3
NASH
“Thanks again for helping my mom with that huge armoire. You’ve earned this,” Shelby said, handing me a beer bottle she’d just pulled from a cooler. It was ice cold beneath my fingers.
I took a swig, then followed her to the comfortable seating area on her huge deck. She dropped into a cushioned couch beside her mate, Ben, and leaned against him. He was big and broad, and Shelby fit perfectly beside him.
“No problem,” I replied, thinking of the huge piece of furniture I’d brought from Marne’s small house near Wolf Ranch to her new place here in West Springs.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she wants to be buried in it,” Shelby added. I knew all about how sentimental Marne was for the thing. I’d heard the story about how she’d come to own it on our six-hour drive down from Montana.
