Snow began to fall in dizzy abundance as we made our way back to the Ledbetter residence through the Saturday afternoon Boston traffic.
“That’s what I like to see,” Jackson said happily, staring out the windshield and smiling.
It was gorgeous.
It snowed once in a while in Mississippi, but nothing like this, and we certainly weren’t tom-fool enough to go out and drive in it.
Jackson was unconcerned.
“Maybe you should go a little slower,” I suggested.
“Relax, Cantrell. I know what I’m doing.”
“We don’t want to have an accident with him in the car.”
“We’re not going to have an accident. And by the way, I saw you flirting with that cashier.”
“I was not flirting!”
“Is he yours? I hope so! That or we’ll get arrested for kidnapping! You were so coming on to him!”
“I was not!”
“I wasn’
