Page 59 of Love’s Silver Bullet

“And me.” Shaylee wiggled auburn brows with a pixie smile, her fair, creamy skin dusted with a light spray of freckles that seemed right at home with the speckles of dirt on her face.

Aunt Libby froze midway through peeling a potato, a curl of skin dangling along with her mouth. “Shaylee Ann Donovan, please tell me you haven’t been in the pen with that piglet.”

Shaylee’s chin nudged up, her love of animals evident in the sympathetic slope of her brows. “Her name is Clarabelle, Aunt Libby, and of course I have because who else is going to play with her? She’s an only child, for heaven’s sake, and in mourning to boot since her twin brother didn’t make it, so I would think you’d be more sympathetic to her plight.”

A smile flickered at the edge of Aunt Libby’s mouth despite her obvious attempt to remain stern. “No one questions your regard for all creatures great and small, sweetheart, and we all find it most commendable. But even more so when you wash your hands after, so thank you for setting the table.” She paused with a start, part of the peel plopping into a bowl. “You did wash your hands prior to, right?”

“Whoops.” Teeth tugging her lip, Shaylee quickly bounded to the sink to wash her hands, drawing a groan from every woman in the room.

Shaking her head, Libby picked up with her peeling once again, the edge of her lip tipping up. “And I am sympathetic to Clarabelle’s plight, young lady. It’s when it comes in contact with my dinner that I find myself less inclined.” She motioned her head toward the door. “Dinner will be in thirty minutes, so you best clean up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Shaylee trudged from the room, a noisy sigh trailing her through the door while all three women exchanged glances that broke into chuckles.

“I know she’s a late-blooming fourteen,” Libby said as she sliced chunks of potato into a boiling pot on the stove, “but she’ll be fifteen soon, and I honestly worry about her transition into womanhood the way she fights me on wearing a dress and curling her hair.”

“I know.” Sheridan finished turning the fried chicken in the skillet and put the lid back on. “Goodness, I was ready to become a woman at age eleven as I recall, wearing nothing but dresses and bows from that moment on, just to try and turn a boy’s head.”

“For all the good it did,” Maggie said with a wry smile while she frosted the cake for dessert, “with prison wardens for brothers.”

“And an uncle who won’t listen to reason.” Libby sat down at the kitchen table to shell the peas. “No matter how hard I try to feminize Shaylee Ann, Finn bucks me at every turn, stating that she has plenty of time to grow up, so we should just allow her to enjoy her childhood until nature takes its course.”

Maggie chuckled. “Well, it appears nature has certainly done that, what with Shay spending all her free time tramping through the woods with squirrels and raccoons, then wallowing with pigs.” She grimaced. “Albeit the wrong kind of nature.”

Grating her lip, Sheridan peeked up from kneading the bread dough, praying her aunt and sister-in-law wouldn’t be shocked at what she was about to say. “Uh, speaking of nature taking its course,” she said in a frail whisper, gulping when Aunt Libby and Maggie paused to look up. “I um … well I’ve been sort of, kind of”—her brows wrinkled in a near wince—“seeing Clay.”

Libby caught her breath while Maggie offered a commiserative smile. “I know,” she said with a note of sympathy in her tone.

“You know?” Sheridan said in unison with her aunt, the whites of her eyes as wide as Aunt Libby’s for a whole different reason.

“Yes, because Blaze told me last night when we had it out—again.”

Aunt Libby just sat there, peapod frozen in hand, as if just now realizing the impact of what Sheridan said. “Wait—you’ve been seeing Clay?”

Sheridan’s cheeks warmed as she peeked up at her aunt. “Yes. He’s been teaching me to shoot, which is why Blaze thought I was such a quick study.” She glanced at Maggie and back. “I am so sorry I didn’t tell either of you, but I didn’t want get you in trouble.”

“And the saints be praised for that,” Libby said with a droll smile, “because your uncle and I still haven’t recovered from our last argument over Clay.”

Sheridan put her palms to her cheeks. “Oh, Aunt Libby, I am sooooo sorry for all the problems I’ve caused for both you and Maggie. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course I can, darling, because we’re in this together. The Silver Lining independence Platform, remember?” Her mouth took a slant as she continued to shell her peas. “It’s your uncle I can’t forgive at the moment.”

“It has been rather chilly at dinners lately,” Maggie said with a sympathetic smile. Blaze said Uncle Finn has been a real bear and riding him hard.” She paused. “What happened, Libby?”

Libby’s heavy exhale lingered in the air. “Oh, we were discussing Sheridan’s independence, and he told me flat out that he was her guardian, so he was going to have the last word.” Her mouth compressed into a thin smile. She looked up beneath a sweep of lashes, looking for all her forty years, like a mischievous girl in her teens. “So I gave it to him.”

Maggie put a hand to her mouth to shield a smile. “You know, Libby, you’re going to have to speak to him beyond monosyllables eventually and forgive him.”

Libby tossed her head, auburn curls bouncing with the motion, almost seeming to Sheridan at times as if Libby were the younger woman and Maggie the elder. “I know, but nothing says I can’t make him wait so he thinks twice the next time, right?”

“Uh, do not let the sun go down on your anger?” Maggie quoted softly.

Libby shrugged and popped a pea in her mouth with an impish smile. “It’s not going down on my anger,” she said with a wink, “just my kisses.”

Shaking her head, Maggie turned back to Sheridan, who was buttering a baking pan before washing her hands at the pump, carrying it and a bowl of dough to the table. “Well, no worries, Sher, because Blaze and I made up, so all is well in our relationship.” She jagged a brow at Sheridan. “But from what Blaze told me about how Jake reacted to you seeing Clay, I’m not so sure about yours and his.”

“So, he knows?” Sheridan asked in a rush, pulse going haywire at the prospect that her plan may have worked.

“Of course he knows,” Maggie said with a pointed look that held the barest trace of a smile, “because after Blaze and I made up, he told me he had to talk Jake out of riding into town and confronting Clay. Said Jake swore he was going to bash Clay’s head in for even looking at you. But Blaze convinced him it wasn’t worth it since you’re only here for another week. Especially since Blaze plans to watch you like a hawk. But, the good news is”—a smile twitched on her face—“apparently Jake was ready to ride into town and bash Clay’s head in.”