“What?”
“He’s a handful.”
I laugh. “You got that right. He’s a horrible patient.”
“All cowboys are difficult,” she says.
“Oh, I know. I’ve had a lot of experience dealing with them in my life. Dad, my brother, and Cabe,” I say.
Charli smiles knowingly. “I’m not a doctor. But I did have to work with one stubborn cowboy while he was healing.”
Her gaze flicks briefly toward Axle.
Then back to me.
“Just be careful, or you’ll fall in love, like I did.”
I swallow, and for a moment, I can’t find words.
“Trust me, there’s zero chance of me falling for any of my patients.”
“Yeah, well, I thought the exact same thing, and tomorrow, I’m going wedding dress shopping with my sisters.”
Across the gym, Axle throws his head back, laughing at something Albert said as he came out of the bathroom.
I force my gaze back to Charli. “I’ll be careful.”
Her smile says she doesn’t believe me.
“Good. I love my cousin.” She shifts her gaze to me. “Allmy cousins.” She emphasizes the wordall. “But he’s a rascal. You have to show him who’s boss.”
I laugh. “Noted.”
“Shall we?” Albert asks as he makes it to us. “I hear they’re serving pot roast and pecan pie tonight. And I’ve worked up an appetite.”
He offers an elbow to each of us, and we link our arms in his and let him lead us to the dining hall.
Axle
The television throws a pale glow across the ceiling, and the only light in the room comes from the documentary we’re halfway through.
The beer bottle hangs loose between my fingers.
Jovie is curled on her side beside me, nursing another one of those wine spritzers she likes so much. Her hair is a tangled mess from where she’s been lying on the pillow for the last hour.
Another detective is talking about the investigation.
A grainy photo flashes across the screen. Then another. And another.
The narrator begins detailing how Robert Cottingham lured women from bars and nightclubs before drugging them.
I grimace. “Geezus.”
The documentary goes into details I don’t particularly want to hear, but somehow can’t stop listening to.
The women had simply gone out for a night with friends. Had drinks. Danced. Then disappeared. Their abused, mutilated, and burned bodies were later found. Often without their limbs or head to make them harder to identify, gaining him the moniker The Torso Killer.
I shake my head. “That is insane.”
