“What kind of an i***t are you?” The instant Harry had entered the door, he dragged Cal away from the women and up the stairs.
“Smart as a whip, Slater. Comes from not hanging out with you for a decade.”
“You can’t just,” he waved down the stairs, “just…those women are dangerous.”
Cal leaned back in one of the big armchairs in Harry’s upstairs office. “Nice place you’ve got here. Weird, but nice.”
Becky had built herself a one room apartment in the barn’s old hayloft. Kitchen, bed, bath, all in one space. She’d punched skylights out through the barn roof and placed a long line of windows which opened into the hayloft. When Harry had moved back, they’d extended it. He had a majestic oak desk, comfortable leather chairs, even a nice rug. It could have been a big city lawyer’s office, if
