"Dear Lord in heaven," Colby moaned, shoving a forkful of lasagna into his mouth. "I think I died and went to Italy."
Wyatt sat across from him at the small dinette table, his own plate piled high. "It's good," he admitted, taking another bite. "Really good."
Jarrett sat at the end of the table. He was eating methodically, his eyes on his plate. He hadn't said a word since he set the food down.
Colby pointed his fork at Jarrett. "Seriously, man. She brought us food. Homemade food. You can't just grunt at her. You gotta use words."
"I used words," Jarrett said quietly.
"You said 'gutters'. That's not a conversation, that's a home inspection," Colby shot back.
Wyatt took a sip of his water. "Did she say anything when she dropped it off?"
Jarrett paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "She was nervous."
"Nervous like scared, or nervous like shy?" Wyatt asked, studying his brother.
Jarrett didn't answer. He just kept eating.
Colby leaned back in his chair. "I'm just saying, a woman like that, living alone, cooking like this... she's a catch. And she's right next door. If you aren't going to make a move-"
"Shut up, Colby," Jarrett said. The tone was soft, but the threat was clear.
Colby raised his hands in surrender and went back to eating.
Wyatt looked at his older brother. He knew the story. Everyone in the family did. Three years ago, Jarrett had been working a job up on the ridge. A piece of equipment malfunctioned. He was pinned, bleeding out, miles from a hospital.
Adeline had been driving by. She didn't panic. She didn't cry. She used her own shirt to stop the bleeding, stabilized his leg with a branch, and drove her car down the mountain to get an ambulance.
She saved his life. And then she vanished.
Jarrett had found out who she was. He had watched her from then on. He bought the land next to hers-under a different name-just to be close. He made sure the local cops left her alone. He made sure the poachers stayed off her property.
But she was married. And Jarrett Smith, despite what people thought about him, had lines he wouldn't cross.
"Jarrett mentioned her ring was gone," Wyatt said carefully.
Jarrett's hand tightened on his fork. The metal bent slightly.
"She said she likes the quiet," Colby added. "That's code for 'my husband is a jerk and I kicked him out'."
"We don't know that," Jarrett said.
"Come on, J," Wyatt said. "You've been pacing around here for three years. Now she's right there. You have to at least find out the situation."
"She's a neighbor," Jarrett said, standing up. He took his plate to the sink. "We return the favor. We don't pry."
He opened the fridge to put the leftovers away. Inside, next to a gallon of milk, were several thick, butcher-wrapped parcels of meat-far better cuts than you'd find at the Piggly Wiggly-and a few bottles of dark, unlabeled beer. It was the fridge of a man who ate well, surprisingly well.
He looked at the lasagna. It didn't belong in a fridge full of expensive food. It belonged on a table with a family.
He closed the door. "We send something back. Venison. That's polite."
"I'll do it," Wyatt said. "I'll take it over tomorrow morning. I'll talk to her."
Jarrett turned around, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Why you?"
"Because you're too obvious," Wyatt said bluntly. "You look at her like she's a steak and you've been fasting."
Jarrett didn't deny it. He just stared out the window at the dark tree line separating their properties.
"Just be polite," Jarrett muttered. "Don't scare her."
Wyatt nodded. He had no intention of scaring her. He had every intention of finding out if the husband was out of the picture for good.
Because if he was, Jarrett wasn't going to be the only one happy about it.
