Chapter 13

• Sadie Sparrow Lawson knew exactly how to keep a man quiet — feed him good, keep the sweet tea cold, let him think he’s runnin’ things when really he’s got no clue he’s already cornered.
• The Lawson kitchen smelled like skillet-seared pork chops, fried potatoes, a mess of fresh corn cut off the cob. The screen door hung crooked on its rusty hinges, same as it always had — letting the dusk breeze slip in and swirl the smell of dinner through the wide open living room where Beau and her brothers lounged in lazy, half-full-bellied sprawl.
• She was barefoot again, standing over the battered stove in cutoffs and a worn old tee she’d knotted tight at her waist. Every now and then she’d flick a piece of corn at Beck or swat Colt’s hand when he snuck a bite. Cade sat at the head of the table, arms folded, that calm sheriff’s stare he used when the other boys were too riled up to notice him takin’ notes.