Sam would see Sheila again today, in the early afternoon, but Sheila had told her and Miles that Sam talked more about Keely now and how he’d stuffed tons of leaves down her shirt. He talked more about Jessborough and Mrs. Miggs at the quilt shop who gave the children peppermints than he did about his kidnapping or about Clancy and Beau. It was a good sign, a very hopeful thing. Sheila was sure he wasn’t holding back. He was a resilient little kid.

He was more than that, Katie thought, much more than that, especially to her, and that wasn’t particularly wise. She got out of her truck and walked up the driveway. All was clear.

When Miles joined her, he said, “I doubt they’ll even give us a thought. Your mom is the best, Katie.” He paused a moment, drew in a deep breath, reached out his hand to touch a vivid gold maple leaf and said, “How much longer will it look like God’s country around here?”

“Another two, three weeks, at most,” she said. “Then the storms start coming. We have snow mostly in February and March. And that’s beautiful, too. But right now? This is perfect.”

He walked automatically to the driver’s side of Katie’s Silverado, then stopped, frowning.

“No, go ahead and drive.” She tossed him the keys.

He saw the lock box on the floor in the back that held her rifle, the rifle she’d used to save Sam.

He said as he fastened his seat belt, “Those two deputies, they’re good?”

She nodded, feeling exactly what he was feeling. “Cole and Jeffrey will really keep their eyes open. They both saw what happened at my house when Clancy and Beau went down, so they know this is way out of the ordinary. They’re so wired, in fact, I told them to stick to decaf. This was the first time either of them had been involved in any real violence professionally.”

“What kind of training do your deputies get?”

“They all have a ten-week training course at the law enforcement academy in Donelson, near Nashville. My people have also taken courses at the local junior college—Walters State, you know, law enforcement and judicial courses. Wade is trying to get so many courses under his belt that—well, never mind.”

“Is he the one who might be trying to get your job?”

She gave him a sunny smile. “No chance of that.”

Miles liked that smile of hers, and the mouth that made those smiles, and that gave him pause. He didn’t have to move the seat back much at all. He looked over at her, an eyebrow arched. “What do you mean they haven’t seen violence? Violence is part of their job, isn’t it?”

Katie laughed. “Jessborough isn’t Knoxville or Chattanooga. The toughest thing any of them has had to do here in the sheriff’s department of Jessborough is round up Mr. Bailey’s cows after they were spooked by a low-flying crop duster in August. This is a small town with very few bad outside influences. No hard drugs, just some pot our locals grow, and an occasional still deep in the hills, which is kind of a tradition around here. Most people consider that good clean fun.” She paused a moment, looked out the window, and said, “We had nothing but peace here until this happened. I have ten deputies, all of them men. The testosterone has been flowing madly since I got Sam on Saturday.”

“Linnie is some dispatcher.”

“Yes, she’s excellent, knows everyone’s problems, knows about all their relationships, even the illicit ones. She’s the backbone of the department. I would seriously consider hurting anyone who tried to take her away from me.”

She directed him to the big Victorian on Pine Wood Lane. As he looked at the house, realized who lived there, he felt his insides chill.

Her hand was light on his forearm. “We will be professional about this, Miles. Do you agree?”

He nodded. “I swear I won’t tie up either of them in their playroom.”

“Good.”

“But I was thinking I’d like to see what they’ve got in there.”

“You into whips and handcuffs?”

“Not that I know of.” He looked thoughtful, grinned at her, and said, “I promise not to drop-kick them out one of those big front windows either.”

“Good,” she said again. “We got some new cards to play. If we do it really carefully, something might pop.”

Katie pressed the doorbell, heard a light footfall. A few moments later, Elsbeth McCamy answered. She looked just like she always looked: hot. It always amazed Katie that she was with Reverend McCamy, who was so dark and serious and intense, his entire being seemingly focused inward on the state of his soul. Every word out of his mouth was a paean to his God, and to his notions that men should be victims of His love. Victim of love—what a strange choice of words, but now it had a new meaning to her.