Standard Disclaimer: No copyrighted material used in this chapter belongs to me. This story belongs to Linda Howard/Jones with some RIB and the writers of Glee mixed in. Another chapter that is mostly the original authors, but I did add a little tbloves2read stank on it. LOL. Hope you enjoy, four more days to Christmas...

Chapter Twenty-One

"Sam, I need a bigger gun."

The comment came out of nowhere. Sam's eyes quickly popped open even though he'd been awake for a while, content to hold her, in no hurry to get up. He wasn't used to lying around in bed, he normally got up before the sun without an alarm and began doing something . . . until today. This was different. Lying in bed with Cedes was the best use of his time he could ever think of. He never wanted to leave her.

In the firelight he could see her staring at the ceiling, he could tell she was concentrating really hard on all things a firearm. An unfamiliar sensation rose in his chest, his throat, and suddenly he was laughing, truly laughing. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened. "That's exactly what Bree said, too." And he was just as startled now as he'd been then.

"I'd already thought about it, then forgot about bringing it up, but—we were lucky, because we were way outnumbered and outgunned. I don't want that to happen again. Even after you find whoever was trying to steal the gas, there'll still be times in the future that we're going to have trouble. Not constantly, but other people will try to come in, try to take what we have. So, I most definitely need a bigger gun." She paused before adding, "I bet I can trade something for one."

"Don't forget you will need bullets or shells for it. A more powerful weapon is pretty useless unless you have the ammunition for it." Her head was lying on his arm and he crooked his elbow, bringing her closer so he could kiss her forehead. "But don't worry about bartering for a gun, I got you covered both literally and figuratively." He had a hidden arsenal at his house that nobody knew about, weapons he wouldn't be bringing out short of an outright war. He hadn't exactly come by them legally, which was exactly why they were hidden. Cedes didn't need a grenade launcher, though; she needed a simple 12-gauge shotgun—and practice. Lots of practice. If he'd been the one doing the shooting from the store, there wouldn't have been any "maybe" about wounding someone, there would have been bodies all over the parking lot.

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. He knew she would be sore if they made love again, but he just had to touch her. Never in his wildest dreams would he have believed that he would be with her like this now and enjoying every single thing about her. Three days ago he'd still been resolute—mostly—in his policy of isolation, but then Cedes his Kryptonite had come up the mountain to his place and all of that had turned in a blink of an eye. Now they were lying naked together, watching the room get lighter as the sun rose and neither of them were willing to get up and get busy because they didn't want this time to end, even temporarily.

Then she stretched and yawned—an action that for some reason made his hand slide up to her breasts—and said, "I want bacon."

"I guess you do need some nourishment to replace all the calories we spent most of the night burning off."

"Most definitely and Carmen's probably started cooking it by now; they have breakfast really early. She's going to cook pancakes today, she said so last night while we were cleaning up. Pancakes and bacon." She sighed, the sound blissful with anticipation. Then she gave him a look as serious as any he'd ever seen. "I need bacon."

Mentally he slapped himself upside the head. "I brought a can of bacon just for you, too; I forgot about it and left it outside in my pickup."

She sat up in the blankets, her expression excited. "You are not kidding me are you? We can have bacon here?"

He kissed goodbye to his fantasy of lying there in the warm blankets with his heartbeat until who knows when probably till the end of the blackout, though the blankets were now pooled around her waist and her gorgeous luscious breasts were exposed, her nipples tight from the cold. Seeing them made him want to get back on top of her and inside of her, something else that wasn't going to happen right away. To get his mind off of sexy times with Cedes, he got up and began putting on his clothes. "I'll go and get it for you." And if he hadn't been so focused about being with her, he wouldn't have forgotten the night before, he would still be lying there beside her, which proved the point that being a horndog could come back to bite you in the butt.

Unfortunately and he thought unnecessarily, she got up and began dressing, too, signaling an end to the naked lazy-day cuddling. He hadn't known he liked naked lazy-day cuddling until now. Cedes was making him rethink a lot of things, making him consider things he'd never imagined doing as well as enjoying before.

One of those things had him pausing at the door, assessing every aspect of their relationship. What he was assuming and what she was thinking might not even be the same thing. The people in this area weren't prudes and wouldn't shun her for letting him spend the night, but they would talk, and that might embarrass her. Cautiously, not certain at all how she'd reply, he asked, "Do you want me to start my truck and let the windows defrost, so it won't look as if I've stayed the night with you?"

