“Peace and Love, huh? Why Peace and Love?”
“Because he has a paisley on his side.”
“So he does.” J. T. scratched the black paisley shape.
“And my grandma is kind of a hippie and she wishes my mama was one, too. She thinks my mama needs to loosen up.”
“What’s a hippie?” he asked gravely and wholly mischievously.
“Oh, you know, they have long hair and their houses smell good. It’s the sense.”
“The... incense?”
“Yeah! It’s nice!”
He laughed. Peace and Love the cat rolled over shamelessly so he could scratch the white bib on his chest.
He looked up at the girl and then past her. He’d parked his truck down the street, across from what appeared to be a palm reader, judging from the huge painted hand swinging from two chains over the sidewalk. He was worried about that god-awful sound the truck was making. He had a hunch about what it was, because he’d fixed it before. He could have bought fifteen trucks just like it, if he wanted. Instead, he’d fixed nearly everything on that truck twice.
Suddenly the little girl’s eyes went huge, her jaw dropped, and he watched her face go brilliant with astonished elation.
J. T. knew exactly what was going to happen next.
“WOOOoow,” she exhaled.
Damn.
And then she threw her head back.
“MOOOOOOM!” she screamed.
Foof!The cat shot straight up in the air, every hair erect, and it disappeared in a blur of scrambling legs, like a cartoon. J. T. staggered backward, blinking, his eardrums shriveling.
The little girl began pogoing excitedly all around him, her pigtails flapping. “MOM MOM MOM MOM OH MY GOSH MOM YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHO’S PETTING PEACE AND LOVE MOM HURRY COME SEE!”
Hurry? Now that was funny. As if he’d bolt, or evaporate in this heat if her mother didn’t get there fast enough.
A woman hurtled out of the shop, the bells on the door jangling frantically.
“For the love of God, Annalise, what on—”
She stopped short.
He straightened slowly to his entire height, as unthreateningly as possible, as if he’d been caught in the act of something.
Which he had, in a way. He’d been caught in the act of being himself.
The woman’s dark red hair was bundled up on her head in a big ponytail, and he could see where her daughter got her eyes. Same color, same shape, and they got big and round and awestruck in just the same way when she saw him.
She spoke wonderingly. “Good heavens. Is it really you? Mr.John TennesseeMcCord? What brings you to our little town?”
He liked the “Mr.” Women who were about to get hysterical didn’t often add a “Mr.”
“About to start filming a new series about the California Gold Rush on location nearby. CalledThe Rush. Thought I’d get a sense of the place. Pretty town, Hellcat Canyon. Just ate the best burger of my life at the Misty Cat.”
He knew that would be all over town in a heartbeat.
She glowed. “My parents own that place. Glenn and Sherrie Harwood. I’m Eden Harwood.”
