Page 165 of Ransom

"And then there was the time Robert had to get old Mrs. Henderson's parrot out of the church bell tower?—"

"How'd it get up there?" Colton leans forward, his lawn chair creaking ominously.

Pete snorts. "Son, you might want to be careful with that chair. Sounds like it's about ready to give up the ghost."

"Nah, it's fine." Colton shifts, and the chair lets out a sound like a dying cat. "Though it does sound a bit... musical."

"Musical?" Earl wheezes. "Sounds more like my wife's attempt at singing."

"Now, Earl," Pete wags his finger, "Margaret's singing ain't that bad. At least she don't make the dogs howl no more." He's right. She's been taking singing lessons for about thirty years, and she's gotten a little better than she used to be. The dogs don't howl anymore, they just run away.

Far, far away.

I try one more time. "About Jonas?—"

"So this parrot," Colton interrupts, completely absorbed. "Did it talk? I always wanted a parrot."

For fuck's sake. I'm clearly not getting anywhere. Spinning, I head back to the shop. Ransom's got some explaining to do.

"Oh Lord," Earl hoots. "It sure did talk. It kept yellin' 'Jesus loves you' every time the bell rang. Drove Pastor Mike near crazy."

There's another squeaking groan.

"Boy, you're temptin' fate with that chair," Pete warns.

"It's holding just fi?—"

CRACK!

I'm halfway down the block when I hear the crash. Turning back, I see Colton, ass touching the sidewalk, his sparkly pink overalls glinting in the sun. His knees are hooked on the metal frame, the back of the chair supporting his shoulders and head. The man is wedged good and tight.

Earl and Pete are doubled over laughing, tears streaming down their faces as they try to help him up.

"Hold on, son—" Earl wheezes, tugging at Colton's arm.

"No, no, other way—" Pete grabs the other side.

"Jesus loves you!" Earl cackles, which sets them all off again.

I shake my head and continue toward the garage. Let him stay there. Someone else will come along to help him out. I have bigger fish to fry.

I march into the garage, my mind spinning with questions. Ransom's bent over an engine, his coveralls rolled down to his waist, revealing a white t-shirt that's seen better days. Don't rich people throw away their shit the second it gets a stain? Something about Ransom holding on to an obviously stained, ratty t-shirt makes me feel all warm. The collar even has little holes in it. The suits were hot. This t-shirt? So much better.

Dammit. Focus, Blair.

"Why is your brother wearing sparkly pink overalls outside Henderson's Hardware?"

He straightens up so fast he bangs his head on the hood. "Ow, fuck." Rubbing his scalp, he turns to face me. "Wait, what?"

"And why is Jonas having a meeting with Angie? And what were Maverick and Cadence doing at the realtor's office? Wait. Is she his wife? I don't even know if they're married."

"Slow down." Ransom reaches for me, but I dodge his dirty hands. I will not allow myself to get distracted. Shit's happening, and I want to know what.

"Don't try to distract me. What are your brothers doing here? Did they come with you? Why aren't they at work? Where are you all staying? Why is Colton wearing sparkly pink overalls?" I wag a finger at him. "What are you up to?"

His laugh echoes through the garage. "Come here." He grabs a shop rag to wipe his hands, then leads me to the workbench. Opening the ancient mini-fridge, he pulls out two Cokes, pops the top, and hands me one.

"First off, no, they didn't come with me. I'm as surprised as you are to find them scattered around town.”

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