She'd been in the process of making coffee and she stopped cold, her mouth falling open as she stared at him. His gaze was steady, though he unconsciously braced for her answer. If she wanted to keep their relationship on the down low, that wouldn't mean anything more than that she was cautious. That was what he tried to think, but his stomach was tight as he waited with bated breath for her answer.

"That depends, do you only want to be creeping around with me?" she finally asked, her tone careful, and his gut tightened even more. "Am I just a booty call for you Sam Evans?"

He breathed out a sigh of relief. "No. Not even close. No man would ever be stupid enough to make you a booty call or want to hide a relationship with you."

A slow, radiant smile curved her mouth. "It isn't a booty call for me, either. Don't bother with the windows. I don't care who knows that you stayed the night." She turned back to making the coffee.

Sam couldn't stop from smiling and exhaling as his muscles relaxed, and the weight of dread lifted off his shoulders. Sam found he was smiling as he went out to the truck. The thin layer of snow crunched under his boots and an icy wind cut through his clothes, but he could see breaks in the clouds that promised the snow was over. He looked around, by habit checking for movement, but the early morning was still except for a few birds. The smell of woodsmoke was familiar and cozy, reminding him of when he was really young going to his grandparents' cabin that he had inherited and completely remodeled.

He quickly unlocked his truck to retrieve the can of bacon. They might have nothing but bacon and coffee for breakfast, and he was more than good with that. He'd be fine just eating her out for breakfast.

When he came back in, he was surprised to see that Cedes had brought out her own pancake mix that only required water and a half bottle of butter flavored maple syrup. Soon the bacon was being crisped up in a heavy-ass cast-iron frying pan, while he wrestled the mattress back into the bedroom to clear the area in front of the fire. As soon as the mattress was moved, she knelt in front of the fireplace and carefully made the pancakes, one at a time.

It wasn't long before they were sitting on the floor in front of the fire eating breakfast, though there was a perfectly good table with four chairs, as well as the couch. But the rug was fine, and it kept the percolator within reach. For some reason sitting on the floor felt more intimate, and that made him happier than it should. He was a little amused and bemused at himself for turning into such a lovestruck idiot.

Afterward she heated some water to clean the dishes, then more water for them to wash off. She removed the bandage on his shoulder, cleaned his wound and rebandaged it. "It looks okay," she said. "No red streaks or anything."

He'd known it was okay, because the wound was sore, but not throbbing. What was better than okay was the way Cedes fussed over him. He was naturally a loner and generally he'd taken care of himself, yet having her take care of him was making him melt. He frowned, thinking about it. As he pulled on his shirt he studied her—no makeup, hair simply in two thick braids, wearing two pair of long johns underneath her jeans and thick socks and a sweatshirt. He'd never wanted a woman more, never felt more satisfied by just holding her. The sex was really just the icing on the cake. She was the best he had ever had. The first time had been over way too quickly, the next time had been less urgent with her in charge, and the last time when they both had awakened to his erection pressing in her back was even slower, and he could take his time and enjoy the process, pay attention to what she liked, savor her taste and luxuriate in the slow push and pull that ended in a pounding with her crying for more and harder because of hearing her moans and oh Sams, feeling her amazement each time she came especially when she even ejaculated herself when he took from behind and continually hit her g-spot going deeper than he had felt inside of someone before.

Everything had changed. Because of her, he wasn't alone, didn't want to be alone. And he wasn't even panicking over it. She was his. He was hers. He knew it when she came to his cabin on a cellular level and what transpired last night only made him realize that he was acting like prehistoric male marking and claiming his woman before even knowing if she wanted a relationship with him. He was more civilized than that. Whatever she wanted, was what he would accept, and he would worry about losing her later.

She noticed him watching her; he could see her turn into herself as if she was embarrassed. "What?" she asked, unconsciously tugging at the hem of her sweatshirt as if he hadn't spent all night naked with her and had already seen every single inch of that soft gorgeous dark skin.

He wasn't a poet. He'd never in his life said anything remotely romantic. The closest he could come now was an honest, "You're so sweet and sexy."

"I am—what?"

