April whipped around and pointed a finger only inches from Nessa’s nose. “Don’t judge me. You haven’t walked even a foot in my shoes, so you don’t get to talk down to me. Sometimes one person’s heaven is another person’s pure old hell.”

Nessa threw up her palms defensively. “All right. I won’t fight you for the sofa. I’d rather have it, since your old room just has a twin bed, but if you want to sleep in the living room, who am I to deny you that?”

“Before I’ll go in that room, I’ll go out to the quilting shed and use a sleeping bag. I’ve slept under the quilt frame plenty of times.” April marched through the living room, the dining area, and the kitchen and out the back door.

Nessa followed her. “We’re going to have to try to get along. This house isn’t big enough for us to hide from each other.”

“No, it’s not.” Flynn came out right behind them.

“You lived in a nice place with a lovely bedroom and two parents who loved you the whole time you were growing up, didn’t you, Nessa?” April hadn’t come to Blossom with intentions of being hateful or pouting. Like Flynn, she had come for a fresh start, and hopefully, to find closure, but dammit, Nessa had always known just which buttons to push to make her mad.

“Yep, and the church was close by if I really wanted to hide, or if I wanted to meet my boyfriend and make out in one of the Sunday-school classrooms,” Nessa said. “Let’s don’t get into the joys of being a preacher’s daughter.” She reached out and turned the knob on the door of the quilting shed, and the door opened. “I wonder why this door isn’t locked.”

“Probably because everyone in these parts was too afraid of Lucy O’Riley to ever even think about stealing one of her quilts,” Flynn said. “With her red-haired temper, she would have shot first and asked questions later. I guess she’s still got that shotgun in the house somewhere. Would you know where, April?”

“The shotgun is always loaded and under her bed, and her .38 revolver, loaded also, will be under her pillow. If you need to use them, just remember to cock the hammer,” April answered.

She had asked her grandmother once why she slept with a gun under her pillow and another one under her bed. Lucy had told her that one or both could take care of snakes, both the kind that slithered and the two-legged kind. Maybe that was where April had gone wrong. She never had a gun to take care of those two-legged varmints that seemed to be always taking advantage of her.