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“What?”
“What I did. The reason I’m an ex-convict. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
Even in the darkness, I can see his face turn a bright red. “There’s a special place in hell for you.”
“Probably. I don’t fear it.” I turn a raised eyebrow at him. “Do you?”
He makes a disgusted noise behind his throat, and I know he catches my meaning. There’s no way in hell Smith is going to be with The Big Man upstairs. The bastard turned a blind eye to the reports I’d given about my fosterparents, all because they were related. He deserves flames and brimstone, just like me.
“That’s what I thought,” I growl as I shut my door in his face. I turn the key, and the engine roars to life, the lights illuminating the gravel path in front of me. I salute the pissed-off man just outside of my truck and put my foot on the gas, hoping like hell I run over his damn foot.
Chapter 7
Tegan Adams
At this time of morning,the small cafe is busy. With all the cars outside, some idling and some parked, I know there’s going to be a line. I just hope that the numerous customers don’t make me late. When I woke up this morning, I told Tori I’d be at the shop in an hour. Half an hour had already passed by while I got ready, and I ran out the door right when Cole walked in.
Thankfully, he didn’t ask where I was going. He just gave me a questioning look as I rushed past him and told him I was late. If he had struck up a conversation, I would have hung around to make good on this trying-to-be-friendly thing, and I’d be even later.
I park the car and stare up at the building for a second. It’s part of the old downtown strip, and unlike the other businesses, a faded purple awning stretches across the sidewalk, making this place unique. Surprisingly, the purple, although faded, compliments the patched brick exterior.
Great windows take up wall space, which would give a view of the inside if the sun wasn’t reflecting on them. A few tiny, pink metal tables with equally as small matching chairs are set up outside on the sidewalk. A couple sits at one, sipping their coffee and chatting quietly to one another. I don’t recognize them, but then again, I don’t recognize anyone here. I only know three people.
As is the case throughout the rest of the town, I notice large flower pots with roses planted in them. I had looked at them during my last visit to town, and across each one is a plaque that says, “In honor of the Wordon family.” I didn’t realize what a big deal the Wordons were to this town until that very moment.
Grabbing my purse, I open the door. I’m slammed with the sweet aroma of baking donuts. That smell alone would lure in a person on the strictest diet. It would be a miracle if they were able to resist.
An older, graying woman exits the cafe and holds the door open for me as I approach. I smile at her and give my nod of thanks before dipping inside.
Just like the awning, the interior has purple walls. It’s more lavender, however, and I can tell that it’s far fresher than the awning itself. I find that I like the color, actually. It’s warming, just like a homemade baked pastry at first bite.
A pastry sounds really good right now. My empty stomach rumbles at the thought.
Dear god, this place is going to be my cause for thunder thighs and an even bigger ass.
Tables and booths decorate the area inside, all of them full. A family sits at one of the tables to my right, and the little boy grins at me with his milk mustache before he takes a generous bite of his chocolate chip cookie. I suppose there are worse breakfasts. I can’t think of any, buthonestly, at that age, I would have begged until I cried for a cookie first thing in the morning.
I take in the other faces that don’t pay me any attention. Briefly, I glance at the booth filled with local cops. One is wearing one of those police hats while the others opted for black ballcaps. The one with the police hat catches my gaze, and he gives me a little wave. I nod back and turn to the line in front of me.
Only a few people are standing in the line, one of them a little girl with one thumb in her mouth and a blanket in the other hand while she hovers close to her mom’s leg. She looks to be maybe two years old, and I smile down at her. I’m just about to crouch and ask her what her favorite donut is when I get a tap on my shoulder.
“You must be the new lady in town,” the person says.
I turn and note that the cop with the police hat is no longer in his booth but standing next to me. “I am,” I say. I gather my purse in one arm and hold out my hand. “Tegan Adams.”
He shakes my hand in his thick one. “Sheriff Smith,” he introduces himself.
“Ah,” I say as I let go of his hand. “Derek Wordon’s stepbrother.”
The smile he shares with me is small, and I try to return it more genuinely than him as he proclaims, “The one and only. Are you all moved into my childhood home?”
I laugh nervously. “Sort of. I unpacked some last night, but mostly, I’ve been working on wallpaper.” I lean in conspiratorially. “There’s a lot of it.”
His belly laugh is too loud for this space. “My stepdad built it; my mother decorated. You’ll have to blame her.”
“Oh, I’d never blame the dead,” I say with a wink. “But it’s the first thing on my to-do list to make the handyman happy.”
His smile fades as quickly as it comes. “That’s right. Cole Garner is fixing it up.”