"Sweet and hella sexy. You took your generator to your aunt's house. You don't eat much, so they'll have more. You put bandages on me. And then the things you did last night and this morning with me and to me. You are the sexiest woman I have ever met in my life. You are almost a contradiction." Yeah, that was romantic. Uncomfortably he shifted his weight. "I can handle your sexiness, but I don't know what to do with your sweetness, don't know what to do other than eat—" He paused, and a slow, purely male smile curved his mouth. "Okay, maybe I do know what to do, but that also mixes it with your sexiness."

He went to her and put his hands on her waist, pulled her close. Immediately she nestled against him as if there was no place on earth where she wanted to be more than right there, her head resting on his shoulder, her arms around his neck. Perfect. Maybe they couldn't spend all day together here, maybe there were things that needed doing, but right now there was nothing that couldn't be put off for a couple of hours.

Right now, they really only needed this just being in each other's arms.

"Herb honey come here and look. It snowed last night." Bailey was in the kitchen putting together breakfast—it was only oatmeal but so far they were still doing okay on food. Herb kept an eye on their food supplies. He wasn't a hunter, so he couldn't provide for them that way. He'd thought about trying fishing, but he didn't know how to do that, either. One of the reasons he'd joined the community patrol was because the members got a portion of food to pay them for their time. Bailey had stopped her food preparations, opened the curtains, and was looking out the kitchen window.

He looked out the living room window, then stepped out on the porch to get a better look. It was cold, but nothing like winter could be in Ohio. There looked to be two or three inches on the ground here, less down in the town below. He and Bailey had come here fairly often during the winters and overall found them mild—but that was when they'd had electricity and could go to Sevierville, Pigeon Forge, or Gatlinburg to any of the thousand and one restaurants that served the tourist trade, when they could stop at any of the grocery stores, when they could fill their gas tank and go home if they wanted. This winter would be a totally different experience.

He was in turmoil because he couldn't put yesterday out of his mind. He was torn in opposite directions—no, not torn, because he knew the right thing to do. What bothered him as much as Lawrence and his gang of thugs was how all of the people obviously thought so lowly of him. He could deal with being unliked; that wasn't important to him. But being disrespected, shut out, taunted—

That bitch, Cedes Jones—he still burned over what she'd done, in front of everyone. She'd embarrassed him, but even worse, the rude gesture had belittled him. He wouldn't have been surprised if her aunt had done it. He was sure she was a dyke anyway with that low haircut and no man, but until now everybody thought that Cedes was a mouselike woman afraid of her own shadows. If a mouse had the nerve to disrespect him like that one who was unelected at that; then, he would just give up; he just couldn't take it.

"Breakfast is ready honey bear," Bailey called, making him realize he'd spent more than a few minutes on the porch. And though Tennessee's winters were nothing like Ohio's, he was cold, because he'd come out without a coat.

She made a soft, exasperated, wifely sound when she saw him shivering, and handed him a cup of steaming hot tea, which both of them liked okay. They had some coffee left, but she alternated what she prepared, so they wouldn't get bored. Some days she heated apple cider; that wasn't his favorite, but he never said that to her. Today she'd made some flatbread and toasted it, to eat with the oatmeal.

He patted her hand as he sat down at the table. "Everything looks scrumptious my dear," he said, as he always did. Bailey was a darn good cook, his former waistline was a testament of how finger licking her cooking was, but even if she hadn't been he'd still have complimented what she worked to prepare for him. She smiled at him, and the first thing he thought was how pretty she looked, then he suddenly noticed that she had on some makeup, and she'd put her hair up. She looked as if she was going somewhere.

Not just going out but as if she was going to work as a physical therapy assistant. A few years ago, she had started going back from reduced hours after recovering from her heart attack much to Herb's displeasure. She now only worked as a substitute PTA because they were getting older, closer to retirement age, and they liked to travel, and liked their vacation time spent here. He'd been looking forward to spending some leisurely time with her, then that CME happened and here they were. He said, "You look really pretty," and wiggled his finger at his head and eyes to indicate both the hairdo and makeup. "What's the occasion?"

"It's been a few days now since Roz Washington broke her leg, so it's time she started some gentle therapy. You know where she lives, don't you?"

He did, because of the community patrols, but that didn't mean he wanted Bailey associating with those ill-tempered, ungrateful bitches and probably lesbians. "She has plenty of people to take care of her," he said, not answering Bailey's question and trying to deflect her.

