Chapter 11- A Chicken, a Cowboy, and a Terrible Excuse

MIA.

As embarrassing as it was, I'd spent the entirety of Saturday confined to my bedroom, suffering from what I could only describe as a rather vicious stomach bug.

Although, in retrospect, I suspected my stomach was simply protesting the culinary adventure I'd subjected it to the previous evening.

And honestly, could I blame it?

For years, it had been accustomed to caviar, delicately prepared entrées, and exquisite meals crafted by five-star chefs.

Barbecue ribs, baked beans, roasted red potatoes, and an assortment of homemade casseroles were hardly part of its usual repertoire.

Apparently, I'd neglected to prepare my digestive system for the pleasures of country living.

And now it was staging a full-scale rebellion.

"Do you need another bottle of Pepto-Bismol?"

I slowly turned my head toward the doorway.

Sawyer Montgomery stood there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and the most infuriatingly amused expression on his handsome face.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Why do I have the distinct impression that you're enjoying this?"

His grin widened.

"Enjoyin' what, princess?"

"My suffering."

"Now, why would you think that?"

"Perhaps because you've been smiling like a complete scoundrel since you walked through that door."

He chuckled.

"Can't help it, darlin'. Never seen somebody get their ass kicked by a plate of barbecue before."

I closed my eyes.

*Dear God.*

Of all the men in West Virginia, why did the most irritating one have to be so ridiculously attractive?

"Thanks, Sawyer, but I think I'm okay now."

"Uhm."

"What?"

"You looked like shit yesterday. Are you sure you're feelin' better?"

I gasped in disbelief.

"Wow. Thank you for that incredibly flattering observation. I take it that I no longer look like shit?"

The gigantic man stood there, staring at me as though he were carefully calculating his next words. And judging by the expression on his face, even he seemed to realize he'd ventured into dangerous territory.

"I'm sorry, princess. You look great today. I mean, you always do."

The man actually looked nervous.

How adorable.

"Well, I suppose I'll pretend you didn't just offend me." I chuckled. "But I do need to ask you for a rather large favor."

"Hit me with it, princess. What can I do for ya?"

"I'd like to visit Ricky's shop and discuss the repairs to my car. I'd like to know which parts he needs to order, what the estimated cost will be, and whether there's anything he requires from me."

"Sure. I can take you."

"Wonderful."

"But first, you're gonna come to the kitchen and eat some chicken broth."

I smiled.

"Awww! You made chicken broth for me?"

"You bet I did."

How unexpectedly thoughtful.

I followed him down the hallway, feeling considerably better than I had the previous day.

"You spent the whole damn day in that bathroom yesterday," he continued, laughing. "For a minute there, I thought I was gonna have to bring you a pillow and let you sleep on the toilet."

"Not funny, Sawyer."

He raised both hands in surrender.

"Just sayin'."

"Well, perhaps next time you could express your concern without describing my gastrointestinal distress in such colorful detail."

He glanced over his shoulder.

"My what?"

"Never mind."

"Whatever you say, princess."

We entered the kitchen, where the most delicious aroma greeted me.

Something warm and savory simmered in a large pot on the stove.

Sawyer pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.

"Sit."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Do you always issue commands to women?"

"Only the stubborn ones."

"How fortunate for me."

Even Duke came to sit next to me at Sawyer's order. 

He grinned.

I sat while he retrieved a bowl from the cabinet and began ladling broth into it.

There were little pieces of shredded chicken floating in the golden liquid, along with carrots and a few herbs.

It smelled heavenly.

"That looks delicious."

"Should be. Made it fresh this mornin'."

He placed the bowl in front of me, along with a spoon and a glass of water.

"Drink that. It'll help replace some of the salt and fluids you lost yesterday."

I looked up at him.

"You're surprisingly knowledgeable about digestive ailments."

"Raised livestock my whole life, darlin'. You learn a thing or two about keepin' things alive."

I blinked.

"Did you just compare me to livestock?"

He froze.

Then slowly closed his eyes.

"Jesus Christ. I can't say a damn thing right around you, can I?"

I laughed.

"I'm teasing you, Sawyer."

"Well, quit it before I develop a nervous condition."

I picked up my spoon and tasted the broth.

Oh.

My.

Goodness.

It was wonderful.

