“Say hello to Becky for me,” Easton added, affection swelling his heart at hearing Becky Lathan’s name.
“I certainly will,” Darby Anne said with a flourish. “Thank you for helping Bailee Anne. I know you have to be exhausted after last night’s adventure.”
He shrugged off the appreciation. “Anytime, ma’am. You ladies have a good day and be careful.”
Darby Anne climbed down the porch steps and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Easton.” Then she turned to Bailee and kissed her cheek as well. “I love you, Bailee Anne. Call me if you need anything while I’m out.”
“Love you, too, Gran. Have fun.”
Neither of them resumed their painting until Darby Anne backed her car out of the driveway and headed down the road. Easton turned back to the task at hand, pleased with the progress they’d made because maybe they’d soon be finished with it.
“How do you know Gran’s friend?”
He whipped his head around to find Bailee watching him curiously. He smiled before dipping his brush into paint and using the tray to wipe off any excess. “You mean, other than the fact we live in a small town, and everyone knows everyone else?”
Something in her eyes shuttered, and she averted her eyes. “Right.”
Easton suddenly felt like he’d lost something important, but he had no idea what that could be or what just happened. Eager to get their camaraderie back on track, he flashed her his best charming smile.
“It’s a long story, but I’ve known Becky a long time.”
She cut her eyes back at him and nodded. “Well, we have some time, and it might be nice to have some conversation while we work.”
And with that, Easton felt like he’d passed an important test he didn’t know he was taking.
Chapter Seven
What am I doing?
The minute she prompted Easton to share a bit about himself, she wondered if the paint fumes had messed with her good sense. Just last night, she considered her grandmother’s charming neighbor a huge pain in her ass.
When he showed up this morning, she was ready to send him back to his house, even if it meant she had to be rude to him to get him to leave. Before she had a chance to question her sanity, she not only invited him to help her, but she also indulged in her curiosity about the man.
Easton eyed her with a smug look on his face, pleased that he’d won her over. Let him think that. She was doing her due diligence as Darby Anne’s granddaughter to make sure her neighbor was just as great as Gran thought he was. He seemed nice enough, but Bailee’s cop instinct nagged her that there was more to him than Gran knew.
“I’m surprised Darby Anne didn’t tell you anything about me.”
Bailee shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”
“Right. Okay. Well, I met Becky when I was sixteen. I went to a bar to ask about a job, and she worked there.”
His long story wasn’t as long as he implied, but it didn’t settle her curiosity. She frowned slightly, wondering if he was being vague for a reason.
“Yeah, I think your long story needs to be longer,” she said dryly, and he chuckled.
“Well, I was an unwilling product of the foster care system. I got it in my head that I wanted to earn enough money to strike out on my own instead of living in foster homes, so I went to every business in town looking for work. But everyone knew my background and didn’t want to take a chance on me. I wound up at the Fire Bar. I knew a couple of guys from school who worked there in the afternoons, so I figured the owner might give me a shot. His name is English Barlowe. When I told him why I was there, he gave me a job, but only if I stayed with him while I worked for him. It turned out the guys I knew who worked there also lived there. They had rough home situations similar to mine, and Gish — that’s what we call English — offered them a safe space to live in the apartment above the bar. I figured why not? I was planning to leave once I saved enough money anyway.”
“But you didn’t leave.”
He grinned. “Only long enough to serve in the Army.”
Easton finished his section of the porch and stepped back to admire his work before continuing. “As I said, Becky was a waitress at the bar. Come to find out, Gish helped her out after her sorry excuse for a boyfriend brought her to the bar. The bastard kept her drugged and abused her. Gish helped her get away and start a new life. She got clean and started working for him. She was sort of a mother figure for us.”
“What about the other boys who lived at the bar too? What happened to them?”
“My brothers. We’re not blood related, but we’re brothers in all the ways that count. They’re still around. We all operate businesses in town. Jackson and I run the bar. Luke runs the auto repair shop. Ben runs the hardware store. Gish and Becky are kind of semi-retired and just help out with whatever we need. Since Jackson got married, Becky helps his wife Reagan out a lot with their son Jax.”
“Were your brothers foster kids too?” Bailee couldn’t stop the questions. Easton’s story seemed too odd to be believed but too far-fetched not to have some semblance of truth to it.
