“I really hate this VanHouten son-of-a-bitch.”

I chuckle from my cot in the corner. “Yeah, Mom,” I say toward the ceiling above me. “Me, too.”

“He thinks he can mess with me?” she asks through the bars of my cell. “He’s gonna mess with me?!”

“Mom.”

“Well, fuck him,” she says. “Bring it on, I say. He can take my farm over my dead body.”

I sigh. “Yeah, well, unfortunately, he might try just that and I can’t do anything about it in here. Where’s the lawyer?”

“It’s 8AM Monday morning, kid,” she says. “Give it some time.”

“I don’t have time. I have to get out of here.”

“Nate, calm down.”

I let out an exasperated breath. That’s the downside of being a morning person, I suppose. You’re awake and motivated long before the guy in charge of getting you a bail hearing.

I raise my head. “Have you heard anything from Kimber?” I ask.

Mom gazes through the bars and shakes her head. “Sorry, honey.”

I meant what I told Curtis yesterday. I don’t care what he does to me but if he so much as lays a finger on her, I won’t hesitate.

Kimber, where are you?

“I can stop by their house on my way home,” my mother says. “Check in on her. Though if I were her, I’d have packed a bag and left. No way I’d stay in that house with him.”

I hop off the cot and walk over to talk through the bars. “Go next door and ask Jovie to keep an eye out for her,” I say. “‘I think she’s still on maternity leave.”

Her interest piques. “No need to twist my arm for a chance to play with a cute baby. I’ll head on over now.”

I smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

“If you hear from the lawyer, have him update me.”

“I will.”

Mom reaches through and pats my shoulder. “We’re gonna fight that piece of shit, honey. Just hang tight.”

The door behind her opens. Sheriff Thompson walks in and closes the door, pausing to bow his shiny head toward Mom.

“Morning, Mrs. Scott.”

“Sheriff,” she murmurs, unimpressed.

“How’s my favorite pain in the ass this morning?” he asks me.

“A little peckish,” I say. “The service here sucks.”

He laughs. “That joke, like me, is getting too old.”

“Hey, just let me out and I won’t feel compelled to, I don’t know, sing the rest of the day...”

“You know I’m armed, son.”

“What do you want, Sheriff?” my mother asks.

He reaches for the cuffs on his belt. “I’ve got something to show him.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Where’s he going?” she asks.

“Well, there seems to be a... demonstration underway in the town square. So...” He raises the cuffs. “Turn around, please.”

I furrow my brow. “Wait, what? A demonstration?”

“Turn around, please,” he repeats.

“Since when does Clover demonstrate anything?” I ask.

He tilts his head. “Shut up and turn around, kid. You’re gonna want to see this.”

I look at my mother and she shrugs, just as in the dark as I am.

I turn around like he told me to and he cuffs my wrists together through the bars. He unlocks the cell and gestures me out.

We hear the voices as soon as we reach the lobby of the station. At first, the shouts and chants are unintelligible but as Thompson leads me closer to the entrance, words start to stand out.

I look out the windows into the town square. It’s packed just as tightly as Mr. Warner’s barn was the other night. Some people hold empty glass milk bottles over their heads. Others raise large picket signs written in red, white, and blue paint matching the words of their constant, looping chant.

Free the milkman.

“What the fuck?” I ask.

“Our phone line has been ringing off the hook with complaints since dawn,” Thompson mutters beside me. “They’re pissed.”

“Why?”

He looks at me as if it were obvious. “Can’t you read, son? The people want their milk.”

“Well, yeah, but...”

I pause, my eyes landing on that gorgeous blonde at the head of the crowd.

Kimber.

“You know...” Thompson smirks, “one of my earliest memories is of me waking up, going down into the kitchen for breakfast, and seeing your grandfather drop the milk outside the door.”

I look at him and nod. “Oh, yeah?”

“He saw me through the glass, stopped, and waved at me before going on his way.” He shrugs. “I’d bet a lot of them can say the same thing, either about him or your father.”

My mother sniffs on my other side.

