“I’ll put another plate on the table,” Jill said, “and we’ll explain while we have supper together.”

“It’s a long story,” Sawyer said.

Gladys tossed her coat on the sofa and sat down at the table. “And you’ll make a plate for me to take to Polly?”

“There’s plenty,” Sawyer said.

Gladys pointed at Jill. “You go first. I was scared y’all had both left Fiddle Creek, and I don’t want either of you to leave. I like this arrangement.”

Sawyer slid half a loaf of Italian bread into the oven. He’d carefully cut it into thick slices and applied garlic butter. All it needed was a little heat and they’d be ready for dinner. “Sweet tea?”

“Yes,” Gladys said.

Jill busied herself putting ice into glasses and filling them. “I could tell the Gallaghers and Brennans were up to no good when they got to the bar last night. It wasn’t what they said, but the way they kept looking at each other’s tables.”

Gladys slapped the table with the palm of her hand. Cutlery rattled against plates and tea sloshed against the sides of the tall glasses. “I knew this would have something to do with that pig war. I knew it.”

“We can’t prove a bit of it.” Sawyer set the sauce and the spaghetti on the table. “Bread will be out in a minute.”

“Bit of what?” Gladys asked.

“Well, it went like this…” Jill went on to tell the story.

“So I’ve slept with your niece in a horse stall and in the back of a wagon, Gladys. You going to get out the shotgun?” Sawyer brought out the bread.

“Hell, no! If I had a medal, I’d give it to you for protecting her,” Gladys said. “And the way both families were acting this mornin’ in church, I’d say that you’ve got it right about what happened. But you’re also right about not being able to prove it. What did you think of Tilman?”

“You mean Tilly?” Jill asked.

“That’s what they call him now, since he’s a crazy old moonshiner who lives on the edge of Salt Holler, but that’s not what we called him when we were in school with him.” Gladys expertly wound spaghetti around a fork. “Damn fine food, Sawyer.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Why didn’t you call him Tilly?”

“Because he was the smartest kid in school, and in those days, Tilly was a girl’s name. It was short for Matilda, and not only was he smart, he was a cocky little fighter who’d black a kid’s eye if he got mad at him. He went on to make a lawyer out of himself, and then he ran for the House of Representatives and won twice. In the middle of the second term, he flat-out walked away from his job, bought that land near Salt Holler, and started making moonshine. Nobody really knows what happened. Some folks say it was over the Korean War. Some say it was over a woman. Wallace buys liquor and wine from him, and Tilly, he don’t bother nobody,” Gladys said.

“He seemed like a nice old guy to me,” Jill said.

“The only other person who’s ever been on his land is Wallace Redding, and that is to buy shine. No one would ever believe that Tilly befriended you. He don’t do that. He comes to the store twice a year for supplies and goes right back home. He talks to me when he’s there. I hear he picks up his mail at the post office. They hold it for him for six months at a time, and it’s mainly magazines and newspapers. Takes a whole garbage bag for him to haul it out of there.”

“Jill could sweet-talk a bear into giving up his honey.” Sawyer laughed.

“Oh, hush, I had hay in my hair and looked like the wrath of God had kissed me,” she said. “I’ve never been so glad to see a shower and get a nap in a real bed in my whole life as I was when we got back to the bunkhouse.”

“She looked cute.” Sawyer grinned. “I thought she did, and evidently Tilly did too. He not only let us into his house, he fed us breakfast and brought us to town.”

Gladys stuck her hand into her pocket and brought out a telephone. “Polly, don’t you eat any more of those cookies. Sawyer made spaghetti, and I’m bringing you a plate. The kids are fine, but I’ve got a hell of a story to tell you.”

A pause and a couple of nods. “No, it’s too juicy to tell over the phone, and, yes, I’ll be there in the next fifteen minutes.”

She hit a button and shoved the phone back in her pocket. “Reckon I’ll wrap up my plate too. She says if I don’t get back, she’s going to eat the whole bag of cookies, worryin’ about what I won’t tell her on the phone.”

“I’ll get it ready,” Jill said.

“What should we do now?” Sawyer asked Gladys.

“Go on like nothing happened, and see what comes crawlin’ out of the woodpile.”

“I’d rather set fire to both ranches,” Jill said.

“Nope, Fiddle Creek might suffer, since it’s in the middle of them,” Gladys said. “Thanks for supper, and I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

Chapter 17

Jill could not put her finger on it or figure it out, but the relationship had risen to a new level between her and Sawyer since they’d bared their souls the day before. Maybe it was what soldiers face in near-death experiences when one saves another’s life. But whatever it was, she kind of liked it.

He’d been quieter, had a lot less to say or joke about, and now he was back there in the meat department, cleaning the saw like the health inspectors were due to come look at the store that very day.

The store was empty, and the shelves were dusted, the floor swept, the carts lined up, and the front glass washed on the inside. It was so cold outside that if she sprayed cleaner on that side, it would freeze before it hit the glass. She pulled her tablet out of her purse, hit the right button to bring it up, and went straight to her favorite site for a little retail therapy. She might not actually buy boots or a new bit of bling, but she’d look at it, and maybe that would help her sour mood.

An advertisement for a brand-new spice for chicken wings popped up on the side bar, and that’s what gave her the idea. She quickly went to another site that promised overnight shipping if she was willing to pay for it, and she decided it was well worth the cost. She pulled the charge box up from under the counter and wrote the addresses for River Bend and Wild Horse on the edge of a scrap of paper.

The first order was for a case of pork rinds. She carefully checked the box that said it was a gift and not to send any information concerning price or sender to the recipient. On the gift card she wrote “Oink! Oink!” and signed it “Porky Pig.” That little prize went to River Bend to the attention of Mavis Brennan.

The second order was for three bags of Chicken Chips doggy treats. The gift card said, “For the Gallagher Bitches” and was signed “Chicken Little.” That present went to Naomi Gallagher at Wild Horse Ranch.

Guaranteed delivery by eight o’clock the following evening. She’d entered the pig war, and it put a smile on her face.

“Well, well, it smiles,” Sawyer said.

“This from a man who’s hardly spoken to me all day,” she said.

“Hey, you started off the day real quiet.”

“So did you,” she shot back.

The bell rang as the door swung open, and there was Quaid Brennan standing there with a shoe box in his hands. He looked downright sheepish, holding a Prada shoe box with the price still written right there on the end. Jill hoped he could take them back, because she damn sure didn’t wear a size nine narrow. She wore a six wide. He’d have done much better if he’d brought in a Lucchese box, and he’d have spent a hell of a lot less money to boot, pun intended.

He set the box on the countertop. “I brought you a present. I heard that you had a mouse or two in the bunkhouse over on Fiddle Creek.”

“And I’m supposed to catch them in this box? You want to explain the procedure to me?” Jill could feel the ice in her voice, but dammit, he was a Brennan.

“Open it,” he said.

She flipped the lid open, and a little gray kitten looked up at her with big green eyes. She picked it up and the purring began immediately.