“Happy birthday, Jethro!” was hollered at me from every direction just as the lights in Jeanie’s Bar flipped on. What felt like a hundred flashes went off, scaring me half to death.
Also shouted, mostly by my brothers and some of my fishing buddies: “Happy birthday, asshole!”
My heart had nearly jumped out of my chest, so I was sure the pictures of my entrance were going to be hilarious. I had a suspicion I’d find print copies of my shocked face in odd places over the next few months. Cletus had been known to sell our more embarrassing pictures on stock photo sites. Whereas my youngest brother, Roscoe, would make them into photo calendars and gift them at Christmas.
In defense of my complete surprise, during the entire drive over and as I’d entered the bar, I’d still been preoccupied with thoughts of a certain brunette I’d helped earlier. The last thing on my mind was finding half the town grinning at me like I’d just eradicated all the rabid raccoons on the mountain.
Nothing I could do now about my scaredy-cat expression, so I decided to shrug and laugh it off.
Cletus and Claire strolled forward from the grinning crowd of at least fifty people, probably more. Her smile was huge. His smile was satisfied. He was clutching his camera.
She wrapped me in a big hug and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, wiping away her lipstick with her thumb as she stepped back.
“Happy birthday, Jet.” She used my nickname, her blue eyes happy. It was good to see her happy.
“You’re in trouble.” I pointed at her and shook my head. “I’ll get you back for this.”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” she replied ominously.
But before I could question her further, Cletus clapped a clean hand on my shoulder. “I see we’ve surprised you.”
I should have known Cletus was planning something when I spotted him scrubbing his fingernails earlier in the day. Cletus, along with our twin brothers, Beau and Duane, owned the Winston Brothers Auto Shop. If any of them had clean hands, then chances were they were up to no good.
“You certainly did, especially seeing as how my birthday was last month,” I conceded as two of my work colleagues stepped forward to wish me a happy birthday.
Cletus waited until my friends had walked off before addressing my last comment. “Last month Naomi Winters and Carter McClure had birthdays. You know I don’t like eating cake more than twice a month.”
“How inconsiderate of Jethro to be born in April.” Claire fought a smile and nudged my arm.
Cletus shot her a confused glare. “It’s not his fault he was conceived in July, even if it makes no sense. They didn’t get air conditioning in the cars or the house until 1997, so you know it couldn’t have been pleasant.”
Billy, the second oldest of my brothers, had been hovering just outside our threesome while nursing a beer and a sour expression. Billy always wore a sour expression when I was around, but others had told me—mostly women—he was the best looking of us Winston boys. Objectively, I knew they were right.
He’d been listening to and watching our conversation, but saying nothing. At Cletus’s statement he rolled his blue eyes and grumbled something under his breath.
“Have something to say, Billy?” Cletus asked, cocking an eyebrow at our brother.
Billy was dressed in a suit, as was usual, which meant he’d just come from work. Truth be told, I was surprised to see him. First of all, he worked eighty-plus-hour weeks at the mill where he was intent on climbing the corporate ladder.
And secondly, he hated my guts.
I studied him, wishing for the same things I always wished for when I looked at Billy: that I’d been a better older brother growing up, that I’d protected my momma from our daddy’s abuse, that Billy hadn’t taken the beatings for all of us, that I hadn’t been a good-for-nothing asshole.
But currently, since none of those other wishes were likely to come true, I mostly wished I had a beer.
I turned to shake hands and exchange a greeting with Claire’s father-in-law, the local fire chief, but caught the irritated glance Billy shot Cletus.
“I’ve got nothing to say,” Billy said, a hard edge to his voice. Then his eyes flickered to Claire. He gave her a tight, uncomfortable smile, like he regretted his words. Then he asked in an infinitely softer tone, “Did you want anything to drink, Claire?”
Claire shook her head, not quite meeting his eyes. “No thanks.”
He gave her a curt nod, his attention lingering on her profile for a brief moment. Then his eyes skipped to mine, and he frowned at my undemanding expression. Billy’s frown became a scowl, and he abruptly walked away.