Mom moves out of the way, and Luke sidesteps her, aiming to breeze his ass intomyhouse and take stuff that doesn’t belong to him.
I block his path. “There’s no way in hell you’re coming in here and taking anything.”
“Rowe Davenport Wadley, watch your language,” Mom snaps.
I throw up my hands. “I’m sorry, but this situation calls for it.”
Luke scoffs in amusement at our kerfuffle, but I stand firm. He’s not getting by me.
My ex slicks a hand down his beard and studies me like I’m a rabbit he’s about to shoot and kill. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“The hell it doesn’t.” I flash my hand toward Mom. “Again, please excuse the cussing.” Then I turn on Luke. “You can’t charge in here and take things that don’t belong to you.”
He takes an intimidating step forward and glares down his nose at me. I lift my chin defiantly.
“Your mom and I have an agreement.”
“Well, you can just have anun-agreement.”
“Rowe,” Mom says, moving toward me.
I drag my gaze away from my second-to-worst enemy (Sally Ray is my absolute worst) to fix it on my mother. “What?”
“Rowe,” she scolds.
“Sorry.Ma’am?”
Even in the heat of an argument, no Southern mother will allow a child to forget their manners.
“Since Luke knows about the foreclosure—”
I sneer. “Of course he does. Seeing as how he runs the bank.”
Her jaw clenches. “He offered to buy some furniture to give us money.”
“I’m sure he did,” I boom so loudly that it’s surprising the glass in the windows doesn’t blow out. “I bet he’s happy to take Grandma’santique French sideboard off our hands so that he can give it to Sally Ray, who’s wanted it forever. Not to mention the horsehair chaise that’s been in the family for a hundred years. Yep. I just bet you’re happy to help out us poor folks, aren’t you, Luke?”
He gives me a long look before tearing his gaze away and turning to Mom. He slaps the wad of bills in her hand and says over his shoulder, “Come on, Sims.”
Ronald Sims, an old high school friend and newly mintedtraitor, enters the house. He takes off his baseball hat and crushes it between his hands as he stares at the floor. “I sure am sorry about this, Rowe.”
“You should be, helping out the enemy.”
“He pays good,” Ron whimpers.
Ron’s a neighbor who also works at the feedstore. I’ve known him my whole life, and I’m good friends with his wife, too. Jennifer’s the town pharmacist.
“Let’s grab the couch,” Luke says, giving me a chilly look before heading into the living room, his boots thudding against the floorboards.
No way will Luke Preston take family treasures from my home.
Before Ron can reach the chaise, I throw myself on top of it starfish-style and clutch the sides in a death grip. I really hope this doesn’t tear the upholstery.
“If it goes, I go with it!”
Luke sighs in annoyance. “Get off the couch, Rowe.”
“It’s a chaise—and no!”
