Page 52 of Sinners Reunion

“Only if you’ll agree to a meeting after dinner where we lay out the finite terms?”

She scoffs and curls her lip. “Dude, why do you always take bets so fucking seriously? It sucks the fun out of it.”

I pull my hand back.

“Okay, fine!” she relents.

I take her hand and give it a shake. “Exclusively!”

But she’s already out the door.

Let her go. I have her promise, and I trust the girl. If nothing else, at the end of the day, she won’t go back on that handshake.

I peer through the window and see Gary grinning up at me. He gives me a wave and waits for me to exit the RV. I kill the engine and climb down.

“I thought that stretch of road would never end,” he says, peering up at me to see if that was okay to say.

“I take it Jim’s made you drive?”

“No, no.” He peers around, then scoots closer, as if he’s about to spill the world’s juiciest secret. “I like Jim a whole lot, but his taste in music . . .”

“Is he on a Cher kick again?”

“I wish.” Gary covers his face and groans. “Bennett gave him a copy of The Chronic 2001 as a gag, but Jim thought it was a gift from the heart, so he’s been playing it nonstop.”

My eyebrow rises. I don’t know what to say to this. “Not a fan of Dr. Dre?”

“I love the album, and that’s the problem. He’s been trying to memorize the lyrics, but he’s butchering them, and I’m too scared to correct him.”

“Hopefully not all the lyrics,” I say. “He hasn’t had much exposure to that sort of music, and I’m not entirely certain he realizes you can’t say that, even when you’re singing along.”

“I told him that as soon as I saw the CD. He rolled his eyes and said he’d rather pair cashmere with corduroy on a rainy day than ever show that sort of disrespect. Then he tried to dap me up.” Gary groans and covers his face with his hands. “If I have to hear him mumble Eminem’s part one more time . . . I might just cry, King. I don’t know what to do.”

I sigh. “He’s a bit of an odd duck, but he’s lucky to have you as a friend. I’ll take care of that CD for you if you’ll do me a favor too.”

“Sure,” Gary says, his face brightening. I can’t tell if it’s that I’ve chosen to rely on him or that I’ve promised to spirit away one of the greatest rap albums known to man. Either way, he’s quite eager. He even bounces on his toes.

I glance around. “I’ll need to slip away with Josie tonight, right after the event.”

“Jim won’t like that.”

“I know, which is why I need you to be our cover. You’ll explain that you needed me to check on an issue with the Cattle. As for Josie, say she has a headache. He’ll be more concerned with me, anyhow.”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he says with a stomp of his foot. It’s quite adorable.

I wrap my arm around Gary’s shoulder, and together, we start toward the farmhouse.

We file into the small arena. Jim and the staff set everything up while I showed the others around the ranch—and took care of Gary’s little problem. Now half the staff are busy setting up the bonfire for dinner. We’ve planned to roast weenies, as is American tradition. The Americans have nothing that compares to a saveloy, though.

I glance at Josie as she lags behind the others. She’s busy admiring the horses and bulls. Meanwhile, I’m busy admiring her.

She’s a cowboy’s dream in flared denim jeans and a buffalo-plaid halter top. A black cowboy hat sits on her head, and black cowboy boots point from beneath her pant legs. She places her hand atop the hat as a gust of wind tries to knock it away. The breeze catches her loose braid instead, tugging it in ways I wish I could.

I hang back and wait for her to catch up. When she does, she’s all smiles and brightness. She’s happy. Truly happy.

“You look ready to go line dancing,” she says.

I shake my head. “I don’t bloody dance.”