Grin and Beard It(44)

Sienna stopped me with a soft, “Jethro?”

I turned and met her searching gaze; she was at the top of the steps. Behind her, Tim was helping Dave stand.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right? In the morning? You’re picking me up?”

“Yes. Of course,” I responded immediately. I was thrown, frustrated, and overwhelmed, but I wasn’t dumb enough to miss out on a chance to spend alone time with her. She may have been named Sienna instead of Sarah, and was apparently a celebrity of huge proportions, but she was still dimples and eyelashes to me.

“Goodnight, Sienna.” I mustered a soft grin.

“Goodnight, Jethro.” She did not manage a grin, nor did she meet my eyes as she said the words. Her tone and expression made me think she was close to crying. That had me gritting my teeth and my heart jumping to my throat.

Before I could re-mount the steps and take her in my arms, curious guards be damned, she turned, walked back into the house, shut the door, and locked it. This left me ten feet away, staring at Hank Weller’s closed door.

Well . . . “Fuck.”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t assault an oak tree or blackberry bush on my short walk back to the truck. Once in the driver’s seat, ignition on, seatbelt fastened, hands on the steering wheel, I debated my options.

“What a fucking mess.”

I left, careful to keep my foot light on the gas so I wouldn’t inadvertently peel out of the drive. Suddenly too hot, I tugged my sweater off and made a right out of the Bandit Lake graveled circle.

I knew what I had to do next. I needed to get to The Pink Pony and get the lowdown from Hank Weller. Then I needed to do a Google search for Sienna Diaz and find out what the hell I’d gotten myself into.



“Jethro.”

“Hank.” I glanced over his shoulder, eyeballing the wall of whiskey behind him. The Pink Pony may have been a strip club, but Hank had the best stock of Tennessee Rye anywhere. “I’ll take the George Dickel, neat.”

“Sure thing.” Hank eyeballed me, likely because I wasn’t much of a drinker these days.

“So, what’s going on, Jet?” he asked, placing the shot of amber in front of me. “Why’re you here?”

His question was a fair one. I didn’t typically stop in unscheduled, and never at night when the place was open.

“I need to talk to you about your house guest.”

Hank grew still, but his expression became guarded and cagey. “What about her?”

If I wanted Hank to share information, I assumed I’d have to be willing to share the entire story. This approach was not in my nature, discussing my personal business with anyone aside from what was strictly necessary, need-to-know. However, I wasn’t ready to let go of Sarah.

Sienna.

So I set aside my reservation and said, “I know who she is, though it took her until tonight to tell me, when we were on a date.”

His eyes widened. “You? You and Sienna? Went on a date?”

“Yep.”

“You? On a date? Not just fucking around. Like, getting dinner?”

I clenched my teeth. “Yes.”

“Jet, you haven’t—”

“Over five years. Yes, I know.”

“Longer than that for taking a woman out, I was going to say. Since high school? Senior prom?”

Was everyone in this town suddenly a goddamn gossip?

“I dropped out the end of my junior year, but I guess you’re right. High school was the last time I took a girl out, if you want to be technical about it.” I wished, not for the first time, I didn’t live in such a small place.

“Plenty of women since then,” he stated.

“But none at all for a while,” I corrected.

Hank gave me the side-eye. “Sorry for beating a dead horse, but are you sure it was a date? ’Cause she has a habit of going on dates with guys, but not considering them dates.”

The hint of bitterness in Hank’s tone gave me pause. I studied my business partner, noticed the derisive curve of his lips. He wasn’t an unhappy person. He was shrewd—similar in many ways to Cletus—but generally affable.

So I guessed and asked at the same time, “You and Sienna?”

My stomach dropped when he nodded.

I decided to take a seat. “Make the next one a double.”

He gave me a small smile. “If it makes you feel better, it was a long time ago, and we never made it past first base, despite all my best efforts.” He added this last part under his breath.

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better.” I shook my head, staring at the bar. “I don’t know that I want to feel better.”

Hank poured my double shot and set it next to the single. “Have you googled her yet?”