Page 89 of Snow in Texas

“I’m just being weird,” she said, and killed the engine.

There was never much sense buying Crockett too many groceries at a time. He wouldn’t cook for himself most days, and let the produce in the fridge go bad. So Jenny and Darla took turns buying him enough for a few meals, making them at his house, and stowing them in the fridge along with some long-lasting staples like cheese and sausage.

They had two big paper bags of food and she handed both of them to Pup, noting the way his skinny arms strained beneath the burden.

“You ought to lift weights,” she told him pleasantly. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you look, but the boys will give you less shit if you beef up a little.”

He looked wounded, but said, “Yes, ma’am.”

It was on the porch that she realized exactly what had been bothering her. A big potted fern sat beside the front door, and it was scooted about three inches to the left, the scrape of paint and dribble of dirt on the porch boards signifying it had been slid to the side. And where was the extra key that was kept beneath the pot? Gone.

She pulled her gun and turned the knob. Unlocked. The usual cool air and dusty smell of Crockett’s home rushed to greet her as she stepped inside, Pup crowding up behind her with the bags.

“Jenny,” he whispered as he saw the gun in her hand.

“Hush.”

“Well hey, darlin’,” a voice called.

Crockett was in his favorite chair, and standing over him, gun held casually down by his thigh, was her ex-husband.

“Riley,” she whispered.

His head lifted – familiar face discolored with bruises, his lip split – and grinned at her. “Hey, baby. Did you miss me?”

Thirty-Three

Jenny

Precious seconds in which she should have reacted ticked by, her lungs frozen, her brain scrambled, as she stared at Riley.

“Shit,” Pup whispered behind her. He’d seen Riley in photos; Candy had been sure the kid was well-associated with his face.

Get it together.

Jenny scanned the situation. Riley had one gun in his hand, and another in his waistband. He’d been an aficionado and an excellent shot when they were young. Somewhere along the way, during the alcoholism and wife-raping, he’d become sloppy about everything else in his life, including sharp-shooting. Now? He looked beat up and older than she would have thought, butverysober.

Crockett sat impassively, hand relaxed where she could see it on the arm of the chair. Was he having one of his lucid days? Knowing her luck, she doubted it.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shitshitshitshit…

She still had her gun, and Riley had to have spotted it. No sense trying to hide it now. She had exactly one option. If she ran, she was getting tackled from behind. If she charged Riley, she was getting shot. So she prayed Pup would follow her lead and walked slowly, deliberately forward, reaching to lay her free hand on Crockett’s shoulder.

“Hey, old man. How’re you doing?”

He jerked and twisted around to look at her, broad face splitting with a smile at sight of her. “Jenny! It’s you. Look who it is, honey. Your man’s here.”

Riley made a dark, humored sound in his throat.

Jenny shot him a fast glare, shivering when she saw his smirk. She’d thought that expression was sexy when she was eighteen. Hard to imagine. “Come on now, Crockett,” she said. “Riley’s not my man. You met my new boyfriend. Remember? He came here with Derek.”

Riley’s smirk tugged hard. “So youarespreading your legs for somebody. Thought maybe that was just a rumor.”

Jenny fought hard and won the battle against the insult she wanted to sling at him. She was shaking all over, Crockett’s shoulder beneath her hand the single grounding point in the midst of what she was rapidly realizing was not fear, but nerve-shattering fury. “You know who he is. Don’t act like you don’t.”

His smile threatened to catapult her back to the old days. Threatened to turn her legs to water and sink her down to the rug.

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