This was outside his experience. Everyone had their price. On the other side of the two-lane street Morgan saw the town preacher changing letters on his quaint little church’s reader board, saw the preacher noticing him, and paused in his stride long enough to give the man a smile and a wave. The preacher returned both. Even that man had his price, Morgan knew. The magic number for which he would sell his own offspring. Greed was simply human nature. Except for Susan Taylor it seemed. This didn’t trouble Morgan. He liked a challenge. If he kept raising the numbers and pouring on the charm, he would find Susan’s magic number. Whatever the price was, it would be worth it. A honk startled him out of his wandering reverie, and he turned to find a sheriff’s cruiser swinging into opposing traffic—well, there was no traffic at the moment, but the wrong side of the road was still the wrong side of the road. The window lowered, and the flushed face of Sheriff Avery Price poked out as the cruiser pulled to a stop.
