Several small children ventured near the motorcycles and were yanked back by anxious parents. Then Jane Preece was beside her daughter. “Lee,” she said, then again, then, “Jennalee,” which finally got an acknowledgement.
“Hm?”
“We need you inside.”
“Has Dad seen this? Does he know?”
“Go inside and help.” Jane glanced at the men and turned away, missing Harley entirely. He’d wandered off with his cousin Parker, who he had indeed not seen in a year and who, though living a life far opposite his own, nevertheless remained closer to him than any Sutherland and possibly any Laidlaw.
For these werethe Laidlaws of Garden Grove, as Gerald Preece discovered when his gaze dropped from Lizann Laidlaw’s breasts to the registration card she had completed.
“These are ground floor rooms,” she said. “That’s what I asked for.”