Casual Wanderer © 2025 All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and specific other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
"The Cookout" (Part 1)"
The morning had come in hot and mean, sun already climbing high, heat sliding off the tin roof in lazy waves. Daisy was a woman on a mission, hair pinned up in a wobbly bun, sweat darkening the collar of her faded floral blouse as she marched through the house like a storm that hadn't decided yet if it meant to flood or burn.
"Carla!" she hollered, near breathless, arms full of paper plates and napkins. "Lord, woman, put them deviled eggs in the icebox before they grow legs and run off!"
Carla, red-faced and grinning, planted her hands on her hips. "Daisy, you act like we ain't thrown a barbecue before. I swear, you wear me out more'n a newborn with colic."
Daisy shot her a look that could blister paint. "Don't test me today, Carla Jean Dalton, not with half Willow Creek comin' over."
Outside, Jackson stood on a rickety aluminum ladder, draping red-and-white bunting across the porch rail. His golden hair stuck to his forehead, that perfect movie-star face flushed from the sun. Cash steadied the ladder, one boot scuffing the dirt, looking up with a grin that was equal parts mischief and worry.
"You drop that banner one more time, I'mma whoop you with it," Cash teased, steadying the ladder.
Jackson rolled his eyes. "Maybe if somebody kept the ladder still, I wouldn't be riskin' a broke neck."
Cassidy was sprawled on the porch swing, stringing little white lights through a mason jar, laughing like only a sister could, free and a touch mean. "You two hush, you sound like a old married couple. We gon' be here all day if y'all don't quit bickerin'."
Cash shot her a glare. "Ain't nobody askin' you."
Cassidy smirked. "Says the boy who couldn't even tie his own shoes 'til he was eight."
Jackson laughed at that, near lost his balance on the ladder, and Cash barked, "Don't you dare bring that up!"
Cassidy shot him a wink, unfazed. "Why not? You think these folks don't know you a fool by now?"
It was easy, the way they fell into this rhythm. Three kids had practically been raised in the same yard, nursed on the same love, and had been each other's protectors long before they ever learned what the world would expect of them.
Jackson climbed down and set the bunting aside, dusting off his hands. "Y'all remember that summer when we tried to build a treehouse behind Granny Marla's place? Thought we was gonna be engineers, I swear."
Cassidy snorted, nearly spilling the jar of lights. "Engineers? Baby, we was holdin' them boards together with duct tape and prayers."
Cash chuckled low, eyes soft with memory. "An' you fell through the floor first night, Jackson. Lord, I thought you was dead, cryin' like a stuck hog."
Jackson shook his head, grinning widely. "That treehouse was a deathtrap. But damn, we was proud."
From inside, Daisy's voice cracked like a whip through the screens. "Y'all better not be sittin' out there jawin' while my potato salad's still in the car!"
Cassidy snickered. "Lord, she's on a tear today."
Jackson sighed. "Reckon we best go help before she skins us alive."
Cash clapped his friend on the shoulder, the same shoulder he'd leaned on more times than either could count. "Come on, golden boy. Let's get them groceries."
Daisy barely had time to catch her breath before the screen door slammed again and the sound of high-heeled sandals filled the front hall. In marched Marla, Becky-Lynn, and her cousin Lurlene, carrying more grocery bags and gossip than sense, all grinning like a pack of foxes.
Marla, who'd known Daisy since they were both wild-haired teenagers sneaking out back windows, hollered as she swept through the kitchen, "Where you at, sugar? I brought that green-bean casserole you love!"
Daisy poked her head out of the hallway, hairpins clinging for dear life. "Did you bring half a spice rack with it again? That thing'll burn the roof off folks' mouths."
Marla laughed, fanning herself with a folded church bulletin. "Only way to get these men to notice green beans is if they got a little heat."
Becky-Lynn laid a box of store-bought cookies on the table like she was delivering treasure. "I swear, Daisy, I meant to bake, but the Piggly Wiggly had these on sale, and I figured, well, nobody gon' care once they see Blake Buckley strut through that yard."
Lurlene gave a loud, delighted harrumph. "Girl, you talkin' 'bout that tall drink of cowboy?" She clutched her heart like she'd been shot clean through. "Whew! He's enough to make a married woman stumble, I tell you what."
Daisy flushed pink, shooing them down the hall. "Will y'all please hush with that nonsense? I'm already sweatin' tryin' to get all this ready."
Marla tossed an arm around her, steering her into the bedroom like a warden. "Oh, hush. You need us more'n you think, missy."
They bustled into Daisy's room, where a vintage vanity sat under a small lace-curtained window. It smelled like powder and the faintest memory of gardenias. Marla popped open a can of hairspray with the authority of a general.
"Sit your behind down," she ordered, patting the stool. "We gon' get you fixed up proper. You hear me?"
Daisy sighed, giving in, her shoulders drooping. "Y'all treat me like a charity case."
Lurlene started rummaging through Daisy's closet, tut-tutting at every tired blouse. "If charity come wearin' a beard and ridin' a buckin' horse, baby, I say let it!"
The women cackled, a bright, raucous sound that made Daisy laugh despite herself.
Becky-Lynn pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse. "Now, let's talk about Blake. Mmmhmm. That man looks like he could split wood with a single wink. Daisy, honey, you better grab on before some other hussy does."
