angry cook.
Memories like Granddad sitting on the sturdy bench taking off his boots, their surfaces completely concealed with muck and mud not allowed over the threshold.
Granddad reaching for his cowboy hat as he walked outside, leaving an empty antler and a banging screen door in his wake.
Granddad pulling out of the driveway in his stock truck, then pulling back in on the other side of the house to ask if a little lad would care to join him at the auction.
Granddad nudging the lad’s hand into the air when the opening bid for a piglet was lowered to two bits, then grumbling the whole ride home when the piglet had to ride in the truck’s cab to keep from being trampled by the calves in the rear. And teaching the lad what a Scotch Blessing was after the piglet crapped all over the lad and the seat.
Granddad hosing him off while still seated in the truck—even Jamison had needed the lava soap that day.
The warped inner door squeaked and his mom came out on to the porch. He loved that squeak.
“I thought you were here.”
“I am.”
“A couple of Somerled men are at the front door. They’re looking for your little friend. What’s her name?”
“Skye. Her name’s Skye.”
“Come talk to them, would you?”
“No problem.”
Homework. Bonfire. Pig smells. Rachel Phillips.
Homework. Bonfire. Pig smells. Rachel Phillips.
“Hey, Lucas. Mom says you’re looking for Skye.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Saw her at the bonfire tonight.”
“She said she was going, but Jonathan drove past the school a little while ago and her car is there, but she’s not.”
“Oh, well, maybe she rode in someone else’s car like I did.” Rachel Phillips. Rachel Phillips. “Maybe they went somewhere after. The fire was kind of a letdown. Smelled like a pig farm.” He grinned at Lucas.
Lucas laughed. “Oh, I didn’t think of that.”
“Yeah, neither did I. I feel bad for the guy who has to babysit the fire until it goes out.”
“Are you worried? Should we call Dwain Cooke?” His mom opened the door wider and stepped back. “He’d be happy to help find her, I’m sure.”
“No, that’s all right. We just worried when she wasn’t with her car. What Jamison suggested makes sense. We’ll just wait until we hear from her.” Lucas followed Jonathan down the steps. “I’m only her guardian for a little longer, so I don’t want to do a poor job of it.”
“Oh? Is she going somewhere or are you?” Thank goodness his mom had asked. He didn’t think his voice would have held to do it himself.
“Our little Skye will be joining Marcus. They’d gotten attached, it seems.”
“Awww. Well, let us know if you need us to help track her down.” Mom smiled and shut the door. “I’m going to bed. You wore out Daddy today, then he wore me out telling me all about it.” She wiped away a tear then smiled as she ruffled Jamison’s hair. “You’re a good boy, Kenneth Jamison Shaw. And don’t you forget it.”
Too bad she was wrong.
And he couldn’t be a good boy again until he’d found his friends. Every time he had a plan, Skye got in the way. Now, instead of learning the truth, like he’d hoped, he had to change gears and worry about the Somerleds blowing her up. ‘Cause he’s pretty sure it was a Marcus Firework he’d heard about on the tape.
If she was going to share Marcus’s fate, did that mean his interference had gotten her in trouble?
He really shouldn’t care; she’d been in on Marcus’s little barbeque. Aaaand she was in on Ray and Burke disappearing...which was the whole reason he’d lured her to the tree house.
Good. He was focused again. No more distractions. No more kissing, that was for sure. So he’d added making out to the plan, improvised. But it wasn’t like he’d be able to touch her again after she confessed—to being a murderer, or alien, or whatever the Somerleds turned out to be.
Focus. He needed to focus.
And he needed to keep that image out of his head, the one of Skye, arms extended, rising into the air.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jamison was freezing by the time he got to the tree. He’d stopped on the patio again, to splash cold water on his face, but hadn’t dried his hands well. It was probably only 50 degrees, but it felt like an artic wind between his wet fingers.
There’d been no movement from the Somerled direction, but he’d skirted the far side of outbuildings and corrals to avoid them. He’d have used the