Warm, rich, and perfectly seasoned.

I took another spoonful.

"Sawyer, this is absolutely delicious."

He leaned against the counter, looking rather pleased with himself.

"Told ya."

"Did your mother teach you how to make it?"

"Nah. Learned that one from Dad."

"Really?"

"Yep. He used to make it whenever somebody got sick."

"That's lovely."

I took another spoonful.

"And the chicken is incredibly tender. Where did you buy it?"

Sawyer scratched the back of his neck.

"Didn't buy it."

I paused.

"What do you mean?"

"Got it right here."

I glanced toward the refrigerator.

"From your freezer?"

"Nope."

He gestured vaguely toward the kitchen window.

"From out back."

I looked at him.

Then at the window.

Then back at him.

"Out back?"

"Yep."

I lowered my spoon.

"Sawyer."

"Yeah?"

"Are you telling me this chicken came from your farm?"

"Well, technically, it's a ranch, but yeah."

My stomach gave an unpleasant little twist.

I glanced toward the window again.

Beyond it, I could see the familiar chicken coop.

The same chicken coop I'd visited several times.

The same one where I'd begun recognizing some of the hens.

The same one where I'd recently discovered that chickens had considerably more personality than I'd ever given them credit for.

I turned slowly toward him.

"Sawyer."

He straightened.

Something in my voice must have alerted him to the approaching catastrophe.

"What?"

"Which chicken?"

He frowned.

"Which chicken what?"

"Which chicken did you use?"

He stared at me.

"Princess, it's chicken broth."

"I am perfectly aware of what it is. I'm asking which chicken."

He looked toward the window.

Then back at me.

"One of the hens."

My heart sank.

"One of the hens?"

"Yeah."

I placed one hand on my lap and the other on the counter.

"Was it one of the brown ones?"

Sawyer hesitated.

"Well..."

My eyes widened.

"Oh, dear God."

"Now, hold on—"

"Was it the little brown one with the white feathers around her neck?"

He blinked.

"How the hell would I know?"

"Because she was adorable!"

He stared at me.

I stared back.

"Chloe, darlin', we've got a whole bunch of chickens out there."

"That doesn't answer my question!"

He rubbed his forehead.

"Lord, give me strength."

I looked down at the bowl.

A perfectly innocent bowl of chicken broth.

Except it wasn't innocent anymore.

It was evidence.

Evidence of a terrible crime.

Committed in the name of my digestive recovery.

My lower lip began to tremble.

Sawyer noticed immediately.

"Whoa. Hey. What's wrong?"

I looked up at him.

"You killed one of your chickens?"

He frowned.

"Well... yeah. Where else was I supposed to get a chicken?"

"From the store!" I cried. "Instead, you killed one of yours for me?"

"Yeah."

My eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, Sawyer!"

He straightened so quickly that he nearly knocked over the glass of water.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell?"

"You killed a chicken because I was sick!"

He stared at me in complete disbelief.

"Well, I wasn't gonna make chicken broth outta a damn cow!"

I let out a strangled sob.

That was apparently the wrong response.

Sawyer looked positively horrified.

"Aw, hell. Chloe, don't cry."

"But she was alive yesterday!"

"Well, technically—"

"Sawyer!"

"Okay! Okay. Bad time for technicalities."

A tear rolled down my cheek.

He looked around the kitchen as though hoping someone might appear and rescue him.

Unfortunately for him, we were alone.

"Princess, listen to me. It's just a chicken."

I gasped.

"Just a chicken? I even named her."

His eyes widened.

"Shit."

"She had a life, Sawyer!"

"Yeah, and she had a pretty good one!"

I covered my mouth.

"Did she suffer?"

"No!"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

"Was she frightened?"

"Chloe—"

"Did she know what was happening?"

He dragged a hand down his face.

"Sweet Jesus."

I sniffled.

"I've learned to like them, you know."

He went still.

"What?"

"The chickens."

He stared.

"I've been visiting them."

"You've been what?"

"Visiting them."

"Why?"

"Because they're delightful!"

His mouth opened.

Then closed.

I continued, my voice trembling.

"At first, I thought they were rather unpleasant creatures. Always pecking at things and making those ridiculous noises. But then I started watching them, and they're actually quite charming."

