Chapter 9

• The night air was soft — warm enough to keep the crickets buzzing, cool enough to make the sweat on Beau’s neck dry slow under the porch light. He’d been sittin’ there an hour already — boots planted on the bottom step, elbows resting on his knees, a bottle of warm beer sweatin’ against the rough wood rail.
• He told himself he was just makin’ sure she got home safe. Just bein’ the extra set of eyes Cade asked for. But he knew better — knew it when the headlights bounced over the old gravel drive, that old Ford Randy drove wheezin’ up with the faint squeal of brakes that needed oil three months ago.
• Sadie’s laugh came first — muffled, that warm country giggle she used when she was done bein’ polite but didn’t want to be mean. Then the passenger door creaked. She hopped out, that little sunflower dress ridin’ high on her thighs when she leaned in to say somethin’ through the open window.