Love You to Death (16 page)

“Dang it!” Sissy blurted out, spoon
clattering in her bowl. “This tastes like salted flour.” She pushed
her chair back, grabbing her bowl, and pouring the contents back
into the tureen. “I’m makin’ a sandwich,” She announced as she
marched toward the kitchen mumbling about worthless cookbooks.

Gideon and Cort kept eating. They must have
cast iron stomachs. Stewie looked at me, unsure what to do. The
blonde got up and sashayed out of the room without a word. JD just
shook his head.

“I can fix this,” I whispered to Gideon. He
and Cort jerked their heads to me.

“You can?” they said together.

“Yeah, bring these pots into the kitchen.”
They didn’t hesitate. They followed me across the dining room,
through the swinging door, and into the kitchen.

“Stupid, useless cookbooks!” Sissy ranted,
pitching one in the trash. A carafe of iced tea and bottle of
bourbon were on the counter, no sandwich in sight.

There was a large stockpot on the stove. I
instructed Gideon and Cort to pour the stew back into the pot. I
ignited the burner and adjusted the flame. Next, I rooted around
the cupboards for spices and a can of beef broth and tomato sauce.
I even thought of adding a few splashes of Sissy’s bourbon.

I stirred everything in with the ‘barf’ stew
and covered it with a lid. When I turned around, Gideon, Cort,
Sissy, Stewie, and JD were lined up at the island, watching me.

“Just a little something I learned from my
mom,” I murmured, slightly embarrassed.

A half hour later we were all seated back the
table, minus the moody blonde. Once again the bowls were filled and
the biscuits were passed.

No one said anything as they raised their
spoons. After the second and third bites I expected someone to
comment, but they didn’t. They kept shoveling in the stew. Then JD
spoke.

“Praise the Lord and pass my bowl for
seconds,” his gravelly voice boomed.

Cort used his biscuit to wipe his bowl clean
before he ladled another helping into it. Even Sissy had seconds.
When all was said and done, both tureens were empty and the basket
of biscuits only had crumbs left. The men pushed back their chairs
and patted their rounded stomachs.

“Cherry, that was amazing.” Cort tilted his
head back and sighed.

“Really good,” Gideon added.

Sissy pursed her lips and eyed me
suspiciously. I held my breath and waited.

“Well, gal,” she said. “Let’s see how you
scald a chicken. Tomorrow you’ll make supper.” She got up and left
the room.

Openmouthed, I looked at Gideon. He had that
muted grin on his face like he was holding back a good belly
laugh.

“Hot dang, a real cook,” Cort hooted. “Looks
like I won’t have to sneak those frozen pizzas anymore.”

“Wait.” I panicked. “I don’t know how to
scald a chicken! I don’t even know how to pluck the feathers. Where
I come from we buy our chicken in the grocery store. They’re
already dead and de-feathered.” I didn’t realize I was wringing my
napkin to death until Gideon covered his hand over mine, stilling
them.

“The scald on a chicken is the degree of
crispness when it’s fried,” he explained calmly. “Do you know how
to fry chicken?”

“Sure,” I said.
Who didn’t?

“Then you’re all set.” He gave my hands a pat
then pushed out of his chair.

“Wait!” I said, halting them in various
motions of cleaning up. “Stewie and I are supposed to leave in the
morning.”

“What’s one more day?” Cort asked, stacking
the dirty bowls. Stewie nodded his head. Gideon didn’t say anything
as he carried dirty dishes to the kitchen.

“I guess so...”

“C’mon, Cherry, I’ll show you the kittens,”
Stewie grinned.

* * * *

I pushed off with the toe of my borrowed
sandal, sending the swing into motion. It was a comfortable
evening, no humidity and a light breeze drifting in and out.

The veranda was shadowed, deserted except for
me. I needed alone time so I could think. Things were moving too
fast. That was the normal speed for me though, fast forward. Those
people who complained that life was standing still and were bored,
they would be more appreciative if they lived a day of my life.

The scrape of a shoe had me jumping from the
swing ready to fight. It was pitch black out, no stars in the sky.
I couldn’t see a thing.

“Easy does it.” Gideon walked out of the
shadows, hands up in surrender.

