A Perfect Love

Summer’s laughter was refreshing and…beautiful

But then, Mack realized, she was beautiful. Her eyes were big and beguiling. Her hair shone like golden wheat at sunset. Mack groaned inwardly, thinking he’d gone all soft and poetic, just watching the woman. But he couldn’t stop watching her.

Until a big goose flapped his wings and started seriously chasing Summer. Suddenly she was surrounded by quacking, hungry geese, ducks and ducklings.

“Hey, do something. I’m being attacked,” Summer said to him as she rushed by.

Mack shook his head, his own laughter relieving some of the tension. “I’m enjoying this too much.”

He grabbed her hand and urged her toward the building. They stopped at the veranda, laughing as they tried to catch their breaths.

Summer gazed at Mack, her eyes shining with mirth. “I’ve never been rescued from ducks and geese before.”

Mack realized he’d made a fatal mistake. He shouldn’t have taken her by the hand, because now he didn’t want to let go. Ever.

LENORA WORTH

grew up in a small Georgia town and decided in the fourth grade that she wanted to be a writer. But first she married her high school sweetheart, then moved to Atlanta, Georgia. Taking care of their baby daughter at home while her husband worked at night, Lenora discovered the world of romance novels and knew that’s what she wanted to write. And so she began.

In 1993, Lenora’s hard work and determination finally paid off with that first sale. “I never gave up, and I believe my faith in God helped get me through the rough times when I doubted myself,” Lenora says. “Each time I start a new book, I say a prayer, asking God to give me the strength and direction to put the words to paper. That’s why I’m so thrilled to be a part of Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired line, where I can combine my faith in God with my love of romance. It’s the best combination.”

A Perfect Love
Lenora Worth

There is no fear in love,

but perfect love casts out fear.

—1 John 4:18

To my niece, Jessica Smith, with lots of love.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

This wasn’t the best place in the world to have a breakdown, either in one’s car or one’s life.

Summer Maxwell was having both, however.

Wanting to say words her grandmother wouldn’t appreciate, Summer kicked the front right tire of her late-model sportscar, then let out a frustrated groan as she looked up and down the lonely Texas back road. A sign a few feet from her car stated Athens, 9 Miles.

So close, yet still so far away.

“I just had to drive all the way home from New York, didn’t I?” she shouted to the hot, humid wind. “And I just had to do it in this pitiful excuse for an automobile.”

Summer eyed the faded red of the twenty-year-old Jaguar, wondering why she’d never bothered to buy a new car. Maybe because this one had belonged to her father at one time, and maybe because that was a connection she wasn’t ready to give up, even if it wasn’t always pleasant.

James Maxwell had given his only daughter the car when she’d graduated from high school, his silky, charming words making the deal all the more sweet since he’d missed the graduation ceremony. “Daddy wants you to have this one, honey. I’m getting me a brand-new Porsche. And your mama, she doesn’t want this one. Guess that means I’ll be buying her a Cadillac soon.”

“Yeah, you sure did buy Mama a new set of wheels,” Summer muttered as the gloaming of another hot Texas day brought a cool wisp of breeze floating over her. And James Maxwell hadn’t even bothered to wish his daughter well as she headed off to college with her cousins, April and Autumn. No, her father hadn’t bothered with much at all regarding his daughter. Maybe because he’d wanted a son so badly, to carry on the glory days of his rodeo career.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Summer said now and wondered why she always felt it necessary to apologize for everything.

Her parents were globe-trotters, too tied up in each other and her father’s rodeo and oil-industry endorsements to worry about their rebellious daughter. So they’d dumped her on her mother’s parents for most of her life, while they enjoyed the good life that came with being oil-and cattle-rich Maxwells.

“I’m almost there, Memaw,” Summer said as she lifted the hot hood of the car, then backed away as a damp mist of smoke poured over her. “Must be the radiator again.”

Wishing she hadn’t been so stubborn about not flying, or about not taking her cousin Autumn’s sensible sedan, Summer looked up and down the long road. She could call her grandfather on her cell, get him to come and pick her up. That is, if her cell would even work in these isolated piney woods.

“Or I could walk,” she reasoned. “Maybe physical activity would keep me from having that breakdown I so richly deserve.”

