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Ava had nearly forgotten how nice it was to shop for food when you had someone at home to cook for. And she had never known how nice it could be to shop for food when you had someone at home who was going to love your cooking as much as he … well, he hadn't said the words yet, but she knew how Boyd felt.

This morning, he had promised to do the cooking, and, little as Ava liked other people messing around her kitchen, she was touched by Boyd's desire to do something for her. She found the eggs first, checking the carton for cracks in the shells, then moved to the bread, a firm loaf that would toast up nice.

She hummed a tune as she picked over the chicken pieces in preparation for tonight's dinner, looking for the fattest, juiciest, freshest package, enjoying the process more than she ever had before—which was saying something, because in all those long years with Bowman, cooking had been her solace, and her time at the grocery store her escape.

It was at the checkout, as she was paying, that everything fell to ruin. The cashier, an older woman named Rhonda, knew her by now—she'd been coming here for years, making the time last, asking questions of everyone who would stop to talk to her about their products—and looked up as Ava loaded her purchases on the belt. "Oh, Miz Crowder, I'm sure glad to see your face this mornin'."

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Ava put the last of her items on the belt and reached into her purse for her wallet.

"Well, ma'am, I …" Rhonda was running Ava's purchases through automatically, but it was clear her mind wasn't on what she was doing. "I guess you haven't heard."

"Heard what?"

"It's … it's Miz Givens."

Ava put her wallet down on the little counter and leaned over it. "What about Miz Givens?"

"She …" Rhonda turned away, swiping at her face. "There were … intruders in her house, don't know what they came to steal, but— Miz Givens tried to defend herself, but she—"

"How do you know this?" Ava demanded. "Who told you?"

"My husband, he's, he used to be with the police, he still keeps one o' them scanners in the house, we heard the call this mornin'. Such a sweet lady. Always stood up for herself—and everybody else, too." Glancing at the screen, Rhonda added, "That'll be 38.72, please."

Ava reached into her wallet as automatically as Rhonda had checked the total. "Is she— Miz Givens, is she …?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm afraid so." She took the money from Ava and made the change. "I'm real sorry about it, too."

"So am I," Ava told her, in a daze. She took the paper bag from the bagger, a teenaged boy who looked bored by his job, and left the grocery store, every step feeling odd. Helen Givens, dead? Shot in her home? It had to have been the Bennetts. Who else would have been there?

Boyd. She needed Boyd. Instinctively, she placed the bag where the eggs would be protected, then got into the car and peeled out of the driveway, the miles between the store and her house feeling endless. If Helen wasn't safe, none of them were, and Helen had been so sure she was safe.

The bag was on her hip as she opened the door of the house, although she didn't remember getting it out of the car. The smell of bacon was in the air, tinged with cinnamon. Ordinarily it would have smelled heavenly, but right now it just made Ava feel nauseous.

"Hey, baby!" Boyd called to her from the kitchen.

Ava could feel her control over herself slipping, feel the tears threatening that so far she had been able to hold back.

"Ava?" Boyd called again.

She stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, unable to go any farther. Boyd came toward her, the smile fading into concern as he took a good look at her.

"What is it?"

The tears were coming now, stinging Ava's eyes. Boyd reached for the grocery bag and gently set it down on the table.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

But Ava couldn't answer him. Not just yet. Not until she felt him close against her, still warm and alive and safe. She put her arms around his neck and held on, feeling Boyd's arms come around her so easily and willingly, feeling the comfort of being with him. Bowman had never made her feel like he cared for her comfort; Raylan had never seemed like he had time. Boyd made it plain that when it came to Ava and what she needed, he had all the time in the world.

At last she was able to speak the words, still holding on to him. "Helen's dead. They shot her last night in her house." She pulled away, her jaw quivering as the tears took hold.

There was silence in the room, but she could feel the shift in tone. Johnny and Devil hadn't thought much of her coming in and breaking down in the midst of their war meeting, but this was different.

Boyd looked at them. "Devil, I'm gonna need you to call your friends and tell them to get here tonight."

"Yeah. 'Course. I'm on it." Devil left the kitchen, moving past Ava with a murmur of sympathy.

Boyd turned to her. "What can I get you? A cup of coffee?"

Ava thought of Helen, with her cigarettes and her coffee. What would Helen have done with a moment like this? She'd have gotten angry. She'd have been right in the middle of the talk, telling Arlo what to do. That's what she would have done. Was that who Ava wanted to be? She wasn't sure. Realizing that Boyd was still waiting for her answer, she pushed back her tears and forced a smile. "Coffee sounds good."

"You sit right here, I'll get you some." But before he moved to do so he took her in his arms again, whispering into her hair, "It's gon' be all right, Ava."

She wished she believed him.