Rex shrugs. “Not as strange as it sounds.”
Ben turns, pacing now. “Gran, donotuse the flare gun. Tell Bernie to stay put— Wait, what?” He presses a palm to his forehead before resignation washes over his face. “If Bernie’s walker is stolen, I will replace it,” he says through gritted teeth. “Don’t move.” He shakes his head. “Yes, Gran, I know you wouldn’t be calling me if you could move. Just... just don’t use the flare gun. I’m on my way.”
He hangs up and turns to me. “I have to go.”
I stare at him. “Your grandmother’s in a dumpster?”
“Yes,” he says on a sigh. “Can I ride back in the Gator?”
I nod, following him to the UTV. “Is she okay?”
“For now, yes.” He climbs into the passenger seat. “But the last time Gran did this, it ended in a restraining order and three citations for public disturbance.”
“The last time?” I get into the driver’s seat and start heading back to the house. “So this is a regular thing, your grandmother in a dumpster?”
Ben glances over with that trademark smirk. “Some grandmothers crochet—mine organizes unlicensed stakeouts.”
Chapter 34
Ben
Cypress Creek, Texas
Sunday morning
The Gator rattles up to the ranch house, a plume of dust trailing behind us as Cybil pulls up to the barn and parks. She’s out of the UTV and inside the house before I can get a word in. If I weren’t picturing my grandmother knee-deep in trash with a flare gun and an itchy trigger finger, I’d chase after her.
The ride back was quiet and quick. I know at least twice, Cybil hit the ruts in the road extra hard, causing me to tighten my grip on my seat.“You think you know me, but you absolutely don’t.”
And maybe she’s right. Mostly. We’ve both grown up and changed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see the girl I once knew. The way she dodged my questions wasn’t just clever; it was impressive. A two-step of lies that made me respect the game—if only that’s what it was.
Unfortunately, it got me no closer to knowing the truth about who she’s really working for and what her interest is in Ramirez’s deal.
And now I have to deal with my grandmother and—I’m halfway to my truck when I hear it.
A low, menacing cluck from inside the cab.
I swing open my truck door and freeze.
There, strutting across the bench seat like he owns the place, isKentucky Fried. His beady eye turns on me. I don’t blink. I don’t move. I don’t even breathe.
Good play, Cybil.
Behind me, a low chuckle rumbles. I glance over to see Buddy standing near the porch with one of his ranch hands, arms crossed, his Stetson low against the morning sun.
“What’s going on?” Cybil strolls out of the house, already dressed, eyes locking onto the standoff between me and the demon rooster.
“Like you don’t know,” I hiss.
Kentucky Fried swivels his head and lets out a growl. I slam the door shut and jump back. He puffs out his chest and crows like he just won a turf war.
I whirl around and point at Cybil. “Nice payback.”
Her eyes widen. “I didn’t do that. You think I’d touch that deranged menace?”
“You?” I ask, turning to Buddy.
He shrugs and wraps a protective arm around Cybil. “No idea how he got in there.”
