My dad wasn’t on the porch when I got to his house. His health had been steadily improving and he was no longer on oxygen full-time. I’d come over the other day to find him walking around with no tubes—no little cart with a tank of oxygen—and nearly burst into tears. His lungs were still delicate and prone to infection, so we had to be careful. And he tired quickly. But he was getting stronger every day, and the doctor had said he could go back to work soon.

I let myself in and almost dropped the bag of groceries I was carrying. Stopping in my tracks, I clamped my mouth shut and stared. I couldn’t think to do anything else. There was my daddy, standing in the kitchen, kissing Betsy Stirling.

My eyes must have been wide as saucers. I was paralyzed, torn between clearing my throat to alert them to my presence, and trying to sneak out the door before they realized I was there.

Before I could decide what to do, they stopped—truth be told, it had been a very sweet kiss—and Betsy jumped, putting both her hands over her heart.

“Dear lord, you scared me,” Betsy said, her face flushing red.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

My dad grinned. It was a little boyish, reminding me of Jameson. “Sweetheart, it’s me who needs to apologize. Didn’t mean for you to see that.”

“Well…” I straightened and adjusted the grocery bag. “Can I ask if this is… a thing? Or did that just happen right then?”

They looked at each other and I already knew the answer.

“I suppose, I hope it’s a thing,” Dad said, his eyes on Betsy. “I haven’t been well enough to court you properly, but I certainly intend to.”

Betsy smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

“If that’s all right with you,” Dad said, turning to me.

“Oh Daddy,” I said. My heart wanted to burst. “Of course it is. This is just… it’s just lovely.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Betsy asked. “I was telling Clay we really ought to talk to you before we let things go any further.”

“Mind? No, this is…” I struggled for words, looking between the two of them while my eyes stung with happy tears. “This is so sweet. I’m so happy for both of you.”

I set the groceries down on the floor—who could worry about canned goods at a time like this?—and rushed forward to grab them both in a hug. It felt so good to see my dad smile, it was all I could do to keep from sobbing.

After I’d hugged them a few times and wiped away the tears that trailed down my cheeks, we all went out to the porch. Betsy brought out sweet tea, and instead of taking his rocking chair, my dad sat on the bench so he could sit next to her. I sat in the rocking chair, tipping it back and forth slowly as I sipped my tea.

“I don’t mean to be nosy, but how did this happen?” I asked.

Dad took Betsy’s hand and twined their fingers together. “Well, Betsy’s been spending a lot of time here, helping me out and whatnot. We often got to talking, especially when I was too sick to get out of bed.”

“We have a lot in common,” Betsy said. “And enjoy each other’s company quite a lot.”

“And recently, I decided I wasn’t going to keep lettin’ life pass me by,” Dad said.

Betsy blushed again. “He kissed my hand first, and asked if he could trouble me for a real kiss.”

I put my hand on my chest and sighed. “Oh, Daddy, you are a romantic.”

Dad laughed. “I reckon. I’m just happy she didn’t smack me.”

Betsy nudged him with her arm. “I’d been wonderin’ if you were ever going to get around to it.”

“I’m relieved you’re all right with this,” Dad said. “Been a bit worried about how you’d take it. Guess I got myself all tied up over nothing.”

“You sure did,” I said. “I’m so happy for you both. Really.”

“Do you have plans to see Jameson tonight?” Dad asked.

“I do, as a matter of fact,” I said. I’d seen Jameson every day for the past couple of weeks—ever since our day at the lake and the magical night that had followed. We’d had picnics and dinner dates. He’d taken me out on his four-wheeler again to recover more scrap metal from the old car. Last night we’d driven outside town and lain in the bed of his truck to look at the stars. We’d talked and kissed for hours. Then he’d made love to me out there in the open air. My core tingled a little just thinking about it.

“You planning on staying in Bootleg long term, then?” Betsy asked. “Seeing as how you’re getting cozy with Jameson Bodine and all.”

I nibbled my lip and shrugged. “I’m not sure. I do have to think about making a living.”

“You’ll find a way,” Dad said. “I always knew you’d make your way back to Bootleg. I’d sure love to see you settle down here.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” I said.

I’d been a little nervous to tell my dad I was dating Jameson. Turned out, there was no need, considering Jameson had beaten me to it. The day after he’d kissed me for the first time, he’d come to visit my dad for a little man-to-man chat. He hadn’t asked my dad’s permission to date me—and my dad hadn’t expected that of him. Dad was old-fashioned, but not quite that old-fashioned. But Jameson had told me it was important to him to let my dad know we were dating, and that his intentions toward me were honorable.

It had certainly been the right move if Jameson had been hoping to win points with my dad. He admitted he liked to do things old-school. So even though I was a grown woman, he’d appreciated Jameson’s gesture and later told me, more than once, he hoped I’d settle down with Jameson Bodine. It was a far cry from his reaction to Kelvin.

I stayed a bit longer to chat with Dad and Betsy. They were so cute together, it gave me all kinds of warm squishy feelings. Betsy had brought over supplies to cook dinner for the two of them, so I said my goodbyes and left.

It was early yet, and Jameson wasn’t picking me up for several hours, so I decided to stop for some coffee and a pastry. Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee had the best blueberry muffins, so I found a parking spot and went inside. It was busy, but there were still a few open tables. I ordered at the counter and took my coffee and muffin to a table near the back.

