Sully gave him a look then grinned and said, “Feb.”

Colt saw no reason to deny it and confirmed, “Feb.”

Sully rocked back on his heels, still grinning but now grinning like a crazy fuck, he was so happy. “What chance you think you got?”

“Don’t know. You’ll have to wait and find out, just like me.”

Colt wasted no more time, he was late as it was. He gave Sully a “Later,” turned and jogged down the stairs.

Sully called after him, ribbing in his voice, “Spendin’ the evening at your spot at J&J’s?”

“Spendin’ it at my house with Reggie’s, beer, a pool cue and Feb,” Colt called back not looking up as he spoke, not giving a shit who heard. He hit the bottom, strode through the elegant foyer and right out the door.

* * *

Colt carried the six-pack to the front door, Feb carried Reggie’s pizza box.

The minute they hit the room, they were assaulted by paint fumes.

“Oh shit,” Feb muttered and Colt smiled.

He closed and locked the door behind them and when he turned she was already headed toward the kitchen. He got there as she dropped the box on the counter. He put the beer in the fridge, grabbed her hand in his and tugged her out of the kitchen.

She tugged back while she said, “Colt.”

Wilson hit the living room and let out a loud meow.

“Quiet pookie,” Feb said to her cat.

“Pookie?” Colt asked over his shoulder, dragging her into the hall.

She gave him a look and asked, “You wanna tell me why –”

She stopped talking when he halted at the door of the second bedroom and pulled her beside him. Then he reached in and turned on the light.

In the middle of the room was a mattress and box springs on a basic steel bed frame. The mattress and box springs had plastic on them. There was nothing else in the room and the walls had been given a basecoat.

“Guess you’re getting a guest room,” Feb noted.

Colt stared. The place had been chock full of stuff, most of it he didn’t even remember what it was. To have it cleared, a basecoat and new furniture, all in one day, was a miracle.

“Your mother doesn’t fuck around,” Colt remarked.

“I hope you didn’t have anything in there that was precious.”

Colt looked at her and said, “The only things precious in life breathe.”

Colt watched as she stopped breathing and stared at him direct in the eye in that way she’d been doing lately. Her gaze filled with surprise and something more, something welcoming, something he hoped to hell was the invitation it seemed to be.

He still had her hand in his and he reached back into the room with his other one, turned out the light then guided her back to the kitchen where he let her go.

She went to the pizza box, he went to the beer.

“You got a choice, Feb, you can eat some Reggie’s and then I can give you some shit news or I can give you some shit news and then you can eat some Reggie’s.”

He turned from the fridge with two bottles in one hand and saw her drop the lid of the box back on the pizza, her neck twisted, eyes on him.

“Shit news, then Reggie’s,” she answered, her voice quiet but shaky. She was preparing.

He used the heel of his hand and the lip of the counter to snap off the caps on the beers and, when he turned to hand her hers, she was still staring at the counter.

“I wondered what all those marks were.” She looked at Colt. “You need a bottle opener.”

“Got one. It’s over there,” he pointed to a drawer across the kitchen. “Fridge is over here,” he jerked a thumb to the fridge and he felt his words were all that needed to be said.

She walked to him, took her beer from his hand then walked to the drawer, rifled through it, pulled out a bottle opener and walked back to him. Reaching around him and up, she put the bottle opener on the top of the fridge and stepped away.

“Now it’s up there,” she said.

Colt did two things. He threw out an arm to hook around her waist, pulling her body to his and he burst out laughing.

Feb’s body jerked against his arm and he tightened it. She went still and looked up at him. He quit laughing, gave her a look and then took a tug off his beer.

“Shit news,” he said when he dropped his beer hand.

She took a tug off her beer, not taking her eyes from him.

“Marie Lowe, Denny’s wife, was found murdered in her bed today.” Feb closed her eyes but Colt kept talking, the faster he got this shit out the better. “She’d been dead awhile, days, maybe longer. She was probably his first.”

Feb opened her eyes and said, “I had nothing against her. I didn’t even know her.”

“I reckon this was all his.”

She nodded and asked, “Is there more?”

“Don’t know a lot. They were just starting to investigate the scene when I got there. I went, I left, I came and got you. Nothin’ I could do.”

