Emmett stretched out his hand and tried to caress Isabelle’s arm, but she took her finger and swept it off. “Your father thought if he mentioned it to you first, you’d say no,” he said, “and that you wouldn’t come to the meeting at all.” “I can’t believe the lengths he’s gone to in order to keep me here.” “Can you blame him?” “It’s not his life, Emmett, it’s mine. What if I don’t want this? I already left once before. Didn’t that tell him anything?” “Yeah—that you’re a stubborn woman.”She whipped around and thumped her foot on the wood planks that wrapped around the length of the porch. His voice lowered, almost to a whisper. “Let’s go for a drive.”Emmett pulled a rusted 1956 Ford Pickup around and was pleased to find Isabelle hadn’t bolted in the interim. She pried the door open and plopped down on the seat next to him and two decades of dust sprayed out into the air around her. She swatted it away with both hands. “You ever consider washing this thing?”
