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  Later, she promised herself. You can freak out about this tonight, when you’re alone in bed.

  Rising, she wiped at her face and headed back toward the house.

  “Remy!” her mother called.

  “Coming!” she said as she came around the corner of the shed.

  “Come on, then, slowpoke,” her mother said, brushing some flour off her faded blue apron.

  Remy trotted back to the house, feeling self-conscious. She probably looked a mess, her face mottled from the handful of panicked tears that she’d been unable to repress.

  When she climbed the back steps to the kitchen, everyone else was already around the table. Her father at the head of the table, her mother’s place set at the opposite end. Her sister Shelby and brother Micah sitting on one side, her sister Larkin sitting on the other.

  “Hurry up, Rem, I’m starrrrrving,” Larkin said.

  “Y’all start without us,” Remy said.

  “Not a chance,” her mother said.

  “Eulah,” her father said to her mother. “A man’s got to eat.”

  “Nobody’s eating until we pray, and we don’t pray until everyone’s seated,” her mother replied primly.

  Eulah sat down, looking to Remy.

  “Where’s Shi?” Remy asked.

  Her mother pointed to the hallway that ran between the kitchen and the living room. Shiloh crouched in the hallway, running a matchbox car across the floor with his chubby toddler hands. His dark hair was wildly mussed, and though Remy couldn’t see his face from here, she was sure it was grubby.

  Her son was always into something, she’d learned that early on in his life.

  “Shiloh, honey,” she called.

  Shiloh dropped the car and turned to her. “Ma!”

  He raised his arms expectantly, and Remy couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face. “What’s on your face, hon?”

  “Mmm…” Shiloh said, as if considering her question. He was only three, so his conversational skills weren’t really great yet.

  “Remy, seriously,” Shelby said. “As the oldest sibling, I’m going to need you to show a little hustle here.”

  “Oh, being 11 months younger than me means you need to be fed more often?” Remy asked, arching a brow.

  “It’s just, you know. I did five straight hours of piano lessons at the church today, and that really works up an appetite,” Shelby said with a wink.

  Remy snorted, scooping up her son and walking him over to the sink. She did her best to clean him up and wash her own hands, which mostly turned into her trying to keep Shiloh from getting hand soap in his mouth.

  She deposited him in his high chair, then took her own seat. Shiloh grinned, pleased to be between his mother and grandmother, his two favorite people in the world.

  “All right, let’s say grace,” her father rumbled. There was no heat to his complaint; Remy and Shiloh usually got a pass in moments like these.

  They all held hands as her father blessed the meal, which turned out to be a roast chicken and various fresh vegetables from the garden.

  Everyone served themselves, her father and Micah discussing a repair that needed to be made on one of the ancient pickup trucks. As Remy cut up some chicken and sweet potatoes for Shiloh, she listened to Shelby and Larkin telling stories about their jobs.

  While Micah worked on the farm with their father, Shelby cared for the hen house and gave piano lessons in town. Larkin was a paralegal, working a 9 to 5 job in town for Catahoula’s only lawyer.

  Remy worked part-time on the farm, helping her mother with canning, pickling and cooking. She also had a side job working a couple shifts a week at The Speckled Hen, a dingy little cowboy watering hole on the main strip.

  “You got some time to work on the books this weekend?” her father asked.

  Remy scrunched up her face and nodded. “Sure, yeah.”

  Recently her father had asked her to start helping with balancing the farm’s accounts, and so far it had been a harrowing experience. The farm was in a crazy amount of debt, with nowhere near enough money coming in.

  When her father gave her a long glance over a forkful of chicken, Remy gave him a nod. No one else in the family knew just how bad things were, though really if they took a minute to look around, it seemed obvious.

  “How did Dad talk you into the free labor?” Micah asked Remy, eyes sparkling.

  “You know, he’s very persuasive,” Remy said with a smile.

  “He’s a cheapskate, is what he is,” Shelby intoned.

  Remy was probably the only one to catch her father’s flinch while everyone else chuckled. Yes, Braxton Rivers was notorious for his penny-pinching. When Remy was little, it was all hand-me-down clothes and three minute showers, the water never hot enough.

