“Are you sure I’m dressed all right?” I asked, brushing my palms over the hem of my strapless sun dress. It was blue and white with giant flowers all over it. The waist nipped in and the skirt flared out. I’d bought it on a whim and found no occasions to wear it in Bootleg.

“You look amazing,” Devlin assured me. He was wearing stone gray trousers and a simple white button-down that looked way too good on him.

“I feel pretty fancy for a barbeque,” I confessed.

He grinned at me from behind his sunglasses as he drove. And my heart gave that awkward flip-flop. He seemed less mad at me now, and I was grateful for it. I didn’t like keeping secrets, but this was one mess I wasn’t eager to drag anyone into.

“It’s a pretty fancy barbeque,” he said.

“What if I don’t fit in?” I asked.

“Is that fear I hear? Who are you, and what have you done with Scarlett?” he teased.

“I’m not scared,” I said, horrified at the accusation. “I’ve just never gone to a political function with my politician boyfriend before.”

“I think you’ll be just fine. Keep in mind that they’re all people too.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “People with trust funds and ivy league degrees. I’m Scarlett Bodine from Bootleg, West Virginia. My roots include an alcoholic daddy and a bootleggin’ great-granddad.”

I laughed. “Everyone’s got their dirty little secrets. They’re just not as up front about them as you are.”

“Will Johanna be there?” I asked.

The smile evaporated from his face, and I wished I hadn’t asked the question.

“She won’t be, but people who know her—knew us—will be.”

“Do you want me to pretend we’re not having sex?” I offered. If he said yes, I was going to forget that I was trying to make it up to him for avoiding him.

“Scarlett, I don’t want you to pretend anything ever with me. Least of all that everything’s okay when it clearly isn’t.”

Ah, shit. A direct hit.

“I know I owe you an explanation.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“And I know I owe you an apology.”

“Yep.”

“But I can’t give you an explanation because I don’t want to drag you into family business. And I’m no damn good at apologies.”

“So I’m just supposed to leave it at that?” Devlin didn’t look happy.

“No! You’re supposed to let me make it up to you.”

He muttered something under his breath about the “fucking Bodines,” and we rode the rest of the way to Annapolis in silence.

I’d been here years ago in junior high for a field trip. But back then, I’d been more interested in flirting with boys and giggling with Cassidy to pay much attention.

“This is the cutest town I’ve ever seen,” I said, peering through the window at the red brick buildings and narrow streets. “It’s so neat and tidy.”

“There’s the marina,” Devlin said, pointing through the windshield. Sailboats and fishing boats bobbed tied up to docks and mooring balls. A huge wooden schooner cruised out into open water. “And down this street is where I used to live. The house went up for sale as part of the divorce settlement.”

“Where do you live now?” I asked, craning my neck to get a better look at his past.

“My family has a condo no one was using. It’s mine to use until I figure out what I’m doing next.”

I didn’t say anything, but I linked my fingers through his. I wondered if he noticed how he tensed up when he talked about the unknown of the future.

“So where is this shindig tonight?” I asked, changing the subject.

Fifteen minutes later, we’d left the city limits behind us and turned onto a paved private drive that snaked its way toward the bay. I whistled when the house came into view. It was a sprawling New England Colonial with dark, faded cedar shingles and trim. The dizzying rooflines made the home look even grander. There was a fountain in the center of the circular driveway. And between the house and the glint of the bay stood a huge white tent billowing in the breeze. Devlin pulled his SUV up to the front porch, and I eyed the long line of brand new cars that looked like they were on a luxury car lot.

“This is Dr. and Mrs. Contee’s house. They’re hefty campaign donors with a laundry list of pet causes. Tonight we’re raising awareness for Maryland Legal Aid.”

My hands had gone icy in my lap. I didn’t usually intimidate easily. But I felt like I’d turned into Cinderella for a night when all I really wanted to be was a pumpkin... or a bumpkin.

I stuck my chin out. I was going to be the best damn bumpkin these folks had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

Devlin squeezed my hand as if he was reading my mind. “If you’re not having a good time, we can leave at any time,” he promised.

I nodded.

“And they’re probably going to pump you for information about the divorce, my work, bad blood between me and Johanna’s whatever-he-is. They’re going to assume that you’re a gold digger or that we were also having an affair. Also, they won’t say anything bad to your face. So, take comfort in that.”

I laughed. “Basically, I’m the new kid walking into my first day of high school.”

“Essentially. Just with more gray hair and money in this cafeteria.”

I nodded, happy to at least know the score. “Let’s do this.”

We turned the SUV over to the smartly uniformed valet and entered through the front door where we were greeted by one of the party organizers. “Devlin McCallister, so lovely to see you again,” a woman in a smart red blazer said with a wan smile. “Please join the others in the backyard. Have a lovely time.”

Devlin’s grip tightened on my hand, and I realized I wasn’t the only nervous one.

“Everything is going to be just fine,” I assured him. “If you’re not having fun, we can leave after half an hour.”

He laughed at me turning his words back on him and slung his arm around my shoulder, drawing me into his side. “I’m glad you’re here for my first foray back into real life,” he whispered in my ear.

I got goosebumps from his lips brushing my ear lobe. I realized this was more of a test for him than me. If Devlin could be welcomed back, he could resume his career and carry on with his life. A life that was two hours away from Bootleg Springs.

“Devlin McCallister! I haven’t seen you since...”

