Текст книги "Best Worst Mistake"

Автор книги: Lia Riley

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Fifteen

FOR THE NEXT week and a half, it seemed like Quinn had gotten her wish. Dad stayed calm and even smiled a few times while watching Ghostbusters. Wilder accompanied her on visits to Mountain View Village, sitting beside her in Dad’s room, holding her hand, barely watching the movie because all he did was stare at her.

It was good. Perfect really.

And if sometimes she woke in the night, fear squeezing her heart and uncertainty sucking away the room’s oxygen until she could barely breathe, with Wilder’s arm heavy over her waist and the pesky old idea “this is a mistake” ringing through her skull, it was gone by morning light.

Mostly.

So far her phone didn’t ring, at least not with a call from the doctor. Each day without news was another to kick the can of worms further down the road.

It turned out that Edie’s bakery sustained minimal damage, to the relief of the townsfolk who had come to depend on her baked goods as a normal part of their daily routine. The shop had been closed for a few days while a thorough check was done to determine everything was safe.

As it was Wednesday again, the Chicklits were meeting at the big table in the back of A Novel Experience arguing over next month’s selection. They’d decided it was time for a romance and there was a strenuous debate over whether a billionaire BDSM should trump a sweet friends-to-lovers contemporary romance. Quinn took a sip of water from her bottle and accidentally splashed some down her “Reading Is Sexy” t-shirt. Wiping at it, she called out, “Maybe you guys can just split the difference? The half of you rooting for whips and canes can choose that book and the other half that wants movie dates and walks in the rain can go that route.”

“That’s not how this works,” a woman in a pair of faded overalls piped up. “This is about consensus.”

“We’re the thirteen musketeers,” interjected another woman with painted eyebrows. “We’re all in. One for all. However it goes.”

“By all means, carry on—only making a suggestion,” Quinn said in a fake hoity tone.

“Is that the pretty one who’s dating your grandson?” Painted Eyebrows’ stage whisper was impossible to ignore. “That still working out? If not, mind if I try to set her up with my Roger?”

Grandma Kane held court at the end of the table like a dowager countess. Annie had dropped her off for book club before ducking in the Brightwater Bugle offices to finish an article.

“I don’t pretend to know what, or whom, my grandson is doing.” Grandma’s frosty tone didn’t inspire much in the way of confidence.

“I’ve heard his truck has been parked in front of her house most every night.”

“I heard that they were spotted in the grocery store together buying hot fudge.”

“I heard that they were seen kissing in the town square and that tongue was most definitely involved.”

Quinn’s cheeks flamed. She knew small towns had a reputation for busybody behavior, but had someone followed her around the last two weeks with a handheld camera?

Finally she glanced up from her stack of inventory. “Um, ladies. I can hear you.”

They all burst out laughing.

“Course you can,” Grandma Kane said. “They’re trying to get a rise.”

“Just trying to have some sorely needed fun, Dorothy. This weather has been giving me a bad case of the grumps,” the woman in overalls said.

“Have your fun with someone else’s family, Beryl. Not mine. Meeting is adjourned.” Grandma rapped her knuckles on the table.

“But we haven’t decided on a title,” Painted Eyebrows protested.

Grandma furrowed her brow. “We’re doing the contemporary. The hero on the cover reminds me of Chris Pratt.”

“Chris Brat?” Another piped up. “Who’s that?”

“Pratt,” Grandma snapped. “P like phenomenal.”

“But that sounds like an F.”

“Sounds like but isn’t.”

“What’s a Pratt?” another member asked, turning up her hearing aid, the high-pitched squeak making everyone jump.

“He’s an actor. Guardians of the Galaxy?” Quinn interjected. “Jurassic World?”

Twenty-four eyes stared blankly at her.

“Good taste, Mrs. Kane.” Quinn gave a thumbs-up.

Grandma ignored her.