Grabbing her aged baseball-glove-leather tote bag from the passenger’s seat of the convertible, Summer tried her cell. Low power and even lower battery. No surprise there.

“Okay, I guess I get to walk nine miles along this bug-infested highway. Nice, Summer, real nice.”

She was about to put up the worn black top of the car and lock it, when she heard a truck rumbling along the highway.

“Oh, great. Let’s hope you are a kind soul,” she said into the wind. “‘I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers’”, she quoted from Tennessee Williams.

And let’s pray you aren’t some psycho out on the loose. Not that she couldn’t handle herself. She was armed with pepper spray and a whole arsenal of self-defense courses. She’d learned all about how to protect herself, working as a counselor to battered women at a New York City YWCA for the past five years.

She’d also learned all about the dark, evil side of life working there, too. Which was why she was now stranded on this road. Everyone she knew in New York, including her cousins and her immediate supervisor, had agreed it was time for Summer to take a vacation.

Burned out. Stressed out. Angry. Bitter.

Those were the words they’d used to describe her.

And that didn’t even begin to touch the surface.

Summer took a long breath, tried to imagine a peaceful scene somewhere in the tired recesses of her mind, while she waited for the old truck to pull up beside her. But somehow, she didn’t believe deep breathing would get her through this acute, aching depression.

And neither would God, she decided.

Then she looked up and saw her rescuer.

He was young, probably only a few years older than Summer’s twenty-seven years. He was pretty in a rugged, rough-cut way. He had vivid gray-blue eyes that flashed like heat lightning. And he had crisp, curly light-brown hair that seemed to be rebelling against the humidity.

Warning flares went off in Summer’s weary mind like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Putting the rickety old truck into Park, he said, “Need some help?”

Summer decided that was an understatement, but she hid that behind what she hoped was a serene smile. “Kinda looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“Want me to look under the hood?”

“No need,” she said, ignoring the homesick delight his Texas drawl caused along her skin. “It’s the radiator. Probably finally busted for good.”

He got out and walked to the raised hood anyway. Since he was a man, Summer figured he didn’t trust her word on car maintenance. Had to see it for himself. Probably thought just because she was a blonde, that she didn’t have any brain cells. Never mind that she had been a double major in college. No need for this handsome interloper to know that just yet.

He turned and wiped his hands down the sides of his worn jeans. “Yep, looks like you’re right. It’s too hot to even touch right now.”

Summer noted his solid build and laid-back swagger. “I told you so,” she said with a hint of sarcasm to hide the hint of interest she had in him.

He ignored the sarcasm, his gaze filled with his own interest. “Where you headed?”

“Athens.” She didn’t feel the need to give him any more information.

“I live there,” he said. Then he extended his hand. “Mack Riley.”

“Summer Maxwell,” she said, taking his hand and enjoying the strength of his touch a little too much.

He pulled his hand away with a quick tug, making her wonder if he’d felt that little bit of awareness, too. “Summer?”

“Yes,” she said, thinking she saw recognition in his beautiful eyes.

“Pretty name.” He hesitated, then said, “And just who are you visiting in Athens?”

“My grandparents,” she replied, mystified by his suddenly odd behavior. “I wanted to surprise them.”

“Oh, I reckon they’ll be surprised, all right,” he said as he shut the car’s hood. “Who are your grandparents? I might know them.”

“Jesse and Martha Creswell,” Summer said, thinking he probably did know them. Everybody knew just about everybody else in the small town of Athens, Texas.

He stepped back, gave her a look that shouted confusion and surprise. “Well, how ’bout that.”

“You know them?” she asked, echoing her thoughts.

“I sure do,” he replied. “Good people. C’mon, I’ll give you a ride into town, then we’ll send a tow truck to get your car.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Summer said, sending up a prayer that he wasn’t dangerous. She knew better then to get in a car with a complete stranger, but he seemed normal, and he knew her grandparents. But just to test that theory, she put her hands on her hips and asked, “Will I be safe with you?”

He laughed, shook his head. “I’m not on any Top Ten Most Wanted List, if that’s what you mean.”

Oh, but he could be on a Top Ten Hunk list, Summer decided. His smile was criminal in its beauty.

