He thought he might cry—not so much out of fear as frustration. Six pairs of shoes placed neatly in a line across the eastbound lanes of Interstate 70. The third eldest was sparking and hoping to marry his heart’s delight at Year’s End. Rhea wore a sly smile.
“All quiet?” he asked. pulling it tighter against Susan’s hip or waist, checking the look in the full-length mirror on the far wall. Steven of Gilead. “We only talked five minutes in all, but once I looked at him and thought it was the old bastard from Ritzy—the one I shot.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.