Daisy squirmed, cheeks near scarlet. "Y'all stop it. He's...a friend is all."
Marla arched a brow, teasing. "Ain't no man that fine just friends with a woman looks like you. Hell, Daisy, the way he watches you, it's a wonder he don't catch fire from them eyes alone."
Daisy ducked her head, biting her lip.
Marla leaned closer, softening her voice. "You just scared. It's alright to be scared. But that don't mean you gotta live like a nun forever."
Daisy sighed, looking away. "It ain't me I'm worried on. It's Jackson. He been actin' so strange lately, ever since that rodeo."
The room fell quiet for a heartbeat, the air tight as a stretched bedsheet.
Becky-Lynn picked up Daisy's hand. "Baby, he's eighteen. Boys get odd when the wind changes direction. He's probably just tryna figure out who he is. Ain't your fault."
Lurlene nodded. "He'll come 'round. They always do."
Marla sighed, giving Daisy's hair a fluff. "Raisin' a son is like a long breakup, honey. From the day you birth 'em, you start losin' 'em. Piece by piece. You teach 'em to walk, so they can walk away from you."
Daisy's eyes stung, but she blinked the tears back. "Don't you make me cry, I'm already wearin' cheap mascara."
Marla squeezed her shoulders, voice warm. "We got you. You hear me? You ain't alone."
The moment passed, and Becky-Lynn clapped her hands together. "Alright now, enough mopin'. Lurlene, go dig out that blue sundress. Daisy, you're wearin' that one. It matches your eyes and makes your...assets...look dangerous."
Lurlene snorted, waggling her eyebrows. "Dangerous is exactly what she needs."
Daisy tried to protest, but they bulldozed her like a pack of loving sisters. In no time, Lurlene had hauled the sundress from the closet, smoothing its wrinkles, while Marla teased Daisy's hair into a soft halo. Becky-Lynn dotted blush across Daisy's cheekbones, humming an old gospel tune under her breath.
"You smell like honeysuckle and heartbreak," Becky-Lynn teased, leaning back to admire her.
Daisy huffed, but couldn't help laughing. "Ain't nobody smellin' me but y'all."
Marla gave a sly grin. "We'll see about that once Blake walks through that door."
Lurlene snapped her gum, fussing with Daisy's hemline. "You just remember one thing, if that cowboy's smart, he'll see you for what you are. The strongest, finest woman in this county."
Becky-Lynn added with a wink, "And if he don't, we'll break his knees."
The whole room howled with laughter, so bright and good it felt like a blessing. And for a moment, with these women wrapped around her like a quilt, Daisy remembered what home meant.
*
The sun had found its easy perch above the pines by the time folks started trickling up Daisy's drive, old men in clean straw hats, women with covered dishes and plates wrapped in foil, children running barefoot through the crabgrass, whooping like wild things.
Daisy had posted herself by the picnic tables, one hand on her hip, the other holding a spatula like a scepter, queen of her kingdom. Her hair was smoothed into a shiny halo, sundress catching every bit of that Mississippi light, and she was glowing from the inside out, even if her eyes kept darting, quick as a sparrow, toward the dusty stretch of road beyond the oak trees.
In came the McBrides, fresh from Sunday service, and Daisy wrapped Mrs. McBride in a hug so big the woman nearly squealed. "I heard your Jimmy made all-state!" Daisy crowed, full of pride.
"He surely did," Mrs. McBride beamed, all ruffled with pride herself.
"Well, he got that from you, sugar," Daisy teased, squeezing her shoulder before ushering them toward the grill.
Jackson, meanwhile, stood under the shade of the hackberry tree, pretending to arrange the ice in the cooler but mostly keeping watch on the road. Every time a car's headlights glimmered in the distance, his heart kicked, only to sag again when it turned out to be Mr. Hargrove, or one of the Dalton cousins roaring up with dusty boots and fresh gossip.
Cassidy noticed him, leaning over with a sly grin. "You lookin' for somethin', baby angel?"
Jackson startled. "Ain't lookin' for nothin'," he lied, cheeks pink as a ripe peach.
Cassidy arched a brow, then gently punched his arm. "You 'bout as subtle as a chicken in church."
Back at the grill, Daisy worked the crowd with her easy, unstoppable charm. She knew every name, every story, every heartbreak that had ever passed through Willow Creek.
"Pastor Evans!" she hollered, "come get yourself a rib before these heathens take 'em all!"
"Daisy, you gonna send me to an early grave with that sauce," the preacher fussed, already grabbing a plate.
"Better than dyin' sad and hungry!" she shot back, and the whole crowd laughed like she'd told the best joke in Mississippi.
For a moment, Daisy stood still, just watching her world unfold: the kids laughing on the grass, the grown-ups with beer bottles in hand and plates spilling baked beans. It was home, this place. But still, her eyes couldn't help flicking down that dirt road, wondering if a certain van might appear around the bend, kicking up dust. Every ten minutes, it was like clockwork. She'd glance at the horizon, then scold herself, then glance again.
Jackson, on the other side of the yard, mirrored her. From the moment the barbecue had started, his gut had been a tangled knot, worse than any test or any fight he'd ever been in.
Cash passed by with a plate balanced high, noticing Jackson's faraway stare. "You sure you don't want me to fix you a plate? You lookin' green."
