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Millicent eyed her suspiciously. Elizabeth managed a weak smile. It didn’t appear to reassure the other woman, but she seemed to be relaxing. Just when Elizabeth was sure Millicent was going to let it go, Asa spoke up.
“She’s not right.”
If she had a shotgun, she would have loaded his backside with buckshot. She watched fatalistically as the light of battle reentered Millicent’s blue eyes.
“You saying I don’t know what I’m talking about?”
Behind Millicent’s back, Elizabeth made frantic motions for Asa to shut up. He ignored them. “I’m saying that if you’re trying to convince my wife I’m hankering for something else, then you and I have a problem.”
The restaurant grew quiet as the patrons realized a standoff was in the making.
Millicent put her hands on her hips. “I notice your problem is with my convincing her, not the truth of it.”
Elizabeth groaned. Millicent loved to argue.
“What truth would that be?” Asa asked, calm as could be.
“Men don’t like skinny women.” Millicent said with complete authority. “They get tired of being poked and jabbed by all them bones.”
“That so?” Asa asked, interested.
“Gotta say she’s right about that,” the Sheriff hollered. That got hoots and hollers as it was the worst kept secret in town that the sheriff was sweet on Millicent.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Jed Stuart countered. “I like ‘em trim and sleek like soft pussy cats.”
Elizabeth wanted to sink down in her seat as the argument of men’s preferences grew and swelled with little regard for the decency of the topic. Millicent and Asa paid it no mind. Their gazes were locked onto each other, their discussion private unto themselves.
“That’s so,” Millicent retorted, echoing Asa’s response with all the force of her considerable personality.
Elizabeth knew how it felt to come up against that force. It always left her feeling like she’d survived a hurricane. Asa didn’t even look like he’d been ruffled by a breeze.
“Well, I hate to argue.” He took another bite of his chicken. “But a man has a right to his tastes.”
“And yours are?” Millicent had the persistence of a fly. Elizabeth wished that, just once, Millicent wouldn’t focus on something pertaining to her life. She really didn’t want to know Asa’s preferences. Hearing he liked plump blondes would be torture.
“I’m happy with my wife.”
He said that as if he meant it. No smile. No prevarication. Just a straightforward statement of fact. Some of the tension left Elizabeth’s throat. She took another sip of water and discovered she could swallow the bite of sweet potato.
Millicent’s toe tapped hard on the floor for about ten beats before it stopped. Some of the stiffness left her back. Her spoon dipped to a less menacing position. “Darned if I don’t believe you.”
“Glad to hear that, ‘cause I’d sure hate this fine meal to go cold while we debated the point.”
Millicent laughed. “You’re a character, Mr. MacIntyre.”
He nodded once. “I’ll be taking that as a compliment.”
Millicent nodded back. “You do that.” Her attention swung back to Elizabeth. “You got yourself a good man. Don’t mess it up with any of your nonsense.” She frowned at the sweet potato. Elizabeth wished she’d managed to choke down another bite.
“You eat every bit of that,” Millicent ordered. “If I have anymore than the skin to slop the hogs, I’m going to take it personally. You’ll be nine-years-old all over again.”
“I’ll eat it all,” Elizabeth promised. Somehow, she’d manage.
Millicent paused and sniffed the air. “Gosh, darn it, Bessie! Did you take that corn pone out of the oven?”
“I meant to,” Bessie wailed in a clear indicator she hadn’t.
With a curse word that singed, Millicent forged a path to the kitchen.
“What happened when you were nine?” Asa asked.
Trust him to latch onto that. “My father and I were having a discussion.”
“How did Millicent get involved?”
“It started here.”
“Uh-huh.” He pointed to her plate with his fork. “You going to eat that potato?”
“I suppose.”
“So the argument with your father started here?”
She sighed, recognizing he wasn’t going to give it up. She poked the potato with her fork. “Father thought I was too puny. He thought, if I ate more, I’d be able to handle ranch work better.”
Without guilt, Asa made free with her potato. “Your father overlook he was dealing with a little girl?”
“He had hopes the problem could be overcome.”
On an “Uh-huh”, another bite disappeared. “Your Pa have a tendency to drink?”
Her fingers clenched in her lap. “No. He just believed he could…change things.”
“Can’t see the logic in trying to change a sweet little girl into a strapping boy.”
“I wasn’t sweet.”
He paused in his theft of a third bite. The fork hung, fully loaded about six inches above the potato. “Now there, darlin’, I’ve got to disagree.” She knew she was going to regret it, but she met his gaze anyway.
“You melt as sweet as honey on a man’s tongue. Gotta believe you started that way to end that way.”
