by Kylie Logan
“Half sister.”
He didn’t dignify this with a response. In fact, all Tumbleweed did was pull one corner of his mouth into a humorless smile. “Ain’t gonna get you nowhere if you two kill each other first.”
Murder? One look at Sylvia behind the counter all cool and composed and not sweating from standing in the sun, and I considered the suggestion. But honestly, only for a second. Then again, I saw that she had a case of spice jars to unload, so I got my own little bit of revenge by pretending to be busy practicing my little heart out.
I wonder if I would have kept right on dancing if I’d known that within twenty-four hours, talk of murder would be as impossible to escape as a dose of heartburn after a great big bowl of Texas Red.