Jackson shook his head. "I'm fine."
Cassidy, perched on the porch rail, drawled over her sweet tea, "He ain't fine."
Jackson shot her a warning glare, but she just laughed, tossing her braids over one shoulder as the younger crowd finally wandered in. Some of Jackson's old school buddies, a couple of Cash's roughneck cousins, and Weston, freshly scrubbed and smiling shyly behind a big paper cup of sweet tea.
Cassidy was holding court near the swing, polishing her nails with a look that said she'd bite the first boy who got fresh. "Lord, y'all," she drawled to a pair of girls tryin' to gossip about football, "if I have to hear one more word 'bout them Panthers, I'mma start swingin'."
Cash cracked open a can of soda, rolling his eyes. "Ain't no one talkin' to you, Cass."
"Ain't no one need to, Cash Dalton. I talk enough for both of us," she shot back, flashing a grin that nearly blinded the sun.
Jackson half-listened, half-scanned the road, until the twins' bickering was cut off by the sound of another vehicle, a dull beige minivan belching out half the county's worst exhaust, paint peeling off like sunburned skin.
Cassidy let out a groan. "Oh, Lord have mercy, look who's comin'."
Jackson felt a pang of sympathy as he saw the battered van roll to a stop, its doors swinging open like a broken gate. Out hopped Callie Rae, bright-eyed, with a giggle you could hear from town to town.
"Jackson Bell!" she shrieked, before her second foot even hit the ground. "I brung you a peach pie I made all by myself!"
Jackson's smile was kind, warm, the sort of smile that never cost him anything to give. "That's real sweet, Callie Rae," he said, as gentle as if he was talking to a stray pup.
Callie Rae's mother, a woman whose eyeliner seemed tattooed straight on her face, clambered out after her, toting a foil-wrapped meatloaf. "Daisy!" she called. "Got somethin' for y'all!"
"Come on in!" Daisy hollered from the grill.
Callie Rae practically pranced across the yard, her flowery dress bouncing like a maypole. Before Jackson could dodge, she threw her arms around his neck. "You look so handsome, Lord have mercy."
Cash snorted so hard he nearly choked on his drink. Cassidy had to turn away to hide her grin.
Jackson patted Callie Rae's back lightly, careful not to crush her enthusiasm, though he tried to peel her off him with slow politeness. "That's real nice, Callie. Good seein' you, too."
She batted her lashes so hard they nearly blew the gnats away. "Mama says you ain't courtin' nobody yet, so I was thinkin' maybe we could share some peach pie later. Just us."
Cassidy choked outright, then turned it into a hacking cough to hide her laugh.
Jackson, cheeks red, shifted politely. "I'd like to try the pie, sure. Thank you for makin' it."
Callie Rae let out a shrill squeal that spooked a nearby toddler, then flounced off to put her pie on the table, grinning over her shoulder like a lovesick songbird.
Cash sidled over, unable to help himself. "You better marry that girl before she keels over from wantin' you," he teased under his breath.
Jackson shot him a look, all exasperated affection. "Hush."
Cassidy cracked up, fanning her face. "She been carryin' a torch for you since second grade."
Jackson sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, but his voice was gentle. "She deserves somebody who'll treat her right. That ain't me."
Cassidy, softened by that, gave him a shoulder bump. "You always was too good to break a girl's heart outright."
Across the yard, Callie Rae kept sneaking glances at him, giggling with her cousins, while her mother was deep in conversation with Daisy about the best way to glaze a ham.
Still half-looking at the road, Jackson finally tore himself away from it and wandered toward the shady side of the house, where Weston was perched on the splintered steps of the old shed, nursing a cup of sweet tea so hard it looked like he might crush it.
Weston's round cheeks were pink from the heat, and he kept fussing with his shirt, pulling it away from his chest like it was strangling him. His eyes were glassy, drifting across the yard as if he wanted to fade into the wall behind him.
Jackson dropped down on the step beside him, close enough their shoulders brushed. "You eat yet?"
Weston shrugged. "Ain't real hungry."
Jackson leaned forward, arms on his knees, studying the scuffed toes of his boots. "Folks been askin' after you. Said they was glad to see you here."
Weston snorted, a quick, wounded sound. "Folks don't see me, Jackson. They see...I dunno, a story to tell later. Like, oh, there's that boy again, bless his heart."
Jackson's chest ached. He turned his head slowly, carefully. "Ain't true. You know that."
Weston looked away, throat bobbing. "Feels true."
Jackson let the silence breathe before he spoke, his voice gentle. "You deserve better'n how they talk about you."
Weston snickered, voice trembling. "Don't start that. You ain't gotta baby me."
Jackson shook his head. "Ain't babyin' nobody. You got a good heart. You...you should be treated with respect."
Weston's eyes flashed, watery, angry. "That's easy for you to say."
Jackson frowned. "How you figure?"
Weston turned to him, lower lip shaking. "Look at you, Jackson. You're beautiful. You could walk down Main Street butt-naked and folks would still love you for it. Me? I'm just the fat kid who can't even get kissed without gettin' hurt."
Jackson sucked in a breath, heart rattling like a jar of pennies. "Ain't nobody got it easy."
Weston's eyebrows shot up, skeptical. "You tryin' to tell me you don't?"
