Page 76 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

“Celeste, no. I refuse to believe it. This is some quirk of your humor, of Leo’s humor. You’re in on it together. You are too tiny and adorable to be a killer. It’s like a squirrel stumbled from the forest and started walking upright everywhere and wearing pants. And you expect me to believe that little squirrel is capable of killing people?”

“A few years ago a squirrel bit through a transformer and took out the power to the entire eastern seaboard for a week. Don’t underestimate squirrels because they’re small.”

He stared at her, unblinking now. She sat up and kissed him. “Turn off the light. I’m so tired.”

“I may never sleep again,” he said, but he obligingly turned off the light, nestling close against her back. “Good night my little spoon. I love you so.”

She gripped his arm where it lay on her stomach. “Sam.”

“Hmm.”

“I think our life is about to get very, very good.”

“We’ll make it so,” he agreed, bestowing a sleepy kiss on the back of her ear.

Smiling, warm, safe, and happy, Celeste drifted to sleep.

Chapter 34

The next morning they woke to the sound of trucks barreling down the driveway. Lots and lots and lots of trucks. Celeste sat up, wild haired and confused. “It’s a convoy.” Her first thought was to warn everyone of IED’s, proving army life would die a hard and slow death over the years to come.

“I don’t know what it is,” Sam said, yawning as he sat up beside her.

“I’ve got to get my gun,” she said, hopping out of bed.

“You mean you weren’t wearing it last night while we slept? That is progress,” he said happily, slipping out of bed and padding down the hall behind her.

Someone knocked on the door and they froze.

“Terrorists with retribution on their minds probably don’t knock,” he whispered. “I think it’s safe to skip the gun, just this once.”

With a little nod, Celeste opened the door, blinking in surprise when she saw Maybe and Tony on the other side.

“Good morning,” Maybe said cheerfully, doing the frantic wave thing once more, as if they were a great distance away and not right next to each other.

“Morning,” Celeste said, giving her a few halfhearted hand flaps in return.

“We came to apologize,” Tony said.

Maybe nudged him. “That wasn’t how we practiced it. You were supposed to be smooth.”

“I’m smooth by virtue of my existence,” he returned and she retched loudly. They elbowed each other a couple of times, looking more like teenage siblings than grown friends, before coming to some kind of unspoken resolution.

“Anyway, we came to apologize,” Maybe began again. “Because we feel bad.”

“You do?” Celeste said. “But why?”

“Because we’ve put so much pressure on you about the orchard. It’s not fair. All of us want it, true. But it’s not a condition of all of us wanting you. Whether or not we ever have an orchard again doesn’t matter. We’re so happy you’re here, Sam and Celeste, and we don’t want you to go away.”

“There were a couple of bad apples, orchard pun intended,” Tony said when Maybe paused to dash at her brimming eyes. “We wanted you to know they have nothing to do with Paradise. They were a couple of drifters who became ranch hands and lingered. They’re not from here, and they don’t represent us.”

“I appreciate that,” Sam said, nodding.

“So do I,” Celeste said. “You’ve made us feel so welcome. You’ve become…friends. As for the orchard, I think it’s a loss.”

“Well,” Maybe drawled. “We were thinking about that, too. It was too much, expecting someone new and inexperienced to do all that work by yourself. So we had this idea…”

“A wonderful awful idea,” Tony interjected. Maybe nudged him again, annoyed at the interruption.

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