Sharpshooter: You do know the difference between a man and a woman, right?
Sharpshooter: A man doesn’t think like that. I’m not being mean, but they don’t especially think about a woman they’ve never met. Especially one who he doesn’t even know the color of her eyes or hair to compare it to which flower. A man can’t know what will upset you or make you scared until they find out for themselves. If you stop being afraid and send me a picture, or open up to me, maybe you would find out that we could have a future together instead of brushing me off.
Kentuckygirl: I’ll think about it.
Sharpshooter: Does that mean you’ll keep talking to me?
Kentuckygirl: Yes.
Sharpshooter: Cool. I’ve gotta go. I got a fish on the line. It’s a big son of a bitch.
Kentuckygirl: I hope he gets away.
Sharpshooter: Isn’t going to happen. I have my hook in.
Kentuckygirl: Jerk.
“Instead of giving me dirty looks, why don’t you go clean that fish?” Greer tossed the fish he had just caught into the cooler sitting on the bank.
“Go clean your own damn fish!” Rachel fumed, moving away from the fishy smell.
“If you’re going to barf, you might as well go back to your cabin,” he said with no concern.
His sister’s hands clenched into fists. “Greer, so help me God, if Logan weren’t watching, I’d throw you into the lake!”
Greer saw his nephew sitting on the rock overhanging the water. “Boy, what have I told you? You’re not allowed over there unless someone is with you.”
“Dad and Tate will be right back!” Logan yelled back.
Greer swore when Logan slid nearer the edge. “I don’t want to have to go swimming to fish you out. Get over here until they get back.”
Logan scooted backward, clambering down as he came back to the bank where he and Rachel were standing.
“What’s taking them so long?” Greer complained. “They just went to get some drinks.”
Rachel lowered her voice as Logan drew nearer. “They probably don’t want to be near you like I don’t.”
“More like, they want to drink a quick beer since Holly told them not to drink in front of Logan anymore.”
“Is that why you wanted to throw her out?”
Greer picked one particularly fat and juicy worm that was trying to wiggle out of the cup of worms he and Logan had dug up to use for bait. “Jesus, woman, I told you I didn’t throw her out.”
“You might as well have. She couldn’t take you always sniping at her. I don’t know how she took it as long as she has.”
“Why are you mad at Uncle Greer?” Logan’s troubled face went back and forth between them.
Rachel’s mouth snapped closed at Logan’s innocent expression. At the same moment, Tate and Dustin walked out of the woods, hearing Logan’s question.
“Aunt Rachel is always mad at Greer. Don’t worry about it.” Dustin handed Logan the small fishing pole he had brought from the car. “Go bait your hook, and I’ll take you to our favorite spot.”
Logan went to the plastic cup, losing interest in the adults.
Dustin’s normally carefree demeanor disappeared. “Rachel, we told you it was safer for Holly to stay at Mrs. Langley’s house. I may not like the way Greer handled it, but in town, she’s a spitting distance from the sheriff’s office, and The Last Riders have that house wired like Fort Knox.”
Greer let Dustin take his own grief from their sister. Usually, it was him or Tate who was on the receiving end of Rachel’s tongue. Dustin was closer to Rachel in age, giving him the benefit of bearing the scolding he and Tate had to take when she was mad at them.
“I just don’t understand why we don’t just tell her someone’s been snooping around our property.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Greer snorted. “And have to listen to her bitch about what’s growing in our backyard? It’s better this way. We don’t know for sure if one of the Hayes are behind it, since Tate told them to quit growing their crop on Sutton’s property. Or it could be the person who tried to attack Holly, and they’re snooping around, trying to find out when she’s home alone. We can’t watch her every second of the day and keep an eye on the field until it’s ready to be picked. I have plans for my part of it. I didn’t make much last year after Tate made us pay for that fancy kitchen Holly wanted.”
“Me?” Tate raised a brow. “I’m not the one who picked that stove with the griddle on it.”
“It was more useful than that dishwasher you picked out.”
“Maybe to you, but Holly was the one doing the dishes.”
“I didn’t hear her complaining about it.” Greer shrugged.
“She complained about it; you just didn’t listen.” Tate’s jaw squared. “As soon as you find out who’s been sneaking around, she can come back home.”