  Now, though, she understood. The farm’s profit margin was slim, and the River family was big. She glanced down at her plate, feeling guilty. She was adding to that burden, no matter how much her parents loved her and Shiloh.

  In farm families, the general idea was that the daughters would marry off and move to their husband’s land, relieving the family of the burden. None of the River daughters were married, though…

  Shiloh gurgled, waving a sweet potato at her. Remy smiled at him and accepted a bite of it, though he’d smashed it into a paste. She swallowed it, watching him.

  The spitting image of his father, Shiloh was. Dark hair, gorgeous hazel eyes that made her heart twist in her chest. That same irresistible grin, minus the darkness she sometimes saw in Sawyer’s eyes.

  Remy let the conversation wash over her, eating a bit before cleaning Shiloh up. She drifted through the evening, putting Shiloh down to sleep. Her own sleep was restless, and though she didn’t break down, neither did she come up with any answers.

  5

  The next day, Remy was still all knotted up inside, wishing desperately that she had some quiet time to sort out her thoughts. She was supposed to work later in the evening, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  “Girl, call in sick,” Larkin told Remy when she said as much.

  “Oh… I shouldn’t,” Remy said. “I called out like three times this year already, when Shiloh had that really bad fever.”

  Shiloh squawked, happy to hear his name.

  “You’re a single parent. I know your boss understands that,” Larkin said.

  Remy narrowed her gaze at Larkin, bouncing Shiloh on her hip. Her youngest sister was a terrible flirt, and had made no bones about the fact that she had several gentlemen suitors in town. One of them was Grant Landry, Remy’s boss.

  “I don’t like it when you talk to me about Grant,” Remy said.

  Larkin gave her an innocent look. “I was just saying, he’s a widower and a single parent.”

  “Yeah, of a son like four years younger than us,” Remy said.

  “Fine, don’t call in. Do whatever you want,” Larkin huffed, turning to leave the kitchen.

  “Wait, wait,” Remy said.

  Larkin turned back.

  “Take Shi?” Remy asked, holding him out to his aunt.

  Larkin relented, taking Shiloh and cooing to him. “Your mommy’s silly, do you know that? Huh?”

  Heading upstairs to the bedroom she shared with Shiloh, Remy changed into a clean pair of jeans and her tight white work t-shirt. She’d resisted when Grant asked her to wear the flashy, low-cut uniform top, but dang if her tips weren’t 100% more when she complied.

  “Stupid freakin’ men,” she grumbled. She pulled her long blonde hair into a high ponytail, then dusted a tiny bit of shimmery eyeshadow and pink blush on.

  Checking her reflection in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she smiled, then shrugged. She turned, checking out her own butt in the mirror, then rolled her eyes at herself.

  At 28, she looked much the same as ever. She’d filled out a little after having Shiloh, her hips widening and breasts getting a little bigger. Giving birth to Shiloh hadn’t been particularly kind to her body, but nur
sing, along with hard work on the farm and at the bar… she’d snapped back in about a year.

  Now, she thought, pressing her hands to her stomach as she looked in the mirror. Now it’s almost impossible to tell that I have a 3 year old.

  Well, except for the fact that everyone basically knew. She’d mostly hid out at home during her pregnancy, but even the few outings to church had been enough for gossip to spread like wildfire. Nothing she could do about it then, nor about the judgy looks she still got from some ladies in town.

  Sighing, she put on her shoes and grabbed her purse. She kissed Shiloh and her mother goodbye, then climbed in her rusting Chevy pickup and drove into town. She parked and got inside, then started setting up the bar.

  The Speckled Hen was a bit nicer than the rusting tractor shed in Remy’s backyard, but only by a little bit. There was a well-worn wooden bar with 12 stools, a single pool table, and a handful of booths. There was a small stage and a little dance floor, though the live music acts were few and far between. Sometimes couples would dance to the tinny jukebox music, but usually not.

