'Cause he more or less wrote the invitation.
Couldnât keep herself from making an example out of him, and Roux betterâa considered himself lucky that the fire in his brotherâs wife was slowly sizzling out thanks to the weather. Harlow had unceremoniously walloped on the drunk stripling and made him wanna' cry out for his own mama. Roux got off easy.
Mire around the place was mixinâ and aâminglinâ with all the rain runoff, looking like the swamps more than the delightful nest beside the river. With Boone sunk into the earth, it sure looked a rotten mess. Harlow showed no signs of submission save for the mud painting down the frontâa him and breathingâ all deep-like to get her daily serving of Louisiana air. Her hair turned fawn in the dampness, fixed to the clenched facet that had Marvin there reconsidering ever using his tongue for much else than servility of the Honey Stop variety.
Mama instincts kick in âfore too long, what with company arriving and crowding around the spectacle. Without twisting her neck a pace, she missed not even one beat when she dressed down grimly, âDonât know where your parents decided to up nâ run to when you popped out your maâ, Marvin, but if itâs parenting you need, youâre gonnaâ get it. Considering the pickle you put some folks in without thinkinâ, I think youâre good right here with me. And Iâll tell you another thingâŠâ When she finally got him clutched up by collar and end of wits, she stared daggers into him and murmured, âYou better stay god damn sober with that motherfucker walking âround this entire county looking for his next promotion. You could be it. And I ainât gonnaâ let that happen.â
With a thrust and relinquished grasp, he hit the wet dirt with a final icky, aqueous âthudâ. Like the soil was suckinâ and leeching for him before he collided again. Honey looked him once more over. Poor kid, really. In the springtime of his life. Handsome, even, when he wasnât sporting the stink of rotgut, bruises and bad decisions. Was a shame his mama couldnât squinch up a bit to give her babies better. But she did her best, and now Harlow was next to play guardian.
âAm I?â There was a feigning of understanding but olâ Boone knew it was time to admit he ainât had a pot to piss worth reason. Heâd lost this one, mightaâ had his fun on the way down with the taunting of Roux, but boy did he lose somethinâ ugly. âGet your behind out of the mud,â she stated matter of fact, like she wasnât the one who put him there, and only a dumb sonmaâbitch would have pointed a finger at her in defense, âNow.â He might have been a lot of things, dumb for certain. But not that dumb.
Cold followed the drizzle, now hitting the brakes like storm was just short of taking down a lamp post or two. Got quiet, with the closing wind and shoes scuffling on the porch. The show was over but the habitués had much to discuss.
âCome on now, Hun.â
Low chitterinâ got up out of him between the scraping of his stubble, and rockinâ Nola with an amused smile. Harlow glanced with her head cocked, still poaching under her apron with residual anxiety and rage. But she didnât have it for her husband. âCause there he was with his weight creaking porch panels, meaning well with his stock beaming that never got old or less familiar. And she needed him. Loved him. More than ever.
Rem was a curiosity, most folk jus saw him as a bad boy who settled down for once. Never knew how smart and meticulous a man he were when the chips were down. Lottaâ underestimating going on in that town. Not just by the worst of outsiders, neither.
The inner circle at the Stop had a whole ordnance depot as far as the true colors of Gretna was concerned. But Harlow had a special knack for seeing past just the raw color, and recognizing why people did the things they did. Just k n e w the way a Truffle hound knew the difference between blood and bone. Yet she mostly left the fine print and dealings to Atticus, Rem or Noel. If there was somethinâ the three of them couldnât figure out, then it was gonnaâ be a load of trouble for the rest of the whistle stop.
âAnna, you might as well put that nasty thing out before you black up your lungs and my property. Go heat up a kettle for my Sophia, alright?â With a reassuring smile, Honey nudged at the elbow of her kindred spirit whoâd been gone too long. Sure, had a few things to cut the two apart. Like the fact that Sophia had a walk about her that claimed the hearts of men in a way that Harlowâs pie did to stomachs. But one thing about them, the most important of all, was very much the same.
Theyâd die or kill for what meant most to them.
âI got a few ideas to run by you, Miss Moon, so before your headâs all pumped up with devious ideas can I get your opinion on some things in the back room?â With a restive jerk, she padded into the dining room and towards the walk in pantry. Wrung her hair out as she waited patiently under the dull light of the ceiling, certain that Sophiaâs motives were predacious when her eyes caught the right subject.