Devlin kept his arm anchored firmly around my waist and made a dozen introductions that I promptly forgot. We met the hosts, a lovely couple in their mid-sixties who were half in the bag from the signature punch the caterer had whipped up. Someone handed me a glass of champagne. An actual glass, outside on the stamped concrete patio. Either rich people didn’t drop things, or they didn’t care if something broke since they weren’t the ones cleaning it up.

Every time someone tried to squirrel me away for some gossip, Devlin reclaimed me and expertly ended the interaction.

“You are good at this,” I whispered to him as we walked away from a curvy lady with a Liza Minnelli-worthy wig who’d done her damnedest to get Devlin to admit he was devastated over his divorce.

“You’re not half bad yourself,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek.

Liza had shut the hell up when I’d giggled and batted my eye lashes. “Are people still talking about that? That was months ago! I swear, sometimes I feel like some of us never got out of junior high,” I’d said.

“McCallister.”

I felt Devlin tense against me, and I turned to face the enemy. He was tall and lean with sandy hair and a toothpaste commercial smile. He was wearing dark blue slacks a striped button-down and glossy loafers. Everything about him said subtle and successful.

“Anderson, good to see you,” Devlin said offering his hand. The man shook it with energy. Definitely a politician in the making. “This is Scarlett Bodine. Scarlett this is Les Anderson.”

“A pleasure,” Les said smoothly.

“How y’all doin’?”

He seemed delighted by my accent. His professional smile disappeared and was replaced with a real one. “Well, well. We’ve all been wondering where McCallister was, and judging by your voice, I can hedge a guess.”

I slid my arm through Devlin’s. “Dev and I have been enjoying our time together in West Virginia.”

Les’s eyes widened just the slightest bit. “And here I thought you were off licking your wounds,” he said.

“He’s been too busy licking other things,” I announced.

Devlin coughed, and I realized I may have gone a bit too far. I was used to throwing down insults with Misty Lynn. We didn’t have to worry about holding back for polite society being that there was no polite society in Bootleg.

Les smiled approvingly. I couldn’t tell if he actually liked me or liked the gossip I was providing. “You two up for some horseshoes?”

I perked up. If I was good at pool—and I sure as shootin’ was—I was even better at horseshoes. “That’s up to Scarlett,” Devlin said, deferring to me.

“Maybe you can show me, just like you taught me how to play pool.” I winked.

Devlin laughed, catching my drift.

Les signaled to another man, short and stout, wearing a red tie and a sheen of sweat, and pointed toward the horseshoe court.

Introductions were made. The sweaty newcomer was Lewis, a junior assistant district attorney. He seemed relieved that his small talk duties were officially over.

“Teams?” Les drawled, flagging down a server and distributing beers amongst our foursome.

“Dibs on Scarlett,” Devlin said.

* * *

“Well, my, my. I believe I just won again,” I said feigning surprise as my last horseshoe encircled the stake.

“You, Scarlett, are a sneaky, scheming, scam artist. Have you thought about getting into politics?” Les asked with a quick grin.

“Only so far as it involves getting into Devlin’s pants,” I teased.

Les threw his head back and laughed. “Your Scarlett is a breath of fresh air,” he told Devlin when he approached.

Devlin slid his hands around my waist in easy affection.

“That she is,” he agreed. I leaned into him. Maybe this whole politician party thing wasn’t so bad after all?

“If y’all will excuse me, I’m going to find the restroom and another round of beers,” I said excusing myself.

“Don’t get lost,” Devlin said gruffly. I winked at him and followed the brass walkway lights back to the patio. A mustached man wearing a bowtie held the door for me and gave me a mock bow.

I was killing this politician’s girlfriend thing. Everyone was so happy to see Devlin being so happy. I stepped into the powder room. When I was done, I checked my makeup and was carefully reapplying my lipstick when I heard voices in the hallway.

“Can you believe he had the nerve to show up here with her?” a woman asked in gratuitous glee.

“Johanna is not going to be happy that her soon-to-be ex is slumming it with some redneck. I mean, she said y’all!”

They laughed, a tinkling cultured laugh that they probably practiced, and I saw red. Bloody murder, bleeding nose red.

“Devlin acts like this was just a little ding to his career, but he’s hanging by a thread. One false step, one wrong move, and he’s done. Everything his parents have worked for will have been a complete waste.”

“I know,” the other woman crowed. “Him showing up with some twenty-year-old hillbilly is just too much. He’s going to need a permanent mental health leave, not just a temporary one.”

I stared at my reflection long and hard. I was Scarlett Motherfucking Bodine. And I was a liability. I had no idea what a politician’s girlfriend would do. What Johanna would do. So I did what I’d do.

I yanked the door open. “Hey, y’all. Funny thing. These walls are so thin!”

They gawked at me, looking as though they’d been cut from the same perfect postured, no-assed cloth.

“I feel real bad about eavesdroppin’ on y’all because now I’m just gonna make it my personal mission to find out everything there is to know about you. I’m gonna know which one of you is sleepin’ with your golf pro and which one of you binge eats cartons of ice cream until you vomit.” I took a step closer, and they both took one back, crowding closer to each other for support.

“I’m going to find out where you volunteer and get you kicked off of every board of every organization. And I’ll make it my j-o-b to ruin your boring little lives. Just for fun.”

I wiggled my fingers at them and started to walk away. When I felt them relax, I turned around and smiled. “Oh, and just so you don’t think no one talks behind your back, a woman in a pink dress called y’all bony bitches, and two gentlemen in sport coats were talking about which one of you gives worse head.”

I had heard no such things, but judging from their expressions, both were completely plausible. I patted myself on my back and walked back out to the party with a skip in my step.

Bootleg Justice for the win.