Sawyer looked as though he were struggling to understand a foreign language.

"Charming?"

"Yes!"

He blinked.

I wiped another tear away.

"And some of them follow me around now."

He scratched his beard.

"That's because you keep feedin' 'em."

"Well, obviously! It's how we've established a relationship!"

He stared at me.

"A relationship?"

"Yes, Sawyer. A relationship."

He slowly looked toward the ceiling.

I could practically see him questioning every decision that had led him to this particular moment.

Then his expression softened.

"Aw, princess."

That did it.

Another sob escaped me.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!"

I covered my face.

"I'm being absolutely ridiculous."

"Well..."

I lowered my hands and glared at him through my tears.

He immediately corrected himself.

"Nope. Not ridiculous at all."

I sniffled.

"You think I'm insane."

"Didn't say that."

"You're thinking it."

"Darlin', right now I'm mostly thinkin' I should've made you vegetable soup."

Despite myself, I let out a watery laugh.

He smiled.

"There she is."

I tried to compose myself.

Really, I did.

But then I glanced at the bowl again.

And remembered that some unfortunate chicken had sacrificed her existence because I'd eaten too many barbecue ribs.

"Oh, Sawyer!"

Before I could stop myself, I started crying again.

"Aw, hell."

He crossed the kitchen in two long strides. Then those enormous arms wrapped around me. And suddenly, my face was pressed against his broad chest.

"Come here, you little lunatic."

I should have objected.

Under ordinary circumstances, I certainly would have.

But his embrace was warm, and his hand moved gently over my back.

And for reasons I couldn't quite explain, that only made me cry harder.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled against his shirt.

"Don't be."

"You were trying to do something nice for me."

"Yeah, well, didn't exactly expect it to turn into a funeral."

I gave a startled laugh.

Then another sob.

He chuckled softly.

"Lord have mercy."

I felt his chest move beneath my cheek.

"Listen, princess. That chicken had a good life. Plenty of room to roam, good food, sunshine. Better treatment than most people get."

I sniffled.

"That doesn't make me feel better."

"Didn't figure it would."

He rested his chin lightly against the top of my head.

"How 'bout this? Next time you're sick, I'll make you vegetable broth."

I nodded against his chest.

"That would be preferable."

"All right."

"And no more chickens."

He hesitated.

I pulled away just enough to look up at him.

"Sawyer."

He sighed.

"Fine. No more chickens for your soup."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I nodded, satisfied.

Then I remembered something.

"Was she one of the friendly ones?"

He closed his eyes.

"Jesus, woman. We're not doin' this again."

I was about to respond when a deep voice came from the kitchen doorway.

"Well, I'll be damned."

Sawyer stiffened.

I turned.

Thomas Montgomery stood in the doorway, holding his hat in one hand and a set of truck keys in the other.

His eyes moved from Sawyer's arms around me to my tearstained face.

Then to the bowl of chicken broth sitting untouched on the table.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Everything all right in here?"

I immediately tried to step away.

Sawyer released me, although one of his hands lingered reassuringly against my back.

"Yeah, Dad. Everything's fine."

Thomas studied me.

"Chloe, honey, you all right?"

I nodded.

"Yes, Thomas. I'm terribly sorry. I seem to have become rather emotional."

He looked at Sawyer.

"What'd you do?"

Sawyer threw his hands up.

"Why does everybody automatically assume I did somethin'?"

Thomas glanced at my face.

"Experience."

I almost laughed.

Sawyer scowled.

"Dad."

"What?"

"She's upset about the chicken."

Thomas frowned.

"The chicken?"

"Yeah."

"What chicken?"

Sawyer pointed toward the stove.

"The one I made the broth with."

Thomas looked at the pot.

Then at me.

Then at his son.

"You mean she's cryin' over soup?"

I swallowed.

"Not the soup, Thomas. The chicken."

He blinked.

I took a deep breath.

"You see, I've recently become rather fond of Sawyer's chickens. I've been visiting them, and I didn't realize one of them would have to die simply because I was suffering from a stomach ailment."

Thomas stared at me.

For several seconds, he said absolutely nothing.

Then he turned toward Sawyer.

"You killed one of your chickens?"

Sawyer looked offended.

"Since when are we supposed to buy our chickens from the store?"