Jackson's voice broke around the words, softer than he meant. "Feels like everybody expect me to be somebody I ain't half the time. Like I gotta live up to their dreams for me. Can't hardly breathe sometimes."
Weston went still, real still, watching him with wide, startled eyes. "You mean…" He trailed off, scared to finish it, scared to name it.
Jackson reached for a blade of grass by his boot, twisting it. "I mean...sometimes it's hard to want what you want."
Weston exhaled, slowly, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. "Yeah," he whispered. "Hard."
They let it hang there, that wordless understanding, threaded between them like a piece of string tied in a knot. Neither boy was willing to say it plainly, but both knew exactly what the other carried inside.
Jackson gave Weston a quiet smile, steady and sure. "You deserve better. You hear me? Somebody who looks at you and sees the whole damn world."
Weston blinked, tears rolling free now, but he was smiling too, a small, grateful thing. "Reckon that'll take a while."
Jackson nudged him with a shoulder, playful, warm. "Well, then I'll just keep remindin' you 'til you believe it."
Weston laughed, a watery laugh that trembled like new glass. "You a damn saint, Jackson Bell."
Jackson grinned, a flash of that golden-boy charm he couldn't ever quite bury.
They sat there, shoulder to shoulder, two boys pressed up against the hard truths of their lives but refusing to let go of the sweetness.
However small.
*
The day was growing fat and loud with heat when the deep rumble of an engine rolled through the yard and made everything pause.
For half a breath, you could've heard a gnat sneeze.
Then Blake Buckley's van creaked into view, red clay clinging to the wheel wells, dented. Blake himself climbed down from the cab like some kind of cowboy king, boots hitting the ground heavy, broad shoulders framed against the sky.
He wore his Sunday denim and a plaid shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow, a beard thick as river mud, and dark hair twisted up in a low bun. The second he stepped forward, it was like the whole yard woke up and swooned.
Kids took off toward him like a school of fish, squealing and laughing, clutching toy broncos and rodeo posters. "Blake! Mister Buckley! Sign my hat!" one of them shouted, holding out a marker.
Women, both married and unmarried, started fixing their lipstick, patting their hair, standing up a little straighter. Becky-Lynn nearly dropped her plate, staring like she'd seen the archangel Gabriel himself.
"Lord have mercy," Lurlene whispered, fanning herself. "If he don't look like trouble with a capital T."
Blake's smile was easy, warm enough to melt frosting off a cake. He tipped his hat, a worn, sweat-stained thing that somehow looked elegant in his hands, and ruffled the nearest boy's hair. "Y'all behave now," he teased, grinning widely.
He let folks pull at him, kids clamoring for photos, ladies fussing about his hair, beard, or what he wore. Blake answered every question and laughed at every joke, his big hands scrawling autographs on lunch napkins, his deep voice cutting through the chatter like a soft bell.
Daisy stood by the porch steps, arms folded across her blue sundress, watching all this unfold with a curious heat in her cheeks. There he was, the man she'd let her hopes hitch to, standing tall and calm in the chaos, looking like the sort of man a woman could depend on after a lifetime of doing for herself.
She didn't rush forward.
She waited.
When Blake finally caught her eye, he smiled. Slow, deliberate, a smile he meant just for her.
But even as the world seemed to hush for a moment between them, Daisy noticed something. A flicker in his gaze, a small, searching glance that drifted right past her shoulder, out across the yard, hunting for someone else.
Jackson.
Only Jackson wasn't there, not where Blake expected him to be. He was off behind the side of the house, toward the shed, tucked into a small patch of shade with Weston and a couple of other friends, still lost in their quiet talk and paying no mind to the circus.
Daisy frowned, just the tiniest pinch of suspicion in her brow, but quickly smoothed it away.
She stepped forward, pushing through the knot of kids, cousins, and gawking neighbors, her voice ringing out bright and sure. "Blake Buckley!"
He turned back to her, that half-crooked grin catching the sunlight. "Daisy Bell," he drawled, low and kind.
"You gon' stand here all day signin' caps," she teased, "or you gon' come let me feed you before these folks pick your bones clean?" Blake chuckled, gently excusing himself from the kids, and let her slip her hand around his wrist. She tugged him through the yard, past all the eyes, smirks, and whispered fantasies. "Come on now," she said, voice softening, "you look half starved."
He went along, glancing over his shoulder one more time, searching that yard, but Jackson still didn't rise into view.
Daisy clocked that look.
So she led Blake up the steps, past the wide eyes and gossips, past the hush of all those hungry hearts, holding on to her bright, fierce hope like a banner in the wind.
In the shade by the well house, Jackson finally looked up, his heart twisting sharply like barbed wire. He saw Blake's tall figure vanishing inside the house with his mama.
The moment Daisy tugged Blake across the threshold and into her cool, fragrant kitchen, the rest of her crew swooped like a murder of crows on fresh roadkill.
Marla practically slammed her purse on the counter and fixed Blake with a look that coulda peeled paint. "Well, if it ain't the heartbreaker himself," she announced, arms folded so tight her bracelets clinked like wind chimes.
Blake managed a grin, standing there politely with his hat clutched in both hands. "Ma'am," he said, soft as butter.