“Are you seriously crying?” I ask her.

She wipes her eyes. “No, you’re crying.”

“Technically, I can’t free you like they want,” Thompson says. “That’s not my call.”

“You think Curtis will drop the charges once he sees this?” I ask.

“Only one way to find out.” He shakes his head. “All this over a punk kid like you.”

“I’m a charming guy,” I say with a shrug.

He chuckles and slides his hat on over his shiny head. “Don’t waste it, son.”

I nod in understanding. “I won’t.”

I look out into the crowd, easily finding Kimber again. She stands out, after all, in a bright sundress that matches her eyes. Her hair is up in a loose ponytail. She throws her head back and laughs with Jovie, Sara, and a few other girls I recognize from high school. Just like back then, she’s at the center of everything. Except now, she’s mine.

My heart skips a few beats.

The crowd shifts as Curtis’ white truck comes down the street. The signs and bottles rise high in the air and their chanting gets louder and louder.

Get out, they’re saying.

Curtis comes to a sudden stop outside the Sheriff’s station. He quickly jumps down and beelines for the entrance as the crowd’s shouts louder and louder at him.

He throws open the door and charges right up to us. “You!” he says, pointing at me.

“Hi, Curtis,” I greet. “How’s it going?”

“This is all your fault!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit!”

“Mr. VanHouten,” Thompson says, “is there a reason why you’re harassing my inmate?”

“I’m harassing him?” he shouts. “There are dozens of milk bottles all over my front lawn right now. My truck bed is full of them. I can’t step outside of my own goddamn house without walking all over them.”

“How is that my fault?” I ask. “I’ve been here all night.”

He points out the window. “I’ve got people following me around, telling me to get out of town. They’ve got Boycott VanHouten signs all over their lawns. I want to file a formal complaint about this.”

“You can call our complaint line,” Thompson suggests. “It’s a little backed up at the moment but someone outta get you logged in about three to four weeks.”

Curtis glares at me.

I smile.

“This is bullshit,” he says. “How do you think your precious fan club will react when they find out you’ve been banging a married housewife? Bet they’ll change their minds about you real fast.”

Thompson nods. “We did get a few complaints about that, actually.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Three. All from Mrs. Clark.”

I chortle. “Lady needs a hobby.”

“Bugging me is her hobby,” he quips.

Curtis grits his teeth. “So, you’re just going to do nothing about this, Sheriff?”

Thompson shrugs. “It appears to me that the citizens of Clover, Kansas have decided for themselves what businesses they want to support. What can I do about that?”

My mother smirks.

Curtis looks back outside, his eyes scanning the faces and signs. An entire town turned against him overnight. I almost feel bad for the guy.

Almost.

“Hey, Curtis,” I say.

His head slowly turns toward me.

“What do you say?” I ask, clinking my cuffs behind my back. “How about we drop the charges, go out for a beer, and put all this behind us? Eh? No hard feelings.”

He glares at me for a moment more before shoving open the door and walking back outside.

“Was that a yes?” I ask.

Thompson reaches for his keys. “Good enough for me,” he says.

He steps behind me and unlocks my cuffs.

My mother rubs my shoulder. “Thank you, Sheriff,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say with a nod. “Thank you.”

“For God’s sake, stay out of trouble,” he mutters at me.

I look through the windows for my girl again. “I’ll certainly try,” I say.

Kimber. My beautiful Kimber.

I search the faces for hers. I find Jovie. And Sara. The rest of the party planning committee.

No Kimber.

Screams echo from the far left side of the crowd. Fingers point toward Curtis’ truck and I gasp as I see him shoving Kimber inside with him.

I step forward. “Sheriff, I’m pretty sure that’s kidnapping,” I say.

He nods and grabs the keys to his cruiser off the desk behind us. “That’s definitely kidnapping.”

We run outside as the truck peels out onto the road, sending the crowd leaping away in the opposite direction. Thompson unlocks the doors on his cruiser and I climb into the front seat beside him.

We’re coming, Kimber.

Just hold on.