“If I go back to Oak Ridge Drive and tell the magistrate it was all a big misunderstanding, he’ll stop talking.

He’ll leave your farm alone.”

“You are not going back to that house,” I said.

“It would stop the gossip,” she whispered.

“It would fix your reputation by tomorrow morning.”

“My reputation isn’t made of dry straw,” I said.

“It doesn’t catch fire because a liar stands on his porch and shouts.”

Claire pulled her knees up against the dashboard and hid her face in her arms.