Page 35 of Trigger Happy

She snuggles against him. “I do, but I also liked your soft little belly back in college. It was much cozier to rest my head on your chest back then. Now it’s like cuddling with a rock.”

“My poor girl.” Arch kisses the tip of her nose. “Is your steak too juicy, too?”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Bobbi smiles up at him, and they exchange one of those tender looks that fills a person’s cracks, makes them whole. I glance away, focusing on the bundles of peonies at the Fierce & Fine Florals booth.

No one’s ever looked at me like—

No.

I shut down the thought before it can grow into a weed I’ll never get out of my head.

Bobbi tucks a blond strand behind her ear, and I notice a puckered scar on her right forearm. I have to stop myself from grabbing her to get a closer look.

“What’s that from?” I demand.

Lawton pinches my side so hard I yelp.

“My wife’s a little blunt sometimes,” he adds with a look in my direction. “You’ll have to excuse her wildly inappropriate questions.”

I wince. As much as I hate to admit when Lawton’s right, that was coming on a little strong, so I point to the scar on my face I got from a knife fight with a murderous butcher. He was selling ground beef that was… well, let’s just say it wasn’t from cows. I didn’t agree with his meat processing standards, so things got heated. It was one of the few times I was caught off guard, and I ended up locked in a meat freezer for three hours before I escaped and ground him up.

I force a shrug. “Sorry, I just get curious.”

Lawton’s hand settles right on the curve of my back in a firm, possessive press that I shouldn’t want to lean into.

Bobbi waves. “Oh this? It’s nothing. I burned myself making toffee for Mr. Tate last July, which, I know what you’re thinking. Isn’t toffee a Christmas thing? Or a Kwanzaa thing? Actually, I don’t know if it is…” Arch gives her a look. “Anyway, Mr. T struggles with his memory, so in his head it’s Christmas year-round, and who am I to shit on someone’s rainbow, you know? I mean—”

“So, what do you think of Benson so far?” Arch says, cutting her off with a kiss. I have a feeling he does that a lot.

I scan booth after booth of organic dried flowers, organic Himalayan salt, even an organic custom-engraved hat station, searching for something to say that doesn’t involve blood or shoot-outs or knife sharpening. This is what I get for only conversing with Betta fish.

I spot a stuffed deer head hanging over a wooden sign that says Harvest House Farms: Handmade Local Goods!

“This town is adorable. Love all the antlers,” I say, and then mentally cringe a second later.

Love the antlers?

Lawton makes a strangled noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

“Oh. Yeah…” Arch’s smile tightens. “Are you really into taxidermy?”

I enjoy killing criminals as much as the next assassin, but it’s not like I’m stuffing my victims’ bodies and proudly displaying them on my wall. I have standards. Even though I do not love stuffed dead animals, if Bobbi is a hunting fanatic, I need to choose my words carefully.

“It’s so…” I search for the right word and settle on, “authentic.”

Bobbi’s nose scrunches. “Yeah, this town is obsessed, but honestly, I think it’s kind of macabre.”

A sigh of relief gusts out of me. “Okay, I didn’t want to say it, but it feels like the deer’s eyes are following me.”

“I know!” She nods to the twelve-point buck head. “Don’t judge, but I name them all. I call that one Annie, after Anne Boleyn because, well, you know…” She drags a finger across her throat like a beheading.

“We should call the other one Marie Antoinette,” I say.

“Stop.” She grabs my arm. Strong grip. “That’s what I named the one hanging above Old Town Boutique. I figure since these women don’t get statues for all the good they did, it’s the least I can do.”

“I was just thinking that!” I say. “We should add some sort of plaque under Annie. Petitioned the King to provide free health care for the sick.”

“I love that.” Bobbi chuckles. “Anyway, we have to run back to our candle booth, but don’t forget. Dinner this weekend. I special ordered these Marcona almonds from Italy, and the shipping cost more than my mortgage. That’s not true, the ranch is paid off, but I felt like a hyperbole was fitting here.”