Damon stopped at the door, his gaze lingering on my hands as I held the phone.
“Who is this?” he asked.
He looked at his watch, turned the doorknob, and stepped out onto the porch without saying a word.
I stood there, listening to the hum of the old refrigerator, the cold paper towel still pressed against my thumb.
The wind in Oak Creek was cold that afternoon, blowing dry, brown sycamore leaves across the asphalt of Main Street. I had three hours before the guys would be back from their shifts, and my shopping list was already checked off.
I stopped in front of Evelyn’s Dress Shop because the window display had changed since Tuesday.
Behind the glass, on a pale, faceless mannequin, hung a dress the color of deep moss after rain. It was silk, with a high collar and long sleeves that gathered at the wrists, reflecting the pale October light.
