The words carried. Heads turned.
Ned from Moonshine Creek RV Park stood at the far end of the aisle, eyes wide. Mabel from Blackwood Winery stopped dead beside him, horror flashing across her face.
Wade’s face changed.
Color rising high in his cheeks.
“You little bitch!”
“What the hell is going on?”
Sam.
Clara turned.
He was coming down the aisle fast, dirt on his jeans, hat in one hand, anger already written all over him.
His eyes went from Clara—flushed, furious, backed against the wall—to Wade.
To Wade, standing too close.
To Wade’s hand, still half lifted toward her.
Sam didn’t even hesitate.
His fist connected with Wade’s jaw so hard Clara heard it.
Wade slammed into a stack of feed buckets. Metal crashed across the floor.
“Sam!” Clara shouted.
But it was too late.
Wade came back swinging.
The two men crashed into the aisle, boots slipping in straw and dirt, curses flying.
“Don’t you touch her!”
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
Someone yelled for help.
Someone else yelled, “Jesus Christ, that’s Wade Hollis.”
And just like that—nobody rushed in.
More people came into the barn.
Everybody saw it.
Sam finally drove Wade back against the stall wall, one hand twisted in the front of his shirt.
“If you ever put your hands on her again,” Sam said, voice low and shaking with fury, “I’ll kill you.”
For one long second, nobody moved.
Then Clara stepped forward.
