Joanne peeked up from where her cheek pressed against Jeffrey's chest, her voice quiet but tinged with the hint of mischief that only surfaced when she felt safe.
"What do we do with him?" she asked. Her eyes flicked to the groaning mess on the gravel. "He's still breathing…"
Breathing. That was enough. More than enough, really.
Jeffrey opened his mouth, perhaps to offer a suggestion—not kind, certainly not lawful—but before a word left his lips, they both heard the low growl of an approaching engine. A familiar one.
Joanne lifted her head slightly. "Liam's here…" she said, almost in disbelief, as a cloud of dust curled behind a battered pickup truck rolling down their driveway.
The vehicle came to a halt dangerously close to Tom's body, the tires skimming his side and kicking up dirt right into his already bruised face.
Jeffrey's brows raised. "Well, this is convenient," he muttered.
