Jack Songbird lifted his rifle to his shoulder, narrowed an eye, and pulled the trigger. A tin can hopped off the bale of hay he’d set on the far side of a field of bent beach grass. Overhead the sky was cloudy, dark with the promise of a storm. “Harley Taggert’s gonna marry Claire Holland.” The news settled like lead in Kane’s stomach, and he closed his mind to the thought of Claire spending the rest of her life with a spineless dishrag like Taggert. Hell, what did the guy have besides money and more money? “It’ll only happen if the families allow it.” He’d heard the local gossip, running like a prairie fire through the beauty shops, groceries, Bible study groups, taverns, cafés, diners, and liquor stores from one small town to another up and down the coast. “What can they do?” “Claire’s too young. She’ll need Daddy’s signature.” “Unless they wait until she turns eighteen.” Every muscle in Kane’s body was suddenly tight as a bowstring. What did he care?
