Page 67 of Windlass

Tires on gravel caught her attention. It was probably a client of the daycare, but something made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She narrowed her eyes against the glare of the setting sun to get a better view, and the peace of her evening exploded.

“That motherfucker.”

“Stevie?”

“Keep going with the lesson. I have to go deal with this.” She didn’t give Ivy any more explanation and vaulted the fence, breaking into a jog to intercept the woman making a beeline for the barn and Angie.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked her least favorite piranha. God, that hat looked stupid on her.

“None of your fucking business,” said Lana.

“Actually, it is. I live here.”

“You rent. Angie owns the place. I’m here to see her, not you.”

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

“Which you know how exactly?” Lana drawled the words, but Stevie saw the anger simmering beneath her affect.

“Because she fucking told me.”

“Yeah, no. Move.”

“Nope.” Stevie braced herself in front of the taller woman, blood pounding. She would love nothing more than the opportunity to punch this woman’s lights into next week. “If she wants to see you, she’ll call you. Oh wait, she isn’t responding to your texts.”

For a second Lana looked like she might deck Stevie for that, but then a nasty smile spread across her face. “Oh, I get it. She’s finally fucking you.”

Stevie’s face roared with angry heat. “Watch it.”

Lana tried to sidestep. “I guess if it took two years for someone to notice me, I’d be upset too.”

It had been longer than two years, but Lana didn’t need to know that, especially when her words dug right into the old wound.

“Get the fuck off the farm.”

“Might as well wait. She’ll get bored of you in, like, twenty minutes.”

The arrogance of this piece of shit. “Die in a fire.”

Lana reached out to push her shoulder aside. Stevie knocked her arm away with force.

“Seriously?” said Lana.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“You really think she stopped talking to me?” Lana reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, scrolling for a moment before flashing it at Stevie. A photograph of Angie, topless and wrists tied in front of her face, filled the screen. Heat again seared Stevie’s vision. It was an old photo. It had to be.

“Then why are you here acting all butt-hurt? I know she didn’t invite you.” Stevie’s voice didn’t betray the hurt in her chest as much as she’d feared, but it did leak through, and Lana lapped it up like a cat.

“You sure about that?”

“Text her. Tell her to meet you out front.”

Lana typed out a message and hit send, flashing the screen again. The photo was nowhere in sight. Old then, Stevie hoped.

“I’m surprised you’re even interested in my sloppy seconds,” Lana said.

Stevie’s fist flew toward Lana, who stopped it with an annoyingly quick reflex, pushing back hard. Stevie stumbled to one side.

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