Page 354 of Property of Whiskey

I stand. “Get some rest.”

Kaylee gives me a tiny smile. “Congratulations.”

I glance down at my cut. “Thanks.”

Bullet’s gaze lands on the back. “Never thought I’d see the day one of us gets in bed with the law.”

“Shut up.” I go back inside.

Whiskey catches my hand as I pass. “What?”

“Later.”

By the time we leave, Wren has fallen asleep so thoroughly she doesn’t wake when Whiskey carries her out.

At home, her head rests against his shoulder while one arm hangs limp down his back. I follow them through the quiet house, my new cut creaking faintly whenever I move.

Whiskey carries her to bed and lowers her onto the mattress. I stand in the doorway while he pulls the blanket beneath her chin.

She wakes just enough to mumble, “Twila?”

“I’m here.”

“Okay.”

That one word nearly kills me.

Whiskey looks back and sees it.

Smart enough not to comment.

We tuck her in and leave the door cracked.

Outside, the night is warm and quiet. Crickets work somewhere beyond the porch light, and the woods sit dark at the edge of Whiskey’s yard.

I step onto the back porch still wearing the cut.

Whiskey follows with two beers and hands me one.

For a while, neither of us says anything.

Then something moves near the tree line.

Deer.

Two of them for sure.

Maybe three.

I squint into the dark.

One shape stands farther back than the others, too thin through the body, legs longer than they should look at this distance.

Something jagged interrupts the line of its back.

My heart skips.

Then it slips between the trees and disappears.