“I’m gonna make you wear a bell,” I said,
lowering my fists. My shoulder was throbbing in protest.

“Yeah, Maw-Maw says the same thing.” He
chuckled.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I always come out here after dinner.” He
moved with the slow deliberate grace of a cat as he settled himself
on the swing.

“Sorry. I didn’t know.” I started to
leave.

“You can stay.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.” I
took another step back.

“I wouldn’t have offered if that was the
case.”

I hesitated. What was he up to?

“I won’t bite.” He patted the empty spot on
the bench beside him.

I eased onto the swing because I didn’t want
him to think I was intimidated. But I sat as far away from him as I
could so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. We sat there, neither one
of us talking. It wasn’t totally uncomfortable.

“How’s the arm?” he asked, his mellow tone
oozing over me.

“It’s kicking and screaming for the most
part.”

“I’ll see if I have anything a little
stronger than Tylenol.”

“That’d be great.” I waited a beat then said,
“I’d, uh, like to pay you for letting us stay.”

“Sissy won’t let you,” he said, shaking his
head.

“But we’re using your water and the extra
electric, not to mention the food—”

“We call it Southern hospitality.” He cracked
a smile.

“I call it mooching,” I mumbled.

He stared out into the night, the swing
swaying gently.

“How about we take it out in trade?” he
suggested.

My body reacted instantly, tensing tighter
than a string on a bow. Red lights blasted in my head. Here it is.
The ever expected moves all men possess.

“What kind of trade?” I asked, my voice
dripping with contempt, as I looked him in the eye. I wanted to
make sure he saw I wasn’t going to take any of his crap.

“I was thinking a little light housekeeping
and some cooking.”

My ready retort, complete with flaming
verbiage, was doused. Cooking? Cleaning?

“Nothing too strenuous,” he said with a touch
of sarcasm. I guess he was offended by my silence.

“No, I mean... that sounds great. That’s not
what I expected...” My excuse trailed off. I looked at my good hand
that rested on my lap, pretending to inspect my cuticles.

“Ah... I see,” he drawled out.

I felt another blush heating up. He didn’t
say anything more. We sat in silence for a little while longer. I
slid my eyes his way a few times, but I couldn’t tell what he was
thinking, and not because of the lack of light, but because he had
a perfect poker face.

“Why did you bring us here?” I asked. I had
to know. I couldn’t take it anymore. This guy would give a mime a
run for his money.

“Did you have somewhere else to go?” It was a
casual question. No sarcasm or cockiness.

“No,” I admitted.

He lazily shifted his head forward then
back.

“Do you make a habit of bringing strangers
home?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.

“Nope, just the ones with gunshot
wounds.”

He said it so seriously that it took me a
minute to realize he was kidding.

“Well, at least you have your priorities,” I
said sternly, making him chuckle.

“So, do we have a deal?” he asked, crossing
his long legs at the ankle.

“I guess. Sissy’ll probably give us the boot
anyway after she tastes my fried chicken.”

“If it tastes anything like the Burgoo you
doctored up tonight, I think she’ll hog tie you to the stove.”

“We’ll see.” I smiled at his compliment,
which gave way to an involuntary yawn. “I better get to bed.”

He stood up when I did. I quickly stepped
back.

“Why do you do that?” He quirked a brow.

“Do what?”

His eyes were steady and probing.

“Nothing,” he said. “Goodnight.”

I watched him saunter off the veranda and
disappear into the starless night. Gideon Shepherd was an enigma.
It was too bad I couldn’t stick around to figure him out.
Probably for the best though,
I reminded myself. After all,
I was still on the run.

Chapter
Sixteen

“Rise and shine, baby bird!” Sissy hollered,
pulling the drapes back from the window. Sunlight blasted through
the glass, landing on my face. Forgetting the hole in my shoulder I
flung my arm over my eyes and then lowered it back to the bed,
crying out in pain.

“What in the name of Daniel Boone are you
screeching at?” she demanded, instantly at my side.

“I forgot I had an injury when I tried to
protect my eyes from your morning torture.”

She blinked a few times then threw her head
back. She cackled like an old hen.

“Ya got spunk.” She laughed.

I cringed, thinking of Cass.