Becky-Lynn was already circling him like a shark. "Lord have mercy, you really do smell like saddle soap and dreams," she swooned, fanning herself with a plastic plate. "Daisy, you sure he's real? I keep expectin' him to disappear in a poof of rhinestones."
Lurlene elbowed in, eyes darting up and down Blake's broad chest. "Mister Buckley, you ever been married? Divorced? Chased outta town for ruinin' a girl's virtue?"
Blake chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks pinkening under his beard. "No, ma'am," he said, looking from one lady to the next like a man facing a firing squad. "Ain't never been married."
Marla arched a brow, suspicious as a barn cat. "You sure about that? No strays you left behind? No little Buckleys runnin' 'round Missouri or some such?"
Blake held up a hand, dead earnest. "Swear on my grave. Just me."
Becky-Lynn sighed dreamily, half-melted. "Well, bless your heart. Shame to waste all that man on one woman."
Daisy barked a laugh, swatting Becky-Lynn with a dish towel. "Hush now, you hussy."
Marla smirked, poking Daisy in the ribs. "We just lookin' out for you, sugar. We know how quick a pretty face can turn mean."
Lurlene nodded so fiercely her earrings rattled. "Daisy's had enough fools, Mister Buckley. You so much as frown at her wrong, we will bury you in the back pasture and nobody'll ever find you."
Blake's eyes widened, then crinkled with a warm, rolling smile filling the room. "Fair enough, ma'am," he said. "I reckon Daisy's worth defendin'."
That answer, so respectful and straightforward, softened all of them at once. Marla's shoulders dropped. Becky-Lynn's grin turned sweet. Lurlene gave a pleased little grunt, like a mother hen.
"Well," Becky-Lynn declared, setting her plate down, "then come on and get yourself a sweet tea before you melt. This here is Daisy Bell's house, which makes you family, long as you stay on the right side of her."
Blake dipped his head in thanks, still slightly dazzled by the onslaught. "Yes, ma'am."
Daisy's heart nearly burst right then. The women who'd held her up her whole life, who had seen her through nights crying on the kitchen floor and long days of fearing she'd never be enough, they were doing exactly what they'd always done.
Protecting her.
She smiled, warm and grateful, even as she nudged Marla away. "Lord, y'all are worse than a pack of guard dogs," she scolded gently.
Marla winked. "Better a guard dog than a fool, baby."
*
The kitchen had begun to settle after the last flurry of casserole dishes and neighborly interrogations, leaving only a low murmur from the yard drifting through the screen door. Daisy set a pitcher of sweet tea on the counter, wiping her hands on a towel, letting herself just look at Blake for a second.
He was leaning against the old wall, one thumb hooked in the pocket of his worn jeans. His eyes were calm, and he smiled at her in that slow, careful way.
Daisy bit her lip, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "Reckon you're glad you showed up?"
Blake's grin went a little crooked, full of slow-burning mischief. "I told you I'd get myself invited into your house eventually."
She let out a laugh, warm and rich, rolling her eyes. She stepped a little closer, reaching for a stack of paper plates, brushing against him as she moved. "I'm glad you came," she whispered, eyes shining. "Feels like it matters, you showin' up."
Blake reached for a dish towel, idly twisting it between his big hands. "I reckon you deserve someone to show up."
But there was something hollow about the way he said it, a pause behind the words, like he was speaking from far off. Daisy, sharp as a blade when she chose to be, felt that distance cut through her.
"You alright?" she asked, trying to keep it light.
Blake forced a smile, one that didn't quite reach those eyes. "Yeah, just thinkin'. Crowds make me twitchy sometimes."
She chuckled, letting it slide, wanting to let it slide. "Well, you better get used to crowds if you're gonna hang 'round Willow Creek, mister."
Blake laughed softly, but he was looking somewhere else, eyes gone vague, a man halfway out the door even while his boots were still planted square in her kitchen.
Before she could dig into that feeling, the back door slammed open, rattling the house, and in came Jackson and Cash, laughing so hard they nearly tripped over each other. Jackson had his head thrown back, that golden hair catching the sun, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling. But the moment Jackson saw Blake standing there, his grin died like a candle snuffed by a gust of wind. The air snapped tight as barbed wire. Blake went rigid, jaw working under his beard. Their eyes locked, two bright sparks in a dry summer field, and for a second, neither one of them seemed to breathe.
Jackson felt every inch of his body go hot, memories of that night, rough hands, soft words, the heat and the guilt, flooding him so fast he thought he might drown.
Blake's tongue darted over his bottom lip, a flash of nervousness he couldn't quite hide. "Jackson," he said, low and graveled.
Jackson swallowed hard. "Blake."
Cash's eyes flicked between them, reading every tremor in the air. He stepped in fast, clapping Blake on the shoulder. "Hey there."
Blake tilted his chin, still watching Jackson, like he couldn't look away if he tried. "Hey."
Jackson tried to pull his face back together, heart still pounding. "Hey, Mama," he said, voice pitched a little too high. "You need anything else out back?"
Daisy smiled, eyes dancing between her son and the cowboy. "No, baby, we're fine. Why don't y'all take them ribs on outside before the kids chew each other's arms off?"
Jackson nodded quickly, grateful for the chance to flee. Cash grabbed the tray off the counter and pushed it into Jackson's hands, staring him down with a silent, cool message in his eyes.
