T
he report of the gunshot still reverberated in her ears, but Robin wasn’t sure whether the sound was real or her imagination. What she did know was real was the smell of gunpowder on the sleeve of her jacket and that her hands rattled against the steering wheel.
Chuck would give her all kinds of grief for not being more careful. They could live with a broken headlight and dented hood, but if the truck suffered mechanical problems, she didn’t know where they would find the money to have it fixed. Maybe if she told Chuck about the buck, he could end up selling some of the meat. That might be her only way out of this mess. The last thing she needed right now was to give him any reason to be nastier to her and the kids.
As the truck rounded the final switchback on the way to the church,
