Page 137 of Property of Whiskey

“And you never covered it?”

“Never mattered enough to bother.”

Her eyes narrow. “That might be the worst answer you could’ve given me.”

“Probably.”

“You loved her.”

I turn.

Twila has snatched the throw pillow off the couch and is hugging it across her bare stomach like she only now remembered she came into my living room without pants.

She looks ready to fight somebody.

Possibly me.

Probably Beth.

Likely both.

“Long time ago.”

“You didn’t mention that.”

“You asked where Wren’s mother was.”

“You said Official.”

“She is.”

“You said she lost custody.”

“She did.”

“You forgot the part where you loved her.”

“Ain’t relevant.”

Her laugh has no humor in it. “Not relevant.”

“Nope.”

“She wants you back.”

“That’s her problem.” I grin. Wrong choice.

Twila’s eyes narrow.

“You’re jealous.”

“No, I ain’t.”

“You are.”

“I’m a deputy assessing a volatile domestic situation.”

“You ain’t wearing pants.”