  There were three beers on tap, plus a handful of bottled beers that changed at Grant’s whim. They had a little of everything, but specialized in a wide variety of mid-level whiskies. There was only one kind of cocktail at The Speckled Hen, which was liquor and Coke or Sprite.

  It was all fine by Remy, since it just meant less to set up, and less to memorize. She tied on a short white apron and unlocked the front doors just as the sun set. In a real city, no bar could open this late, but in Catahoula there wasn’t much demand for drinking in public before dark.

  As soon as Remy flipped the sign on the front door to open, regulars started to trickle in. Catahoula didn’t get much in the way of tourists, but there was a local oil refinery a couple towns over that sometimes provided new faces.

  Tonight, it seemed like the oil workers were celebrating, because 20 of them came in shortly after opening. They were spending big, and tipping big, which was nice… but Remy had the feeling that she’d be kicking some of the rowdier ones out at the end of the night.

  Between the regulars and the celebrating oil workers, Remy was busy. She managed to text Grant, letting him know that there were a few boisterous outsiders. Still, between Remy and a couple of her regulars, there’d never been a need to call in for backup.

  Some of the hardened older cowboys had strong ideas about propriety, and they were more than happy to defend Remy against any visitors who got ideas. The oil workers soon simmered down, too drunk to do much other than sit. After a few of them started to leave, another wave of customers came in.

  Sawyer Roman walked in, his two brothers right on his heels. He made eye contact with her, frowned, and started toward her. Remy paled and turned away, busying herself with other orders. When she turned back, Sawyer was at a booth with Colt, and his brother Walker was patiently waiting to order drinks.

  “Hey,” she said to Walker, trying to keep her cool. Like Sawyer, Walker was tall, dark-haired, and far too handsome for his own good.

  “Three beers,” he said without preamble.

  “Right,” she said, shaking her head.

  She hurried to fill his order, then placed three mugs before him. “It’s 10, please.”

  He dropped a twenty on the bar. He sipped one of the beers, then nodded. “I tried to take him to the Dirty Cur.”

  “Oh… I…” Remy said, blushing. “It’s fine.”

  Walker arched his brows but didn’t say anything. He picked up the mugs and returned to the booth, making room at the bar for a group of local men Remy’s age. Scott Brass, Jared Elsythe, Tim Brien, and a few others she didn’t know as well.

  “Hey, y’all,” she said, eyeing Scott, Jared, and Tim warily as they sat down before her. Not her favorite customers, truth be told. Good-looking, cocky jerks… and not in a good way.

  “Hey there, baby,” Jared drawled. “I see your boyfriend’s back in town. He gonna be mad that you’re so in love with me?”

  Remy huffed a laugh, trying not to roll her eyes. “Yeah, Jared. Real jealous.”

  “Mmhm, I thought so.”

  “Shut up, man,” Scott said. “Remy, can we get some shots and beers?”

  “Yep,” she said, shaking her head. She started to line up up their drinks.

  “Hey, here’s a question,” Scott said, a nasty grin on his face. “Does Sawyer know about you gettin’ knocked up? I bet he thinks you waited for him, all this time. Huh? Or does he know you spread your legs for some other guy?”

  Remy slammed the last shot of whiskey down on the bar. “Mind your own business, Scott.”

  “Awwww, he don’t know! Ah, this is so great. I can’t wait for Mr. Hero Soldier Prom King to find out what you did,” Scott chuckled.

  “You still mad that I wouldn’t go to prom with you, Scott Brass?” she asked as sweetly as she could manage.

  Scott glared at her, then smirked. “You know what just now occurred to me? Maybe you ain’t a slut, maybe it’s Sawyer’s bastard.”

  “Drink your beer,” Remy said, trying not to overreact. Scott didn’t know anything, he just wanted to get her goat.

  “Well, I’m just saying. Maybe a liar is better than a slut.”

  “Last warning,” she said, holding up a finger. “And if you ever call my kid a bastard again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

  Scott’s eyes flashed, but he just grabbed his shot and beer and turned his back on her, muttering a curse.

  Remy released a pent-up breath, but she couldn’t relax. This was a nightmare scenario. Everyone in town knew she had a kid. Everyone but Sawyer, unless his brothers had filled him in.

