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How her place got its name, you know. ’Cause when she first inherited the place from her folks, she was givin’ so much a’ her good stuff away to folks needin’ a hand—‘on credit,’ she said, but ain’t no credit with Maxine, it’s give. So by the time a payin’ customer came in lookin’ for milk or crackers or Band-Aids, she’d have to tell ’em, ‘Honey, you better buy it quick, ’cause we’re ’bout out .’”
    He opened his mouth, showing off black spots of missing teeth as he wheezed into a laugh. And started to walk toward her.
    Claire stood, turning her hands into fists. Her heart beat so hard, her jaw ached. She ran her eyes across the parking lot as she searched for a rock or a piece of glass she could use, if the man were to grab her.
    â€œDad?” she called.
    â€œâ€™Course,” the old man continued, “Maxine had to quit the credit business with any human—if she wanted to stay in business. But the cats? She never did quit givin’ to the cats. Now, though—” He paused to point again, this time at the cats hissing from a nearby bush—then at the cats huddled together on a stone wall behind the church across the street, tails flicking behind them. He shook his head. “Whole thing’s gotten a little outta hand.”
    â€œDad!” Claire screamed, loud enough to make the back of her throat burn.
    The fear in her voice made the man’s head jut back with shock, his mouth droop sadly. “I didn’t mean—”
    Claire swiveled, racing straight for the store entrance.
    â€œHey! You left—” the man shouted, pointing toward the nozzle still in her gas tank.
    But Claire couldn’t stop. Her legs pumped, racing all the way up the soft wooden steps that bowed beneath the weight of her body. On the front porch of ’Bout Out, beneath the corrugated tin ceiling, she pressed against the Nehi sign on the screen door and glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the old man squat down to pick a quarter up off the pavement.
    He flicked it into the air, caught it, smacked it against the back of his left hand. He lifted his right hand, and brought his face down to get a closer look at the coin. “Whaddaya know?” he called out to Claire. “It’s tails !” He pointed once more at the strays huddling for warmth, let out another wheezy cackle, and turned toward his truck.
    He was just coming after the quarter, Claire , she told herself. He wasn’t coming after you.
    She stepped inside the old general store, wiping her sweaty forehead and trying not to pant so hard.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................
THREE
    â€œW hy would Serena be walking anywhere in this mess?” Becca asked.
    Still breathing deeply, silently asking her heart to slow down, Claire glanced up to find the two she’d encountered in the parking lot now standing at the checkout counter, along with another boy and a wide-eyed, petite cashier whose sweet, small-featured face looked barely old enough to belong to someone in high school. The voluptuous curves on her small frame, though, told a different story—and could have belonged to someone old enough to actually own the general store. “I don’t know—she doesn’t have a car,” the second boy said, leaning against a counter made of gray barn wood. “What else would she do but walk? I don’t really care what she does. It’s not my business anymore.”
    â€œNot your— damn it, Chas,” Becca shouted, “this is a person. I don’t care if she is your ex. She’s also a person in a storm. ”
    Chas took a step to the side, craning his neck to look over the cashier’s shoulder, through the front window. As he straightened up, Claire could see he was far beefier than lanky Owen.