Indivisible by Kristen Heitzmann

think so.”
    His companion laughed uncomfortably.
    “You haven’t taken a test drive.” He actually went vroom-vroom .
    She tried not to gag. “Do you want a goat-cheese kalamata roll?”
    “If I buy one, can we have dinner tonight?”
    “I have a date.” Only a little lie, because the day was young and someone would surely want to hang out.
    “How about two, and I’ll throw in breakfast?”
    “Sorry.”
    “Then I’ll have a lemon scone.” He read from the board, not even noticing the empty case, or he thought she had them in back.
    “I only have the goat-cheese rolls. I’m not really open for business.”
    “You served him.” Bob thumbed the previous customer hunched over the table closest to the door.
    “A pine-nut and fig roll. They’re all gone now.”
    “Well, if you’re not open, why don’t I take you to lunch?”
    She clasped her hands. “How can I say this nicely …”
    “Not no, but hell no.” The Lego man intoned from his table.
    Piper’s eyes widened as she resisted a laugh. She didn’t want to insult Bob, just stop the assault. Did every conversation have to be in overdrive? Mary Carson laughed softly into her napkin. Piper thought she heard, “Well said, young man,” but it might have been, “Watch your language.”
    Piper cleared her throat. “So … kalamata roll?”
    Bob glared. “No, thanks. Not a fan of goat cheese.”
    “I’ll have the regular menu tomorrow.”
    “Right.” Bob walked away, scowling at the Lego man as he passed.

    After grabbing the bag of nails, Jonah climbed out of his Bronco and strode into the cabin. Attending church was not new; attending voluntarily was. He’d been forced into it every Sunday and resented every minute until he had sunk so low there was nowhere else to turn. It wasn’t about proving his piety like the police chief before him, but just the opposite, admitting his need of something bigger.
    He’d stopped expecting lightning to strike when he entered, but others probably hadn’t, so he kept it uncomplicated, going late and leaving early. Piper was the only one to call him on it. She’d become disarmingly persistent.
    Now that he’d crossed thirty, women seemed to think him safe. No longer prowling didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. He still had it within him to wreck someone’s life.
    He changed from his jeans and shirt into a battered pair of cargo shorts and T-shirt that had passed ratty years ago. Methodically, he set to work on the addition he’d begun at the back of his cabin, doubling its size with a rec room, workshop, two additional bedrooms, and bath. He had the acreage to support the addition, and with real estate values escalating as the very wealthy discovered the area’s charm, it made sense to improve his investment.
    He had poured the foundation slab, framed and sheetrocked the walls, and now he’d almost finished taping the seams. After a couple of hours, sweating with the heat of the day and the labor, he pulled up his shirt and wiped his face. He had put off the other task long enough. He climbed down, put his tools away, and climbed into the Bronco. After inserting the key into the ignition, he dropped his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. Then he started the engine and pulled out.
    As he drove, he braced himself mentally and emotionally. His shirt was damp and flecked with sawdust, but he never wore the uniform when he visited. That would be like running power to C4.
    He parked outside the sprawling, single-level house he’d grown up in, almost seeing his dad sitting out on the long front porch, bottle in hand, leer in place. “If it isn’t the big shot. Thinks he can do the job better than the old man.”
    Over thirty-one years, Chief Stan Westfall’s reputation as the toughest lawman in the county had earned him the respect of its law-abiding citizens. Lawbreakers had respected him too—out of fear. Stan Westfall could chill a man’s spine with a stare.
    The door opened, and his