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“But you make alcohol. And now you’re suggesting that we brew beer. And you don’t even like it?”

“I didn’t say I didn’tlikeit. I don’t drink, but I do taste my stuff before I put it out. I can tell when the product is good. I was trained to figure that out. But I can’t afford to go drinking my own moonshine. Hell, there’s a metaphor for life in there somewhere. I have to sell what I make. And as for buying alcohol? Waste of money.”

“Like cigarettes.”

She looked wistful then. “I do miss cigarettes.”

“No drinking, but you got into smoking?”

“Yeah. Just the guys hanging around always had some. It was easy to bum off of them. I liked it because it calmed me down a little bit without making me feel like my senses were impaired.” She shook her head. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

“I don’t suppose you do.”

“Let me get you some more food.”

She squinted. “Being nice again?”

“No. I also want seconds.”

He grabbed her plate, filled it up again, along with adding some more to his. Then he brought it back to her. Her eating slowed on the second round.

“Fia’s a great cook,” she said.

“Yeah. She is.”

“And Denver... did the meat?”

“Yeah he’s like a grill master. He gets super intense about it. I think if he didn’t have the ranch he’d have opened a restaurant. Though that would require him to actually deal with people, which is not his strong suit.”

“I mean, I like him fine enough.”

“He’s... I don’t know, he’s complicated. He takes care of all of us, but hell if I know what’s going on in his head half the time. He took in a teenager for a while after our dad’s illegal activities landed him in prison. And there’s this other family... Our dad was responsible for the death of Dan Patrick, and Denver has been sending money to the girls in that family for years. Ever since.”

“Your dadmurderedtheir dad?”

“He didn’t murder him. He put him in a dangerous position, though. And he lost his life. She didn’t have anywhere to go. Denver felt responsible, and took her in. Nothing means more to Denver than family.”

“He’s like Vin Diesel.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Too bad for you,” she said.

Silence lapsed between them. “If you want to, I can take you out to the van and get your things.”

“I have a job to finish here. Afterward?”

“Okay. I guess I’ll grab a hammer too.”

After the hours had passed, Bix got in his truck, and they drove out toward her van. She had hidden it as best she could off the highway.

It was... not much.

An old, orange piece of junk with curtains in the windows.

Bix scrambled to the side door and unlocked it with the key that was in her pocket. She jerked it open, and it seemed like it required an unusual amount of force.

“I’ll just... I’ll be a second.”