"Since you started makin' women cry over 'em."

I pressed my lips together.

Sawyer stared at his father.

Thomas stared back.

Then, slowly, the older man's mouth twitched.

"Oh, hell," Sawyer muttered.

Thomas burst out laughing.

Not a polite chuckle.

Not a restrained smile.

The man laughed so hard he had to grab the doorframe.

"Lord Almighty!" he wheezed. "I've been raisin' chickens for forty years, and this is the first time I've seen somebody hold a memorial service for one!"

"Thomas!" I exclaimed.

That only made him laugh harder.

Sawyer shook his head.

"Real helpful, Dad."

Thomas wiped his eyes.

"Son, I come in here expectin' to find you feedin' the poor girl, and instead you're holdin' her while she mourns breakfast!"

"It wasn't breakfast!" Sawyer snapped.

"Well, supper, then!"

I couldn't help it.

A laugh escaped me.

Then another.

Before I knew it, I was laughing through my tears.

Thomas pointed at me triumphantly.

"That's better!"

Sawyer looked down at me.

His expression softened.

"See? Told ya everything was gonna be fine."

I wiped my cheeks.

"Your family is absolutely impossible."

Thomas grinned.

"Welcome to the Montgomery ranch, sweetheart."

Sawyer groaned.

"Dad, don't encourage her."

"Encourage her? Hell, son, I'm just glad somebody finally got you to cook somethin' besides steak and potatoes."

I laughed again.

Sawyer shook his head.

"Both of y'all are gonna be the death of me."

Thomas placed his hat back on his head.

"Well, I better get back to work before somebody starts cryin' over the cattle."

"Thomas!"

He winked at me.

"Just teasin', honey."

Then he looked at Sawyer who was now putting on his boots.

"You takin' her into town?"

"Yeah. We're headin' to Ricky's shop."

"Good. And son?"

"What?"

Thomas's grin widened.

"Next time, try tomato soup."

Sawyer pointed toward the door.

"Out."

Thomas laughed all the way down the hallway.

I stood beside the table, trying to recover what remained of my dignity.

Sawyer looked at me.

I looked at him.

Then we both glanced toward the bowl of chicken broth.

An awkward silence settled between us.

Finally, he sighed.

"So... you gonna eat that?"

I stared at him.

"Sawyer!"

"What? It's good broth!"

I covered my mouth to suppress another laugh.

He grinned.

"Tell you what. I'll put it away, and you can have some toast before we leave."

"That would be lovely."

He reached for the bowl.

I caught his wrist.

"Sawyer?"

He looked down at me.

"Yeah, princess?"

"Thank you."

His expression changed.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he smiled.

A small, genuine smile that made something flutter unexpectedly in my chest.

"Anytime, darlin'."

I released his wrist.

"And Sawyer?"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't tell Ricky about the chicken."

His grin returned immediately.

"Oh, princess."

My heart sank.

"Sawyer Montgomery."

He chuckled.

"Better get your shoes on. We got a mechanic to visit."

And judging by that mischievous expression, I had a terrible feeling Richard McAllister was about to hear the entire story.

I was fairly certain I'd broken Sawyer Montgomery with my unfortunate sobbing episode in the middle of his kitchen.

The man had been acting unusually gentle with me ever since.

Not that I was complaining.

There was something rather endearing about discovering that beneath all those muscles, sarcasm, and questionable manners, the enormous cowboy possessed a surprisingly tender heart.

Even if he'd murdered a chicken to prove it.

I glanced at him as he settled behind the steering wheel.

He turned on the radio and gestured toward it.

"Go ahead, princess. Find somethin' you like."

How thoughtful.

Unfortunately, every time I turned the knob, another country song came pouring through the speakers.

Apparently, West Virginia radio stations had entered into some sort of agreement to play absolutely nothing else.

And after the emotional catastrophe involving his chicken, I wasn't about to hurt the man's feelings again.

I stopped turning the dial.

"You like Morgan Evans?" he asked.

My eyes met his.

I hadn't the faintest idea who Morgan Evans was, but I certainly wasn't about to admit that.

"Yes, I think I do."

He smiled.

"Good choice."

I settled back against the seat and listened.

Strangely enough, I found myself identifying with the lyrics.

Perhaps it was the longing woven into the words.

