was. If Kitty ever decided to let go of her dead husband, she deserved a good man, a man better than either him or Donny Babcock.
He handed Donny a nail puller. “Kitty’s a nice woman.”
Donny studied the puller as though the tool was an alien spacecraft. “You interested in her?”
“We’re friends.” He emphasized the word to make a point.
“Good to know. Wouldn’t want to nuzzle in on a friend’s sweet spot.” He winked. “So you shouldn’t mind if I get to know her a little better.”
Jace’s grip on the hammer tightened. “I do mind.”
“But you just said the two of you are only friends.”
Teeth tight, Jace pivoted on his toes. “Look, Donny, she’s too good for either of us and you know it. Leave her alone.”
Donny laughed and propped one hip on a windowsill, the nail puller forgotten. “Just because you want to punish yourself forever doesn’t mean I do, Jacey boy. A second chance is a second chance at everything.”
Jace tried another direction. Appealing to Donny’s conscience wasn’t working. As if it ever had. “She’s a grieving widow. Didn’t you see the motel office?”
“Yeah, a bunch of old junk that needs tossing out if you ask me. A stinkin’ shrine to a dead guy. Come on. Get over it.”
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