In the curve of Nona’s horseshoe drive sat a sleek, red Mustang he didn’t recognize.
His animal instinct flared as he turned her doorknob. A cackle of female voices from the kitchen pricked his ears. With his mouth set in a grim line, he crossed the small living room in three long strides. A short, plump woman with a thick braid of black hair turned toward his footsteps. Her soft, brown eyes lit at the sight of him.
“Shane,” she called mournfully, stepping into his embrace.
“Nona.” He hugged her tightly, swallowing hard.