“
What did you call us?”
I asked as we pushed through the front door. “
Barmy?”
Ian opened his mouth, but anything he might have said was overwhelmed by gruff shouting.
“
What do you mean, you
’
re gonna let her go?”
We froze and let the doo
r shut behind us. Carl Raimi, a big, grimy hulk of worn jeans and torn flannel, spit on the floor of the police station. I exchanged a look with Ian.
Welcome to Truly.
“
Carl, I understand your frustration, but she
’
s posted her bond and is free to go until
the hearing.”
Davey tapped a folder in his hand and nodded at me. “
Hey, Portia. Ian. I
’
ll be back in just a minute.”
“
And what good does a goddamn hearing do me, when I still got eight cows on the loose?”
Carl hollered after Davey, then turned and saw me.
He pointed a finger at me and moved closer. “
You
’
d better keep an eye on that crazy mama of yours, afore she messes with the wrong person.”
Ian stepped in front of me. He had an easy eight inches on Carl, who stopped and looked up.
“
And who the fuck you th
ink you are?”
Ian crossed his arms. “
My name is Ian Beckett. I
’
m a friend of the family.”
Carl gave Ian the once-over, then turned his head and spat again. “
Poking the daughter don
’
t make you no friend of the family.”
I could see Ian
’
s hand clenching into a fist. I wedged between them, putting myself up in Raimi
’
s face, my eyes level with his, and spoke in my harshest down-home tones.
“
You best watch yourself now, Carl. Where this man comes from, people get their teeth knocked out for
talking like that. Now you go on back to your farm, and don
’
t you worry about your cows. You
’
ll get
’
em all back.”
Raimi
’
s cold, black gaze bored into mine. For a moment I thought he might go for the fight. Instead, he just grunted at me, shot one harsh gl
ance at Ian, and backed off, grumbling to himself as he pushed through the front door, slamming it behind him. I sighed. Of all the people to cross, why the hell did Mags have to pick Carl Raimi? The guy was the biggest asshole this side of the Mason-Dixo
n
line.
I felt Ian
’
s hand touch my shoulder. “
Well done.”
I shrugged. “
Guys like that, you just have to get in their face and call them out, is all.”
I could hear the drawl linger in my voice and gave a small cough, hoping to expel it.
He squeezed my should
er and pulled his hand away just as the door opened and Davey stepped out.
“
Mags should be out in a minute.”
“
Have you talked to her?”
I said, stepping around Ian and walking over to Davey. “
Did she tell you anything about why she did this?”
Davey shrugged
. “
Not a word. Just that she
’
ll accept responsibility for the consequences.”
My stomach clenched. “
Tell me about the consequences.”
Davey sighed. “
Well, there was a hell of a dust-up in town for a while. There will be some financial restitution for the cle
anup crews and the guys who wrangled most of the livestock back to the farm. Legally, it
’
s a misdemeanor.
Criminal trespass.
I pinched at the headache forming at the bridge of my nose. “
Could she go to jail?”
Davey was quiet. I dropped my hand and stared a
t him. Davey gently touched my arm. “
Don
’
t panic. It
’
s her first offense, and most of the property has been returned unharmed, so it isn
’
t likely she
’
ll do time for it. Raimi
’
s an asshole, but he
’
s got nothing to gain from pushing this. He
’
ll probably dro
p
the charges once he cools off, if y
’
all agree to reimburse him for his losses.”
I sighed at the thought of further dealings with Carl Raimi, but there was nothing to be done. “
Okay. We can handle that.”
“
I
’
m gonna go back and get her now. You wait here.”
He squeezed my hand and nodded at Ian, then disappeared through the door again.
“
It
’
s going to be all right,”
Ian said.
I turned and looked up at him. “
Thanks for coming with me.”
He smiled. “
Not at all. I
’
m happy to be here for you.”
We held eye contact f
or a moment, and Ian
’
s hand reached up to brush a strand of hair away from my eyes, tucking it behind my ear. My breath whooshed out of me at the feel of his rough fingertips against the side of my face, and I didn
’
t start to breathe again until his glanc
e
flicked up over my shoulder. I turned.
And there was Mags. Her hair was a mess. Her strappy black shoes, covered in mud and God knew what else, hung from one hand as Davey escorted her into the lobby, with Vera and Bev not far behind. Her feet were speckl
ed with dried mud, as was her dress. Davey handed her a clipboard and she signed a piece of paper. A moment later, she looked up and saw us.