“Okay,” she retorted as she started locking up the car. “I just had to be sure. ’Cause my granddaddy, he shoots first and asks questions later.”

“I hear that,” he said, helping her to latch the convertible top. “I do believe Jesse would have my hide if I let anything happen to you.”

“So how well do you know my grandparents?”

“I met them when I first moved here.”

Why did she get the feeling he was being evasive? Maybe because he wouldn’t look her in the eyes. And maybe because she’d learned not to trust people on first impressions.

“Am I missing something here?” she asked, determination causing her to dig in her heels.

“Do you have suitcases?” he asked back, misunderstanding the question, maybe on purpose.

“Oh, yes, I do.” She unlocked the trunk.

He laughed as he looked down at the beat-up brown leather duffel bag. “How’d you ever get that in this poor excuse for a trunk?”

“You’d be surprised just how much this trunk can hold.”

He nodded, grabbed the considerably heavy bag without even a huff of breath, then tossed it in the back of his truck. “Well, I guess that’s it then.”

“I guess so,” she said as she rounded the truck to get in. Once he was all settled behind the wheel, Summer stood at her open door, glaring at him. “Except the part you’re leaving out.”

He lifted his brow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not telling me the whole story here, are you, Mr. Riley? And I’m not going anywhere with you until you do.”

“Call me Mack,” he replied, a look of resolve coloring his eyes. He cranked the truck, motioned toward the seat. “And I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

Summer had learned all about deceit on the streets of New York, from working with women who lived through the worst kind of deception and deprivation. She could smell it a mile away. “I think you know more about my grandparents than you’re telling me. And I want to hear the truth, all of it.”

He let out a long sigh, as if he didn’t know how to handle such a direct statement. “I said I know them. Can’t that be enough for now?”

“Nope,” Summer replied, smiling sweetly. “You might not be dangerous or a wanted man, but you’re being mighty quiet about my grandparents. And I want to know why.”

He looked up and down the long road, then nodded. “I guess you deserve an explanation. Get in and I’ll give you one, I promise.”

Mack Riley stared over at the assertive, no-non-sense woman sitting in his truck. She was a looker, no doubt about that. He’d heard enough about Summer Maxwell to know, though, that all that long blond hair and those bright-blue eyes couldn’t hide the fact that she was also very intelligent and sharp.

Too sharp. And right now, not too trusting, either.

What was he supposed to tell the woman? That he knew her grandparents on a first-name basis. That he also knew her rich, jet-setting parents, through conversations with Jesse and Martha, and through having met them on the rare occasions they decided to drop in and check on Summer’s grandparents. That he recognized her now, from the many pictures of her growing up that Martha had displayed in her living room. And that he knew enough about Summer herself to fill a book and his own needy imagination.

Mack wasn’t ready to open up and have a heart-to-heart with this intriguing woman. Not yet. So he did what he’d always been so very good at doing. He tried to avoid the issue.

“I’m waiting,” Summer said, causing him to glance over at her.

He tried to deflect that in-your-face-look. “Honestly, I don’t know what to say, or where to begin. Okay, I do know your folks—real well. Is that a crime?”

“Oh, no,” she said, folding her arms as she stared at him. “The crime would be in you withholding information from me. And I think you are. You said you’d explain things. So start talking. Just tell me—is one of them sick? Has something happened, something terrible, that I don’t know about?”

Mack made a turn onto yet another long highway. “They’re both just fine,” he said. “But…a lot has happened over the last few months. When was the last time you talked to them?”

“I saw them at Uncle Stuart’s funeral,” Summer replied, her blue eyes going dark. “They invited me to come home for a visit. I told them I’d think about it. I did, and so here I am.”

“That funeral was over two months ago,” he said, reasoning that she might not know all that had happened since then after all.

“Yes. But they both seemed fine, in good health. Of course, we were all upset about Uncle Stuart.”

“So you didn’t call ahead, to let them know you were coming?”

She squirmed a bit. “No. I didn’t want them to worry since I decided to drive across the country. I wanted to take my time, do a little sightseeing.”

Mack got the feeling she hadn’t noticed the scenery on her long trip home. Maybe she’d just needed some down time.

