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“About the same as last year.” The man’s voice is measured, like my friend’s. He nods toward a stout, Mexican man sitting at a booth across the way. “Jay Hidalgo has a good team lined up. We’re just discussing price.”

Then he looks at me and nods. “How’s it going?”

I quickly stretch out my hand. “Taron Rhodes.”

He gives it a shake. “Dutch Hayes. I own the cotton fields east of town all the way to Delta.”

“Nice.” I have no idea how to respond, but Sawyer interjects.

“Taron’s a friend of mine from Nashville. We finished basic together.”

“Another Marine? With that face?”

My jaw tightens. Being what people consider good-looking has definite plusses and minuses. The plus is easy pussy, although I’ve never been a man-whore. It’s not my style.

The minus, I occasionally bump into dicks who think I can’t kick their asses.

Still, I was taught respect for my elders.

“Another Marine,” I say through a tight smile.

r /> “Don’t let him fool you.” Sawyer grips my shoulder. “I’d trust Taron with my life.”

Dutch nods. “Brothers in arms.”

“Something like that.” Sawyer redirects. “Can Digger come by this afternoon? I need to get Noel and Leon squared away before I leave.”

A greedy light flashes in the man’s eyes when Sawyer’s back is turned. He quickly hides it, and I like him even less.

“You get on the schedule, and I’ll send him over.” They go to where Hidalgo sits waiting with his arms crossed, and I decide to wait this one out.

Sliding into a red vinyl booth, I notice the wireless is working in this place. I quickly tap out a group text to the guys saying we made it. Marley immediately sends back a peace-sign emoji. He’s probably already high—Mr. Wake and Bake.

Patton’s dad’s probably busting his balls. I can imagine him cursing my name for taking off like I did, but he’d be climbing the walls in this place. I’m kind of digging it in a weird, back-to-the-essentials kind of way.

I’ve just picked up a plastic-covered menu when a woman with strawberry-blonde hair piled high on her head and a brown apron glides up to me. She looks about the same age as my mom.

“Hey there, handsome. Can I get you some coffee?” She gives me a wink, and I see her plastic nametag says Florence.

“Hi, Florence.” I return her grin. “That’d be great.”

She produces a gold-plastic carafe from beside her and fills the small cup on the table in front of me. “You can call me Flo. You’re new in town.”

“Just visiting the LaGrange Orchard. I’m friends with Sawyer.”

“You don’t say?” She looks curiously to where he stands with the two men. “Miracles never cease.”

I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but I’m glad for the coffee. It’s been a long morning, and it’s not even seven.

“You sticking around or just passing through?”

I sip the weak, brown concoction and nod. “We’re here a few weeks then we ship out for South America.”

“Ahh…” She slides a receipt out of her book across the table to me. “If you need somebody to show you around, you let me know.”

I lift the ticket and see a phone number written on it.

“Hey, Flo.” Sawyer is at the end of the table, digging in his front pocket. “You ready?”