“You haven’t really given me anything to regret yet,” I say.
Her eyes light up. “Oh! Hold on.”
She points somewhere just to the left of me, and I take a sip of water.
“One time, Meemaw drove past the sheriff’s office during a town festival—with her megaphone—just to tell him she thinks he’s a loser.”
I choke, spraying water everywhere. “Why?”
“Because he came by once to tell her she couldn’t keep the bobcat she found hurt on the side of the road.”
“Really? She tried to keep a bobcat?”
“Oh, that’s nothing. A few months later, she ran the same sheriff off her ranch with a meat cleaver.”
“Did he come to tell her she couldn’t have a black bear?”
“Worse. He told her she needed to turn her music down because it was after midnight.”
“Didn’t you say she lived on a ranch?”
“Exactly.”
“Was she projecting the music through the megaphone too?”
She pauses, thoughtful. “You know, she very well might have been.”
I laugh—really laugh—and the sound surprises me. I can’t remember the last time it came this easily. “Did he arrest her?”
“He wouldn’t dare. She actually accused him of trespassing.”
“The sheriff?”
“The one and the same.”
“Was he?”
“According to Meemaw? Absolutely.”
“She sure sounds like a character.”
“Do not tell her that,” Violet warns. “I’ll skin you alive.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”
My wolf snorts.Like grandma, like granddaughter. I think he might be right.
When the dish simmers, she leans in to smell. “I can’t believe this. It smells amazing.”
“Taste.”
She does.
Her lips part. “Holy—this is good!”
“You did it,” I say softly.
Her whole face lights up, fractures the hardness in me. I need to see more of this.
