Page 3 of Nate Hayes

“Behind me, I heard her mutter, “Lord help me, I think I’m gonna marry that man.”

2

Nate

I’d just poured my coffee when I heard the knock.

Not the “I need something” kind. Thetap-tap-tap, I brought you food and probably chaoskind.

Sure enough, when I opened the door, Willa Mae stood there with a wide grin and a basket full of pancakes wrapped in a gingham towel. And a thermos. And a goat.

The goat.

“Please tell me that’s not Pancake.”

“It’s Pancake,” she said, like I’d just won a prize. “He gets separation anxiety.”

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Youbroughthim to my porch.”

“I also brought cinnamon pecan pancakes and homemade blackberry syrup, so stop judging.”

Fair enough.

She breezed past me, stopped, and glanced at the table on my porch. Pancake trotted behind her, head high, as if to sayThis is my porch now.

I was about to comment on territory marking when Willa suddenly stopped..

She went still.

I followed her gaze and froze.

There was an envelope on the little table. A plain white envelope I hadn’t seen when I walked outside earlier.

No address. No stamp. Just my name on the front.

Handwritten.

In thick black marker.

“Was that here earlier?” she asked.

“No,” I said slowly, crossing the porch. “You know how far off the road I live. No one should’ve been able to get inside, my screen door is always locked.”

“Then how’d they get on your porch with that screen door locked?”

I didn’t answer. My gut was already twisting.

I opened the envelope.

Inside was a single photo.

Willa.

At the market.

From behind a nearby stall. She was laughing, tossing her braid over her shoulder, holding a bar of soap like she was telling some ridiculous story.

“Max said this town was quiet,” I muttered.

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