Greyson fol owed Shyanne onto the porch, relieved and grateful. After they’d told the older woman about their matrimonial deception, conversation had become strained. Though she didn’t comment or argue, the woman’s sharp searching glances made him uncomfortable; the sweet-faced, plump matron made him feel as if he were ten years old again, caught stealing cookies from the pantry before dinner. Shyanne seemed unaffected by the woman’s censure. Before dinner, under Matha’s disapproving glare Shyanne had helped him get settled into a spare room. Now, as she leaned against the porch railing and crossed her arms over her chest, Greyson settled in a chair. In the distance, past waving fields of ripening wheat, the last rays of the remaining sun disappeared below the horizon, throwing the world into a dusty shadow. Insects chirped. Birds twittered as they settled down for the night. An evening breeze, bringing with it the scent of salt water, cooled the air but didn’t lessen the tension between him and Shyanne.
