6
HAYES
“Where are my eggs?” Mrs. L asked when I came through the back door of the main house, built by the woman herself, along with her husband back when they were newlyweds. Lots of changes had occurred since then, like Mr. Ledger passing on, but plenty stayed the same. Like the vintage linoleum floor and appliances. There was a modern commercial kitchen in the bunkhouse that had been designed to feed many mouths at once, but Mrs. L stuck to hers. The scent of lemon and vanilla clung to the warm air.
I stopped short at the older woman’s question, then my neck heated when I remembered the sole reason I’d gone into town in the first place. Eggs for her cake. Not spectacular s*x with Megan.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Three hours had passed. Three hours and no eggs.
I let the