The table next to me had a group of ladies with knitting needles clicking away. They talked quietly over their coffee as they knitted. A group of younger women dressed in tank tops and shorts over swim suits—probably tourists—came in a few minutes later and sat behind me.

I flipped through my Instagram feed while I sipped my coffee. The cell signal was good in here, which wasn’t the case everywhere around town. I followed a number of fashion bloggers and designers, and it was always fun to see their posts and creations. I had a lot of unread comments on my posts, but I left them be. Most of them were probably about the show, and nothing I wanted to read. I might have been missing the odd supportive post, but it wasn’t worth it to see all the negative ones.

My phone buzzed, the little text icon popping up at the top of my screen. I swiped to see who it was from. Kelvin. I didn’t even read it. He’d started texting me again a day or two ago. The first one had just said, you need to call me. I’d replied, no thanks. He’d responded with it’s important, but I’d ignored it. Yesterday he’d texted again to say I needed to call him, but I had decided to stop replying. If he kept it up, I was going to figure out how to block his number. The guy needed to move on.

The conversation the girls behind me were having caught my attention. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but one of them had said something about Roughing It.

“I can’t get enough of that show,” she said. “I don’t even know why. Like, it’s ridiculous, right? But it’s so addictive.”

“Oh my god, I know,” the other girl said. “It’s like a car wreck. You know you should turn it off, but you can’t look away.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I can’t even with Leah Larkin. Like, who does she think she is? It was obvious from the first episode that she was going to be all over Brock Winston.”

I swallowed hard and bit my lip. They obviously hadn’t seen me sitting here. My hair was braided, and I was wearing one of Jameson’s Bootleg Cock Spurs baseball caps, so I wouldn’t be as recognizable in public.

“I know, right?” the other girl asked. “And what was Brock thinking? Leah Larkin isn’t even that pretty. She’s all bony and weird looking. That gap in her teeth? Oh my god, they’re called braces, sweetie.”

“Oh, I know.”

“I guess I can’t blame her about Brock, though,” the other girl said. “He is hot.”

“Yeah, but he’s married,” she said. “That’s low.”

“Some girls don’t care.”

“I’d care,” the first girl said. “Anyone who stoops to stealing another woman’s husband is a special kind of whore.”

I pulled the ball cap down and squeezed my eyes shut to stop the sudden rush of tears. I was not going to cry sitting here in Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee. Not over this. These girls didn’t know me.

“You know she’s supposedly here, right?” the second girl asked.

“Here?” she asked. “Like, here, in this town? What is she doing here?”

“Running around with some guy,” she said. “James or Jamie or something like that. I don’t know, I saw it this morning. He’s probably married, too.”

“Oh my god, I have to see this,” the first girl said. “Can you imagine if we saw her in person?”

There was a pause—I figured they were looking things up on their phones—and I should have left. But I held my breath, waiting. James or Jamie… did that mean the media knew about Jameson?

The first girl gasped. “You’re right. Look at this. Oh my god, he’s hotter than Brock. I guess when Brock went crawling back to Maisie, Leah went and found herself a rebound. Who is this guy?”

“According to this, he’s just some random guy,” she said. “Jameson Bodine? How did she even meet him? It’s so weird.”

“I hope he knows what he’s getting into,” the other girl said. “I wonder if they even know about the show out here. Oh my god, maybe he has no idea who she is. Wouldn’t that be crazy? He’s just some poor, innocent country boy, thinking he lucked out with a hot girl. What’s he going to think when he finds out the truth?”

“I don’t know, but according to this, his dad is being investigated for the murder of a sixteen-year-old girl,” she said.

“Holy shit.”

Oh, no. My chest felt like it had caved in on itself and a swirl of nausea rolled through my belly. I grabbed my phone and searched my name, clicking on the first result. It was an article in a gossip column. I skimmed it quickly and my fears were confirmed. It mentioned me, Bootleg Springs, and Jameson Bodine.

But it didn’t stop there. It said that Jameson was a local artist, but then went into the Callie Kendall case and his father’s possible connection to her disappearance. I felt sicker by the second.

With Leah Larkin’s failed attempt to steal Brock Winston away from his wife, Maisie Miller, she has apparently taken refuge in the backwoods of West Virginia, in a little town called Bootleg Springs. And she’s not alone. Confirmed photographs show Leah Larkin with local Bootleg Springs artist Jameson Bodine. But if Leah was hoping to keep her fling with the hot country boy out of the press, she should have chosen someone with a lower profile. Jameson Bodine’s father, the late Jonah Bodine, is being investigated as a person of interest in the disappearance of Callie Kendall, a sixteen-year-old girl. Kendall, the daughter of Judge and Mrs. Kendall, went missing from Bootleg Springs twelve years ago, and her disappearance has gone unsolved. Recently uncovered evidence points the finger at the Bodine family, and resulted in the reopening of the case.

I closed the article, my heart in my throat. I wanted to believe it was just this one gossip column, but if this site was reporting it, that meant it was everywhere. They didn’t bother with little stories. They always went for the big stuff.

Leaving my muffin untouched and my coffee still half-full, I rushed out. I needed to talk to Jameson.