Laurel pushed herself away from the side of the Corvette as Savannah stormed across the parking lot, all pique and no pie in sight. She looked furious, and Laurel had a strong hunch it wasn't anything to do with the restaurant, but one of its patrons. Conroy Cooper. Old enough to be their father Conroy Cooper. Married Conroy Cooper.

Oh, Savannah…

"Let's get the hell out of here," Savannah snarled. Tossing her purse behind the seat, she jerked open the driver's door and slid in behind the wheel.

Laurel barely had time to get in the car before the 'Vette was revved and rolling. They hit Dumas, and Savannah put her foot to the floor, sending the sports car squealing away from Madame Collette's, leaving a trail of rubber.

"Where are we going?" Laurel asked as casually as she could, considering she had to shout to be heard above the roar of the wind and the engine.

"Frenchie's," Savannah yelled, pulling the pins from her hair and letting them fly. "I need a drink."

Laurel buckled her seat belt and held on, not bothering to comment on the fact that it didn't look as though they'd be having rhubarb pie for supper, and trying her damnedest not to think about Jack Boudreaux.