“Evenin ma’am.” Wylie tipped his hat. “Out here tailgatin like locals? Thought you was one a them decadent tourists.” He grinned. “You come by to see Aunt Matt?”
Ennis forced a hoarse whisper. “Friend a mine grew up in that house.”
Mahogany gloved hands on the saddle horn, Wylie leaned foward, squinted. “You’re Ennis del Mar, ain’t you?”
It wasn’t humid, but Ennis began to sweat.
“Cousin Jack told me all about you.”
Ennis flushed, fists tightened, he flashed back to Alma’s kitchen, things said and done that awful Thanksgiving so many years ago. “You don’t know nothin bout nothin...”
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