Page 170 of Property of Whiskey

My body reacts before my pride can interfere. I jerk upright, and Whiskey’s arm comes across me automatically. He doesn’t grab me or drag me behind him. He just puts himself between my body and the direction of the sound while the flashlight beam sweeps across trunks, brush, and a patch of leaves still trembling twenty yards in.

Nothing steps out.

“Rabbit,” he says.

“That was a big damn rabbit.”

“Kentucky.”

“Everything ain’t bigger in Kentucky.”

“Some things are.”

I turn my head slowly.

His grin flashes in the dark. “You walked into that one.”

His confidence should irritate me. Instead, heat climbs straight up my neck, so I start back toward the house before he can enjoy himself more.

“Your daughter’s imaginary friend has ruined enough of my night.”

“Thought that was my ex.”

“She’s competing.”

“Beth always was competitive.”

I stop so abruptly he nearly walks into me.

“What?”

“You really wanna bring her up?”

“Nope.”

“Smart.”

“Been told I’m exceptionally intelligent.”

“You kidnapped a deputy.”

“Temporary lapse.”

We reach the porch with Wren still waiting at the glass. The second Whiskey opens the door, she starts asking questions.

“What’s the lady from your bathroom doing here?”

“She’s a friend named Twila. Twila’s law enforcement. A deputy.”

“Can we trust her?”

“Yeah. Wren, this here is Twila. Twila meet my daughter Wren.”

“Hey,” I start, trying to be casual.

Wren looks suspicious as I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you,” she replies with a curtsy as if I am the Queen of England, reminding me of her cardboard castle, but she puts her hand behind her back. “Glamaw says not to give my germs out to everyone.” Then she turns to her dad with the important stuff. “Did you see Prickle?”

“No.”