"Come on, blondie," Cash drawled, loud enough to drown out the awkward. "You gon' help me feed this army or not?"
Jackson backed toward the door, muscles drawn tight, eyes catching Blake's one last time, a look so raw it felt like skin torn open. Blake's mouth twitched like he might say something, but no words came. Then the screen slammed behind them, leaving Daisy and Blake alone again, but the warmth that had been there before was gone, replaced by a strange, unsteady chill.
Daisy touched his arm, gently, worried. "You sure you're okay, Blake?"
Blake swallowed, eyes still pinned to the door where Jackson had disappeared. "Yeah," he rasped, "I'm alright."
"Good," she said. "Come on, help me finish settin' the table. Folks'll be lookin' to you to say grace, handsome."
Blake nodded, dragging his eyes back to her, and forced another easy grin. "Yes, ma'am."
*
Outside, the yard was a living, breathing carnival. Folks were elbow to elbow, kids screeching like a flock of blue jays, red plastic cups in every hand, and somebody had turned up the radio so loud the speakers near rattled themselves apart with a George Strait song.
Cash and Weston were manning the makeshift grill station. Weston was burning sausage links to a near-religious crisp while Cash slapped him with a spatula.
"Lord, Weston, you charred them so bad!" Cash crowed.
Weston shot him a death glare. "You wanna run this fire, be my guest, barbecue king!"
Cassidy had wrangled a gaggle of cousins for a horseshoe game under the hackberry, scolding them in her sugar-sweet voice while throwing shade that could rival a cypress.
"Bobby Lee," she called, hands on her hips, "you throw that shoe one more time like a drunk chicken and I swear, I'mma paddle your behind!"
Bobby Lee, a stringy boy with cowlicks and a mischievous grin, yelped in fake terror and tossed the horseshoe halfway to the clothesline, earning hoots from the whole group.
Daisy stood by the porch, beaming like a queen, fielding compliments about the potato salad and catching up with half the neighbors. From old Mr. Harris telling her about his bursitis, to Miss Janey bragging about her new grandbaby, Daisy took every story in with a nod and a warm smile, that gift of making everyone feel seen.
"Daisy, this your mama's recipe?" Miss Janey asked, popping a forkful of baked beans.
"It sure is," Daisy said proudly. "Passed down since before I even had teeth."
"Well, it's a sin how good it is," Janey laughed, "make you wanna slap somebody."
Daisy cackled, but her mind was half on Blake, still working the crowd with a gracious grin, big hands lifting plates, kids crawling over him like a jungle gym. He took it all with that same steady calm, which only made folks swoon harder.
A few minutes later, between jokes and stories, Daisy's eye fell on Jackson, standing by the water spigot, helping a little boy wash watermelon juice off his chin. That sight alone nearly made her cry, her boy so patient and gentle.
"Jackson!" she called, raising her voice over the music. "Baby, run inside and fetch me that second tub of ice from the freezer, would you?"
Jackson glanced over, startled, then nodded. "Yes, Mama."
He brushed the dust off his jeans and headed for the back porch, taking the steps two at a time.
Blake, catching Jackson's motion, seemed to track him, a small flicker passing over his face that nobody else caught, nobody but Cash, who was busy wrangling Weston's overcooked sausages.
Cash shot Blake a knowing glance, eyebrow arching.
Blake cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his jeans, and stepped closer to Daisy with a polite smile. "Uh, Daisy," he rumbled, as soft and easy as a summer breeze, "mind if I wash up somewhere? Been standin' near that pit smoke too long."
Daisy smiled. "Of course! Go on in. Jackson can show you the bathroom."
Blake nodded, followed Jackson's trail toward the porch steps, boots thudding slowly and heavily.
Inside, the house felt cool and hushed after all that wild noise. Jackson was already rummaging in the freezer, the screen door slamming behind him as Blake stepped in. Jackson didn't turn, didn't even flinch, but the back of his neck pinked up fast, shoulders going tight.
He stood up straight, turned to face Blake, and swallowed hard.
Blake's eyes moved slowly over Jackson's face, drinking him in, those flushed cheeks, that too-pretty mouth, the way his lashes trembled. Blake took a step forward, then another, boots heavy against the cracked linoleum, until he was close enough to smell the faint sweetness of soap and sun on Jackson's skin.
He glanced toward the doorway quickly and cautiously, then looked back at Jackson with a look that could scorch paint. "You been on my mind," Blake rasped, voice deep and ragged. "Every damn second since you walked out that trailer."
Jackson's chest rose and fell sharply, hands flexing on the ice tub. "Yeah," he breathed, a ghost of a smile twisting his lips. "You, too."
Blake let out a low, rough breath, like he'd been punched. "Jesus, boy…" He leaned closer, heat rolling off him in waves, close enough that Jackson could feel the catch of his beard against his own jaw. His breath was warm, faintly smoky from the pit outside. "Ain't right," Blake whispered, eyes locked on Jackson's mouth, so close they nearly touched. "Ain't right how bad I want you."
Jackson's throat bobbed, nerves singing under his skin. "Then..." he whispered, voice breaking.
That was all it took.
