Page 22 of The Taste of Deceit

“Yeah.”

The room falls quiet again. Sarah takes another bite of chili. I watch her do it, turning the bottle slowly between my hands. For two days, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the fight we haven’t had yet. Waiting for her to look at me and decide this is too much.

“Sarah...”

She swallows and looks up.

“Yeah?”

I might as well fucking say it.

“How are you so okay with all of this?”

She doesn’t answer. At first, I think she’s thinking about it. It’s not exactly a small question. She stares down at her bowl, her spoon resting against the edge, and I wait.

I take a drink of my beer and set it back on the table. She still hasn’t moved. She isn’t eating. She isn’t looking at me. She’s staring at her food.

“Sarah?”

No response. Slowly, she lifts her head and looks toward the living room windows. The ocean sits beyond the glass, dark beneath the fading evening light. She watches it without saying a word.

“Baby Girl.”

She swallows, and I wait longer. The seconds drag by. Finally, her gaze drops from the window. She looks down at the table. When she speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because you’re not the only person in this room who’s killed someone.”

Chapter 9

Sarah

Eight Years Ago

By the time I turn onto the gravel driveway, the clock on my dashboard reads 2:03 a.m. The music is still playing through my speakers, low enough that I can hear the crunch of tires beneath me as I roll toward the house. I kill the engine and sit there for a second, staring at the dark outline of the ranch. Mama and Daddy are still gone at some ranching conference three hours away, and the thought of having the entire place to myself for one more night feels like winning the lottery.

I grab my purse from the passenger seat and climb out. The September air carries a chill that wasn’t there a few weeks ago, and I wrap my arms around myself as I start toward the house. Something immediately feels different. It takes me a second to realize what it is. The pole light near the barn isn’t on. Daddy has been complaining about it for weeks, saying he needs to replace the bulb, but he’s been too busy, and now the entire side of the property sits in darkness.

The ranch always looks different at night. During the day, I know every inch of it. I know where every fence line runs, where every horse is kept, and where every trail disappears into the trees. At two in the morning, though, everything becomes shadows and silhouettes. The barns loom larger. The spaces between them seem deeper. The darkness stretches farther than it should.

I’m halfway to the porch when a tiny burst of orange flares near one of the barns. The glow appears for only a second before fading again. I stop walking immediately. My heart gives a startled jump before my brain catches up. A second later the orange glow returns, and I realize somebody is lighting a cigarette.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

Changing directions, I head toward the barn. As I get closer, a familiar figure comes into view, leaning against the fence with one boot crossed over the other. Randy looks up when he hears my footsteps. The cigarette glows between his fingers, briefly illuminating his face before he takes another drag.

“Shit, Randy,” I say, letting out a breath. “I didn’t know who was over here.”

He laughs, smoke curling into the darkness around him.

“Little late to be wandering around by yourself, ain’t it?”

I roll my eyes. “Says the man standing in a field at two in the morning.”

Another laugh rumbles out of him. Randy has worked for Daddy for years. Long enough that I can’t remember the ranch without him. He’s been around for birthdays, branding days, county fairs, and every other event that seems to happen out here. Most of the time he’s covered in dirt, grease, or both.

“A girl like you shouldn’t be out this late.”

“Oh my God.”