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“I want to be a deputy,” said Harlan. “They don’t need to know how old I am.”

I nodded. “We’ll talk to Billy and work something out. He’s the one with the bright ideas.”

“Is he?” asked Harlan. “Guess I don’t know Billy too much yet.”

“He’s smart,” I said. “A big thinker.”

“Didn’t see that side of him yet,” said Harlan. No sarcasm in his voice. An honest statement.

Peterson’s Market. Coyote Creek.

When we got back to Coyote Creek, our next stop was the market. I pulled into the angle parking at the front of the store. “Did Tammy give me a list?”

“She said she’d send it to your phone.”

“Aw Jeeze, I’m so bad with my phone.” I handed my cell to Harlan. “Here, you look for it.”

He found it in half a second and handed the phone back to me. “Let’s grab this stuff and get home. Tammy will be mad if we’re late for supper.”

Harlan laughed. “What time are we supposed to be there?”

“Text her and find out while I find the stuff she wants real fast.” Pushing the cart like a shopping maniac, I flew down the aisles tossing in everything on the list.

Shoving the cart ahead of me, looking at the list on my fucking phone, scanning the shelves for what I needed to find—doing all that at once nearly pushed me over the edge.

“Help me, Harlan. At least push the fucking cart.” We rounded the corner of the aisle, and I almost ran right into Olivia. “Oh, hi, Olivia.”

“Hello, Travis. Nice to see you.”

We kept going and Harlan whispered, “She’s a babe.”

“We broke up. She’s pissed at me.”

“Shit, man, you’ve got a wife and you’re messing around. You are a fuckin stud.”

“Keep going. What time is dinner?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll never make that. We’ve got ten minutes of drive time.”

“We’re almost finished,” said Harlan. “Give me a couple of things from the list and I’ll speed us up.”

Harlan grabbed everything else we needed, and we lined up at the checkout—right behind Olivia.

She turned her head and asked, “Who is this young man, Travis?”

“He’s my ward, Harlan.” To Harlan: “Olivia Best. She runs the Inn.”

“When you have a civil moment, Travis, we need to have a business meeting about the Inn.”

“Sure. Not tomorrow. How about on Sunday?”

“Sunday afternoon will be perfect. I’ll expect you at one o’clock for lunch.”

“Sure.”

“Put the date in your phone,” whispered Harlan.