Willa surveyed the table, making sure that everything was up to snuff.

Mel, Libba, Liz and Merit sat across from us.

“Do you remember when we were twelve and went to dances?” Libba swirled the liquor in her glass and glanced at the men at the far end of the table.

Where was she going with this? If she told the story of our first dance, about me throwing up on Billy Fitzhugh when he tried to kiss me, I’d sneak into her cabin, steal her gin, and hide it so well she’d never find it.

“The boys sat on one side of the room, the girls on the other.” Her gaze settled on Charlie. “Nothing has changed.”

“I disagree,” said Mel.

Libba gave her gin and lemonade another swirl. “Oh?”

“Back then, boys were exotic creatures, and we wanted them to cross the room to our side. Now, we know better.”

Libba, who knew a great deal about males crossing the room, lifted her brows.

Merit covered a yawn with her palm. Was she tired, or did she find being surrounded by small minds hopelessly boring?

Mel rested her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together. “It’s not as if I care about baseball stats or fishing or their investment clubs. Lord knows we can’t discuss politics in polite company.”

“Or religion,” said Libba.

“Please, no one bring up the economy,” said Sumner.

Merit scowled.

That left movies and books and culture.

I didn’t expect men to care about hemlines or the latest diet or pin money. But there had to be common ground. “Mel, you care about guns,” I observed. “I bet there are plenty of men who’ll talk about firearms.”

“Only one man in a hundred has anything worthwhile to say on the subject.” Her gaze caught on Anarchy. “Your new husband may be one of them.”

“Perry knows about guns,” said Liz.

“Shotguns?” Mel asked.

Liz’s blonde hair bounced as she nodded. “Shotguns and handguns. He never goes anywhere without one.”

“He’s carrying a gun now? Really?” The man wore khaki shorts and a golf shirt. Where had he hidden a weapon? I tilted my head and stared.

“Not this minute. He left the gun in our cabin. It’s a .22 caliber Luger. A collector’s piece.”

The sense of impending doom that had slithered down my neck when I was shooting returned. With interest. Guns, alcohol, and something dark swimming below the surface of what appeared to be a perfect summer weekend. My heart clenched and I prayed. I’m happy for the first time in my adult life. Please, don’t let anything happen to Anarchy.

“Ellison, are you okay?” Liz reached across the table and patted my hand.

I pulled myself away from the terrible memory of Anarchy getting shot, then forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

“You look pale. I hope you don’t mind that Perry brought a handgun.”