Page 114 of Josephine and Clay

Penny returns flushed and triumphant. “I've successfully influenced the musical direction of this event. Want to dance?”

“No.”

She smirks. “Want to pretend we’re too sophisticated for dancing while secretly judging everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.”

So that’s what we do.

For fifteen minutes, I almost forget. Enough that I laugh when Earl tries to clap on beat and fails. Enough that I eat two more bites of pie. Enough that Penny spins herself in a circle and nearly collides with Mayor Ruth’s clipboard.

Enough that my shoulders start to loosen.

Maybe Penny was right. Maybe one night doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe I can be frightened and still stand under warm lights listening to fiddle music. Maybe I can be pregnant and uncertain without turning into someone unrecognizable to myself.

Then the energy shifts.

I feel it before I understand it.

A ripple near the entrance. A few heads turning. Boone looking up. Nash breaking into a grin. Maggie McCoy, seated near the side with Clara, straightening slightly.

Penny goes still beside me. “Oh.”

My heart already knows.

I turn.

And in walks Clay.

He comes through the wide barn entrance on crutches, cast visible, dark hair slightly messy, jaw set like every step costs him and he’ll die before admitting it. Nash is beside him, saying something with a grin, while Dallas follows close enough to help but far enough to let Clay pretend he doesn’t need it.

Clay looks tired and annoyed and unfairly beautiful all at once.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Clay

JUNE 30TH

The rodeo grounds glow before we even pull in.

String lights, loud music, and trucks lined up in the dirt. Buckhorn gathered under one roof as if the town has a pulse and every damn person here came to listen to it.

Once, I would’ve loved this.

The noise, the girls, and the endless beer. The easy attention. The way people said my name when I walked in after a good ride.

Tonight, every step on those crutches might as well be an announcement. Look who fell. Look who’s stuck. Look who came crawling home.

Nash walks beside me, close enough to help but smart enough not to touch. Dallas falls in behind, doing the same damn thing. They think I don’t notice.

“Quit babysitting me,” I mutter.

“Quit looking like you’re about to bite someone,” Dallas says.

“I might.”