24
Tonya stood in a corner next to the kitchen pantry warily watching the two men as they sat at the table devouring the four dozen chocolate chip cookies that she had baked earlier. She hoped they got sick from eating that many cookies. Honestly, she didn’t know what was worse—eating all those cookies or doing it while chugging beer that had to be at least a year old by now.
She laid her hand over the wound on her arm. The bandage felt damp, as if some of the stitches had pulled loose. She didn’t doubt it, considering the abuse that she had suffered so far today.
“I’m still hungry,” Austin said, wiping a hand over the table and scattering cookie crumbs all over the clean floor.
“This is a kitchen, not a barn,” she snapped.
“If it is a kitchen, then you should be able to cook us a mea
