She smiled at him, softer than I expected. “You want the cinnamon or the orange-cranberry?”
He hesitated. “Cinnamon,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Rosie wrapped it up, then leaned in, voice conspiratorial. “Next time, I’ll save you a jelly doughnut. They go fast.”
He nodded, and for a second, I thought he might smile.
I almost smiled too, but then I caught the reflection in the display case—Sheriff Hardesty, two booths down, staring right at us. His face was flat, unreadable, but his eyes were sharp.
I took the bag from Rosie, paid in cash, and steered Newt away before she could say anything else. I didn’t like the way people looked at him. It was too close to the way people had looked at me after I’d come back from the service—like they were waiting for the next explosion.
We made it three more stalls before someone tried to stop us.
It was Mr. Brewster, local blowhard and part-time deacon, who always wore his good church shirt to the market as if God cared about his produce choices.
He sidled up, mouth already puckered for a lecture. “Morning, Knox,” he said, dragging out the vowels. “And, uh, Newt, right? Been a long time.”
Newt nodded, staring at the oranges.
Brewster smiled, cold and rehearsed. “Glad to see you back on your feet, son. Your daddy must be worried sick.”
I braced for impact, but Newt only shrugged. “He’ll live.”
There was a beat of silence, then Brewster turned back to me, like he wanted to appeal to the higher authority. “You take good care of him, now. Town’s got an eye on the Bridger boys.”
I smiled, all teeth. “That so? Good thing I’ve got plenty of eyes, then.”
Brewster’s face twitched. He moved on, hands deep in his pockets, probably already planning his next prayer request.
Newt watched him go, then whispered, “Sorry.”
“For what?”
He didn’t answer.
We kept walking, and I kept my hand on his back. If anyone else wanted to comment, they kept it to themselves.
Sheriff Hardesty was waiting at the edge of the cheese stall. He was the kind of man who looked older than he was, all thick neck and buzz cut and a smile like he’d paid someone to teach him how to use it.
He nodded as we passed. “Morning, Knox. Newt.”
I gave him the same nod back, not breaking stride.
He followed, steps perfectly matched to ours. “You boys need anything, you let me know.”
“Sure,” I said, already bored with the interaction.
He lingered, though, walking parallel. “You know, Newt, your brother was here earlier. Asking around. Looking for you.”
I felt Newt stiffen. I squeezed his side, hard enough to remind him not to flinch.
“He’s not getting within a hundred yards,” I said, eyes forward.
Hardesty held up his hands, like he was just a referee and not the town’s only real law. “Didn’t say he would, just thought you’d want to know.”
“Duly noted.”
He fell back, merging into the crowd, but I knew he was still watching.
