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wine cooler. She
couldn’t bring herself to say no to a brownie for dessert,
especially when Henry said he had made them himself.

 
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Three
     
    Hank watched his dad’s old truck
disappear down the dusty drive. Thankfully, his father’s stories
had been old ones, nothing touching on the present. It was obvious
Mel didn’t know who he was…yet. But it was only a matter of time
before someone in town said something or she figured it out on her
own.
    Six months. It must be some
kind of record. Gossip usually spread faster than a prairie fire in
Willowbrook. In all fairness to the gossip grapevine, he had been on tour most of
that time. Out of sight, out of mind, they say. He was back, so
tongues would wag. He could take to the bank.
    He checked on the grill, making sure
the coals had burned down enough to be safely left alone, and
headed for the house. He needed information and that meant tapping
into his own personal branch of the gossip grapevine. It wasn’t
early, but it wasn’t late either, so he made the phone calls. He’d
known Chris and Randy his entire life and he could count on them
for the latest news.
    The childhood friends gathered around
the red Formica kitchen table in Hank’s kitchen, sipping coffee and
eating Oreo cookies straight from the bag. Betty Boop sat nearby
using her best begging skills to score an occasional illicit
treat.
    “So, tell us, man. Let us old married
guys live vicariously through you for a few minutes,” Chris
said.
    “Yeah,” Randy chimed in, “throw us a
few crumbs. How about those French women? Are they as uninhibited
as everyone says they are?”
    Hank groaned. “You both know I don’t
hook up with the groupies and I wouldn’t give you details if I
did.”
    “Ah, man.” Randy sat back, adjusting
his long legs beneath the table. “We were hoping for some good
stories tonight.”
    Hank raised an eyebrow. “Have I ever
told you a good story from one of our tours?”
    “Now that I think about it…no.” Chris
frowned. “So what are we here for?”
    “Hey, it’s good to see you, too,” Hank
groused, tossing a sliver of cookie at his lifelong
friend.
    “Just kidding,” Chris said. He licked
his index finger and pressed it onto the cookie crumb that had
bounced off his chest and landed on the table. He ate the crumb off
his fingertip. “But you got to give us something, man. We left our
wives and screaming kids at home tonight to come all the way out
here.”
    “Yeah, we made sacrifices,” Randy
agreed. He popped a whole cookie in his mouth and chewed. How he
ate the way he did and remained stick thin, Hank would never
know.
    “You were both dying for an excuse to
get out the house and you know it. But hey, I’m a nice guy, so I’ll
give you the inside scoop. This hasn’t been released to the public
yet so don’t go spreading it around town. The band’s going to do a
RavensBlood cover album. If everything goes right, we’ll start in a
few weeks.”
    Randy whistled and slapped the
table.
    Chris let out a whoop. “That’s great,
man! You’ve wanted to do one for a long time, haven’t you?” He
grinned from ear to ear.
    He could always count on Chris’
support, and as Hank’s personal attorney, the new album meant more
work for Randy, but his enthusiasm was personal rather than
professional. Hank had made no secret about his desire to do the
RavensBlood cover album.
    “Yeah. The cover album is my project.
The others are onboard, too, but you know how I am about
RavensBlood. We’ve been working on the arrangements for months. It
should be finalized soon.”
    “So, everyone will invade the farm
again in a few weeks?” Randy asked.
    “Yep. At least, I hope so. Summer is
the best time for the guys and their families. If we don’t get it
done this summer, it may have to wait ‘till next year.”
    Randy grabbed another cookie. “What
are you going to do if it doesn’t work out?”
    “Watch the cotton grow, I guess.