Page 73 of Protecting Her Secrets

I speed through my nightly chores, which include uncovering my Oakleaf lettuce plants and my carrots. They can live through snow, but I still like to keep a barrier between them and it. Moodonna bellowed at me as I fed her, so I took some time to give her scratches under her chin. I feel a little guilty they haven’t received the kind of attention they’re used to since Skylar showed up. That’ll improve with the weather and getting rid of any threat to my wife and baby.

Back inside, I run upstairs for a quick shower. Turning on the water, I catch sight of my bruised and bloody knuckles. It was a blessing she and Rowan were having a dance party with dim lighting and that the drive home was in the dark so they could go unnoticed, but I can’t hide them forever. I lift up my shirt, wincing at the black and blue forming over my ribs. Can’t hide that either.

Once I’m clean and rid of all the blood, I head back downstairs to find Skylar plating dinner.

“Perfect timing.” She turns and hands me a plate.

“Looks good, sweetheart.”

“See? I can cook.”

“I haven’t tasted it yet,” I kid, earning me a punch to my side that smarts since it’s so close to where I took a steel-toed boot.

“What’s wrong? I didn’t hit you that hard.”

“Are you kidding? You’re like a little Mike Tyson.” Maybe if I joke with her, she’ll let it go until I can tell her what happened.

No such luck.

She takes the plate from my hand, finally noticing the knuckles, and her nostrils flare. “Lift your shirt.”

“Let’s eat first. I’m starved.”

“Walker!”

“It’s no big deal.” I lift my shirt and show her the damage.

“No big deal?Are you delusional?” She sets the plate down and takes my hand, inspecting the split knuckles. “What happened?”

“Grab your plate, and I’ll tell you over dinner.”

“Okay, though I’m not sure I have an appetite after that.”

“You need to eat so the baby can grow,” I say, an excuse I can tell will work in a lot of situations.

“Way to manipulate me,” she gripes, but she plates up food for herself, and we take a seat at the island. “So? Spill.”

“Some of the Geezers reported seeing bikers at the diner, so Wilder and I went to do some investigating. We found them there, talking to people, asking questions.”

“What kind of questions?” She pushes her rice around.

“I’ll answer any question you have, but for each one I answer, you have to take a bite.” I’ve noticed the more anxious she gets, the less she eats, and all the websites and books say expecting moms need extra calories, not less. I don’t tell her that, though, because I promised I wouldn’t read up on the pregnancy anymore—a promise I break every night before bed.

“That’s dumb.”

“No, that’s a negotiation. What do you say?”

Her knife and fork clank against the plate as she dramatically cuts a piece of chicken and stuffs it in her mouth. “There.”

“They were asking questions about you, trying to figure out if you were around. Of course, no one said anything. At least not until they asked Lucy.”

“Lucy?”

“Bite,” I reply.

“I hate you.” She forks in some rice.

“Lucy has dementia, and usually that means she doesn’t remember shit. Sometimes, she thinks I’m her husband, andother times, I’m her grandson. She lives with her sister, Clara, but when Clara has an appointment, she brings Lucy to the diner, and we all watch?—”

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