I lifted my eyebrows. “Duly noted.”
With a huff, Josie broke our handshake by stepping between us and leveling her dad with a look that wouldn’t have only leveled me; it would have obliterated me. “That’s your idea of—”
“That’s all I’m capable of right now, Josie Belle. I don’t hand out second chances just because. If Garth proves himself worthy of me changing my less-than-stellar opinions of him, I will do it with a smile. But until then . . .” Mr. Gibson patted Josie’s cheek, the same one I’d just had my hand around. “He’s serving his sentence for all the years he’s spent building a bad reputation.”
I totally got where Mr. Gibson was coming from. If I ever became a father and my daughter hung around a guy like me, I’d be faced with two options: serve a life sentence for putting a bullet into the kid’s head or sequester my daughter to her own private iceberg in the middle of the Bering Sea. I’d die before I’d let a daughter of mine get involved with someone like me. Mr. Gibson and I spoke the same language there.
There was a problem, though. Mr. Gibson didn’t know Josie and I’d slept together. He and Mrs. Gibson didn’t have a clue I’d been the reason Josie and Jesse—their golden son-in-law who could have been—broke up. The three of us had come to some sort of unspoken agreement not to talk about what had happened. We didn’t talk about what had taken three best friends and split them apart. He didn’t know I’d been intimate with his daughter, and he’d still formed the opinion of me that I was about as worthless as a bull with no buck. If and when the day ever came that he found out . . . well, I would never get a second chance because I’d spend the rest of this life and my next serving time for the first chance I’d ruined.
Josie hitched her hands on her hips, and I knew it wasn’t a matter of if, but when she got back into it with her dad. So instead of carrying on what I knew to be a stalemate, I turned to the other guy. The one who made my fists ball the instant I looked at him. As expected, he was running his eyes all over Josie. When they stopped on her ass, I stepped forward, and I swear to god if his gaze hadn’t shifted right then, I would have hammered him into the ground.
“Colt.” I shifted until I was between Josie and his leering gaze.
“Garth.” He crossed his arms and stood taller. I still had the douche by two inches. “Looks like your face healed up okay.”
As expected, getting in a bar fight with me was the highlight of Colt Mason’s life. “What? From those butterfly kisses you gave me? It was like a day at the spa.” Instead of refereeing her dad and me together, Josie shifted to trying to referee me and Colt apart. Wasn’t happening.
“Don’t spa days cost money? Something you don’t have any of?”
Josie let out a small gasp. I lifted an eyebrow at him that said Is that all you’ve got? “You know, there are plenty of things you can’t buy with money. Like respect. Or integrity. Or a dick that doesn’t malfunction.”
“Garth,” Mrs. Gibson hissed. Of course she’d missed Colt’s insult.
Colt stepped forward. “Given all of your conquests that might have a little . . . mileage on them, I suppose you know about malfunctioning dicks.”
Why was I letting the asshole still run his mouth? Oh, yeah, no reason. I was so close to bringing my left fist around until to smash that stupid little smirk off his face when Josie’s hand slipped into my fist. With one touch, she’d diffused a bomb. Her hand didn’t stay in mine long—just long enough to calm me down. It slipped out before Colt or her parents saw.
“If either of you boys want to stay around for dinner, you’d better watch your mouths. And your fists.” Mr. Gibson gave me a pointed look. I guess he hadn’t missed that I was ready to send Mason across the living room with one hit.
“Sorry, Mr. Gibson.” Colt turned his back to me and headed to the table. “This guy just has a way of getting under my skin. Along with everyone else’s.”
“Garth is a guest here. So are you. The better man isn’t the one who hits first or the hardest or the most. The better man is the one who uses his head instead of his fists.”
I had so many smart-ass responses to that, but I tried something I’d been trying more and more and bit my tongue until it almost bled. Mr. Gibson sat at the table and waited for us to do the same. Mason, the ass kisser, sat next to Mr. Gibson before I’d stepped toward the table.
“Hey, Josie. We’re still on for next month, right?” Mason asked.
Two points for knowing just how to push my buttons. My hands were back into fists as I approached the table. He might have sat beside Mr. Gibson to get so far up that man’s ass he’d need the damn enema of enemas to get him out, but I wasn’t there for Mr. Gibson. I was there for someone else. Sliding out a chair, I glanced at Josie and raised an eyebrow. She smiled. She was still smiling when I sat beside her.
“Josie? Have you gone deaf, child?” Mrs. Gibson set a big roast in the middle of the table. “Colt asked you a question.”
Her smile dropped. “I must have missed it. Sorry, Colt, what did you ask?”
He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I asked if we were still on for next month?”
“What’s next month?”
Colt’s shoulders dropped just enough to make me grin. “The big winter dance and barbecue at Wild Bill’s.”
I wanted to make like Josie and roll my eyes. Our town and its fondness for seasonal get-togethers at the local honky-tonk. As a rule, I avoided “community” get-togethers since community made me nauseous. The only reason I’d been to a few of them was because there were so many single and willing women at those things, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.” Josie grabbed the basket of rolls and handed them to me. She knew I’d never met a roll I didn’t like. “We’ll see.”
Colt did not look pleased. Mrs. Gibson looked horrified. Me? Well, I still hadn’t stopped grinning.
Mrs. Gibson peered at Josie as she sliced into the roast. “If you promised Colt you’d go with him to the dance, it’s only right you keep your word. That’s just good manners.”
“And lecturing your grown daughter at the dinner table while we have a couple of guests sitting around it is the opposite of good manners.” Josie peered right back at her mom as she heaped a couple servings of mashed potatoes on to her and my plates. Josie probably didn’t think anything of it—she was too distracted by her flaring temper to realize what she was doing—but no one had ever taken care of me the way she was. Handing me the biscuits even though she didn’t take one, dropping a spoonful of potatoes on my plate, giving me only a small portion of peas because I wasn’t hot on them . . . I wasn’t used to people showing me that level of care and concern.
“Thank you,” I said and waited for her to look at me. When she did, I slid my hand beneath the table. I let it rest on her leg, just above her knee. She didn’t gasp, she didn’t jolt, she didn’t even look surprised. The look on her face said she’d almost been expecting it. Then her hand found mine, and our fingers tangled together. I couldn’t imagine ever getting tired of holding Josie’s hand.
“You’re welcome,” she replied.
After that, dinner was pretty uneventful. Other than Colt keeping his lips vacuum-sealed to Mr. Gibson’s ass and Mrs. Gibson criticizing each of her dishes by what was missing and which ones needed more salt, it was a pleasant dinner. Mostly thanks to Josie’s and my hands never separating. Thankfully, Mrs. Gibson’s roast was tender. I would have rather picked it up and eaten it with one hand than let go of Josie’s to cut it.
Plates were being cleared when Colt cleared his throat and made his move. I knew that look in his eyes. I’d practically invented that look. I didn’t like that look when some douche had it aimed at Josie. No, that wasn’t quite true . . . I hated that look aimed at Josie.