I stepped inside, and she pointed at the table. “Sit. I can make coffee.”

“I’ve had enough.”

Her brows drew together. “Are you sick?”

“No. I drank a whole pot. Don’t look at me like that." Exasperation had claimed her face. “You drink whole pitchers of martinis.”

“That’s different. Tell me about Anarchy.”

“A snake sank its fangs into his wrist.” My shudder was soul deep. “He's under observation in intensive care at the county hospital.”

“But, he'll be fine.”

“What if he’s not?” The sorrow and worry I’d bottled up broke through my defenses in an unexpected rush, and I stood in Libba’s cabin and sobbed.

She wrapped me in an embrace and let me cry deep, racking sobs.

I soaked Libba’s shoulder with my tears. My muscles tensed at the memory of the snake biting Anarchy’s wrist. My head ached from stress and adrenalin and worry.

Through it all, Libba rubbed small circles on my back.

I needed to stop. To get ahold of myself. I heard Mother’s voice in my head—Ellison, pull yourself together.

But reining in my emotions was beyond me. And with Libba, I didn’t need to pretend strength. I could show her my weakness and fear and, when I was done sobbing, she’d help me put the pieces back together.

“He'll be fine.” Her tone was soothing.

“How do you know?” My voice was a sad plea muffled by her shoulder.

“Because you didn’t go through the past year just to lose him. Because you deserve happiness. Because copperhead bites aren’t deadly for adults.”

I took a shaky breath.

“He’ll be fine,” she said again.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Another breath. This one didn’t shake. I lifted my head. “I can’t lose him.”

“You won’t.” She sounded certain.

I took a tiny step back and looked at her face. She meant what she said.

“Have you talked to him since he went to the hospital?”

“Yes. He said he was fine, but he sounded tired.”

“This hasn’t been a restful weekend, and he did get bitten by a venomous snake. Of course he’s tired.” She tilted her head. “Why aren’t you with him?”

“I had to make a statement.”

“About Buffy?”

“Someone stabbed her in the stomach, and she bled to death.”

Libba crossed her arms over her mid-section. “That’s awful.”

It really was.

“Did Bill kill her?”

“I don’t think so. He seemed destroyed when I told him she was gone.”

“Then who?”

“She followed him yesterday morning. I think she saw Graham’s killer.”

“She followed Bill?”

“She thought he might have something going with Misty.”

Libba huffed. “Honestly, the woman had sex with her husband three times a year.” She held up three fingers. “His birthday, their anniversary, and one holiday of his choosing. What did she think he'd do?”