"Are any of them a trained PTA?"

Frustration began rising in him, because he could see in Bailey's clear gaze that she'd made up her mind and likely nothing he could say would change it. He hadn't told her about Cedes Jones giving him the finger in front of the whole community, because he didn't want Bailey to know how embarrassed he'd been, how the community at large seemed to think so little of him.

"I don't know," he finally muttered.

"Well, we know that I am," Bailey said, patting his hand and leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Would you like another cup of tea? The water's still hot."

The change of subject told him that he might as well save his breath. Bailey wanted to contribute, not just to their neighbors but to their own welfare. She knew that her expertise could be traded for food and goods, that she'd return from Roz Washington's house with something for them to eat, whether it was a few fresh eggs or some milk, maybe a can of soup. Who knew? But barter was the way things were working now.

Like it or not, he was taking Bailey with him and dropping her off at the Washington house when he went down to see Mike Chang.

From a seated position in the bed she was so tired of spending most of her time in, Roz glared at her leg, the damn traitorous limb under the covers. She needed to stop cursing so much, Bree was getting way too much enjoyment from it, but . . . damn!

She was bored out of her mind. The pain had faded quite a bit in the last three days, thank goodness, but she was still stuck in the bed. Part of it was her own fault—okay, most of it was her own fault—because she was the one who'd come up with that idea of acting worse than she was so Cedes would stay in charge of the community. Cedes not only had settled in, she seemed to have forgotten how hard she'd fought not to be in charge. Maybe having the Trouty Mouth Hottie also involved made a difference to her; if not, then something was seriously wrong with the girl's hormones, which she didn't think was the case.

The good news was Roz didn't feel bad, all things considered, as long as she didn't move. Her ribs were still sore, and if it hadn't been for them she'd likely have already been up trying out those crutches, at least when Cedes was nowhere around. But they were, and she hadn't. Unless Cedes' Hottie carried her to the living room, she was pretty much stuck. Though . . . honestly, having him carry her back and forth wasn't a hardship. She was old, not dead.

Cedes hadn't come for breakfast this morning; she usually did, but not always. Roz smiled at the thought. She wasn't blind; she'd seen the way the white boy had been looking at her niece—and he'd brought bacon. These days, that was practically a marriage proposal, and she couldn't be happier for Cedes, who had never said anything, but anyone with half a brain could tell that the broken engagement from Anthony had devastated her to the point she simply hadn't tried to date again. Having someone like Sam Evans so focused on her could only be a good thing. Sam was worth five Anthonys even though the mountain man was obviously more than a little touched himself. Roz didn't mind him being a little off his rocker most military men were. Her own grandson after this experience would probably be the same. And Cedes was not the icon of perfect mental health herself. She had not seen any crazy eyed stalkerish violence in the man, and if he ever tried to hurt her niece as Anthony had done, she didn't care how big he was, she would take him down herself. Anthony's saving grace was that he lived in New York and not Tennessee.

Roz sighed. She was overjoyed to leave the community leadership to Cedes, but her own home needed tending. There were preparations to be made for the coming winter. Food would be a consideration until things returned to normal, if they ever did. She'd been thinking about setting up a cold frame in the backyard. Maybe she could grow lettuce and broccoli there, long before spring arrived. She wanted to help with gathering herbs and learn what each plant was and what it was good for—besides a salad of wild plants. There was wood to . . . well, she wasn't going to chop wood, but she could stack the logs where she wanted them, nearby but not too near because she didn't want the bugs in the wood getting into the house. The simple fact was, she couldn't afford to lie here and let the people she was supposed to be taking care of take care of her instead. It was just wrong.

She had painted herself into a corner, and had no one to blame but herself.

She'd played up the pain and confusion when Cedes was around, and would for a while longer. Why abandon her underhanded strategy now? At least it was somewhat working; as she'd expected, Cedes was handling her new responsibilities well, so well that even the Cove Mountain Sexy Beast was now involved.

She should probably start calling White Chocolate by his name, because she thought he might soon become, not just a customer, not just a neighbor who was helping out during a crisis, but family. Imagine that! She might be counting her chickens before they hatched, but she didn't think so.

Roz had no idea what Sam Evans was thinking, but she'd bet her ass that she knew what he was focused on and moving fast to secure what he wanted. He was no fool; he knew the treasure he'd be getting in marrying and locking down Cedes ASAP.