P also stands for poleaxe. Grandma Kane had quite the hatchet face. Imagine having been raised by her—no wonder Wilder ran out of town. But then, Sawyer and Archer seemed to regard her with real affection, and she returned it.

What had happened between her and her oldest grandson?

The contemporary romance winners moved on from bickering over phonetic pronunciations and began high-fiving each other over their victory while the BDSM fans marched out grumbling under their breath. It looked like Grandma had the final say even outside of Hidden Rock Ranch.

And as the shop emptied, it also looked like the two of them were going to be alone for a bit. Quinn gave the wall clock a covert glance.

“Still fifteen minutes until Annie is due to fetch me.”

“I wasn’t—”

Grandma smiled tightly. “Don’t feed me a line, dearie. I can smell your fear a mile away.”

“Fear?” Quinn lifted her chin. “You think I’m scared of you?”

“Everyone is.”

Quinn laughed despite herself. “Now I know where Wilder gets it from.”

“Gets what?”

Quinn arched a brow. “That tough-as-nails routine.”

“Hrumph.” Grandma opened up her purse and made a careful study of its contents.

“Wilder wants to make you proud, you know.”

“Know? Know?” Grandma’s voice rose an octave. “What would I know about Wilder Kane? There’s a boy that doesn’t want to be known, pushes everyone away. Always has.”

“He does.” Quinn came out from around the counter. “He does that so much.”

“You think you can roll around in the hay or whatever it is you do for a couple of weeks and presume to tell me how it is with a boy I’ve known since he was whizzing in diapers?”

Quinn paused, before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I think I can. Sometimes a situation can be better assessed with a fresh pair of eyes.”

“Doesn’t look like your eyes see all that great.” Grandma sniffed, waving her hands in the direction of Quinn’s glasses.

“Wow.” Quinn took a seat. “You really bring out the heavy artillery to keep people at bay, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you are yammering about.” Grandma returned to her handbag rummage. “I’m just going to sit here and wait for my harebrained daughter-in-law to fetch me. No, wait, not daughter-in-law because right now she’s living in sin with my Sawyer.”

Quinn propped her hand on her chin. “They seem serious.”

Grandma wrinkled her nose in response. “Serious is when he sticks a ring on her finger and gives me some legitimate grandbabies.”

“Legitimate?” Quinn smothered a smile. “We aren’t in the middle ages anymore.”

“This is Brightwater, not Hollywood. Traditional family values still matter here. At least to the old-time families.”

“Hey now, I’m a Higsby, remember?”

“To a degree.” Grandma pulled out an Us Weekly from her purse. No wonder she was current on all the hot young actors.

“Hey!” An idea occurred to her. Good or bad was impossible to say, but worth a shot. She didn’t need this woman to bless her relationship, but sensed it would mean the world to Wilder. “Would you be willing to come to my house?”

Grandma glanced over the top of the magazine with a startled expression. “Now why would I want to do that?”

“I’d like to make you and Wilder dinner. The three of us. You and I can get acquainted and you and he . . . well, you can get reacquainted?”

“Does that boy know about your cockamamie idea?”

“Of course.” It was a little startling how smoothly the lie rolled off her tongue. “In fact, it was his suggestion.”

Grandma shook her head. “Now I know you’re telling tales out of school.”

“I’m serious. How does tomorrow night sound?”

The bells to the front door tinkled.

“Evening, ladies. Brrrrrrr, it’s freezing outside.” Annie came in pink cheeked and bright eyed, her small frame buried under a bright yellow jacket, red wool scarf, and ladybug winter boots. Somehow the whole eclectic combo looked perfect on her.

“I was just telling Grandma here how Wilder and I wanted to have her over to my place for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Oh.” Annie blinked as if to say “Are you sure about that?” Instead, she managed to say, “What a wonderful idea. She’d love that.”

“My hip might be bum but I have a pair of perfectly functioning vocal cords,” Grandma snapped. “And wonderful and love aren’t the words I’m searching for.”