Or the way Morgan Evans seemed to understand that sometimes life took you somewhere you never intended to go.

And the melody?

Jesus Christ.

As Sawyer would say, it was downright beautiful.

I found myself tapping my fingers against my thigh, resisting the ridiculous urge to dance in my seat.

Who would have thought?

Mia Sterling, a woman who had attended more symphonies and private concerts than she could count, was suddenly enjoying country music.

I rolled down the window.

Cool, misty air brushed against my cheeks, carrying the earthy scent of damp leaves and autumn.

I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed deeply.

It felt wonderful.

Freeing, somehow.

And Sawyer Montgomery?

The man simply drove.

One hand rested casually on the steering wheel while the other occasionally tapped along with the music.

Every so often, I caught him glancing in my direction.

Not in an intrusive way.

Just little glances.

As though he were checking to see whether I was enjoying myself.

And I?

I smiled.

For the first time in longer than I cared to admit, I wasn't thinking about where I needed to be, what I needed to accomplish, or who might be looking for me.

I was simply enjoying the ride.

In fact, I found myself wishing Ricky's shop were a little farther away.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

We arrived far too soon.

Sawyer pulled into the gravel parking lot of a modest automotive repair shop with two large garage bays and a small office attached to the side.

One of the bay doors stood open.

Inside, a man wearing grease-stained jeans and a faded T-shirt was bent over the engine of an older pickup truck.

He straightened when he heard us approaching.

"Hey, Monty."

"Hey, Billy."

The man wiped his hands on a rag and looked in my direction.

"Well, I'll be damned."

I smiled politely.

"Hello! Is Ricky in today?"

Billy looked me up and down before answering.

Not unpleasantly, exactly.

But with the kind of open curiosity I'd begun to associate with the people of Pleasant Valley.

"So you're the city girl everybody's been talkin' about."

I blinked.

"Apparently."

He grinned.

"Prettier than I imagined."

"Billy."

Sawyer's voice carried a warning.

Billy glanced at him.

"What? I'm just sayin'. Ricky talks about her all the time."

I turned toward Sawyer.

"Should I take that as a compliment, or should I be concerned?"

Billy laughed.

"Definitely a compliment, ma'am."

Sawyer did not laugh.

In fact, he looked as though he were considering whether Billy might fit inside one of the discarded tires stacked beside the building.

"Where's Ricky?" Sawyer asked.

Billy stared at him.

Then slowly raised an eyebrow.

"Ricky?"

"Yeah."

"Richard McAllister?"

Sawyer narrowed his eyes.

"How many damn Rickys you got workin' here?"

Billy folded his arms.

"Well, last I checked, just the one. But I figured I'd ask, seein' as you apparently forgot what day it is."

I looked between them.

Sawyer said nothing.

Billy continued.

"It's Sunday, Monty."

"Well aware of that."

"Ricky don't work Sundays."

"Know that, too."

Billy blinked.

"Then why the hell are you here askin' for him?"

An excellent question.

I slowly turned toward Sawyer.

"Yes, Sawyer. Why are we here then?"

He glanced at me.

Then back at Billy.

"Figured we'd stop by."

Billy stared.

"Stop by?"

"Yep."

"To see a man you know ain't here?"

"That's what I said."

Billy scratched his head.

"Monty, you been kicked in the head by a horse lately?"

I pressed my lips together.

Sawyer's expression darkened.

"Careful, Billy."

"I'm serious, man. You know Ricky spends Sundays with Claire. Ain't no way he's comin' down here unless the damn building catches fire."

"Then it's a good thing I didn't ask you to call him."

Billy threw his hands up.

"Then what the hell are you doin' here?"

Sawyer leaned casually against the doorframe.

"Actually, I was wonderin' if Ricky knew what you've been doin' behind his back."

Billy went completely still.

I watched with interest.

"What?"

Sawyer smiled.

It was not an innocent smile.

It was the smile of a man who had just discovered an extremely entertaining way to win an argument.

"You heard me."

Billy glanced toward the office.

Then back at Sawyer.

"Now, hold on a damn minute."

Sawyer folded his arms.

"Somethin' you wanna tell me, Billy?"

Billy lowered his voice.

"Monty, we talked about that."

"Oh, we sure did."

"And you said you weren't gonna tell him!"

