Chapter 22

• By Sunday afternoon the Lawson place smelled like home in a way it hadn’t for months — old oak smoke curlin’ off the pit out back, cornbread steam driftin’ through the screen door where it creaked on rusty hinges, and the low, warm rumble of Daddy Lawson’s laugh rollin’ through the kitchen like a hymn.
• Sadie stood barefoot by the stove, one palm braced on her hip, hair loose down her back where it brushed the soft cotton of her faded sundress. She should’ve looked easy there — her shoulder bumpin’ Cade’s when he reached around her for the salt, Beck behind her at the fridge poppin’ open a beer like he hadn’t begged her not to make him shuck corn first.
• But her smile was too sharp at the corners — too sweet where it oughta have been soft. Nobody noticed. Not West, slouched at the kitchen table pickin’ at the edge of a biscuit. Not Colt, who cracked some dumb joke that made her toss her head back and almost laugh real. Almost.