Knowing she was the draw at this point, Zoe made sure she welcomed the guests and wasn’t opposed to showing up at the wine and cheese hour in the evenings.

It helped that Zoe had convinced Miss Gina to up her game with her selections. When Zoe had called a vineyard she especially liked in Washington State and asked if they would endorse—by means of cheaper pricing—the inn using their wine exclusively, they jumped at the opportunity. The chief sommelier himself had booked a trip to River Bend later in that week to finalize the deal.

Zoe felt good about Miss Gina changing her strategy and increasing her bottom line.

She’d set up an office in her room at the inn. Writing a cookbook was more difficult than she’d expected. Even with regular shipments of supplies, Zoe would sometimes run out of stuff she needed when sampling her own work.

The good news was the guests at the bed-and-breakfast had no problem devouring whatever she made.

“Here.” Zoe handed Mel two finished plates. “The Wong family.”

Mel put on her best waitress smile and left Zoe to finish cooking.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Glynis, you there?”

Jo had ducked out of the rain to call into the station. It had been coming down in sheets for a steady six hours. And now that it was getting dark, the calls were coming in. So much for small town living.

“That’s a big ten-four, Sheriff.” Glynis had been studying call numbers and going completely out of her way to use them.

“I’m trying to get ahold of Luke, he isn’t answering on the ham. I have a mess out here just past Grayson’s farm. I need a tow.” More like three, but she’d take one at a time.

The radio crackled when Glynis responded. “Last I heard he was pulling Mr. Mason’s Dodge out of a ditch.”

“Well, tell him my mess is cutting us off from Waterville. The road is completely blocked and Highway Patrol informed me there is a slide on the 101, and there aren’t any reserves to send this way.”

“You got it, Sheriff. I’ll do my best.”

With cell service being spotty at best on the back road, Jo knew getting ahold of anyone would likely take a rudimentary radio.

Jo sucked in a fortifying breath and stepped back out into the rain.

Emergency lights flashed on both sides of the six-car, one-RV pileup that had resulted from a blind curve and a boulder that slid onto the road, taking out the first car.

That many vehicles on the road at one time was a rarity but easily explained when she realized the group was the same that had spread around the pool table at R&B’s. The men were caravanning back to Eugene . . . more accurately, they were wishing they’d left the night before instead of overdrinking and sleeping in the now-demolished motor home.

With water dripping off her covered sheriff’s hat and yellow slicker, Jo walked back to the middle of the mess.

Deputy Fitzpatrick from Waterville was attempting to write down names and information on a small notepad.

“It’s going to be some time before Miller’s can get here.”

Fitzpatrick turned as the only injured driver was leaving in a Waterville ambulance. “Thirty minutes on this side.”

“I hate nights like this,” Jo said.

“Yeah, nothing good ever happens when it’s coming down this hard.”

The buzz in his head matched the pounding on the thin roof of the trailer.

He had enough liquor to take him through the night, but scoring more when it rained this hard was impossible. Not unless you flat walked into a store and bought it. Which he couldn’t do.

The local store turned Sheryl away, or so the bitch told him.

Lucky for him, he’d made a couple of friends who understood his plight. Didn’t matter to Ziggy that the cost was triple what the stuff was worth. It was hard enough living in a shithole, he wasn’t going to do it sober.

One headlight beamed through the window, signaling Sheryl’s arrival.

She ran inside, shook rain from her hair.

With his eyes trained on the television, he yelled, “Shut the damn door.”

She slammed it, forcing his attention her way.

“You gotta problem?” he barked.

“The wind caught the door.”

He didn’t believe her.

“Is Zanya here?”

Ziggy shifted his eyes to hers, then back to the TV. “In her room with her crying brat.”

“Blaze is teething,” she excused the kid’s shitty behavior. Like she’d done for years when their own brats were little.

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t raised a slut, we wouldn’t be dealing with teething babies, would we?” Keeping the anger from his voice was harder when there wasn’t anyone around listening.

“I was younger than Zanya when I had Zoe.”

Damn bitch was doing it again. Telling him in her sly way that he was full of shit. He hated being talked down to. So many years of having to bend to the uniformed men on the inside, the warden that hated him.

“Like I said, a slut.”

Sheryl winced but shut up.

He snapped his fingers and opened his hand.

She handed him a small wad of cash. “What the hell is this?”

“It was slow. Sam sent all of us home, said it wasn’t a fit night to be on the road late.”

There wasn’t enough there to get the whiskey he needed. Even as he thought the words, he tilted back his Coke bottle that didn’t hold any soda. He flipped the dollar bills in his hand like a switch. “You sure there isn’t any more?”