“I know you aren’t driving much these days on account of your fall last summer but how about Wilder comes and picks you up at six?” Quinn crossed her fingers under the table. Please don’t let him kill me.

“Six? Won’t work. I eat at five,” Grandma said grimly.

Annie clucked her tongue. “Isn’t it fun to try new things, step out of the ho-hum routine?”

Grandma slammed her hat on her head, a purple felt one with a plastic bird stapled to the side. “Change gives me indigestion.”

“Five is perfect.” Quinn smiled. “So Wilder will pick you up at four-thirty and we’ll eat then. I don’t work tomorrow. I’m going to spend the afternoon with Dad.”

“Fine.” Grandma heaved a hefty sigh. “As long as you don’t serve none of that kombooty.”

“Excuse me?”

She pointed an accusing finger at Annie. “Kombooty. This one tried to poison me with it last week.”

“Kombucha,” Annie replied patiently. “It’s full of probiotics.”

“Smelled like infected cat pee.”

“No kombucha, promise. How about pan-fried pork chop and baked potatoes?” Quinn could manage that, just. “I’ll pick up a yummy dessert from Edie’s shop.”

“She’s another one.” Grandma shook her head. “Can’t that girl bake a chocolate cake, plain and sensible? No, she has to go adding a ganache. What is a ganache anyway?”

“It’s a French glaze,” Annie answered promptly.

“Foreign food.” Grandma huffed. “Why not good old American buttercream?”

“Grandma, are you having a low-blood-sugar moment because I have some snacks in my car.” Annie’s tone seemed sweet but Quinn could tell she enjoyed baiting the older woman.

“You’re trying to kill me off with those snacks. Dried coconut chips, blue corn chips, and homemade granola? No thank you.” What’s more, Grandma enjoyed being baited.

Annie grinned. “All the more kale for me then.”

Grandma shook her head but couldn’t restrain her own smile. Needling Annie seemed to be how she showed affection. Interesting.

“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night,” Quinn said in her most chipper tone.

“Just once, just once I’d like one of my grandsons to settle down with a sensible girl. Do you have sense, missy? And how is your father?” Grandma continued, not waiting for a reply to her first question. She shoved her magazine back in the bag and rose. “Damn shame what happened to him. He was a fine man, a good man. They don’t make them like that in this day and age.”

“Thank you,” Quinn said. “I miss him, which is strange to say because he’s right there in front of me.”

Grandma reached across the table, grabbing her wrist with a surprisingly strong hand. “There’s a part of him that knows. You have to trust that. He might not act like he gets that love, but somewhere deep inside he does.”

Quinn glanced up and Grandma’s eyes misted. Maybe it was a trick of the light because then she was standing up, thrusting her handbag at Annie, imperious as a queen.

“Tell that boy I’ll see him at four-thirty sharp.”

“Will do,” Quinn said as Annie mouthed “good luck” behind Grandma’s back.

After they left the shop, Quinn stayed seated at the table, staring thoughtfully at the wall. In theory, Grandma was talking to her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the older woman was also talking to herself.

As she locked up, she glanced at the sky. The clouds were covering the moon and stars, but just in case anyone was listening, she offered up a small prayer. “Please.”

That was all. Please let everything work out for the best. As she walked to her truck, a little warmth blazed in her chest and she hugged herself. Maybe everything would work out okay. Maybe Brightwater would end up being a surprise happy ending after all.

Just as she got her key in her car door, a feeling prickled over her, one she’d had the last few days in the store, as if someone watched her. Every time she scanned Main Street, no one was there. But this time, a flash of high beams swept over her. She shielded her eyes as a small nondescript car flew past her, missing her by less than five feet. The driver was hunched low, face obscured by the steering wheel.

“Hey,” she yelled at the disappearing taillights, “watch where you are going.”

She shivered, the warm feeling replaced by an ominous prickle. All of a sudden it felt like danger could exist around every corner, and you never knew when it would slam into you without warning.