Her gaze drifted over his shoulder and she whispered, “Four.”

“Feb?”

Her gaze came back and she said, “Four people and a dog.”

Colt’s arm grew tight again and he nodded.

“How long were they married?” she asked.

“Awhile,” he answered.

“Why her?”

“Don’t know. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

Her gaze drifted back over his shoulder.

“Marie Lowe,” she said softly, trying the name out on her tongue and he didn’t figure she liked how it tasted.

“Reggie’s, baby,” he said just as softly and her eyes came back to his again.

“Reggie’s,” she replied.

* * *

That night Colt, who thought he knew most everything, learned a few things about February Owens.

For starters, first chance she got she took off her jewelry. She stood at his kitchen counter, her plate on the counter filled with Reggie slices, and lifted her hands, taking off the choker which Colt saw fastened with a snap. Then went the earrings. Then the bracelets. Last, the rings.

She set them on his kitchen counter, grabbed her plate and beer and wandered into the den. But Colt stood there for several beats staring at her tangle of jewelry sitting on his counter, laid there by Feb like she’d done it every night for years and a feeling swirled around his chest. He didn’t get it just then, it would take him to later that night, all he knew was, it was far from cold.

Then he found out during their four games that she could play pool when she was concentrating. She beat him once, the other three games he took but he didn’t whip her ass.

They were games that went slow because they were eating, drinking, talking and Feb was wandering around his house looking at the photos he had, some of them Melanie framed for him and left behind, none of them had Melanie in the picture but some of them had Feb. It was Melanie’s way of saying she didn’t feel Feb was a threat but Colt knew, deep down, she did. Others were from Delilah who took photos all the time, on special occasions, during times at the lake or even when they weren’t doing anything at all, just jacking around at her and Morrie’s house, Colt’s, Jack and Jackie’s, at the park. Every birthday and Christmas, Dee’d have the best of them framed and she’d give them to him, always telling him she never knew how to shop for him, Colt always telling her the truth, she gave him what he wanted. Others were from Jackie, not many. They were older photos when times were good between them all but there were only a few. He knew Jackie wanted him to remember the good times with Feb but she didn’t want to cause him pain.

Feb surprised Colt by grabbing the frames or looking at them on the wall and reminiscing, sometimes she’d do it with a smile, sometimes she’d laugh. She didn’t hold herself guarded. She acted like there was nothing to fear and nothing to hide.

It was her laugh that started him understanding what it was about her jewelry on his counter that made that feeling steal through his chest. It wasn’t Feb’s laughter from days gone by. It was coming more frequent now, it was different and Colt understood the change. It was a new kind of laughter because it was more experienced, worldly, husky, deeper, womanly. It wasn’t the laughter of a girl who took a life filled with laughter for granted. It was the laughter of a woman who knew any laughter at all was a gift.

But it was their conversation about Darryl that made him finally comprehend his feelings about the jewelry.

He’d commented she should let Darryl go, saying straight out the man was a liability.

Feb lined up a shot, her torso bent over the table, her fine ass on display in her jeans. “Can’t do that,” she said and pocketed the three.

“Feb, I see him fuck up all the time. Folks even talk about it. You and Morrie gotta see it more than me.”

She was roaming the table, eyes scanning for her next shot and she said, “Sure. Still, can’t do it.”

Colt saw her shot the minute she honed in on it and prepared to line it up.

“February,” he said before her full concentration needed to be at the table, “he’s an ex-con and a –”

She straightened, put the bottom of her cue to the floor, her fist wrapped around it. She tucked it to her front and looked him direct in the eye.

“Yeah, Colt, he’s an ex-con and sometimes idiot. Dad brought him in when no one else would take him.” Colt started to speak but Feb kept going. “He’s also an ex-con with a family he’s tryin’ to keep fed, a wife he’s tryin’ to keep from leavin’. He’s an ex-con wouldn’t find a job with anyone else, he didn’t have us. If he found it, they wouldn’t keep him. He’s an ex-con tryin’ to keep on the straight and narrow, somethin’ would be difficult for him to do if we let him go and his life fell apart. He forgets to take out the trash, forgets orders halfway through, misplaces delivery notices he’s signed for. But none of that’s as important as a man who loves his family and wants a decent life.”