“Like the drugs that killed Barbara,” I said.

He cast me a questioning glance. “Yeah. But you don’t need to know any details and neither do I. We need to just live and let live.”

I could read between the lines. Although I doubted he agreed with his own pronouncement, he was trying to get me to leave Bingham alone. I suspected Wyatt had done the same thing earlier, when he’d insisted he wasn’t going to pursue the truck that ran him off the road. In their own way, they were both trying to protect me. Which also meant Max wouldn’t answer any more questions that might help me understand Bingham and the Atlanta connection.

Max pulled onto the narrow road that took us up the mountain, taking the turns and switchbacks slow since his high beams didn’t seem to reveal much in the pitch-black night.

“You got a replacement for the gun you lost?” he asked quietly.

I hesitated. “No.”

He nodded. “I know Hank’s got a few, but he might be asleep and who knows if Dwight plans to show up tonight. Open the glove compartment.”

I did, fumbling for the latch in the glow of the dashboard lights. When it popped open, a dim light illuminated the interior and revealed a small bundle wrapped in a faded red shop rag.

“I want you to keep that with you. Not on you while you’re working at the tavern, mind you,” he hastily added. “I’ve got a strict no-weapons policy in Max’s Tavern, but when Tiny and I aren’t with you…” He turned to face me. “I think you need some kind of protection.”

I carefully pulled the bundle out of the compartment and set it on my lower thighs.

“The safety’s on, so go ahead and unwrap it.”

I unwrapped the cloth carefully, slowly, as though I was scared I was about to get bitten by a snake.

“It’s a Beretta,” he said. “It’s lightweight, so it shouldn’t add much weight to your purse. It’s loaded, and I have another box of ammunition in the glove compartment.”

I pulled out the box, setting it on the seat next to me.

“I take it you’re familiar with guns since you had one,” he said.

I picked up the weapon and turned it over to examine it in the dull light, making sure it pointed out the passenger window. “I’ve had some training.”

“And target practice?”

“That too,” I murmured. I quickly checked the clip to verify that it was loaded, then held it up, pointing it at an imaginary target outside the window so my hands could get used to the weight and feel of it.

“Who are you, Carly Moore?” he asked with a grin. “You look totally badass right now.”

His statement caught me off guard. I was supposed to be a twenty-nine-year-old woman who’d worked most of her life in retail—my resume said my last job had been as an assistant manager at the Gap.

I set the gun down on the rag and wrapped it back up.

“My father was a hunter. He taught me about guns.” I said, suppressing a laugh. The closest my father had gotten to hunting was looking for me.

Thankfully, Max changed the subject. “How’s Hank doin’?” Max asked. “Really?”

“He’s got a lot going on—dealing with his amputation as well as the grief from losing Seth. He has his moments of sadness, but he’s also strong.”

“Losin’ Barb was hard on him. Seth was all he had left.”

“No brothers or sisters? Cousins?”

“All gone.”

I was afraid to ask him where they’d gone.

I pointed ahead. “The turnoff is to the left up here.”

Max slowed down and I slipped the gun and ammunition into my purse. As Max turned onto Hank’s property, Wyatt’s tow truck came into view, parked to the side of the house. Light glowed from the windows of Hank’s home, and Wyatt had even turned on a dim porch light, though it barely illuminated the area in front of the door.

When Max pulled in, Wyatt emerged from the front door. He’d changed into jeans and a long-sleeved Henley. I’d expected he’d wait for us on the front porch, but he descended the steps and walked toward the driver’s side of Max’s truck.

Max had already opened his door, and he got out and met him at the front of the truck. I did the same, although I stopped far enough back to give them space.

“What happened with Henderson?” Wyatt asked, his voice hard.

To my surprise, Max told him, using more detail than I had.

Wyatt cast a glance at me, the first time he’d acknowledged my presence since he’d walked out the door, and the look of deep concern and relief he gave me took my breath away.

Why would Wyatt give a shit about me?

He turned back to Max. “I appreciate you bringin’ her home. I didn’t want to leave Hank.”

Max nodded. “Of course. Carly’s part of our family now. Family takes care of its own.”

I didn’t miss the hint of warning.

Wyatt didn’t respond.

Max cast a quick glance at the tow truck. “You on call tonight?”

“Yeah” was Wyatt’s response.

“Then maybe I should be the one to stay,” Max said.

“We’ll be fine.”

“Wait,” I said, taking a step closer. “What are you talking about?”

Max swung his head to face me. “I presumed he was stayin’ to watch over you and Hank.”

“I am,” Wyatt quickly asserted.

Max nodded. “Who’s bringin’ her in to work tomorrow?”

“I’ll make sure she gets there,” Wyatt said.

I nearly protested that they were discussing this as though I didn’t have a say in any of it. I opened my mouth to say as much, only I realized I didn’t have a say in any of it. I was completely at their mercy, and I fucking hated it.

“Thanks for the ride, Max,” I said, heading for the porch. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Carly,” he called after me.

I went inside and took off my jacket, which was still smeared with mud from my escapade on the ravine, then hung it up on the coat rack. I was surprised Ruth hadn’t mentioned it. Nothing seemed to escape her eagle eyes.

A lamp on an end table was turned on, and to my surprise, Hank was asleep in the recliner, his light snores drowning out the low volume of the late-night talk show on the TV. Wyatt had put a blanket over him. I noticed someone had set a pillow and a folded blanket down at one end of the sofa. Was that where Wyatt planned to sleep?

I headed into Seth’s bedroom, ready to strip the bed since Wyatt had claimed the sofa, and pulled up to a dead halt just steps inside.

“I changed the bedding,” Wyatt whispered behind me. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with it after workin’ all night.”

It was such a little thing, but it caught me off guard. “Wyatt…thanks,” I said, setting my purse next to my suitcase.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “No problem.”

“I saw Hank in the recliner.”

“He has an easier time gettin’ up and down from it. I figured we’d let him have his way the first couple of nights. Then we can encourage him to sleep in his bed.”

I glanced back at him in surprise. He really was planning to be part of this for the long haul. “His diet is terrible. He planned to live off TV dinners and Pop-Tarts.”