The older woman didn’t drop-kick the basket into the nearest trash can or stuff one of the megasize treats up Spur’s nose, or any other orifice. Definitely a good sign. Good, but not great. Marshalyn wasn’t smiling yet, despite the baked goodies and the fast movement of Uncle Spur’s mouth—uh-oh. Dread rushed through her as she watched the older woman’s eyes narrow, her lips purse. He wouldn’t…he couldn’t… Madeline shoved at the window, desperate to hear, but it was locked. She pressed her ear against the pane, but she heard little more than a murmur, the voices muffled by the glass and the whir of a nearby air conditioner. “Don’t say it,” she murmured as she watched the older couple. “Please, don’t say anything you’re going to regret.” “Trust me, I’m not going to regret anything I’m about to say. Or do.” The deep, husky voice slid into her ears a moment before she felt the tall, muscular male body step up behind her. “What are you—” she whirled around “—doing?”
