“She needs someone to go with her to a childbirth class.” Chance left out the rest of what Cordy had told him. His brothers wouldn’t go blabbing, but Cordy had made it clear what she’dsaid stayed between her and Chance. “I was thinking of calling Ruby.”
Quint’s mouth went flat. He stared at his empty mug, then muttered, “Someone’s got to bring the old man in from the back porch. Guess it’s me.”
“Well.” Chance stared after his brother as Quint stomped off. “Sounds like things are going great at home with him and Ruby.”
Sometimes, his brother and his sister-in-law were on speaking terms, and sometimes not. Chance never understood what kept the two of them together. Well, he understood what kept Quint in the relationship—pure cussedness and the curse of being a Kessal man—but not what kept Ruby.
“Can’t Cordy ask Hailey?” Rye lifted his mug for a refill. “Or Mrs. Saxon?”
“There’s… issues there.”
“Hmm.” Rye didn’t demand an explanation. “Remember how she sat by herself at the funeral?”
“Yeah.”
Cordy hadn’t arrived with the Saxons—she’d come alone. She’d sat by herself at the back of Huntington and Sons Funeral Home and disappeared after the service, not even staying for the wake. No one had known what to make of it. It was like she was mad at the entire town. Or she didn’t know how to act at a funeral.
Maybe there was already trouble brewing between her and the family by then.
“Guess she doesn’t want to ask Reed’s family,” Rye said.
“Nope.”
“Ruby is good friends with Hailey.”
Chance pressed the heel of his hand into his eyebrow. That was a damn good reason not to ask Ruby.
Back in second grade, Ms. Slade explained spiders didn’t get caught in their own webs—the spider remembered whichstrands were sticky and which weren’t. Chance always figured that would be helpful in a town like Star Crossed Springs, remembering who was connected to who and which strands were safe to pull on.
“What about Liberty?” Rye asked.
“Why the heck would she ask Liberty?”
Asking Liberty would be about as random as asking any other person in town—not quite as random as putting up an ad, but almost.
“Liberty likes Cordy,” Rye said.
Chance remembered Liberty’s suggestion about the strawberry donuts. And how she’d told the old-timers to knock off their rude comments.
Huh. Rye might be right. Still…
“Cordy put up an ad for a labor coach on the Donut Palace board,” Chance said heavily. “That’s how desperate she is.”
Rye whistled. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen that up there. Although that one guy was looking for someone to beat a level of Super Mario for him.”
“Isaac Martin,” Chance said. “I wonder if he ever found someone.”
“I heard Johnny Hansen’s ten-year-old did it for him. Isaac cried, he was so happy.”
Chance scratched his chin. “Well, Cordy isn’t asking for help with a video game. I offered, but she turned me down.”
“What?” Rye coughed in his hand, his coffee going down the wrong pipe.“You?”
“Yeah, me.” Chance set his mug down with a snap. “Why’s that so funny?”
“Pulling calves doesn’t make you a labor coach,” Rye said. “I hope you didn’t talk about being elbow-deep in a cow when you offered.”
He hadn’t, but now that Chance thought about it, maybe that did qualify him for the job.
