Page 148 of Property of Whiskey

Becki smacks his arm.

Whiskey mutters.

Legend points toward the back hall. “Kaylee’s in the old office.”

I start walking.

Whiskey reaches toward my elbow, catches himself before making contact, and says, “Wait.”

I turn. “For?”

“Me.”

“I can walk ten feet without supervision.”

“Not here you can’t.”

“Keep it up and I’ll demonstrate.”

His mouth tilts. “You keep threatening me here, I’ll have to prove something to my brothers.”

Heat hits my face before I can stop it.

Royal hears.

“Oh.”

Whiskey turns toward him. “Don’t.”

Royal raises both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

Sophie steps toward me. “I’ll take her.”

Whiskey looks at her.

Sophie raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then move.”

He does.

Interesting.

I follow Sophie down the hall.

Behind us, Becki says, “That went better than expected.”

Royal answers, “Nobody got shot.”

Whiskey mutters something about the night being young.

I keep walking.

This old office probably belonged to somebody important when the building was still a working jail. Sheriff, chief deputy, somebody who got a solid door instead of bars.

Now the room has been turned into something halfway between a bedroom and an improvised clinic.