“Montana don’t own it.” Ray dragged his battered straw hat off his sparsely haired head and scratched around in the thin strands.
“Own what? And don’t scratch your damn head in here!” Lucille smacked a plate of pie down on the counter next to the cup of black coffee she had served him before his hat came off.
“Sorry,” Ray muttered. “My head itches!” Lucille pursed her lips and sighed through her nose.