Wild Kisses (Wildwood 2)

She finished bandaging one foot, then started on the other. Tryi

ng to untangle the thoughts of a man with dementia had to be its own kind of crazy, right?

“But it was Trace who ended up in prison,” she said.

“Because of me.” George’s eyes fell closed and a pained look etched his face. “All because of me.” He shook his head, opened his eyes and yelled, “Joe! Where the hell is everyone?” Avery jumped, and her heart banged against her chest. “I want to win back that hundred bucks you stole from me last week.”

Avery finished bandaging up his other foot with rattled nerves, then stood. “All right. I’ll make you a sandwich, and we’ll take it home with you. But I’m driving you this time.”

“I ain’t going home, missy,” he said, annoyed with her again. “I’m playing a goddamned poker game. And I need a scotch and soda. What’s this beer doing here? I hate beer.”

Avery bit her lip. “I guess I’ll get you your sandwich then.”

She turned for the kitchen, tapped into speed dial, and hit Delaney’s number.

“Hey there,” she answered immediately. “What’s up?”

Avery closed her eyes and winced when she whispered, “I need your help.”

“Wait, what? Hold on, hold on—I’m putting you on speaker. Okay, say that again so Ethan can hear.”

“Shut up.”

“No, not that part, the other thing. You know that word that starts with h.”

“God, Delaney—” She cut herself off, knowing her sister wouldn’t let up until she got what she wanted. “I need your help. Grab a pen and paper and get ready to move.”

Once she had Delaney and Ethan on board, Avery made a quick sandwich for George. When she sat it down in front of him, she said, “Maybe when you’re done you’ll want to try out my new piano.”

George’s gaze lifted to hers. “Piano? What piano?”

She pointed to it. “It was donated, and I had someone come work on it the other day. Trace told me you used to play in the choir. Maybe you can tell me if they did a good job tuning it.”

Without touching his sandwich, George pushed from the chair and hobbled in that direction. He lifted the key cover with a gentle reverence. Henry had not only tuned it but cleaned it as well. Now the old wood shone, and the keys gleamed.

“This is an oldie, isn’t it?” George asked.

“It is.”

He ran his fingers lightly over the keys, then narrowed his eyes on Avery. “You sure I play? I don’t remember playing.”

She nodded. “Trace and Pearl told me. You don’t remember singing either, but Pearl says you’re singing every morning.”

He returned his gaze to the keys.

“Sit,” she suggested. “Just play around for a few minutes. See if anything feels right.”

George lowered to the bench, placed his hands over the keys, and played some quick scales. His gaze jumped to Avery’s, and the grin that cut across his face filled her with happiness.

She patted his shoulder. “You just enjoy yourself. I’m going to get ready for our poker game.”

ELEVEN

Trace couldn’t get that morning out of his mind. He’d been going over it and over it in his head, trying to figure out how JT had gotten in. Avery might think she’d left the door open, but Trace doubted it. Even exhausted, Avery was a creature of habit. And safety was one of her habits.

The forklift eased roof tiles into Trace’s truck, and he tossed a thick nylon rope across the bed.

“Can you grab some more nails?” he asked JT. “And wait for the receipt?”