He could understand that.

“Well, they’ll be surprised, that’s for sure.”

Then he witnessed some of that famous temper Martha had told him about.

“Listen, mister, I’m getting very bad vibes here. You’re scaring me. If there’s something I need to know about my grandparents, good or bad, then you’d better spit it out.”

Mack stopped the truck in front of the old two-story white farmhouse that had been the Creswell home for many years.

Summer looked up at the house. “Oh, we’re here.”

“Yes,” he said, hating to be the one to break the news to her. “But…there is something you need to know.”

“I knew it,” she said, her expression grim. “Something bad has happened, right?”

Mack looked at the house, then back to Summer Maxwell, deciding he’d have to be up front with her. There was just no other way. “Depends on how you look at things,” he said, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“Because?”

“Because, well, Summer, your grandparents no longer own this house.”

“What?” She opened the door of the truck and ran around to stand in the tree-lined yard, her gaze moving from him to the house and back. “What do you mean?” she asked as she turned and stomped back to him.

Mack got out of the truck, dread filling his heart. “I mean, your grandparents decided to sell out and move. Your dad bought them this fancy patio apartment in a new retirement village about a mile up the road.”

“He did what?” Summer shouted, her vivid eyes flashing a fire that only added to her obviously fiery nature. “I can’t believe this! He sold their home? How could he do that? Memaw and Papaw have lived here for over fifty years.”

“I know,” Mack said, wishing he could soften this news for her. “I know all about this house.”

“Oh, yeah. And how come you know so much about all of this?”

Mack glanced at the house, then down at his scuffed work boots. Then he lifted his head and looked straight into Summer’s fighting-mad blue eyes.

“Because I own it now,” he said. “Your daddy sold this house and the surrounding land to me.”

Chapter Two

Summer blinked. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you right? Did you say you own this house now?”

Mack Riley nodded, shifted his feet, let out a long sigh. “I bought it fair and square about a month ago.”

Summer blew at the wispy bangs slanting across her face, one hand on her hip as she wondered whether just to let him have it and get it over with, or wait and attack her father instead. “Fair and square? Fair and square? Yeah, I’ll just bet my father sold it to you fair and square. How in the world did he get them to agree to this?”

Mack stepped closer, holding his hands out palms up, as if to protect himself. Which wasn’t a bad idea right now, by Summer’s way of thinking. “Your grandparents seem happy with the arrangement. In case you haven’t noticed, this house is old and in great need of repair, and…well, your grandparents are in about the same shape.”

She advanced. “And just who are you to be telling me about my own grandparents?”

He stepped closer, no fear in his eyes. More like defiance and that resolve she’d seen earlier. Which only made Summer even more mad.

“I’ll tell you who I am,” he said. “I’m about the only one around here who does know about your grandparents. You see, I talk to them on pretty much a daily basis. Your father and mother call every now and then, and you…well, you said yourself you haven’t seen them or talked with them since your uncle’s funeral. So that leaves me. And believe me, I think they are better off in that retirement village. At least there, they’re among friends and near qualified people who can help them.”

Summer couldn’t believe he was standing here preaching to her! “Oh, well, excuse me. Since you obviously know so very much about my shortcomings, and since you are such a saint for watching over my grandparents, I guess that gives you every right to just bully them out of their home.”

“I didn’t bully anybody,” he retorted, his voice low and full of frustration. “I liked the house and knew it was where I wanted to live. So I bought it.”

“Fair and square, of course.”

“Yes. I made them a good offer and they took it. It’s that simple.”

Summer stomped to the truck to get her duffel bag. “Oh, there is nothing simple about this. This…this isn’t right. But then, I should have known a man in cahoots with my wayward father wouldn’t understand the implications of something so horrible.”

“Hey, hold on,” Mack said, taking the bag right out of her hand with surprising ease. “I’m not in cahoots with anyone. I just moved here and needed a place to live. So I bought this house from your father. End of story.”

Summer tapped her platform sneaker against the aged wooden steps of the house, her blood boiling just like the radiator on her car had been doing earlier. She could almost feel the hot steam coming out of her ears. “Oh, I think there is much more to this story, and I intend to find out the whole truth.”

