Her gaze drifted over his shoulder and she whispered, “Four.”

“Feb?”

Her gaze came back and she said, “Four people and a dog.”

Colt’s arm grew tight again and he nodded.

“How long were they married?” she asked.

“Awhile,” he answered.

“Why her?”

“Don’t know. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

Her gaze drifted back over his shoulder.

“Marie Lowe,” she said softly, trying the name out on her tongue and he didn’t figure she liked how it tasted.

“Reggie’s, baby,” he said just as softly and her eyes came back to his again.

“Reggie’s,” she replied.

* * * * *

That night Colt, who thought he knew most everything, learned a few things about February Owens.

For starters, first chance she got she took off her jewelry. She stood at his kitchen counter, her plate on the counter filled with Reggie slices, and lifted her hands, taking off the choker which Colt saw fastened with a snap. Then went the earrings. Then the bracelets. Last, the rings.

She set them on his kitchen counter, grabbed her plate and beer and wandered into the den. But Colt stood there for several beats staring at her tangle of jewelry sitting on his counter, laid there by Feb like she’d done it every night for years and a feeling swirled around his chest. He didn’t get it just then, it would take him to later that night, all he knew was, it was far from cold.

Then he found out during their four games that she could play pool when she was concentrating. She beat him once, the other three games he took but he didn’t whip her ass.

They were games that went slow because they were eating, drinking, talking and Feb was wandering around his house looking at the photos he had, some of them Melanie framed for him and left behind, none of them had Melanie in the picture but some of them had Feb. It was Melanie’s way of saying she didn’t feel Feb was a threat but Colt knew, deep down, she did. Others were from Delilah who took photos all the time, on special occasions, during times at the lake or even when they weren’t doing anything at all, just jacking around at her and Morrie’s house, Colt’s, Jack and Jackie’s, at the park. Every birthday and Christmas, Dee’d have the best of them framed and she’d give them to him, always telling him she never knew how to shop for him, Colt always telling her the truth, she gave him what he wanted. Others were from Jackie, not many. They were older photos when times were good between them all but there were only a few. He knew Jackie wanted him to remember the good times with Feb but she didn’t want to cause him pain.

Feb surprised Colt by grabbing the frames or looking at them on the wall and reminiscing, sometimes she’d do it with a smile, sometimes she’d laugh. She didn’t hold herself guarded. She acted like there was nothing to fear and nothing to hide.

It was her laugh that started him understanding what it was about her jewelry on his counter that made that feeling steal through his chest. It wasn’t Feb’s laughter from days gone by. It was coming more frequent now, it was different and Colt understood the change. It was a new kind of laughter because it was more experienced, worldly, husky, deeper, womanly. It wasn’t the laughter of a girl who took a life filled with laughter for granted. It was the laughter of a woman who knew any laughter at all was a gift.

But it was their conversation about Darryl that made him finally comprehend his feelings about the jewelry.

He’d commented she should let Darryl go, saying straight out the man was a liability.

Feb lined up a shot, her torso bent over the table, her fine ass on display in her jeans. “Can’t do that,” she said and pocketed the three.

“Feb, I see him f**k up all the time. Folks even talk about it. You and Morrie gotta see it more than me.”

She was roaming the table, eyes scanning for her next shot and she said, “Sure. Still, can’t do it.”

Colt saw her shot the minute she honed in on it and prepared to line it up.

“February,” he said before her full concentration needed to be at the table, “he’s an ex-con and a –”

She straightened, put the bottom of her cue to the floor, her fist wrapped around it. She tucked it to her front and looked him direct in the eye.

“Yeah, Colt, he’s an ex-con and sometimes idiot. Dad brought him in when no one else would take him.” Colt started to speak but Feb kept going. “He’s also an ex-con with a family he’s tryin’ to keep fed, a wife he’s tryin’ to keep from leavin’. He’s an ex-con wouldn’t find a job with anyone else, he didn’t have us. If he found it, they wouldn’t keep him. He’s an ex-con tryin’ to keep on the straight and narrow, somethin’ would be difficult for him to do if we let him go and his life fell apart. He forgets to take out the trash, forgets orders halfway through, misplaces delivery notices he’s signed for. But none of that’s as important as a man who loves his family and wants a decent life.”

Colt couldn’t argue with that and he didn’t. Feb knew the conversation was over, took her shot and didn’t miss.

When she circled the table looking for her next one was when it hit him and he knew.

The kiss on Sunday morning he gave her wasn’t about her rolling her eyes at him, reminding him how she used to be. The kiss that morning was the same. Colt climbing into bed with her last night and having pizza and beer with her now, the same.

He’d avoided the conversation they needed to have because he had no f**king clue why one day he’d known in a dark place in his soul there would be no February and Colt and he wasn’t going to go back there and the next day he was kissing her, flirting with her, giving her the family day she needed to keep her shit together.

Now he knew that feeling that stole around his chest at looking at her jewelry wasn’t about going back to the February and Colt there used to be.

It was about finding the February and Colt there could be.

It was about that jewelry being there when he got up in the morning because she laid it there when she got home at night. It was about the woman she was now, not the girl she used to be. It was about a woman who’d make him toast and pour coffee in a travel mug when he needed to get to work; a woman who’d listen to his day and take his mind off it with a hand on his neck, a bourbon on ice, a constitution that could take the shit he saw everyday and, after, challenging him to a game of pool; a woman who’d pay a man to work in her bar who f**ked up just because she knew his life wouldn’t be what he needed it to be if she didn’t; and a woman whose best day was a day with her family and friends around her doing nothing but talking, laughing and being together.