Page 238 of Property of Whiskey

“I’m not your hostage. I’m not your property. And I’m not gonna sit in your house while you and the Kings decide what I’m allowed to know.”

He goes still, studying me. Whiskey steps closer, careful not to crowd me. “Wasn’t planning on giving you up that easy.”

My stomach flips, which is irritating enough that I immediately glare at him. “Who said I’m yours to give up?”

“Nobody.”

“Good.”

His gaze travels over my muddy clothes, catches briefly on my hair, then drops to my mouth. “Would you stay tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Don’t push it.”

His mouth starts to curve.

I point uphill. “Holler is probably planning our funerals.”

“True.”

We start back toward the house.

This time Whiskey doesn’t tell me where to walk or put a hand on me to keep me there. He just falls into step beside me.

Much better.

By the time we reach the yard, I’m cold, wet, muddy, and increasingly aware that my underwear contains enough of the Kentucky forest to qualify as a sample.

The porch light clicks on before we reach the steps.

Holler opens the door and looks at Whiskey, then me, then Whiskey’s mud-covered back and my mud-covered front. His gaze drops to his crooked belt before returning to my hair.

His eyes narrow.

“Did y’all find the deer or just each other?”

I start laughing.

Whiskey closes his eyes.

Wren is asleep on the couch beneath a blanket, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.

The sight changes Whiskey before he even reaches her. His shoulders lower, and the hand that has stayed close to his gun since we found the boot print finally eases away from it.

I’m starting to notice too much about him, which feels like another dangerous habit I should probably quit.

We wash up in the mudroom sink as much as possible while Holler carries Wren back to her room. Mud swirls brown around the old porcelain basin, splattering the chipped white enamel no matter how careful we are.

Whiskey stands beside me scrubbing at his beard with a wet towel.

I watch him long enough that he catches me.

“What?”

“You really do look like a swamp creature.”