Chapter 27

• Beau always said old trucks were like stubborn women — you loved ‘em anyway, even when they tested your patience and made you cuss under your breath in the dead heat of a summer afternoon.
• Sadie’s mama’s old Ford was that exact kind of stubborn — rusted at the wheel wells, squeakin’ when she braked, still stinkin’ of her mama’s rose oil in the glove box no matter how many years’d passed since she’d been the one driving it into town for flour or Sunday hymn practice.
• She’d never let it go. Not for a new one. Not for Cade’s half-drunk promises to get her somethin’ safer. She said it ran fine. Beau knew better — but he also knew better than to pry until now.