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putting herself out of his immediate
reach, but no more. A show of alarm from her would make him braver. She wished
the empty cola can was a full one. If he tried anything, she planned to smash
his nose in with it.
    “You heard me awright. Your daddy coulda had any
woman he wanted, and he wanted a lot of ’em, but he made a mistake when he went
after my Louise. She told me the truth, after I beat it outta her. Then she up
and left me. It was his doin’. Franklin Corday. That was one sorry man with an
unhealthy appetite for what didn’t belong to him.”
    “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m not
responsible for my father and his lack of character or his sins. I didn’t even
know about this particular one. And I don’t hold your boys responsible for
anything. I don’t even know them. Any problems you’ve got, you need to take to
the sheriff. He’ll listen to you.”
    But he won’t listen to your beer
talking.
    Surprisingly she found herself feeling sorry for the
man, and her voice softened. “Really, Mr. Bowers, it’s okay. Go home and...rest
up. Talk to the sheriff tomorrow. If your boys didn’t do anything, then they’re
not in trouble.”
    He seemed thrown by the change in her manner. He
looked like he wanted to bluster some more, but had run out of reasons.
    “Goodbye, Mr. Bowers. Take it easy on your way
home.” Leaving him standing there, she went inside, and then watched the
unstable man from the parlor’s window. After about thirty seconds of looking
stupefied, head turning in different directions as if he was trying to figure
out where he was, he finally got into his car. He reversed it over a geranium
bush, turned the vehicle around, and drove away.

 
    Chapter Seven
    Sunny was headed for the shed in the backyard in
search of a ladder to climb into the attic with when she heard Jonathan’s truck
returning. But instead of driving around to the back as he usually did, he
parked in front and sounded the horn. When she walked around, she spied him
standing at the rear of the SUV with its door down. His arms were wrapped
around something big, and he was looking up at the porch.
    “Oh, there you are,” he said, jerking his head her
way. “Can you open the front door?”
    As she got closer, she realized the object he
embraced was a portable TV.
    “Sure.” She took the three stairs in two steps and
held the door open. When he backed up, the TV’s cord dropped to drag along the
dirt. “Hold it,” she warned. She jumped to the ground, stooped to pick up the
cord and tucked it between his elbow and the television. “Let me guess. Monday
night football.”
    He grinned and mounted the stairs, his head craning
around the set so he could see each step. “I got a good deal. It was a
discontinued floor model.”
    “We’re not going to be here very long,” she said
doubtfully. “I’m not complaining—I like the idea of a TV to pass the
evenings—but how much use are you going to get out of it?”
    “I want another one at home. I hadn’t gotten around
to shopping for it yet, and this seemed like a good time.”
    She followed him into the house and pulled the
screen closed. “Do you room with someone, too?”
    “No. I’ve got my own place.”
    He carried the set into the parlor while she thought
that over. “One person needs two TVs?”
    The faded and scarred end table that belonged next
to the overstuffed chair was now against the wall just inside the parlor door,
and that’s where Jonathan put the TV. The lamp and phone that used to be on the
end table had found new homes on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She’d
passed by the room several times today but hadn’t noticed the new furniture
rearrangement.
    Gee, Sunny, I’d never noticed how
observant you are.
    “I’ve got one of those wide screens in the living
room,” he explained. He stepped back, surveyed the set, then moved back and
adjusted its position. “And I want a smaller set for the bedroom.”
    If you had company