Page 62 of Ryder's War

“That was bold,” Ryder said approvingly.

“I sent him an envelope of gingerbread men with all the heads cut off just for funsies,” she continued. “I sold his mail, steamed open all his letters, and wroteI’m not runningacross the front of all the pages. Then I glued them shut again and shoved them in his box.”

“Shit, woman, you aren’t taking any prisoners.” Ryder had to admit, he was impressed.

“I mailed a dog chain to his office with a picture of a man wearing it, too. Then I paid some neighborhood kid to drop cut-out pictures of birds all over his front porch, you know, to remind him about the dead birds his crazy security guy left on our porch. Then I picked up a bunch of stray cats and leashed them all the way down his front fence along with a poster proclaiming crazy cat lover willing to part with beloved pets.

“I sat in a tree across the street eating an apple while about a hundred people beat his door down complaining that he had them in the cold andwhat a horrible person he was for tying up animals that way.”

“Jesus, Tiffany.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” she said, reaching out to cover his thigh with her warm, soft hand. “I called a no-kill shelter and had them all picked up. They’re safe and sound.”

“I meant, you’re pushing the crazy fucker too far,” he reprimanded lightly.

“Maybe the crazy fucker needs to be pushed.”

Tiffany and Ryder swiveled their heads around at the same time to find her mother standing there with a pot roast. The casual grace of her mother's presence, the warm aroma of home cooking created an illusion of normalcy around their distinctly abnormal lives. But beneath the domestic facade, plans were being laid, traps were being set.

“I mean it,” Sarah said as she entered the room. “Sometimes fuckers need to be taught a lesson.”

Tiffany pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Well, Mom, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you drop an F-bomb. You say the word like it’s part of a foreign language or something.”

She set a large platter on the table before speaking. “To be quite honest, I just felt like trying something new. Not sure how I feel about it, but the fact remains that Mr. Chamberlain does need to be taught a lesson. Tell him about the other day with the water guns, Tiff. That was really funny.”

Ryder cursed under his breath. “When in the hell do you have time to sleep, princess?”

Grinning, Tiffany scooted her chair closer. “I picked up a case of super soakers from the local warehouse club and handed them out to all the kids in the neighborhood. Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped. “They were a really good deal because it was the end of the season. Anyway, every year we have a block party for the kids. I sent Stuart a specially engraved invitation.”

“Let me guess, when he showed up, they swarmed him,” Ryder deadpanned.

Nodding, he could tell that she was trying not to smile. “He such a pompous jerk, I didn’t even have to encourage them much. Even the high school bullies got a piece of the action.”

Ryder covered her hand with his. “I don’t even feel sorry that you’re turning the table on the stupid fucker.”

“Me either.”

Glancing up at Mrs. Donovan, Ryder realized she’d filled the table with food. His father and Hickory slid into empty seats after Hickory held out Sarah’s chair like the gentleman Ryder knew he wasn’t. Shooting the man a dirty look, Ryder decided they were going to go a round or two if he tried anything with Tiffany’s grieving mother.

“Mister Hickory, would you carve the roast?” Sarah requested sweetly.

“I’d be happy to, ma’am.”

Shoveling food into his mouth like a starving man, Ryder didn’t realize how hungry he actually was. He vaguely realized that Tiffany was slipping food onto his plate. Barely looking up, he mused out loud, “I’m worried the stupid fucker is going to snap.” The words carried the weight of experience. He'd seen too many cornered animals to trust this fragile peace. “Men like him don't just fade away when their control slips.”

“Here, have another corn muffin.” Tiffany dropped one on his plate. “I’ve got three plans for how to handle him when the time comes.”

Tossing her a lopsided smile, he stated sternly, “Stop trying to distract me with your mother’s fantastic home cooking. That ain’t a nice thing to do to a starving man.”

She dazzled him with a million-megawatt smile. “You caught me out on that one. If it’s any consolation, you’re nowhere near as easy to get one over on as Stuart, babe.”

“You know something, Tiff? I love that you’re coming into your own on this whole Stuart thing, but these kinds of situations never go down quite like we think they should when we’re face-to-face with someone. Especially not an unbalanced psychopath like your ex. I want you to stay in lockstep with me on this one. Understood?”

She lifted her eyebrows but didn’t try to argue. Openly, anyway. “Yes, sir, I surely do. So, are you ready for that fantastic cake your father picked out for us?”

“Sure thing, Tiff. As a matter of fact, I’ll help you fetch it from the kitchen.”

Her mother sighed. “For crying out loud, Tiffany, just take the man upstairs and spend some time talking this thing out. You’re both on opposite sides of the page right now, and it’s making me nervous.”

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