. . who’s that?” “It looks like Trish. She was wearing that sweater and scarf this morning.” A gust of cold air sent the leaves flying around us. I tugged my jacket closer. “Aynslee, please go back to the truck.” My daughter slowly backed away, then...
Wes sauntered up wearing pressed jeans, a maroon plaid shirt, and tan oxfords. This time he hadn’t bothered to slip on blue nitrile gloves. I didn’t know if that irritated me more or less. “What are you doing here?” Dave frowned at the man. Wes moved to where he could clearly see the woman. “Inve...