6
“Absolutely nothing,” Ty said that night after dinner. He’d come over to check on me. Which I didn’t mind. Not one bit. “No one can plan a cow giving birth to triplets. It just happens. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the vial.”
“Triplets or not, the vial most likely came from the Rocking Double D ranch. It makes sense. Morty Moore must have stolen it from there.”
We sat on my front steps. They led to the front door painted a deep pumpkin, which stood open. Two planters were on either side filled with bright geraniums and other plants I couldn’t name.
I’d showered and changed back into shorts and a T-shirt after the pool, but skipped shoes. Ty sat close to me, his hands resting on bent knees. I could see the small scratches on his forearms from the explosion and our dive into th
