“What the—”
The porch rail bit into my ribcage, but I managed to catch myself before I toppled, stunned by the sudden, unprovoked attack. Clint had Darren Halloway up against the wall of the cabin, a fistful of the man’s shirt clenched in his hand, teeth bared like a slavering dog. The sorrowful cooing of the doves continued in the background, a Greek chorus for our hot little drama.
“Whoa, easy man,” Darren said, raising and showing his empty hands like this was a bank stickup. “I’m sorry to strike out like that, but there was no time to warn you.”
Clint relaxed his hold, and I straightened, stepping under the lip of the roof to get my first good look at the man. Out of the sun’s glare, I saw that he was well-muscled but softening with age, with sandy hair, and a slightly stubbled chi