“I thought you might be one of those Northern
ice queens for a while. Thank God you ain’t. I can’t stand those
pasty tight-lipped women.”

She peeled the covers back and swatted at my
leg.

“C’mon, you’re burnin’ daylight.”

“Where’s the fire?” I grumbled, sitting up. I
might be spunky, but she still scared me.

“Gideon told me ‘bout your deal. I got a
list.” She flitted around the room in her overalls like a denim
firefly from hell.

Oh God in heaven, help me.
I squeezed
my eyes shut, counted to ten and opened them. Nope, she’s still
here.

“What kind of list?”

“We got groceries to buy. The freezer’s full,
but I’m bettin’ you’ll need fresh stuff.”

I reached for my jeans only to find they
weren’t where I left them.

“Where are my jeans?”

“Those things were filthy. I threw them in
the washer.”

“What am I going to wear?” I asked, my voice
rising with each word. Thankfully, I’d put my wedding rings into a
secret pocket in my backpack.

“Calm down. Here, I got ya these.” She handed
me a pair of overalls.

“No way, I’m not wearing those.” I jumped off
the bed. I was only wearing my T-shirt and panties, but I didn’t
care.

“Well you can’t walk around in your
underwear. We don’t do that sort of thing around here. This ain’t
New York, ya know.”

Really?
I thought sarcastically as I
hustled to the bathroom. After I peed, I stood in front of the
mirror to examine myself. The bruises were greenish yellow, not bad
for the second day. My shoulder was burning. I lifted the T-shirt.
Little spots of blood seeped through the bandage. Lovely.

I brushed my teeth and combed my hair. For
the hundredth time I wished I had another hand so I could pull it
up.

I opened the door and yelped. Sissy was
standing at the threshold, the overalls in her hand. The steely
resolve in her watery brown eyes told me not to fight the
inevitable.

I took the overalls and stepped into them.
They weren’t so bad when I pulled them up and found out they were
shorts. I had trouble with the strap for my bad shoulder.

“Here, lemme help ya.” Sissy gently took the
strap and looped it over the shoulder, buckling it in place.

“Sit down,” she ordered and pointed to the
settee at the foot of the bed. I sat. She went into the bathroom. A
second later she came out with my comb and a hair band. With the
dexterity of someone much younger, she braided my hair quickly. It
felt good to have it off my neck.

“Thanks,” I murmured, trying to remember the
last time someone brushed and braided my hair.

“You’re welcome.” She smiled at me. Well, I
think it was a smile. I wasn’t totally sure. “Okay, quit dawdling,
get the lead out. Let’s go.” She marched out the door.

* * * *

The grocery store was comical. Everyone
stared at us like we were freaks from a side show. Sissy explained
who a few were.

The first was a middle-aged woman in hot pink
Lycra carrying a basket full of yogurt and celery. She blew air
kisses at Sissy as she ducked down another aisle.

“That’s Lorna Mae Jackson. She’ll call at
least five people and tell them you’re everything from a long lost
relative to a gold diggin’ tramp pregnant with Gideon’s love child
before we hit the dairy section.”

The next was an elderly pair of twins dressed
in flowered muumuus. They actually stopped and hugged Sissy like
they hadn’t seen her in years. Sissy rolled her eyes and kept
walking.

“Ugh, Pansy and Peony Rutherford, spinster
sisters. They run the bed and breakfast. They ain’t got the sense
God gave a goose.”

A little old man with a crinkled face wearing
baggy trousers and suspenders tipped his hat at us.

“Les Houghton. Klepto. Took my gramma’s
silver horse pin and I had to call Sheriff Packer on him.”

And on and on it went. I was exhausted by the
time we got back to the farm. I dropped the bags of groceries on
the counter. The shoulder was throbbing painfully. I hooked my
finger over the collar of the shirt and took a peek. The padded
gauze was more red than white. I felt a bit nauseous.

“There’s more to bring in, gal. Don’t be
dilly dallyin’ around.”

I turned to go back outside when a wave of
lightheadedness swept over me. I reached out to steady myself,
catching nothing but air.

“Cherry?” Sissy’s tinny voice echoed around
me. “Cherry!”

I slid to the floor. I closed my eyes,
pressing my cheek to the cold tile. That felt better.