Death Threads Read Online Free PDF Page B

night meetings, and her relationship with Milo Wentworth was progressing better than she could have imagined. Yet, deep down inside, she knew it was more than a dream job, new friends, and a great guy that had allowed the small southern town to grab hold of her heart. It was the pervasive feel of pride and closeness that its residents not only felt but also shared. Readily.
    “It’s funny how things can change so fast, isn’t it?” Tori slipped her hand inside Milo’s as they rounded Leeson’s Market and headed toward the town square, the sound of voices and laughter growing louder with each passing step. “At Heritage Days in the spring I couldn’t have felt more out of place here. But now . . .”
    “You belong.” Milo stopped walking long enough to raise her hand to his lips for a quick kiss, the daffodil yellow sleeve of her ribbed V-neck shirt slipping down her wrist with the motion. “I hate to sound like a broken record but I knew this town would come around . . . start to judge you on who you are rather than where you’re from. You handled the fallout from Tiffany Ann’s murder with grace and honesty. And you kept your head held high every step of the way. What’s not to love about that?”
    She shrugged. “At the time, it was heartbreaking to have everyone pointing at me for a crime I didn’t commit simply because I was an outsider—an unknown. But now that that’s behind me, I see the loyalty for one another as something rare. Even special.”
    “It can be. When it’s in your favor. But when it’s not, it can get mighty ugly.” He tugged her across the street, his nose lifting into the air. “Do you smell that?”
    She couldn’t help but laugh. She smelled lots of things, heard lots of things, saw lots of things. In fact, it was safe to say all five senses were in overload as they stepped through the trellised archway to the town square—the site of every festival Sweet Briar held throughout the year.
    “What smell would that be?” Looking up at Milo she grinned, her pulse quickening as his amber-flecked brown eyes locked with hers and tiny dimples appeared in his cheeks. “Wait, don’t answer that. Let me guess . . .”
    Slowly she pulled her gaze from his, let it travel its way across the top of people’s heads in search of any and all food tents they could see from their vantage point. There was a Polish sausage tent that boasted the inclusion of pepper and onions on an easel-propped chalkboard. There were three different tents selling pork barbecue—one with corn on the cob as a side, one with hush puppies, the other offering straight barbecue with no add-ons at all.
    “Look . . . right there.” Milo’s index finger shot into the air as he pointed at a blue and white striped tent a good hundred yards from where they stood. “It’s all I’ve dreamt about for days—well, except for when”—he looked down at the ground and then back at her, his cheeks sporting a slightly reddish hue—“I’m thinking about you, of course.”
    “Nice save, Milo. For a minute I was worried you were going to say I fell below a slab of dough on your list of daydreaming subjects.”
    His mouth gaped open. “Slab of dough?”
    “Yeah. That’s what those people have on their plates, isn’t it?” she asked, pointing at a group of teenagers who’d come from the direction of the blue and white tent. “I’ve seen them before at fairs like this, but I’ve never thought they looked terribly appetizing.”
    Milo raised his palms to his ears and covered them as his lips pursed into a whistle.
    “What? Did I say something wrong?”
    Slowly, he lowered his hands, his left claiming her right. “First, it’s not a slab of dough, Tori. It’s a funnel cake. Second, you must not have gotten a very good glimpse at their plates, because if you had your mouth would be watering.”
    “Watering, huh?” she teased.
    “Wa-ter-ing.”
    “Okay. Lead the way.”
    Squeezing her hand to his side, he led her