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His eyes bore into me. “I did. Don’t you know I would do anything for you, Truman?”
“Even the cookies?”
“Well, you forced my hand.”
“And is that when you snuck the mala into the saddlebags?”
He looked put out. “You needed to understand why he wasn’t right for you. He’s a criminal, Truman.”
Suddenly, instead of feeling angry and vengeful or even horrified and betrayed, I felt… tired. Tired of one more person in my life thinking they knew better than I did about what I needed in my life. One more person thinking they could control me by lying to me or for me or simply not listening to me when I tried standing up for myself.
“But why didn’t you listen to me when I told you I just wanted to be friends?” I asked in a soft voice. “Why didn’t you trust that I knew what was best for me?”
His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “Because you don’t. You have a long history of making the wrong decisions.”
Okay, now I was angry. “How can you say that? What decisions have I made that were wrong?”
He stood and began pacing. “Oh, I don’t know. Let’s start with loaning the sled to the stupidest boys in town. Then lying about it. Then moving back here like nothing had happened and expecting people like the Stanners to just let it go. Why couldn’t you have just been quiet about it instead of putting yourself out there in front of the whole town all the time?”
I flapped my arms out to the side in disbelief. “Putting myself out there? I spent the first couple of years here too scared to speak! I went to work, kept to myself, and went home to the farm. The only thing I did was work and volunteer at the library with kids. How can you imply I was somehow attracting attention or causing anyone problems?”
And why was I arguing with a madman? Did it matter? I was trying to use logic with someone who had literally poisoned me.
Barney must have seen the fear on my face as soon as I remembered how high the stakes were.
“You must think I’m stupid, Truman,” he said calmly, stepping closer. “I’m not. I’m actually quite smart. I know more than you think, including how to read about emetic compounds from your aunt’s notebook. Including how to place the same accelerant I used at your shop in the middle of a shed full of silly costumes and take care of them once and for all.”
I opened my mouth to scream a warning to Chaya, but Barney cut me off.
“And including cutting the wires to your security cameras before this little meeting of ours in case you tried to get me to confess any of these things on camera.”
My stomach dropped.
He knew.
I scrambled out of the rocker and bolted for the goat shed.
25
Sam
I was going to kill Truman for doing this when I was so far away from home.
Why in the world had he decided to confront a dangerous asshole when Tiller and I were halfway down the road toward Breckenridge?
I crept up the edge of the meadow toward the back of the house as quickly as I could. I’d never seen Tiller drive so fast or been so grateful for his spending an obscene amount of money on an SUV with a giant engine.
I’d never make fun of him for it again.
Why Truman would choose to confront a crazy man without backup was beyond me, but it had been his call, and he’d obviously made it.
I had to trust that he knew what he was doing. But that didn’t mean I had to sit idly by while he did it.
My plan was to listen and wait to see if he needed me. And at first, it had seemed like he didn’t. But then I heard him shout.
I scrambled forward to the corner of the house and peeked around. Truman was hauling ass toward his costume shed on the far side of one of his garden plots when Barney grabbed the back of his shirt. Man, that old man could move.
Part of me… okay, most of me expected Truman to go down in a heap of shy, trembling plant geek. But my man surprised me. He swung around with the fire of heated vengeance in his eyes and roared as loud as his little lungs could possibly manage.
And he punched that fucker square on the nose.
I wasn’t sure who was more surprised: me, Barney, Truman, or the weirdo in the goat costume stepping out of the toolshed.
“Punch him again!” the goat cried in Chaya’s familiar voice.
“Chaya! Leave the shed, leave the shed!” Truman cried. “He’s going to torch it!”
“It’s fine! Beat the shit out of him,” she replied.
“Don’t beat the shit out of him,” someone else warned from behind me. I didn’t stop moving long enough to say anything, I simply reached my arms around Truman’s body as soon as he followed up the jab with a right hook. I pulled him back away from the older man and held tight as he scrambled to get out of my arms and pummel the librarian to death.
