Page 45 of Trigger Happy

His choppy laughter rings through my head. Not a chance. Couldn’t have been better than the jalapeño pineapple sangria. That shit was addictive.

I push end, my throat burning. “Smart-ass.”

I wait for the numbness to take over, and part of me expects to wind up in a bush somewhere with an empty bottle of limoncello and a killer headache, but all I feel is anger. Clear, sharp, and focused. But it’s better than the emptiness. It has a purpose. Grief, zoomed in.

I’ll get the truth out of Sabrina, I will. I just need her to loosen up around me first. That kiss was a good start. That’s the only reason I got her coffee, not because I walked past the Add Collagen! sign and thought that sounded like something she’d eat.

Sabrina’s Americano is still in the car, so I pull open the passenger door and hit myself right in the kneecap.

“Goddammit,” I grunt.

“You okay there, man?” Arch says, crunching down the gravel path from the main house in his Carhartt jacket. His hands are buried in his pockets, and I half expect him to pull a gun on me.

What kind of guy keeps fully automatic firearms in his house? Sure, he used to hunt, but no one needs machine guns to shoot quail.

“All good,” I say, rubbing the spot. “Just hit myself in the kneecap.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose. “You need an ice pack? It’s the least I can do after you helped fix the fence.”

“I’m fine,” I say. A pause. “Thanks, though.”

“No problem.”

We stand there in silence.

I can’t tell if he’s small-town-nice or cult-nice. If he offers me Kool-Aid, I’m dumping it down his throat. Sabrina’s been making me follow him everywhere, but all he does is the same boring routine every day. Trout fishing at sunrise, leatherwork with a coffee mid-morning, and an afternoon beer on the porch swing. It’s a simple life, the kind I want one day, and if I weren’t trying to cut back on drinking, I might have joined him for that porch beer.

Crickets chirp in the morning air. Arch clears his throat. He’s probably used to Bobbi filling all the gaps in conversation.

Now or never, I guess.

“So…” I rock back. “That moon landing, huh? Think it was real?”

Arch blinks. “What?”

“You know, the moon landing? Think it was staged by the government?”

He scratches his neck. Looks around the pasture. “I’m pretty sure it was real.”

“Yeah.” I nod, rubbing my jaw. “Yeah. Right.” Time for round two. “So, global warming? I bet that’ll cause the apocalypse.”

He studies me with his head tipped. “You all right? You seem on edge.”

Yeah, because I can’t stop thinking about the woman I’m supposed to hate, and I’m still trying to figure out if you’re going to hunt me for sport. He doesn’t seem like a conspiracy guy, but then again, that one killer clown I shot down liked making balloon animals.

“I’m fine,” I say, sighing. “My wife and I just got into an argument last night.”

“Ah.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Take it from a guy who’s been married for over five years. An apology goes a long way, and I can see how she looks at you. One sorry, and she’ll be dragging you to bed.”

If he only knew.

24Lawton

Okay, who’s ready for some—” Sabrina jerks to a stop, seeing Arch and I talking by my truck. “Oh. Hey, Arch.”

That’s not going to get them to like us. She’s frowning, so I give her a be nice look.

She quickly smiles, reminding me of Ma before she used a chainsaw to carve into my birthday cake. “Morning, Arch! How’d you sleep? Good? Great? Fantastic?”