Shannon, and tell him to grab Amy and come on over.” She turned to Westler and looked pointedly at the pale band of white Gabe hadn’t even noticed encircling the other man’s ring finger. “And your wife is welcome, too, of course.”
Westler gave her a wry smile. “I’m divorced, ma’am. That’s my ex over there with my son, Zach.” He indicated a plump, sandy-haired woman stepping off the bottom riser of the bleachers and reaching out to haul a dejected-looking kid into her arms for a hug.
“Then I guess you’ll have to come on your own. Or maybe Zach would like to join us.”
“He’s pretty mad at me over the divorce right now, so I doubt it. But let me go ask.”
Watching the interaction between father and son at the far end of the bleachers, Gabe didn’t need to hear their exchange to know Westler would be joining them stag. The sullen expression on the kid’s face said it all.
He blew out a quiet, irritated breath. Great. That’s what they needed around the dinner table tonight, another contender for the always-happenin’ Flirt-a-rama.
But Grace was clearly pleased by the prospect of the get-together continuing. So, sucking it up, he rose and extended a hand to pull her to her feet.
“D IDN’T YOU DATE my niece one time in high school?” Bud suddenly asked Adam over Lenore’s taco salad and homemade rolls.
Damn, Macy thought at the same time Adam agreed, “I did.”
Fork suspended halfway to his mouth, her uncle gave the younger man a level stare and demanded in a low voice, “You one of those fools who took her out because you believed Mayfield’s lies?” Damn, damn, damn. Her heart sank as Gabe’s head snapped around from his tête-à-tête with Grace on the other side of Bud.
Color bloomed in Adam’s cheeks. “Uh—”
“How’s he supposed to answer that, Uncle Bud?” she demanded in a voice as quiet as her uncle’s had been. Turning to the Experimental boys, she said in a more conversational tone, “I’m not sure if Adam mentioned this, but he works at AAE.” She gave the American Agricultural Experiment, which most folks in Sugarville simply called the Experimental,its proper acronym. “Have any of you had a chance to work with him yet?”
Jim Holstrom said that he had, which started the conversational ball rolling when the remaining Experimental grant holders told Adam where they were currently studying within the project. Ignoring the intent gaze that Gabriel was drilling into her temporal lobe, Macy rearranged her salad on her plate. She hated that her aunt and uncle knew about that time in her life. She’d done her best to keep them from learning of it, but somehow they’d found out anyway. They’d never said exactly how.
The whole screwed-up mess had started because she’d forgotten the first rule of self-preservation. Growing up, she’d been dragged from pillar to post by her mother, the queen of Moving On. Macy had been the perpetual new kid in school—all twenty-three of them—and was savvy about not setting herself up for disappointment. She simply avoided getting attached to anyone, because she knew that sooner rather than later, Mom would get that restless look in her eye again and Macy would be shaken awake in the dead of night or greeted at the door when she came in from school by her mother’s gratingly cheerful, “Pack your bags, kiddo. We’re off on a big adventure.” It wasn’t until she’d hit high school age and Auntie Lenore talked her mom into letting her stay with them that she’d spent an entire year at one school.
And man, she’d adored it. She’d loved the continuity, the regular-kid home life with her relatives, the having a dresser of her own and half a closet in the room she and Janna shared so her clothes had a permanent spot. She’d really loved putting her suitcase in the attic instead of having to keep it handy because after a couple of months—or sometimes even weeks—it would be time to hit the road
Westler gave her a wry smile. “I’m divorced, ma’am. That’s my ex over there with my son, Zach.” He indicated a plump, sandy-haired woman stepping off the bottom riser of the bleachers and reaching out to haul a dejected-looking kid into her arms for a hug.
“Then I guess you’ll have to come on your own. Or maybe Zach would like to join us.”
“He’s pretty mad at me over the divorce right now, so I doubt it. But let me go ask.”
Watching the interaction between father and son at the far end of the bleachers, Gabe didn’t need to hear their exchange to know Westler would be joining them stag. The sullen expression on the kid’s face said it all.
He blew out a quiet, irritated breath. Great. That’s what they needed around the dinner table tonight, another contender for the always-happenin’ Flirt-a-rama.
But Grace was clearly pleased by the prospect of the get-together continuing. So, sucking it up, he rose and extended a hand to pull her to her feet.
“D IDN’T YOU DATE my niece one time in high school?” Bud suddenly asked Adam over Lenore’s taco salad and homemade rolls.
Damn, Macy thought at the same time Adam agreed, “I did.”
Fork suspended halfway to his mouth, her uncle gave the younger man a level stare and demanded in a low voice, “You one of those fools who took her out because you believed Mayfield’s lies?” Damn, damn, damn. Her heart sank as Gabe’s head snapped around from his tête-à-tête with Grace on the other side of Bud.
Color bloomed in Adam’s cheeks. “Uh—”
“How’s he supposed to answer that, Uncle Bud?” she demanded in a voice as quiet as her uncle’s had been. Turning to the Experimental boys, she said in a more conversational tone, “I’m not sure if Adam mentioned this, but he works at AAE.” She gave the American Agricultural Experiment, which most folks in Sugarville simply called the Experimental,its proper acronym. “Have any of you had a chance to work with him yet?”
Jim Holstrom said that he had, which started the conversational ball rolling when the remaining Experimental grant holders told Adam where they were currently studying within the project. Ignoring the intent gaze that Gabriel was drilling into her temporal lobe, Macy rearranged her salad on her plate. She hated that her aunt and uncle knew about that time in her life. She’d done her best to keep them from learning of it, but somehow they’d found out anyway. They’d never said exactly how.
The whole screwed-up mess had started because she’d forgotten the first rule of self-preservation. Growing up, she’d been dragged from pillar to post by her mother, the queen of Moving On. Macy had been the perpetual new kid in school—all twenty-three of them—and was savvy about not setting herself up for disappointment. She simply avoided getting attached to anyone, because she knew that sooner rather than later, Mom would get that restless look in her eye again and Macy would be shaken awake in the dead of night or greeted at the door when she came in from school by her mother’s gratingly cheerful, “Pack your bags, kiddo. We’re off on a big adventure.” It wasn’t until she’d hit high school age and Auntie Lenore talked her mom into letting her stay with them that she’d spent an entire year at one school.
And man, she’d adored it. She’d loved the continuity, the regular-kid home life with her relatives, the having a dresser of her own and half a closet in the room she and Janna shared so her clothes had a permanent spot. She’d really loved putting her suitcase in the attic instead of having to keep it handy because after a couple of months—or sometimes even weeks—it would be time to hit the road
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