell their cattle for a premium price. He’d always believed the ranch should run with honesty and integrity. He didn’t know what the fallout would be when he confronted him, but he didn’t consider complete devastation. In the end, his family lost all their wealth and disowned him. When he had nothing but his love to offer Emmaline, he lost her, too.

For years, he was bitter and angry. He walked away, promising never to look back. He thought he was over her until he returned to town. She showed up at the hospital the night Carter drowned, and all those old feelings surfaced.

“Did you get all your stuff from the preacher’s house?”

“I didn’t have much.” The mention of the preacher brought him back to thoughts of Emmaline. He stifled a chuckle. She hadn’t changed, and he knew exactly where she was going. She was stressed and needed her friends, who included Charlotte and Marybeth, the preacher’s wife. They called themselves the Fireflies because they said they lit up a dark world, but most people knew what they really were: pretty little pests. Wouldn’t Emmaline be surprised to learn he’d been staying in the guest house of one of her best friends? As the preacher’s wife, it was hard for Marybeth to turn her back on one of her flock. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when that conversation happened.

CHAPTERTHREE

Em walked inside the diner looking for her friends, but no one had arrived. It didn’t surprise her since she called them before leaving the resort and then drove twice the speed limit to get to Cricket’s.

She weaved through several tables to get to the empty booth in the corner. Cricket’s Diner was the source of all gossip in Willow Bay, and Em didn’t want to be tonight’s news. Discussing delicate information here was like standing on a stage with a megaphone. The corner booth at least gave her some privacy. She slid onto the bench and inched herself into the corner before picking up a menu.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Cricket walked over and flopped onto the booth bench across from her. “You only come here when you need my honey or my advice. Which is it today?”

Em looked at the art above the booth. It was a picture of four chickens standing side by side with the caption, “What a fuster cluck.” She had to agree.

“I need pecan pie and a quart of ice cream, please.”

Cricket laughed so loud that everyone in the diner looked their way. “The last time I served a bucket of ice cream, you were present, but you weren’t the one partaking. Brie polished off that serving of diabetes in one sitting. If I recall, it was over a meddling aunt and a man who was back in town.” Cricket kicked her feet up, and they landed right next to Em. “Seems to me that history might be repeating itself.” Her red high-tops still had a middle finger drawn on the sole.

“Are you flipping me off, or are your feet tired?”

Cricket chuckled. “Oh, honey. If I were flipping you off, you’d know it. I’ve been here since five, and my dogs are tired.”

Em took another look at Cricket’s shoes. “You should get some shoes with support.”

Cricket lifted a single brow. “Have you seen the shoes that have support? They go with compression socks and walkers.” She wiggled her feet. “At least these are cute.”

Em wouldn’t call them cute—maybe if she were a teen. Then again, Cricket never seemed to age, so perhaps they were the shoes she wore back when.

The door opened, and Marybeth and Charlotte walked inside. Cricket looked over her shoulder and rose from the booth. “Looks like your posse is here. Do you want the whole pie?”

Em nodded. “And an order of fried pickles.”

“If you get those pickles with ice cream, people will start talking and pregnancy rumors will race through town.” Cricket leaned in. “It’s not impossible, you know. There was a seventy-year-old woman in India who gave birth recently.”

“Can you imagine?” Em asked.

Cricket laughed. “I’d rather poke my eye out.”

“Me too.” She looked around the diner at the townsfolk who were already eating up the fact that she was there and the other Fireflies were present. The only one missing was Tilly, but that was because she stayed back to run the kitchen. “But you’re right. Wait ten minutes and then set them in front of Charlotte.”

Her friends sauntered over. Marybeth looked out of place in the diner with her designer dress, her Kate Spade handbag, and her priced-for-the-runway shoes. Charlotte, as always, looked pageant-ready with her perfect makeup, not a hair out of place, and her ready-for-the-crown smile on her face. They slid into the booth Cricket had vacated only seconds before.

Cricket looked at them. “You girls want something, or is the gallon of ice cream and whole pecan pie going to do it for you too?” She wrote the order down and looked at Charlotte. “You’ve got an order of fried pickles coming up in ten.”

“But I didn’t—”

Cricket made a zip motion to her lips. “Yes, you did. Don’t argue with your elders.”

Charlotte nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Their parents raised them with the same philosophy. You respect your elders and mind your manners. Em couldn’t count the times her mother told her that good manners were free, but forgetting them would cost her dearly. Cricket was an elder, and she had earned their respect. Charlotte knew if Cricket said she was getting fried pickles, they’d show up as promised, and she’d smile and say thank you.

---