Blake's hands shot up, rough and sure, cupping Jackson's face, dragging him forward so hard their teeth nearly clashed. The kiss was raw and hungry, like they'd been holding it back for a lifetime, mouths crashing together, breath caught and tangled between them. Jackson's back slammed against the counter, one hand clinging to Blake's shirt, the other twisted in his thick hair. Blake growled low, deep in his chest, and pressed in closer, hips crowding Jackson's thighs. Jackson gasped against him, their lips breaking only to find each other again, tongues darting in frantic, dizzy rhythms. Blake's thumb traced along Jackson's jaw, possessive, tender, then rough again as he pulled him deeper, like he couldn't bear to let a single inch of space live between them.
"God, you taste…" Blake hissed against Jackson's mouth, unfinished, lost.
Jackson could barely breathe, couldn't think, just held on, drowning in the heat, the danger, the dizzying sweetness of it all.
They broke apart hard, breath ripping through both their chests, mouths slick and swollen. Jackson braced himself against the counter, eyes wide, pupils blown so big there was barely any blue left. "Shit," he gasped, voice unsteady. "We can't...we can't..."
Blake's grin curved slowly, wolfishly, still hovering too close, thumb sweeping over Jackson's kiss-bitten lower lip. "Why not?" he teased, deep and dangerous, eyes burning with want. "Ain't nobody gonna walk in unless you holler."
Jackson shoved at his chest, not hard, but enough to claim some ground back. "You don't get it," he hissed. "My mama's right outside. Half this town's standing in our yard. You wanna burn my whole damn life down?"
Blake laughed, a low rumble, leaning back just a hair, still close enough to steal his air. "You act like I'm the one with no self-control," he drawled, voice honey-thick, eyes glinting. "You was climbin' me like a tree just now."
Jackson's jaw tensed, but a flash of a smirk cut through his panic. "You started it."
Blake's grin grew wider, teeth white and sharp. "Hell, I'll finish it if you let me."
Jackson felt the pull of it, God help him, the raw charge of Blake's presence, the way he felt caged and free all at once under that gaze. Part of him wanted to shove Blake out the back door and run. The other part wanted to lock the world out and fall to his knees.
He pushed him again, firmer, standing taller. "Hey," he warned, "I ain't playin'. You don't get to come in here and just..."
"Just what?" Blake stepped closer, crowding him back against the fridge, voice gone softer now, almost sweet. "Just want you? Just need you?"
Jackson's spine pressed cold against the steel, his breath catching. "Don't talk like that," he whispered, pained, eyes shining.
Blake's thumb traced the line of Jackson's jaw, gentle enough to make him shiver. "Why?" he asked, quiet, deadly calm. "Scared it's the truth?"
Jackson tried to hold steady, tried to keep that fire tamped down, but his voice broke anyway. "Scared it's gonna kill me," he admitted, barely a breath.
That twisted something behind Blake's eyes, but he managed a soft, reckless laugh, leaning in until their foreheads touched. "Boy, you're gonna kill me," he murmured, rough and tender all at once.
They stood there, close enough to taste each other's breath, the whole house holding its own nervous hush around them. It was a push-and-pull that left them both raw, Jackson's stubborn backbone refusing to bend, Blake's relentless hunger refusing to retreat.
"Jackson," Blake breathed, slow, serious now, "I ain't lettin' you outta my head. And I'm damn sure I don't want to."
Jackson's lips twitched, torn between pride and terror. "You think I wanted this?"
Blake smiled again, like a man looking down the barrel of a loaded gun and liking it. "Ain't no thinkin' left. Feels like you want me about as bad as I want you."
Jackson's jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it.
He couldn't.
His eyes gave him away, wild and desperate.
Then Jackson drew a long breath, trying to steady his voice. "We can't...not now. Not here," he ordered, strong but shaky.
Blake paused, then nodded slowly, that crooked grin staying on his lips. "Alright," he said, voice playful as a warm breeze.
Jackson rolled his eyes, but there was no real fight in it. "Go," he muttered, cheeks still flushed. "Before somebody comes lookin'."
Blake stepped back at last, raking his eyes over Jackson one last time like he'd burn the sight into his bones. Then he turned, swaggering out toward the yard with that easy, dangerous grace, looking every bit the king of Willow Creek.
Jackson slumped against the counter, heart hammering like it wanted to jump out of his chest, hands still tingling from where they'd clutched Blake's shoulders.
He drew one long, ragged breath, trying to collect himself, knowing deep down this fire between them wouldn't burn out any time soon.
No matter how hard he tried to smother it.
*
Daisy's backyard had transformed into a makeshift dance floor, strung with lights that blinked like stars. Barefoot kids twirled through the grass, old men leaned back in plastic chairs, talking about nothing, and the women swayed under the trees, holding solo cups and stories in equal measure.
Jackson was near the far fence, surrounded by his friends, Cassidy perched on a milk crate, Weston telling some wild tale that made Cash hoot and slap his knee. Jackson laughed, throwing his head back, that golden hair catching the light.
He looked easy, for a moment.
Untouched.
Blake sat on the porch steps, leaning against the post, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. He hadn't moved in an hour, just smoked and watched.
Watched the boy he wasn't supposed to want.
He took another drag, lips parting, eyes locked on Jackson like he was the only thing in the world.