Chapter Sixteen

WILDER SAT AT Quinn’s little kitchen table, conscious of the scrape and clink of his silverware. Today her shirt said, “I Read the Book before It Was a Movie.” Cute and funny, but falling flat with this crowd. The conversation was nonexistent despite Quinn’s valiant attempts at small talk. When she told him what she was planning, a bonding dinner between him and Grandma, he almost said not to bother. But she looked so hopeful that the idea of disappointing her about killed him.

She wanted so much to believe that everything would work out, have a happy ending like one of those old books she favored. What could he do, tell her how the world really worked and rain on her parade? Not happening. She’d been kicked in the teeth enough, by her old job, by her dad being sick. He didn’t want to show her what it was really like to be kicked in the ass, how those scars never heal. How eventually the wounds fill with poison until nothing looks good and you’re angry every day, from the first breath when you wake up until you fall into another uneasy sleep.

Grandma, on the other hand, knew . . . all too well. From time to time during the dinner, she caught his gaze, her eyes still sharp behind those turquoise bifocals. She never missed a trick. That night of the house fire, after she got Sawyer and Archer tucked into beds at Hidden Ranch, she came to him, sat on the edge of his bed.

“You going to tell me what really happened?” she had asked.

She always knew the worst about him.

“So.” Quinn wiped her mouth with her napkin and set it on the table. “Everyone’s plates are empty so looks like my questionable cooking skills turned out okay this one time. Pork chops were my dad’s favorite meal—he taught me how to make them when I was thirteen years old. It’s either this, canned soup, or macaroni and cheese so don’t expect any more from me in the way of culinary greatness.”

“Meat was a little overcooked,” Grandma muttered.

Wilder tossed his fork on his plate. “Jesus, Grandma.”

“Hey, I don’t mind,” Quinn soothed. “Well, maybe a leetle more sugar-coating would be nice, but hey, at least we’re all talking now, right? Better than just staring at our plates and listening to the light bulb hum.” She glanced up. “Those fluorescent bulbs in there are noisy when there’s no sound, huh? Anyway, I have an idea.”

Wilder had to give her points for sheer tenacity. This dinner was a bust but she wouldn’t admit defeat, was going down punching, and that deserved respect.

“What are you thinking, Trouble?” he asked, gentling his tone.

“A game.”

“Do I look like a game player to you?” Grandma said skeptically.

Quinn looked between them. “Everyone likes board games.”

“Looks like you found the two exceptions to the rule,” Wilder muttered.

“Good lord, you really are both cut from the same cloth,” Quinn said, standing to grab the plates and waving Wilder back into his seat. “No. Butt in chair, mister. There’s a dishwasher in this kitchen and I intend to put it to good use. We are going to eat cake and play a game and there will be no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Understood?”

The two faces stared back at her with identical expressions of shock and awe. She felt like she was a lion tamer in the ring. Exhibit a trace of fear and they’ll eat you alive. Better to show them who is boss.

She stalked to the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, and cut heaping slices of the cake Edie insisted on giving her for free. “A donation of goodwill,” she had said. “Listen, I’ve lived with the woman since summer time, and all I can say is don’t be fooled into thinking she can be tamed. She’s like a barn cat. If she likes you, she likes you, but her mood is unpredictable and you can’t take it personally.”

But of course this was personal. Grandma Kane didn’t have to like her, but she had to respect her.

She set the cake slices before them and scanned the games on the bookshelf. Risk? Too long. Scrabble? No, not quite right. Hungry Hippos? Ah, thumbs-up for childhood nostalgia, but again, no. Monopoly? Maybe. Wait a second. What’s this? Yes. Yes, perfect.

“The Game of Life,” she announced, grabbing the box off the bookshelf and walking back to the table.

Grandma glared at the brightly colored lid before forking the last bite of cake into her mouth. Ganache or not, she hoovered the slice like it was going to sprout legs and scurry away. “When you get to my age you learn life’s not a game. It’s a joke.”