  And if Sawyer found out, if he got even the slightest sense that Shiloh was his son…

  He could take over Remy’s whole life, maybe even sue for custody and take Shiloh away from her. Just like his father had promised, back when Remy was pregnant.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she moved down the bar to refill some more empty glasses.

  Between the hometown boys and the Roman brothers, Remy spent a lot of her night avoiding eye contact and ignoring heavy gazes. Every time she turned around, Sawyer was staring at her so intently that he was like to burn a hole through her shirt.

  Jared, on the other hand, spent the whole night staring at her ass. He even kept up a running commentary about it, growing bolder and more crass as the night wore on. Around ten, she turned around and found him behind the bar, standing far too close for her liking.

  “You know, Remy… I’m real good in the sack,” he said, drunk and dark-eyed.

  “Uh huh,” she said. “Get out from behind the bar, Jared.”

  She glanced over to find that Tim and Scott were distracted, turned away to ogle Arlene Thompson’s tan legs as she danced around the pool table in a short denim skirt.

  “I’m just saying, I always thought you and I should get horizontal. I’d blow your mind, little girl,” Jared said.

  He reached out and grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her closer.

  “Jared, don’t make me tell you again,” she warned, her heart starting to pound. “Turn me loose and go back to your seat.”

  “I like that sassy mouth,” he said with a grin. “Although I can think of other things I’d rather you do with it—”

  Then Jared yelped, because Sawyer Roman had wrapped a hand around the base of his neck, stabbing his thumb into a sensitive pressure point.

  “Let. Go,” Sawyer growled at Jared.

  “Damn, Sawyer!” Jared said as he let Remy’s arm drop. The second Remy was free, Sawyer did something that made Jared drop to his knees with a howl of pain.

  Scott and Tim and a few others started to move in, but Walker and Colt Roman had their brother’s back, sidling closer with twin expressions of not-messing-around. The whole bar seemed to go silent, everyone’s eyes glued to Sawyer and Jared.

  “You ever touch a woman against her will again, I will make you hurt,” Sawyer gritted out.
>
  He shoved Jared away, looking disgusted.

  “You’re crazy, man,” Jared said, springing to his feet. “You went over there to fight, but you didn’t come back right, man.”

  “You want to find out just how wrong I am?” Sawyer offered, stone-faced.

  “Naw. Hell, you two deserve each other,” Jared said, backing around the bar to escape. “Scott, Tim, let’s get out of here.”

  Remy watched them leave, belatedly realizing that she was trembling. She glanced at Sawyer, who watched her closely. Several things bubbled up in her mind at once.

  Thank you, and By the way, I had your baby, and I never want to see you again were amongst them.

  Instead, she blurted out, “You didn’t have to do that!”

  Sawyer didn’t even flinch.

  “Remy, I was hoping—” he started.

  “I have a lot of work to do,” she said, the words coming out as rudely as possible.

  He hesitated, then nodded and moved back toward the booth with his brothers. Hands shaking, Remy went about refilling drinks and wiping down the bar.

  The whole time, in the back of her mind, all she could think about was the day that Arlo Roman had showed up at her house, wanting to talk.

  6

  She was seven months pregnant with Shiloh by that point, and hadn’t even been in town for weeks because she was half out of her mind with equal parts shame and heartache.

  Arlo found her walking a little patch right between the River and Roman property line, picking blackberries. She was sweating hard, and kept eating more berries than what actually made it into her wicker basket.

  “So it’s true,” Arlo said, making her jump.

  She straightened up from the bramble, turning to find Sawyer’s father behind her, mounted on horseback. He and Sawyer could have been twins, if not for the age difference and the fact that Arlo always looked as sour as if he was chewing on lemons.

  “Colonel Roman,” she said, nodding to him. Trying to pretend he hadn’t scared the daylights out of her, wishing she could slink behind a bush and hide.

  Sawyer’s father had always made her feel nervous, made her feel self-conscious of how poor her family was compared to the Romans. Now, heavily pregnant, she felt like she’d proved him right, having a baby out of wedlock like this.