The evidence of his interest was beyond obvious. Not only was he now involved with the community patrol, there were the solar lights, then he'd shown up here last night and eaten supper with them. And he'd brought bacon! That white man with lips bigger than hers was in love.

Her niece on the other hand was definitely interested, but would shy little Cedes actually do anything about it? What could she as a well meaning Aunt do to help things along?

Nothing. This was no time to play matchmaker, not that she knew how or likely even needed to. Nature would take its course. It always did. The desire to populate the earth was always rampant during turbulent times. These young people would have to get busy often to replenish the earth's population to probably half of what it once was.

She heard the front door open and close, and immediately dropped her head back and half closed her eyes. Best to look as incapacitated as possible, in case that was Cedes, who stopped by several times a day, as if she didn't have anything better to do. But a moment later Roz heard Carmen's voice, followed by one she didn't recognize.

Bored, after days in bed, Roz was tempted to make the effort to stand and take a quick peek around the corner. She could get out of the bed, and had done so several times to make short trips to the portable toilet just a few feet away. There were crutches in reach, in case she needed them—which she did, since she wasn't supposed to put any weight on her bad leg. She didn't make a move. One thing she wasn't, and wouldn't be for quite a while, was quick.

Carmen stuck her head in the bedroom door and called out softly, "Roz? Are you up for a visitor?"

Not knowing who the visitor was, Roz managed a low groan. She'd stopped taking Carmen's pain pills yesterday, because even though there was pain that came and went, those pills needed to be saved for a potential emergency down the road. That didn't mean she couldn't still pretend to be out of it. "Visitor? For me? How sweet . . ." She broke off, seeing a strange woman standing behind Carmen. Well, crap. Who the hell was this? The face was kind of familiar, but—

Carmen stepped to the side of the bed; the strange woman followed close behind. She was in her mid-fifties, Roz guessed. Attractive, in an average way, around the same height as Carmen. Her brown hair, shot with just a bit of gray, was pulled back into a neat bun. The bun and ponytail had become the go-to hairstyles of the apocalypse.

"Roz, this is Bailey Duncan."

Duncan? As in Herb? Heaven help us. That's where she'd seen the woman before, at the community barbecue—not that Ben had bothered to actually introduce his wife to the woman who had taken the job he considered himself perfect for.

"She used to be a physical therapist, and—"

"PTA," Bailey corrected, smiling at them both. "The A is for assistant. I never got the extra training to be a PT, but maybe I'm better than nothing."

Roz's eyes widened. Had Herb sent his wife to incapacitate her? Well, incapacitate her more than she already was.

"I'm fine," Roz said. "Carmen and Bree have been taking good care of me."

"I'm sure they have," Bailey said in a gentle voice, "but it won't hurt to have me take a look."

Wouldn't it? Did that sweet voice and those kind blue eyes disguise ulterior motives?

Bailey pulled the coverlet down to expose Roz's leg. For comfort and ease, Roz wore loose, knee-length pajama bottoms. She'd chosen these pajamas for the softness of the material, not for the bright yellow chicks. The chicks were a little embarrassing, but were the least of her problems at the moment.

Both legs, the good one and the bad, were exposed. The splint, such as it was, consisted of two narrow and smooth planks of wood tied to the leg with long strips of what had once been Bree's too-small T-shirts. The setup was crude, maybe, but it had done the trick.

"Carmen told me it was a clean break, and I have to say, it looks pretty good. No redness, not much swelling. It looks as though you're doing well, though before I leave we'll want to elevate the leg just a bit more." Bailey looked at Carmen. "Do you have any free weights? No more than five pounds. We'll want to start upper body strength exercises right away."

"The problem is my leg, not my flabby arms," Roz said sullenly. She wasn't in the mood to be polite.

Bailey wasn't insulted; she didn't seem to care at all that her patient was being obstinate. "We want to keep your arms and shoulders as fit as possible, even work on your core, when we can. It's too easy to lose muscle tone when you're forced to stay in bed for days at a time. When you move to the crutches, you'll need your strength."

Damn it, the woman was right. "My hand weights are in the garage," Roz said, shooting Carmen a look that she hoped signaled help me. "Behind the dusty treadmill." That treadmill had been dusty long before the CME had hit. So had the weights.