“Now, now.” Quinn clucked. “Nothing ages a person faster than being set in their ways.”

Grandma snorted. “You’re saying that if I play this here board game, I’ll push back my date with Saint Peter?”

“Who’s to say?” Quinn spread out the board as Wilder picked up a tiny car, frowning.

“What’s this thing do?”

“Jesus, take the wheel,” Grandma muttered.

Quinn refused to lose her grin. These party poopers would have fun tonight or she’d die trying. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never played Life either?”

“I’m with Grandma on this one. Not big into games.”

“That is all about to change.” She gave Grandma a red car. “Now find a little plastic person, either blue or pink. Sorry, this game doesn’t really take gender ambiguity into consideration.”

They both stared as if her neck had sprouted a new head. These two might have different features, but something about the way they held their heads and set their mouths marked them unmistakably as kin.

Quinn pointed to the dial. “Then we spin the wheel and start.”

“And what’s the point?” Wilder asked, sticking a blue man into the driver’s seat.

“To win at life.” She left off the duh part of her statement but it managed to hang there regardless.

“Hah,” Grandma muttered. “There is only one winner in life and that’s the Grim Reaper.”

“Enough.” Quinn slammed her own car down so hard that her little pink stick figure flew across the table in a perfect arc, landing in Grandma’s lap. “I’m adding extra rules. No cynical comments and that includes under-the-breath grumbles. No snorting. No checking your watch. We are going to have fun even if it hurts because today, right now, we are all alive, we are all more or less in good health, and we are all together, so we might as well make the best of it.”

Grandma Kane stared at her with an unfathomable expression. Quinn restrained the urge to gulp and rubbed an invisible speck off the table. She’d gone and done it now, gone too far, the lion was opening its mouth, coming in for the bite . . .

“You have gumption.” Grandma thought for another moment. “Yes, I’m giving you that, missy. More grit than any other Higsby I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you.” Quinn wiggled her feet in a secret under-the-table happy dance. She had conquered the lion. It was giving her a begrudging lick and purr. “Now spin the wheel and let’s see who goes first.”

Chapter Seventeen

IT WAS ALMOST midnight when Wilder drove Grandma back to Hidden Rock Ranch and for once they had actually spoken. Not about anything deep and meaningful—he asked about her hip rehab after it was broken in July and she checked in on the status of his leg.

But it was a start.

“We’re a pair, aren’t we, boy?” she’d said as he pulled up in front of the old homestead she now shared with Archer and Edie. The house she’d taken him and his brothers into after his parents died, the house that never quite felt like a home, at least for him. “Survivors.”

Quinn had made rum-spice apple cider halfway through the board game. He’d declined because he was driving but Grandma had sipped a mug. Maybe she’d snuck another and the tipple was making her emotional?

“Let’s get you inside before you catch a chill.” He got out and limped to her side of the truck. He’d abandoned his stick for the last week and it felt damn good. His gait wasn’t as surefooted as it used to be yet, but it was as if he’d turned a corner, and in the distance was a light, one Quinn had lit. It was like she was his own spitfire guardian angel. She wasn’t the type to hold your hand and tell you everything would be okay. No, she’d kick your ass until sense was knocked into your skull.

He offered Grandma his arm and got her up the front steps, the same ones she had tumbled down. Archer stepped up after the accident, took on the running of the ranch, Grandma, and a serious relationship with his typical easy stride. It wasn’t hard to see why people loved Archer. He knew how to make you feel good, just by being close to him.

Wilder had always been more of a porcupine.

He had the door half open when realization hit him with a jolt.

Quinn was right. He and Grandma were cut from the same cloth.

“Hey. Can I say something?” he said.

Grandma set down her handbag and sniffed. “You smell that?”

Wilder inhaled deeply, catching faint traces of cinnamon, brown sugar, and apples. “Yeah and it’s making me hungry all over again.”

