Page 54 of Scorched

“You’re always hungry.” He chuckled.

“What can I say?” She cleaned off her brushes. “I like food.” Maggie stood, picking up her glaze bottles and returning them to the shelf. Declan did the same.

“Thanks again for letting us paint,” she said to Alice.

“Any time. I’ll get these fired tonight and you can pick them up whenever.”

“Sounds great. We’ll see you later.”

Alice smiled. “Bye.”

It was still raining when they stepped outside. Maggie sighed. They needed the rain, but she was ready for it to end. She didn’t like driving in it. Especially in the dark.

“Do you mind if we stop at the Broken Bow before going back to town? I need to get my mail.” She buckled her seatbelt and started the engine.

“No, that’s fine. We can eat at Heartwood, if you want.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to subject herself to the scrutiny eating there would provoke. Though Tara wasn’t working because she was busy with wedding prep. And some of her sister’s cedar plank salmon sounded amazing.

“That works.” She pulled away from the building and headed down the drive.

The trip was quick, the two ranches only a few miles apart. Maggie turned down the lane to her family’s spread, pulling over to the bank of mailboxes first. She cleaned out her box and handed it all to Declan.

“Geez, Maggie. When were you here last?”

“Um, it’s been a while. A week, maybe?” She shrugged and pulled back onto the drive. “Most of my bills are on autopay, and the ones that aren’t, I pay online.” She pointed to the stack he rifled through. “Most of that is probably junk.”

“Yeah, it looks like it.” He flipped through some flyers. “Except for this.” He held up a hand-addressed envelope. “It looks like a card.”

She glanced over, frowning. “Why would someone send me a card? My birthday is in February. Open it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I don’t care if you see it. It’s not like it’s going to be some gushy letter from a lover.”

He chuckled. “That would be fun.”

“Just open it.”

He ripped through the flap and pulled out a card. Maggie glanced over again to see his expression morph into a deep frown.

“What?”

“It’s a sympathy card.”

“Sympathy? No one’s died. Do they have the right Margaret Archer? Maybe they were trying to reach someone else. My name is old-fashioned.”

He flipped it open, sucking in a breath as he saw what was inside. “No, they have the right woman. Jesus.”

“What?” She slowed. “What is it?” His tone and the disbelief and anger on his face made her worried.

“We need to call Seb.”

“Why? Declan, what’s in the card?”

“Pull into the restaurant and park, then I’ll show you.”

She drove the remaining distance as fast as the wet gravel would allow, then pulled into the Heartwood’s parking lot, angling her car into a space. She threw the gearshift into park. “Show me.”

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