Carmen nodded, grinned as if she was enjoying herself—which she probably was—and left the room, leaving Roz alone with the enemy.

Roz steeled herself for whatever pain might come, now that there were no witnesses. Instead Bailey remained pleasant and easygoing, as she moved to the foot of the bed and showed Roz how to do what she called ankle pumps. Up and down, up and down, with her feet.

Carmen returned with the hand weights, five pounders, then said goodbye and slipped out of the room, closing the bedroom door behind her.

Now the real torture would begin . . .

But there was no torture. Bailey was all business, walking Roz through more ankle exercises, as well as simple moves with the weights. She worked with Roz on getting out of bed without putting any weight on the broken leg, and walking properly with the borrowed crutches, though until Roz's sore ribs were better, using the crutches was limited. She was pleased to see the portable toilet, though goodness knows Roz was not pleased at all that she needed the damn thing.

By the time Roz returned to bed, she was exhausted. Whoever thought rehab was easy work had never been through it. After placing more pillows under the bad leg, Bailey pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat.

"You're very lucky the break is no worse than it is."

"Don't I know it," Roz mumbled. She was a little breathless, and that in itself was alarming. Here she'd been playing up the injury so Cedes would take over, and it appeared she didn't need to fake anything at all.

"It's scary, isn't it? How what would've been a minor incident a couple of months ago can now be life-threatening. Scary, too, how people change, when things go bad." There remained a kind of sweetness, a patience, in Bailey's eyes, which was surprising given who she was married to.

"I can't argue with that," Roz said. She leaned back and relaxed. It was early in the day, but damn it, she could use a nap!

Bailey relaxed in her chair. "Herb didn't want me to come here today."

No shit.

"If I'd heard about your fall sooner, I would've come right away." She smiled. "If Herb knew that, he never would've mentioned your accident to me."

Against her best instincts, Roz liked Herb Duncan's wife. She never would've thought that possible. "He and I didn't get off to the best start," she admitted. "I imagine he's happy to see me suffer."

"Oh, it's not that," Bailey said sharply, firing up in her husband's defense. "Herb can be difficult, I know, and he always thinks his way is the best way because he's had to fight for what he has. But he would never purposely harm a soul. He doesn't like seeing you, or anyone else, in pain."

Roz wasn't so sure about that.

"I wish he and your niece could get along. He was so upset yesterday after that business over the gas. I don't think he slept a wink last night."

Roz didn't say anything. This woman knew Herb and his faults as well as anyone, she imagined.

Bailey sighed. "He can be difficult, I admit it. It's— He needs to feel important. It's the way he grew up, in foster care. He never felt as if he mattered to anyone. He had to fight for everything he got, and to this day he can be downright unpleasant to people who he thinks are belittling him. He's very protective of me. Always has been, but especially since my heart attack ten years ago."

Roz sat up a little. "You had a heart attack?"

Bailey waved off Roz's concern. "Yes, but it's no big deal."

"A heart attack most definitely is a big deal."

"My doctors say I'm fit as a fiddle. I recovered nicely, but Herb has never believed it. I think he's always watching me, waiting for the next one to hit without warning. As I said, he's very protective, much more so than is necessary. If he had his way I'd stay inside until things are back to normal. He tried to talk me out of coming here today, though of course he knew he was going to lose that argument." She laughed a little. "The secret is in spoiling him a little, then he gives in. When I let him know I wasn't changing my mind, he drove me down. He was coming down anyway, to see someone. Mike somebody, I think?"

"Mike Chang?"

"Yes, that's it. Usually Herb walks down here, but he drove today because he won't let me make the trip on foot." She laughed. "I could make it down the mountain, but I'm not so sure about making it back up, so he was right about that part."

Ben Franklin had a good quality that Roz hadn't expected. He loved his wife.

"Are you still taking pain medication?" Bailey asked, changing the subject abruptly. "Carmen told me you were taking some of her leftover pills."

"I quit taking them yesterday."

Bailey nodded. "Good. Next time I come down I'll bring a bottle of wine, and we'll break it open after your session." Her eyes sparkled, and she gave a mischievous grin.

Wine. Oh, that would be better than the pain pills! She wasn't much of a drinker, so they didn't have a single bottle in the house, but right about now . . .

She leaned back against the pillows and grinned. "Bailey, I believe you and I are going to be great friends."