“
Portia, darlin
’
!”
She gave a big smile and walked over to me, running her fingers through my hair. “
You
’
ve had you
r hair done! Oh, baby, I
love
it. Doesn
’
t she look just beautiful, Vera?”
Vera smiled and nodded. Mags turned back to me. “
So, how are you doing, baby?”
“
How am I doing?”
I gasped. “
I
’
m springing my mother from the can, how do you think I am?”
“
Now, that
’
s
a little dramatic. Technically, it was Bev who sprung me.”
She winked at me. “
Really, baby, you didn
’
t have to come all the way down here. Everything
’
s just fine. It
’
s all a big misunderstanding.”
I looked at Vera, who looked away, and then at Bev, who ga
ve me a starched smile.
“
A misunderstanding?”
I said. “
Mags, there
’
s a cow running loose in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot.”
She smiled up at Ian. “
Why, Ian Beckett. It
’
s good to see you again. How
’
s that novel coming along?”
“
Quite well. Thank you, Mags.”
“
Good, that
’
s good.”
She handed me a classic it
’
s-all-good smile. “
I need to get home and clean up. You take care, baby.”
I gave a slow nod. She grinned at Ian.
“
It was good to see you again, Ian.”
She winked at me and strolled out of the police station, h
ead held high despite the mud. Vera and Bev looked at each other, then at me.
“
Okay, you two,”
I said. “
You have to tell me what
’
s going on here.”
Ian gave me a gentle touch on the shoulder. “
I
’
ll wait for you outside.”
He nodded at Vera and Bev. “
Good eve
ning, ladies.”
Vera watched Ian leave, then opened her mouth.
“
Honey, don
’
t you worry none, it
’
s just that Mags
—”
She stopped as Bev put her hand on Vera
’
s arm. “
It
’
s not our place, Vera.”
Vera shot a look at Bev, then turned back to me.
“
Come to dinner Su
nday, darlin
’,”
she said.
“
We
’
ll talk then.”
I felt my stomach turn and grabbed Vera
’
s arm. “
Look, at least tell me...Is she okay? Is it early senility? Is she on medication? Because this is not Mags.”
Vera patted my hand. “
It
’
s not like that, Portia. I kn
ow it looks bad, but it
’
s just a...thing. See you Sunday? Okay?”
I nodded. “
Okay.”
I watched through the windows as Bev and Vera crossed the street to our old red Jeep Cherokee. Mags sat in the back, waiting to be taken home. I couldn
’
t see much of her exp
ression from the distance, but I knew something was different. I knew it. I just couldn
’
t figure out what.
“
So he...tucked your hair behind your ear?”
Beauji pumped her arms as she walked. I was more than a little discouraged by the fact that a woman who w
as about to explode with baby was clocking me at six in the morning, but I was trying not to dwell.
“
Yeah. I know it sounds like nothing...”
I puffed. “
How are you walking so fast?”
“
Walking induces labor,”
she said. “
I
’
ve been walking a few miles every da
y during the rest of pregnancy, but I had to take it easy then. I kicked it up to five power miles a day last week.”
Oh. God. Five. Miles.
I dropped it down a notch.
“
Well, slow it down,”
I said, taking a pull from my water bottle. “
That baby
’
s not due for
another two weeks, and it might not even come on time. Don
’
t people go late all the time?”
Beauji stopped walking and gasped, horrified. “
I can
’
t believe you just said that to me.”
I turned to face her, trying to pretend I wasn
’
t struggling for breath. “
S
o, what do you think? I mean, it
’
s just a hair tuck. It
’
s not like he...”
“
...kissed you.”
“
Exactly. But there was definitely a...”
“
...moment.”
“
Right.”
I stared at her. “
Am I making too much out of this?”
Beauji shrugged. “
I have no idea. I mean, maybe i
t
’
s an English thing. But, gun to my head, I
’
d say he
’
s hot to get you between the sheets.”
“
Ah!”
I held up a hand, turning and walking away. “
Stop! I can
’
t deal with that right now.”
“
Why not?”
Beauji caught up with me. “
I really don
’
t understand this who
le,
‘
Oh, drat, the sexy millionaire likes me
’
bit you keep playing.”
“
I don
’
t care about his money.”
What I cared about was the rough softness of his voice, and the way his eyes seemed to dive into mine whenever he looked at me. The way I felt so much happ
ier when I was with him. “
I just enjoy his company.”
“
So where exactly is the problem here?”
“
He lives in London.”