“You’re right. I’ll apologize to her, too.”
J. T. nodded.
And to his surprise, once he was in town, Truck, without asking, took the turn up the road to Britt’s house.
And he idled the engine a few houses down from hers.
“How’d you...” J. T. began.
But probably everyone in town knew.
Truck smiled at him again, with something very like sympathy.
“Go get ’er, McCord.”
CHAPTER24
He saw the back of her first. She was watering the plants. And he just hung back and watched, and soaked up the scene. He noticed the coleus was gone, which meant she must have adopted it out, but now she had another patient, something with big, broad shiny green leaves that had some brown spots.
“You’re all doinggreat,” he heard her murmur.
His heart squeezed.
She put the watering can down and turned and gave a start when she saw him.
And then Britt’s heart, formerly charred and withered, sprang back to full blossoming glory.
J. T. was wearing, shockingly enough, jeans and a black T-shirt. And he was holding a tray covered in plastic wrap.
They stared at each other in silence.
“Hi,” she said. Her voice was awfully faint. More an exhale than a word.
“Hi,” he said. His voice was a little on the gruff side.
They didn’t say anything else for a time.
“I brought some chicken satay.” He settled it carefully on the little table on her porch.
“Oh,” she said. “Thanks.”
Apparently this conversation was going to be catered.
Her heart was jackhammering away in her chest, overjoyed at its resurrection.
“So...” He inhaled. He sounded nervous, too. “Got your message. The one out on the highway.”
Her face was hot now. “Okay.”
“That was a pretty brave thing for a chicken to do.”
She smiled tentatively. “I was sober when I did it, too.”
“By the way, I don’t really think you’re a chicken, Britt.”
“But you were right, J. T. About me running. About me... looking for an excuse to run.”
He nodded shortly. A tense little silence passed.
