Chapter 49

• Beau never talked about his daddy — not much past man’s mean as a wet rattler, forget him. And Sadie didn’t push. Everybody in this county knew Walker Sr. was the kinda man who could break a dog’s ribs for barkin’ too loud, then brag about it over a warm beer. So when he up and left when Beau was sixteen, no one missed him, least of all Beau — and Sadie never asked more than she had to.
• So when she heard the slurred bark of his laugh driftin’ up the bakery sidewalk that Thursday, it didn’t register — not until she stepped out back for a break and there he was. Leanin’ half-crooked against the back brick wall, flask in hand, breath stinkin’ of bottom-shelf whiskey and old smoke.
• She froze — paper coffee cup half-lifted, eyes cuttin’ sharp at the battered shape of a man who hadn’t crossed her fence line in damn near a decade.