“Do you remember when we first met?” Caddy said, placing the flat of her dirty hand on Bentley’s white Polo shirt, smiling when she saw it left a mark. “And not when you claimed you saw me riding with my daddy. You didn’t know Daddy until he’d left our family and I’d have had no more to do with him than the man in the moon.”

“You’re talking about on the Square.”

“Yes.”

“I walked up to you and told you you had a nice figure.”

“And what did I say?”

“You told me to go to hell.”

“After that.”

“You said I had a nice figure, too,” he said. “And a cute ass.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t slap it when you walked away,” she said.

“You handed me a bill for The River,” he said. “Old-time gospel show. You were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”

Caddy nodded, slamming shut her tailgate. The inside of the old barn pleasant, cool and dark. The dirt floor worn as smooth and soft as talcum powder. The pews and folding chairs neatly stacked up by the pulpit, a simple handmade cross hanging from the rafters.

“Glad I showed up.”

“I know who you are and what you do, Bentley Vandeven,” Caddy said. “And I sincerely appreciate all the donations your foundation has given. We need every penny. But we stand on our two feet here at The River, and as long as you keep me and your high-dollar friends in Jackson separate, I think we’ll continue to have a fine time.”

Bentley had his hands on his hips, his face breaking a little as he looked down at the stack of fertilizer and manure she’d loaded up in the tractor to take down to the garden. He seemed to think on things for a moment before lifting his eyes and smiling. “You don’t have to dress up,” Bentley said. “You don’t even have to be nice.”

Caddy didn’t answer.

“My mother is the one throwing the party,” he said. “She wants to meet you. She thinks the world of your father. She said he’s the best horseman she’s ever seen in her life.”

“My father is a charmer,” Caddy said.

“Your father looked out for me when I needed him,” Bentley said. “He taught me to ride, care for horses, and be a man. We used to watch those old movies he was in at his trailer in Pocahontas. If you stopped those VHS tapes at the right moment, you could see it was Jason Colson and not Burt Reynolds. He helped raise me.”

“Funny how that works,” Caddy said, the sunlight bright and glowing at the barn door. Everything else around them in darkness, smelling of hot old wood and leather tack. “I never really thought Jason Colson had it in him.”

“Will you think about it?”

“Will you help me transport this cow shit?”