Daisy saw it as she came up the porch, her heels clicking softly on the wood. She sat beside him without a word, hands in her lap, eyes on the yard. For a long stretch of silence, neither said a thing. The music wound through the trees, lazy and mournful, like it already knew something was coming.
"You look at him like you're drownin'." Daisy finally said, voice soft as silk torn in half.
Blake flinched.
His eyes broke away from Jackson and landed on her, slow, reluctant, full of something between shame and fear.
"I'm not stupid," she said gently. "And I ain't blind."
Blake opened his mouth, then closed it, then swallowed hard.
"That morning he came home from the rodeo, all twisted up...I figured it was some boy he was scared to name. I even asked him. He lied, of course. Sweet as sugar, but lyin' all the same." She turned now, really looked at Blake. Her face was calm. "But then I saw you tonight. Sittin' on my porch like you belonged here. Like you wanted to. But you ain't looked at me once the way you looked at him."
Blake's jaw clenched. The cigarette hung between his fingers, forgotten.
"And that boy," she whispered, eyes glistening, "he looks at you like he's been starvin' and just now found somethin' that fills his hunger."
Blake looked down at his boots. His whole body was tight, like it wanted to fold in on itself.
"I'm sorry," he managed, voice thick. "I didn't mean to...Daisy, I swear..."
She raised her hand. "Don't." Her tone wasn't angry. It was tired. It was kind. "You don't need to lie to me," she said. "Not about this. Not when it's about him."
She turned her eyes back to Jackson, still laughing under the swaying trees, the warm glow of the lights dancing in his hair.
"You know, when I had him...I was sixteen. Whole town thought it'd ruin me. Folks whispered every time I walked into the grocery store. Called me trash. Said he didn't stand a chance." She smiled, small and fierce. "But that boy saved me. From the first time he wrapped his tiny fingers 'round mine, I knew I had to fight for him. Had to teach him that love, real love, don't shame you. Don't hide in the dark. Don't whisper like a secret."
Blake's breath hitched. He looked at her with eyes that shimmered, bare and wide.
"I don't care who he loves," Daisy said. "I just care that he's loved right. With gentleness. With fire. With respect." She turned to him again, and this time, her eyes were steel. "So if you care for him, really care for him, then don't you dare treat it like somethin' dirty. Don't tuck it away behind closed doors and look at him like a sin when the sun's up. You see that boy?" Blake nodded slowly. "That boy is mine. And he deserves to be seen. Deserves to be chosen."
The last word landed like a stone in a still pond.
Blake stared at her, mouth parted, breath shallow, as if she'd pulled the ground right out from under him.
Daisy leaned back, eyes on the stars now, the faintest smile on her lips. "You can kiss him behind barns all you want, cowboy. But if you're gonna love him...you better learn how to do it in the light."
Blake sat hunched forward now, elbows on his knees, cigarette burning low between his fingers, the ash long and fragile. His eyes were on the ground, anywhere but Jackson.
And then, in a voice rough with smoke and something more profound, Blake finally spoke. "What happens when they find out?" he muttered. "The town. Your friends. His friends. What happens then?"
Daisy didn't answer right away. She just stared out into the golden dusk, where the children were slowing their play and the fireflies blinked like old secrets in the grass.
"They will talk," she said.
Blake looked at her, brows furrowing.
"They'll whisper at church. They'll clutch their pearls and hide behind casseroles. They'll say Jackson's confused, or that you're a predator. They'll make it ugly, 'cause they don't know how to hold what they don't understand. That's what folks do when they're scared." She turned, faced him full now. Her eyes were bright and unflinching. "But let me tell you somethin', Blake Buckley. You can survive bein' talked about."
Blake blinked, startled by the fire in her voice.
"I done it my whole life." Her lip curled into something between a smile and a snarl. "I made my peace with bein' their favorite rumor. While they whispered, I worked. I raised that boy with my own hands, loved him better than any of them ever knew how. I showed up when no one else did. And you know what?"
Blake said nothing, just stared, chest slowly rising and falling.
"I outlived their judgment."
Daisy leaned back, eyes fierce now, lit from within.
"This town ain't a jury. It's just a place. You treat my son with honor, with tenderness, and I don't give two shits what old Miss Janey mutters into her iced tea. You hear me?"
Blake nodded slowly, eyes stinging.
Daisy softened then, just a touch.
"Jackson is strong," she said. "Stronger than he even knows. But even the strongest need someone to stand with them, not hide behind 'em. You look like you've been runnin' your whole damn life, cowboy. Maybe it's time to stop."
Blake dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his boot. "Maybe I don't know how," he said, voice barely above a breath.
Daisy smiled, and for a moment, she looked younger than her years, like the girl she once was, wild and full of fire.
"Then you'll learn," she said. "For him."
And with that, she stood up and stepped back into the house.
The screen door clicked shut behind Daisy, leaving Blake alone in the golden wash of porchlight. He sat still, hands slack between his knees, the ghost of her words heavy in his chest, settling deeper than any sermon ever had.
Slowly, in the quiet that Daisy left behind, he felt the truth rise in him like floodwater breaching a levee.
It wasn't just want.
It wasn't just heat.
It was love.
Full and staggering.
The kind that asks for courage.
The kind that doesn't want to hide.
And for the first time in his life, Blake Buckley let himself feel it.
(To be continued...)
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