“That’s what you get for making snotty remarks, sister-dear.”
“Suppose we all start over?” Tara suggested.
The tension seemed to abate a little, and she was just congratulating herself on the success of her front-porch peacekeeping mission when she saw a car turn in out by the mailbox.
Specifically, a sheriff’s department squad car.
Boone.
Tara froze, irritated with herself for being surprised and, admit it, a tad electrified, too. Get a grip, she thought. The man lives next door. He probably saw Opal’s car here as he was passing by and decided to stop in, knowing his boys would be with her.
The cruiser caused another chicken riot, which resulted in clouds of feather-speckled dust and a cacophony of fowl complaints. Boone opened the door, a wry half grin resting easy on his sexy mouth, and set his hat on his head as he got out.
Tara almost expected to hear the twangy theme from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly as he shut the car door and ambled, in that loose-jointed way of men who are damnably comfortable in their own skin, toward the front gate.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tara saw Griffin’s little-boy chest swell with a pride that clearly said, That’s my dad.
“Another cowboy,” Erin said, in a fascinated whisper.
“With a gun,” Elle added, sounding as awed as her sister.
For some ridiculous and incomprehensible reason, Tara’s heart was racing, and her breathing was so shallow that hyperventilation seemed a very real possibility. She swallowed and smiled, raising one hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun.
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