Such as, how had her father become the spokes-person for her grandparents, and if the house was in such bad repair, why hadn’t James Maxwell forked over the funds to renovate his in-laws’ home? It just didn’t make any sense. But lately, nothing much in her life had made any sense.

She turned and headed to the house, then stopped, hitting a palm to her forehead. “Silly me. I can’t stay here now. Not with you.” Then she plopped down on the steps and looked up at him. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Mack had never seen a more dejected sight. A beautiful, uptown blonde in worn jeans and strange shoes, sitting on the broken steps of a hundred-year-old farmhouse, her eyes brilliant with tears she refused to shed, her expression bordering on outrage, and…her hands trembling slightly as she dropped them over her knees.

All of his protective instincts surfaced, reminding him that he’d come here to find some peace and quiet, not get tangled up in a family squabble. But he had to help her, even if she was fighting mad at him, and the world in general. If for no other reason than to get her off his doorstep.

Thinking she didn’t look so bad sitting there, however, he said, “Look, you know there’s plenty of room in the house.”

“I can’t stay here with you,” she repeated, gritting the words between her clenched teeth. “First, I’d rather eat nails than do that, and second, this is a small, old-fashioned town. I wouldn’t want my grandparents to hear any rumors.”

“I admire your stand,” Mack said, daring to sit down on the bottom step. “But even if you did want to stay here, the house is being renovated. There’s very little furniture and the plumbing is barely working. I’m not even living here full-time myself right now. How about you get a room at that motel out on the highway?”

“How about that?” she said, hitting her hand on her knee. “Great, just great. I look forward to a visit home and I get to stay in some fleabag motel. That should help my burnout and stress level a lot.”

Mack could recognize all the signs of her type-A personality. She was a live one. And she looked just about ready to explode into a doozy of a meltdown. The dark circles under her pretty eyes only reminded him of a time when he’d felt the same way. But he sure didn’t know how to help her. Or maybe he was just afraid to help her.

Then Mack lifted his head and glanced over at her. “Hey, what about your parents’ house? They’re in Mexico, last I heard. Won’t be home all summer.”

Summer groaned, laid her head in her hands. “Go to my parents’ house? Oh, that’s just peachy. I hate that overblown facade of a house. All that modern art and fake-rustic country-French charm? Like I want to stay at that overpriced country club of a house!”

“It’s a nice house,” Mack said, thinking it had probably set her parents back a cool million, at least. “And it’s safe—”

“Oh, I know all about the gated community and the exclusive homeowner’s policy, and the golf course and the country club. My mother fairly gushed about it…last time I bothered to talk to her.”

“What is it with you and not talking to your relatives?”

She laughed, the sound bubbling up in her throat like a fresh waterfall hitting rock. “I guess my grandparents didn’t let you in on all the family history, after all. We’re a bit…estranged, my parents and me.”

“Oh, yeah? And why is that?”

Summer pushed at the thick blond hair cascading around her face and shoulders. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because they never had any time for me when I was growing up, so now I make it a point never to make any time for them.” Then she gave him a hard glare. “And besides, that’s none of your business.”

He knew he was heading into deep water, but he didn’t get it. “Your parents seem like nice folks. The times I’ve been around them—which is few, I’ll admit—they seem to be happy and fun-loving. I wish I had their kind of carefree energy.”

She gave him a harsh frown. “And I wish they’d use some of that fun-loving, happy, carefree energy on staying in one place. Just once, I wish they’d settle down and actually notice that they have a daughter.”

“You have issues, don’t you?”

“More than you can imagine, buddy.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

She kept staring at him long enough to allow Mack plenty of time to get caught up in the blue of her eyes. “I want to see my grandparents, make sure this is really what they wanted.”

“It is, I promise.”

She jumped up, pointed a finger in his face. “I don’t believe in promises, understand? I’ve been promised so many things that didn’t work out, it’s sickening.”

“Well, I keep my promises, and I’m telling you, Jesse and Martha are doing better than ever.”

“I need to see them,” she said again, her voice going all soft and husky. “I can’t explain things with my parents—it’s a long story and it’s something I have to come to terms with. But…I can tell you that I love my grandparents, and I came home to see them. So can I please just do that, go and see them?”

