The slam of the screen door has Emmy Lou and Jace appearing. Luke follows with oil-stained hands, quickly grabbing a cooler from the pantry and toppling in the six-pack Seth had brought. Emmy Lou smiles, her platinum bob bouncing as she sashays into the kitchen with a platter of sweets in her hands. Dressed in a lilac-colored jumpsuit, a magnolia tucked behind her ear, she looks every inch the Georgia rodeo queen she is.
“Sweet tea with vodka,” Jace says, setting a pitcher on the counter. The pile of alcohol grows. He shoots a quick glance at Luke. “That ATV’s souped as shit.”
“I know.” Luke watches Seth closely through the window. “He’s gonna drive too fast.” Concern tinges his voice.
Sal brushes a hand across his arm. “You worry too much.”
Luke grunts, his brow bunched. “Only about my family.”
Sal knows he does. After nearly losing Seth to an overdose ten years ago, Luke can’t help slipping into overprotective big brother mode at times. He cares about Seth something fierce, and Sal knows he still fights the memory of finding Seth curled up in that bathtub. It haunts Luke. And even though the memory comes secondhand to Sal, it haunts her as well.
After a long glance at her husband, whose frown has finally eased, Sal turns to Emmy Lou. “Please tell me you brought food.”
“Sure did, sugar,” Emmy Lou trills. She arranges the platter on the counter and pulls back the cellophane to reveal cookies, tarts and chocolate truffles.
“Great, dessert.” Sal floats Luke a panicked look. “We at least have meat?”
“Burgers and dogs.” Luke steals a truffle from the tray. He hoots a laugh as he pops it in his mouth, dodging Emmy Lou’s scolding swat. “Don’t worry, darlin’.”
Jace grabs a beer from the cooler. He hands one to Luke and then leans over to crank up the radio. “Sal, your song’s on.”
Sal’s lips part as Luke’s croon fills the kitchen.
Darlin, I’ll protect you to the ends of the earth
You can pick me up from my knees in the dirt
And together, we’ll both start over
Walkin’ that same ol’ road on to forever.
“Roads,” the number one song in the country, on the eponymous album, was the newest Brothers Kincaid song Luke had written for her after everything happened last year. Still, even now, she’ll never stop loving the thrill she gets from catching Luke’s song to her on the radio.
Emmy Lou surveys the stocked bar. “Well, if the boys are helpin’ themselves, should we start drinkin’?” Her eyes gleam as she reaches for a stack of red Solo cups and ladles out a generous helping of sangria.
Sal grins and grabs a cup. “Might as well.”
Just as she’s taking a sip, there’s a loud rap and then the screen door’s swinging open. Alabama Forester and Griff Greyson bustle in, guitars slung over their shoulders.
“It’s hot as hell out there,” Griff growls, wiping sweat off his brow.
Luke tosses him a beer. “This oughta fix it.”
Griff catches it up, cracks it open, doing double duty as he sets the guitars in the hallway.
“Sorry we’re late,” Alabama says, juggling two heavy brown bags. Her face is flushed from the heat, her red hair bright as a stoplight against her stark white sundress.
Grinning, Sal goes to the couple, taking a bag to ease Alabama’s load. “You’re not late. You’re right on time.”
Griff curves a tattooed arm around Sal’s shoulder. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”
Sal smiles up at his scarred face. The tall, gruff cowboy cuts an intimidating figure, but Sal knows better. Against all odds, Griff and Alabama have become part of their country music family. Close, and not to mention damn loyal friends, despite all that happened with Luke and Mort.
“Doing perfect,” Sal says. “How was the honeymoon?”
“Gorgeous,” Alabama says.
Griff arcs a brow, his eyes on his wife. His lips curve in a wicked smile. “Tiring.”