I smirked at Ben’s pragmatism as I studied my friend, how her face had fallen even though she tried to smile.

Claire had no family to speak of…actually, by that I mean her daddy was the club president of the local motorcycle gang, the Iron Order. As well, her momma was his old lady. But together or separate, those two were the definition of dysfunctional. As far as I knew, Claire had no contact with her parents or siblings.

I assumed she was still living in Green Valley because she wanted to stay near her husband’s family. She accompanied them to church every Sunday, and her house was within a block of theirs.

She’d been a local beauty growing up—she even had those awesome high cheekbones that magazines talk about, with the little hollow above the jaw—but she had sad eyes. Add to her stunning good looks the most laid-back, kind, generous, and all-around talented person I’d ever met. For example, she had the most beautiful singing voice and should have been in Nashville singing, or in New York or Milan living the life of a muse or a model or a concert pianist.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

I’d been in the thespians my sophomore through senior year of high school and was therefore labeled as one of those drama kids—for my school, that basically meant weird and funny. Plus, I was universally acknowledged as the county math whiz, having led our school’s team to math bowl victory three times.

I didn’t marry my childhood sweetheart because I didn’t have one, though I kissed lots of boys because I liked kissing boys. Kissing boys also had the delightful byproduct of aggravating my father and overprotective brother. Essentially, I’d left home for college an antsy, angsty, but well-mannered good girl. So, a typical teenager.

But upon my return to Green Valley High School (just a short four years later), same school with the same social order and subsets, I’d now become a new stereotype.

I was the hot math teacher.

I’d never thought of myself as the hot anything. Don’t get me wrong, I had a perfectly fine self-image. But I guess in comparison to Mr. Tranten—the previous and now recently retired math teacher—the fact I had boobs and was under eighty-five meant I might as well have been Charlize Theron.

“Well, come on,” Claire finally said. “Come home with me and you can tell me all about it, I just need wine first.”

“I can’t.” I glanced at the wall clock at the front of the room. “I have to wait for my brother to pick me up. My beast of a truck is still parked at the community center with ‘catastrophic engine failure.’ He’s driving me home.”

Claire’s eyes darted back to mine; she studied my face with a question in her expression. “Uh… No, it’s not.”

“What?”

“The beast, your truck. It’s not at the community center. It was towed.”

Panic seized my chest and my hands balled into fists. “No, it couldn’t. Could it?” I’d talked to Mr. McClure about keeping the truck at the center until I could afford the towing and repair costs; he’d assured me it was no trouble.

“Calm down.” She lifted her hands and walked farther into the classroom.

“I can’t afford impound costs. Why would they tow it? Your father-in-law said it was fine.”

“It’s not at the impound, Jess. I saw it this morning in the parking lot of the Winston Brothers Auto Shop. It’s not at the impound. Calm yourself.”

I flinched at this news, blinked furiously. “What…why would they do that?”

Claire chuckled, and I didn’t miss the amusement or the wicked glint in her eye when she responded, “Probably has something to do with that circumcised penis.”

***

I was going to get tipsy. I needed at least two glasses of wine. But first, I was going to find out what in the name of tarnation was going on.

I called my brother and left a message telling him I would be out with Claire. I did not tell him Claire was driving me over to the Winston Brothers Auto Shop. Jackson and the Winston boys did not get along, mostly because everyone knew Jethro Winston—the oldest—used to steal cars and neither my daddy nor my brother had ever been able to make the charges stick.

It also had something to do with their sister Ashley Winston, and Jackson acting like a fool about her in high school.

I remembered Ashley growing up, mostly because she was so darn pretty and sweet. Just the nicest girl in the history of forever. I think most people expected her to be catty because she was so pretty, but she was the opposite.

I pulled at my bottom lip with my thumb and index finger, my narrowed eyes seeing nothing of the colorful foliage umbrellas framing the mountain road. Fall color was out in full force and would be for the next few weeks, assuming we didn’t get any unseasonal snow.

I’d be lying if I said the Smoky Mountain landscape wasn’t a big draw and factor in my decision to return home after college. The other two main contributing factors were my family and the student loan deferment plan for STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) teachers who taught in underserved areas. Living at home helped me save money and pay off my student loans. And I was the only high school calculus teacher outside Knoxville for fifty miles in every direction.

My predecessor, Mr. Tranten, had taught math as high as Algebra II. This was the first year high achieving math students in our area and the surrounding valleys weren’t bussed off to Knoxville for trigonometry and calculus.

But ever since I was a little girl I’d dreamt of seeing the world, experiencing it, and not as a tourist. I wanted to be a world traveler. I’d craved freedom and adventure. Being home now felt like preparing for launch. I’d been savoring the time with my family, storing memories, because—if all my painstaking planning came to fruition—I wouldn’t be seeing them much in the coming years.

“We’re here.”

Claire’s pronouncement pulled me from my thoughts. I stared out the windshield as she placed her car into park and turned off the ignition, glaring at the open garage of the auto shop. I saw a pair of boots sticking out from underneath the car and my heart kept asking my head, What if that’s Duane? My head kept putting my heart off, saying, We’ll cross that circumcised penis when we get to it…

“Are you going to get out of the car?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Claire sighed. “The sooner you get this sorted, the sooner we can go back to my place and drink wine.”

“Well, that settles it,” I said distractedly, still not moving.

She paused, likely waiting for me to do something; I could feel her eyes on me. “Jess, what are you stalling for? What are you afraid of?”

Just as the words left her mouth, two redheaded and bearded male specimens of mighty fineness sauntered out of the garage. The boots under the car were a decoy, likely Cletus. My breath caught and I held it, my eyes widening behind my sunglasses.

The twins were both dressed in sky-blue coveralls and black work boots, with a white undershirt peeking out at the collar. Claire had been wrong last Friday; their hair was approximately the same length and so were their beards. Even the grease stains on their hands and clothes seemed identical. I forgave myself a little for my mix up on Halloween.

They looked exactly the same and I hadn’t seen either of them for going on three years.

Regardless, now I knew immediately which of the two was Duane. If I’d given myself a moment at the community center, I would have been able to figure it out. Duane carried himself differently than Beau, he always had; how he stood, where he looked, and the line of his mouth was in stark contrast to his sociable brother.

Beau swaggered even as he stood still, glanced around at his surroundings, his brow untroubled, and his smile was easy.