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Chapter Twenty-seven
“Warm apple cobbler!”
Herschel’s face did a comical sort of crumble when he saw the third Barker triplet. “Betty,” he cried.
She was across the room and in his arms in seconds.
Billie swallowed painfully, her throat as tight as her chest—which was making it hard for her to breathe.
Could this night get any worse?
She glanced at Bobbi, saw the shock on her sister’s face and knew this trip home was a surprise. Bobbi would have told her if Betty was coming home, she would have given her some warning.
Billie hadn’t seen Betty in nearly two years. She’d shown up at one of Billie’s games in Sweden, on the arm of some jacked up player. Betty had paid more attention to her teammates than to her own sister, monopolizing everyone’s attention in her over the top way, and after a very uncomfortable dinner, they’d parted ways. The whole thing had been bizarre and Billie knew her sister was using, but she also knew that Betty wouldn’t listen to anyone but herself.
Billie was very aware that Logan stood a few feet from her, hands clenched at his side and not for the first time, she wished that a hole would open up beneath her and swallow her whole.
Betty patted Herschel on the cheek, dug her finger into the warm apple cobbler and as she sucked the hot dessert from her fingers, her gaze wandered the room, until she stopped on Logan.
“So,” she said, licking her lips. “Where’s Dad?”
“Oh, he was feeling a tad tired,” Herschel said. “He went up to his room to rest.”
Worry furrowed her brow—just for an instant—but Billie saw it. “He’s doing all right?”
“As well as can be expected,” Bobbi inserted, her eyes hard as she gazed at her sister.
Herschel set out a stack of plates, his eyes misty. “Just damn glad that my twins are together for the holidays.”
Logan glanced her way and Billie mumbled, “Don’t ask.”
Betty’s finger snapped out of her mouth with a wet pop and Billie’s stomach rolled at the calculating look in her eyes as she settled on
Logan.
Panic hit her and sweat broke out on her forehead. There was no way Betty could know what Billie had done all those years ago, and Logan wouldn’t bring something like that up, he had too much class.
Betty’s eyes never left Logan, though she tipped her head to the side, a long, crimson chunk of hair falling past her collar. “So, Gerald Dooley?”
“Here we go,” Bobbi muttered.
Gerald cleared his throat and nodded. “Hi, Betty.”
Betty’s lips were shiny from the tongue that had darted out to swipe the corners and Billie, still frozen and afraid, was mesmerized by the perfectly formed mouth. Of course, Billie’s was exactly the same—but it wasn’t. Betty had always had an innate sexuality that permeated every pore in her body.
“You manage to get into Bobbi’s pants yet?”
Gerald’s face flushed a deep red. Guess that answered that question.
Herschel frowned. “That kind of talk isn’t appropriate for the dinner table. Cut it out.”
Betty giggled, but it sounded harsh and forced. “Sorry, Gramps.” She slid into a chair, which was funny since every other adult in the room was standing.
Herschel wiped his hands on his coveralls, and pushed his hat back. “Shoot, I forgot the spoons. Be right back.”
Betty sank her fingers into the dessert again. “Who needs cutlery?’
“Nice manners, Bets.” Bobbi took a step forward and shoved the plate out of Betty’s reach. “You can at least try and act normal if you’re going to stay here.”