Edie ducked out of the kitchen door, Archer hot on her heels. Her red hair was a mess and she looked suspiciously flushed while his little brother had a telltale smirk.

Jesus Christ.

Wilder didn’t feel any jealousy, just a vague sense of amusement. Plus, Edie’s shirt was on backward and Grandma was going to notice in another few seconds.

“I’m gonna tell you two lovebirds the same thing I told Sawyer.” Grandma shrugged off her coat and hung it on the brass peg. “At my age, my wants are straightforward. Grandbabies, grandbabies, and more grandbabies. But I want it done proper. Children who carry the Kane name.”

“Hold up now.” Archer’s cheeks were a near match to Edie’s. “Grandma, I—”

“And please, for the love of all that’s holy, tell me you didn’t get up to anything on the kitchen table. That’s where I eat my Cream of Wheat.”

“Grandma,” Edie yelped, clapping her hands to her chest. “It’s not what you think.”

Wilder tugged at his shirt, waggling his eyebrows and Edie glanced down, her silvery eyes bugging out of her head as she realized the seams were on the outside.

The front door burst open. “You’re here. Thank God,” Sawyer said, taking a deep gulping breath.

“Course I’m here. This is still my home,” Grandma snapped.

“Not you, him.” Sawyer thumbed at Wilder. “Saw your truck parked out front while I was driving by. You got to come with me, pronto.”

Wilder frowned, the old adrenaline rush setting in, putting his senses on high alert. “Another fire?”

“Oh no,” Edie gasped, grappling for Archer’s arm. “Please not at the bakery again.”

“No. You were right.” Sawyer clenched his jaw. “The fire was in an occupied home this time. Quinn’s home. The call just came in.”

Wilder took a step backward. The room disappeared. The roof caving in. The scream. The damn scream frozen in his head for twenty-five years filled his senses. Smoke choked his lungs. A chill shot down his spine.

“Is she . . . is she . . .”

“All I know is that she was taken to the hospital. One of the firefighters rescued her.”

A hand brushed his arm. “I’m so sorry,” Edie said.

“I’m coming with you.” Grandma marched back to her jacket, slinging it on.

“Grandma, no.” Sawyer held up a hand. “Stay here.”

“Let her come,” Wilder choked out. It had come at last. Payback. He’d taken so much from her.

But when she looked at him, there wasn’t a glimmer of justice or malicious glee. Only concern. “Come,” she said, holding out a hand. “You don’t need to face this alone.”

Archer stepped forward and clasped his shoulder. “We’re coming too. Family sticks together.” He turned to Sawyer. “Edie and I are following behind, man.”

Wilder moved in a daze. His limbs propelled him out into the wintry night but he wasn’t in control, autopilot had taken over. He paused on the front porch, turning to face his family. “The fire spared me this summer, but I’d rather burn a hundred times over than have a single hair on that woman’s head be scorched.”

“True words, brother,” Archer said with a nod. “I feel the same way.”

“Me too,” Sawyer said.

“One question.” Wilder gave voice to a niggling idea. “Any chance the fireman who pulled Quinn from the house was Garret King?”

Sawyer blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

Wilder ground his teeth. He’d been thinking about who the arsonist could be for weeks and only one name kept repeating itself. “Because I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”

“King? He’s an asshole, but that hasn’t changed since we were in elementary school, man. Remember when he ate the fish out of the fish tank in the school lobby?”

Wilder didn’t crack a smile. “Has the ATF given you an arson profile yet?”

Sawyer knit his brows. “Report should be coming in any day.”

“King’s a volunteer firefighter,” Grandma Kane butted in, joining the conversation.

“You think he is responsible?” Archer asked, puzzled. “But why?”

“Hero complex,” Wilder said tightly. “He gets to be a big shot. People buy him drinks at The Dirty Shame. Slap his back when he walks down the street. He likes to impress, always has.”

