“Trace drawled, shifting the ice pack on his knee. “You keep right on talking about me as if I’m not here, and I’ll continue telling your husband all about your more colorful teenage antics.” Maddy turned away from Fiona and Gabriella to glare at him, her nose wrinkled against the eau de skunk still oozing from every pore on his body. “Don’t you believe one of his stories, William. I was a saint compared to Midnight Bay’s infamous hell-raising Huntsman.” She moved her gaze around the room. “Jees...h, Trace, would it kill you to pick up a dust rag once in a while? Everything in this place looks like it was here when you bought the house, including the dirt.” “That’s because it was.” Maddy looked around again in surprise. “All this stuff is old man Peterson’s junk?” Her eyes turned sad. “Do you own anything?” she whispered. “I own my boat, my truck, and a falling-down house that sits on twelve acres of oceanfront property. But if you don’t slap a bandage on my knee so I can go fishing tomorrow, I won’t be able to pay the taxes on any of them.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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