I blinked.

Well.

This had become interesting.

Sawyer shrugged.

"Depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On whether you're gonna keep questionin' why I brought the lady here on a Sunday."

Billy stared at him.

"You son of a bitch."

Sawyer grinned.

"Love you too, buddy."

I couldn't help myself.

I burst out laughing.

Both men turned toward me.

"I'm sorry," I managed, pressing a hand against my stomach. "But are you two seriously blackmailing each other in front of me?"

Billy pointed at Sawyer.

"He's blackmailin' me! I ain't done a damn thing!"

Sawyer lifted an eyebrow.

"Wouldn't say that."

Billy's eyes widened.

"Monty!"

I laughed harder.

These were two grown men.

Fully grown.

Presumably responsible adults.

And they were arguing like schoolboys who'd been caught passing notes during class.

I wiped the corner of my eye.

"Oh, this is marvelous."

Sawyer looked at me.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Please, continue. I'm learning so much about the sophisticated art of male friendship."

Billy chuckled.

Sawyer sighed.

"Princess, don't encourage him."

I turned toward Billy.

"Now I'm curious. What exactly have you been doing that Ricky shouldn't know about?"

Billy's smile disappeared.

Sawyer's widened.

"Oh, she's good," Sawyer murmured.

Billy pointed at me.

"Now, don't you start too."

I lifted both hands.

"My apologies. I wouldn't dream of interfering in whatever criminal enterprise you gentlemen appear to be operating."

"Criminal enterprise?" Billy repeated.

Sawyer started laughing.

"Jesus, Billy. She's got you pegged."

"Ain't nothin' criminal goin' on here!"

"Wonderful," I replied pleasantly. "Then I'm sure Ricky would be delighted to hear all about it."

Billy stared at me.

Then at Sawyer.

Then shook his head.

"Good Lord. There's two of you now."

Sawyer laughed so hard he had to look away.

I smiled sweetly.

"Apparently, we're a terrible influence on one another."

"That's one way of puttin' it," Billy muttered.

Sawyer finally straightened.

"All right, all right. We're just givin' you a hard time."

Billy gave him a suspicious look.

"You ain't tellin' Ricky?"

"Not unless you give me a reason."

"Monty."

"Relax, Billy."

I looked between them.

"Well, now I feel terribly excluded. Am I ever going to learn what this great secret is?"

"Nope," Sawyer answered immediately.

Billy nodded.

"For once, I agree with him."

I sighed dramatically.

"How disappointing."

Sawyer glanced toward the office.

"Anyway, princess, looks like we'll have to come back tomorrow."

I raised an eyebrow.

"During actual business hours, perhaps?"

Billy snorted.

Sawyer shot him a look.

"Don't start."

I turned toward Billy.

"What time does Ricky open?"

"Eight o'clock sharp, ma'am."

"Wonderful. We'll return tomorrow morning."

Billy nodded.

"Sounds good. I'll let him know you stopped by."

"Thank you, Billy. It was lovely meeting you."

"You too, ma'am."

He grinned.

"And don't believe everything Monty tells you."

I glanced at Sawyer.

"Oh, don't worry. I've already learned to question most of what comes out of his mouth."

Billy roared with laughter.

Sawyer shook his head.

"All right. We're leavin'."

I gave Billy a little wave.

"Goodbye!"

"See ya tomorrow, city girl!"

Sawyer placed a hand lightly against my back, guiding me toward the truck.

Behind us, Billy called out.

"And Monty?"

Sawyer stopped.

"What?"

"Next time, find a better excuse to take the city girl out!"

I laughed.

Sawyer didn't even turn around.

"Next time, I'll tell Ricky!"

"Asshole!"

Sawyer grinned.

"Bye, Billy!"

I was still laughing when we reached the truck.

Sawyer opened the passenger door for me.

"Enjoy yourself, princess?"

"Immensely."

He shook his head.

"Glad somebody did."

I climbed inside, smiling.

As he closed the door and walked around the front of the truck, I glanced back toward the garage.

Billy had already returned to his work, although I could still see him shaking his head.

I had absolutely no idea what secret Sawyer was holding over that poor man's head. But I was beginning to suspect that life in Pleasant Valley would never be boring.

And, much to my surprise, I was starting to like it that way.