Page 48 of Sweet Sin

But I was unarmed, and I couldn’t stop Savannah from leaving the changing room, even when I told her not to.

If she hadn’t done it though, Carlo and I would still be in a standoff. Eventually, I would’ve had to either shoot Abel or let him go. My legs would’ve given out as I was holding us both up.

But I’m willing to bet I have way more stamina than Carlo. That blond pretty boy has probably never been behind bars like I have.

I stop the car in my driveway, and I turn to Savannah. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She nods, opens the door of the passenger side, and gets out.

I grab her stuff out of the trunk and take it inside. The dogs greet us, and I give them both some loves.

Savannah seems to ignore them. But then she finally kneels, pets Sydney’s soft head, and picks up Sammy, cradling him in her arms.

Thank God for dogs.

They help.

I remember the day I got the original Sammy—the one Raven kept while I was in prison. I’d already figured I wouldn’t be going on my wine tour or joining the Navy, not after Hawk and I found drugs on our property, and especially not after Eagle’s problems came to light. So I got a dog. A pup.

It helped. For a time, anyway.

But Savannah’s going to need more than puppy love to get through the fact that she nearly killed a man.

“Tomorrow,” I say to her. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the hospital. We’ll get all the information we need. On Mrs. Shaw, and on the other two.”

She simply nods.

“Vannah, what do you need? Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“You have to eat something. I was going to make burgers for our dinner.”

Dinner. Seems so long ago. It’s after midnight now.

“Not hungry.”

“I understand. I’m not really either. But you have to eat. I’ve got a loaf of bread, and peanut butter and jelly. Can you get something like that down?

She doesn’t respond.

“Eggs? I’ve got eggs. I can fry up the burgers. Make some potatoes.”

She rubs her belly. “I… I don’t want any beef. Just doesn’t sound good.”

“All right. Some fruit? I have apples. Some toast?”

“Scrambled eggs,” she says.

“Sure. Scrambled eggs then. You want some toast with it?”

“No. Just the eggs. They’re my comfort food.”

“Coming up.”

When is the last time I even cooked? Since I moved in, I’ve been living on sandwiches. I’m out of deli meat, so I couldn’t offer that to Vannah.

I look around my cupboards to find a skillet, and when I do, I realize I don’t have butter.

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