“And just what the hell is this?” a sweet voice drawled with Southern charm. Scarlett stood with her hands on her hips just above her tool belt. She wore jeans and a Bootleg Cockspurs tank top. “This is Scarlett?” Johanna asked, aghast. “Oh, you must be the lying, cheating, piece of garbage ex-wife. Bless your heart,” Scarlett said, batting her lashes.