That gentle plea melted Mack’s defenses with all the slow-moving force of butter meeting honey on a biscuit, and he knew he was a goner. “Want me to take you to Golden Vista?” At her puzzled, raised-eyebrow expression, he added, “The retirement community where your grandparents live.”

“Golden Vista? That just sounds depressing.”

“It’s a nice place. I think your father invested heavily in—”

Summer shot around him, her long-nailed fingers flailing out into the air. “Oh, I get it now. My father invested in this fancy retirement home, so he’s just making sure he covers his assets, right? By forcing my mother’s parents to go and live there? He just gets lower than a snake’s belly with every passing day.”

Mack didn’t know how to deal with so much bitterness and anger spewing from such a sweet-looking mouth. Although there was a time when he’d been the same way, he reminded himself. But not anymore. “I don’t think—”

“I’m not asking you to think,” she countered. “Just give me a ride to this…Grim Reaper Vista.”

“It’s Golden Vista,” he said, hiding a grin behind a cough. At least she was entertaining—in a Texas twister kind of way.

“Whatever. Just get me to my grandparents. I’ll handle things from there.”

Mack could only imagine how this bundle of blond dynamite would handle things.

Not very well, from the looks of her. There was sure to be a whole lot of fallout and carnage left along her pretty, pithy path.

Just one more thing for him to worry about.

One more thing he really didn’t need to be worrying about right now.

“So this is Golden Vista?”

At Mack’s nod, Summer looked around at the rows and rows of compact wood and brick apartments set against the gentle, rolling hills of East Texas. “It looks like some cookie-cutter type of torture chamber or prison.”

Mack grinned over at her, which only made her fold her arms across her waist in defiance. She didn’t want to like him. In fact, she refused to like him. He was the enemy.

“It’s not a torture chamber and it’s certainly not a prison,” he said as he guided the truck up a tree-shaded drive. “The residents here aren’t in a nursing home. It’s called a retirement village. It’s a community, completely self-contained. And very secure. It has lots of benefits for people like your grandparents, looking for a place to retire.”

“I’ll just bet. Retired, as in, shuffleboard in the morning and bingo in the afternoon. My grandparents are probably bored to tears!”

“I’m telling you, they love it,” Mack replied. “They can come and go as they please, and Jesse and Martha do just that. They have a new car—”

“Courtesy of my generous father, I reckon?”

“Uh, yes. It’s a sturdy sedan.”

“And I guess they just love it, too, right?”

“They seem to. I see them gallivanting all over town in it.”

“My grandparents do not gallivant.”

“Oh, yes, they do.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you know more about their lifestyle than I do, because I haven’t bothered to keep up with them.”

“That about tells it like it is,” he said, but he held up a hand at her warning glare. “Look, as you so sweetly pointed out, it’s none of my business, your relationship with your folks. I can only tell you what I’ve seen in the last few weeks since I moved here. They were lonely and they’re getting on in years. That farmhouse is kind of isolated out there on the edge of town. I’ve visited them several times since I moved into the house, just to let them see how the renovations are coming along, and they seem very content at Golden Vista.”

“I can’t picture that,” Summer said, remembering how her grandfather loved to plant a big garden, just so he could give his crop away to half of Henderson County. And her grandmother—she loved to cook and quilt, can vegetables and sew pillows, make clothes and crafts. How could she do all those things cooped up in some cracker box of an apartment?

Summer dropped her head into her hand. “I just have to talk to them.”

Mack stopped the truck, then pointed toward a huge, park-like courtyard in the middle of the complex. “Well, there they are, right over there.”

Summer looked up to find a large group of senior citizens milling around in Hawaiian shirts and straw hats. Tiki torches burned all around the festive courtyard, while island music played from a loudspeaker. The smell of grilled meat hit the air, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“What in the world?”

“It’s a luau,” Mack said. “They have these theme parties once a month. Last month, it was Texas barbecue, and I think next month is Summer Gospel Jam—”

“I’ve heard enough,” Summer said, opening the rickety truck door with a knuckle-crunching yank. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this mess.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mack said, his grin widening.

“Do you find this humorous?” Summer asked as they met in front of the truck.