The sun was well to the west by the time Harry was creeping the van toward Becky’s.
“Not the house,” she murmured, her first words in a hundred miles. It had been lonely, but he was glad that she was sleeping. Must have had a hell of a day and sleep was probably the best thing for her.
The house was nothing much. Just a small two-bedroom place at one end of the fields. A truck and a minivan were parked close beside it. Somehow he’d had the impression that Becky lived alone.
“Had to sell it in the early years to get going.”
Oh.
Past the house stood an old hip-roof red barn. Becky’s family had kept forty head of cattle, mostly dairy and some beef. His family’s freezer had often had half of a Billing’s cow done up as steaks, roasts, and burger. There was nothing like grass-fed beef. He’d
