“Finally!” John shouts over Jackson’s bitching.
“You knew I’d be here to supervise,” he taunts. “Just kiddin’. Couldn’t let y’all do all the back-breaking work alone. Just had to make sure the animals were fed first,” Alex tells us, grabbing as many chairs as he can carry.
Behind him stalks his best friend, Dylan, who’s shaking his head. “I’m a ranch hand, not a damn party planner.” He grunts.
“If Mama hears you say that, she’ll slap you upside your head,” Alex warns.
Jackson and I carry tables across the grass into the tent, then finish setting them up over spray-painted X’s on the ground that Mama laid out for us. She takes her party planning to the next level. Once the tables and chairs are placed, it actually looks like a real reception area. I’m sure tomorrow we’ll be responsible