“There’s a hell of a big difference between being a show-off and putting lives in danger.” Sawyer crossed his arms, staring off in the distance, thinking. “I’m not saying you’re wrong but why target Quinn?”

“He’s pursued her, and he sniffed around her place not long ago, unable to get the memo that she wasn’t into him.”

Sawyer shook his head. “That means he’s a fucking creep, not a potential murderer. Arson is a serious accusation, man.”

“I’ve been at this a long time, brother.” Wilder clenched his jaw. “Where there is smoke, there is always fire. Something with Garret is off. There’s a connection.”

He and Grandma got into Sawyer’s truck while Archer and Edie followed behind. For once, Wilder was glad to have them close. The woman he cared about was in danger.

It didn’t make sense that this would happen. Why would she be targeted? Sawyer was right—arson wasn’t an allegation to be thrown around lightly. But he had a gut-deep certainty King was connected to these fires.

The drive was tense, quiet, and when they got to the Brightwater Hospital, Grandma’s huffy breath puffed out in the cold air as she threw open the door. “Not looking forward to seeing the inside of this place again.”

“That was a long two months,” Edie said, nodding sympathetically. Grandma had been hospitalized from July to September with a broken hip and complications from pneumonia. Since then, she’d scaled back her duties on the ranch but didn’t show any signs of slowing down in the busybody department.

They walked into the emergency room and Wilder pulled up short. There was Trixie Higsby, one of Quinn’s cousins, sitting next to none other than Garret King.

The room vanished in a red haze. Wilder’s hand flexed, clenching into a tight fist.

“Easy, brother,” Sawyer said, resting a hand on Wilder’s elbow. “Even if what you say is true, and I’m not saying it’s not, starting a fight here isn’t going to help Quinn. It’s only going to land your ass in hot water.”

“I’ll handle this,” Grandma snapped, storming over.

“Shit,” Sawyer said. The three brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, powerless in the wake of a crotchety old woman.

“Mrs. Kane,” King said, looking solemn. “News travels fast.”

“I want to see that girl.”

“Family only.” Trixie glanced at Garret under downcast lids, her lower lip giving an attractive tremble. “With her daddy in his bad way, Garret called our house as next-of-kin and I volunteered to come right down.”

“How is she?” Wilder ground out.

“Oh, I haven’t been able to bear going in yet.” Trixie gripped Garret’s bicep as if to absorb his strength. “I get white-coat anxiety. Hospitals make me all kinds of scared.”

“You mean to tell us that you haven’t been back to check on Quinn?” Wilder stormed forward. “Is she . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words flashing red in his brain. Hurt. Scared. Or worse.

She shot Wilder a suspicious look and scooted closer to Garret, practically crawling onto his lap. “The doctor came out about a half hour ago and said she’d be perfectly all right. They were just going to run a bunch of tests.”

Grandma Kane lowered her chin and steam was almost visible from her flaring nostrils. “Trixie Higsby, you get your milksop, pansy butt back there and tell us how our girl is doing.”

Trixie’s mouth opened and closed as if she was in charades and had been assigned the role of “goldfish.”

“I don’t give a fig about your white-coat whatchamacallit. There is a weakness in the Higsby line. Your people might be long-lived, fertile, and loyal, but Quinn is the first one of you that’s shown any real spine or gumption.”

“Now see here, Mrs. Kane.” Trixie pulled a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed her nose. “People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh? Oh!” The young woman looked triumphant. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“She doesn’t know,” she repeated to Garret. “It’s hard to see what’s right in front of you sometimes, isn’t it?”

“You fool of a Higsby, spit it out.”

“He’s got some nerve showing up here.”

Wilder glanced around before realizing Trixie’s finger was pointed directly at him.

“Me?”

“Lucky the sheriff is here because this freak should be arrested.”

“On what charges?” Sawyer approached, a muscle twitching in his temple.

“Arson.” Garret stood up, his hands balled into two big fists. “You almost killed an innocent woman tonight, you fucking animal.”