Another nod. “Do you think they’ll find her fit to stand trial?” Brynne asked, straightening her long, beautiful legs. The sweatshirt barely reached the tops of her thighs, and Eli found himself pondering dessert again.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he answered, setting his empty bowl aside, along with the spoon. All that remained of the cornbread were a few crumbs and a butter-slick. “It’s probably safe to assume she’s full-out crazy.”

“Fred, Sr., has been by her side from the beginning, according to Marisol,” Brynne said. “He must love her, in his own strange way.”

“First decent thing I’ve ever known that man to do,” Eli remarked.

“No more beer tonight,” Brynne said, before he had a chance to ask for seconds. “It’s time for your meds.”

“Okay,” he conceded, because there was no arguing with this woman when she was right and she knew it.

Brynne fetched the pills and a cup of water.

Festus was with her when she came back to the bedroom.

Eli took the pills. He’d be glad when the prescriptions ran out, because he’d had about all the pharmaceuticals he could handle in the hospital, but he had to do what he had to do.

If he wanted to go back to work, he had to pass muster with Marisol.

And then there was the thing he wanted more: to ask Brynne to marry him.

He couldn’t do that when he was a semi-invalid. His pride wouldn’t allow it.

“I’ve been looking at properties,” Brynne informed him, out of nowhere.

That caught his attention. “Why?”

She drew a deep breath, let it out slowly and smiled. “Running Bailey’s isn’t the same, now that Mom and Dad are home to stay.”

Eli was careful, weighing the implications of Brynne’s sudden interest in real estate. He’d hoped to build on to this house, when and if she agreed to marry him, put up a barn and some fences and buy a few horses.

He’d thought they were on the same page, that they’d be together for the long haul. But maybe he’d been wrong, if she was looking at places to buy.

He frowned, pensive.

“What?” Brynne prompted, snuggling closer.

“You’re buying a house?”

She laughed. “No,” she replied. “Just a building. I need something to do, now that my career in the restaurant biz is winding down.”

“Like what?”

“Like creating a studio space, where I can paint, with room for a gallery.” She paused. “I want to offer art classes, too—workshops, retreats, things like that. I’m even thinking of adding a wedding venue.”

“Are you planning to live in this place, too?” He probably sounded a little testy, though he was actually worried instead.

“Not unless the man I’m crazy about fails to propose to me in the near future,” she replied.