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As Christina turned back to the ball of dough on a flour-dusted cutting board, Tiffany dragged her thoughts away from her brother-in-law. “You said that one of the Dean boys was here. I assume it was Miles.”
“Whichever one is the older.” Ellie wiped her hands on the oversize apron that covered her clothes. “I never could keep those two straight.”
“Miles is a few years older than Laddy.”
“Then he’s the one. He came around here right after Stephen got through with summer school, I think. You know, I usually get along with kids—all kids, no matter how old they are. But that one, he makes me uncomfortable, let me tell you. Shifty-eyed, like he couldn’t tell the truth if his life depended on it.” Ellie picked up a spatula and wagged it under Tiffany’s nose. “That father of his is a no-account, I’m afraid. He’s been in and out of prison for as long as I can remember.”
“I know,” Tiffany said, fighting a headache that was pounding behind her eyes. “It’s not Miles’s fault that he’s got Ray Dean for a dad.”
“No, but it’s not your fault, either, and now he seems to be your problem all of a sudden.”
Tiffany couldn’t argue that point.
“Anyway, the two of them, Stephen and Miles, left a little while ago, but they’re supposed to be back by six.”
“Good.” She told herself not to be nervous. So Stephen was hanging out with Miles again. It wasn’t the end of the world. Or was it? When Stephen and Miles were together, there was always trouble brewing.
The timer dinged, and Ellie put on an oven mitt before removing a batch of cookies. “Okay, pumpkin, you and I, we’ve got ourselves a date.” She untied her apron and helped Christina from her chair. Aside from the one cookie sheet and Christina’s messy cutting board, the kitchen was clean.
“I finally managed to say a few words to the new tenant,” Ellie commented as she reached for her purse. “Handsome devil.”
“Is he?” Tiffany wasn’t going to rise to that bait. From the minute Ellie had moved in, she’d been playing matchmaker.
“Almost as good-looking as that brother-in-law of yours.”
Tiffany cocked an eyebrow at the friendly older woman. “Almost?”
“That J.D.’s got something, honey, and don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. On top of that, he’s lots more outgoing than Luke.” She looked through the window to the carriage house and wiggled a finger at the upper story. “Luke’s been in the place for what—several days now? Gee, almost a week, I guess—I can’t keep track—but I haven’t hardly seen him.”
“Maybe he’s avoiding you,” Tiffany suggested with a smile.
“Don’t be teasing, now. I think you might be on to something there. He’s not avoiding me, per se, but everyone in general. A real recluse. Probably has some deep, dark secret from his past.”
“Probably,” Tiffany said, swallowing a smile. Sometimes the older woman’s imagination ran away with her. In Tiffany’s opinion it was because of all the spy and mystery novels Ellie devoured.
“Ah, well.” The older woman sighed and turned her attention away from the window. She took Christina’s small hand in her wrinkled one. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Right, Chrissie?”
“Right!” Another strong nod of affirmation. “Bye, Mommy.” Christina held up her arms to be hugged, and Tiffany swung her off her feet.
“Be a good girl for Ellie, won’t you?”
“I will.”
“She always is,” Ellie insisted, but Tiffany rolled her eyes.
As they left, Tiffany finished washing and drying the last of the cookie sheets, then went upstairs to change. Pausing at the open door leading to the third floor, she ran a hand down the woodwork and wondered about her brother-in-law. Since their last argument on the night of John Cawthorne’s wedding, she and J.D. had avoided each other and kept to themselves.
Grudgingly she had taken his advice and tried to reason with Stephen, but her son seemed to be slipping away from her. She knew that it was only natural. As the years progressed Stephen would start withdrawing from her, but she wasn’t ready for it, nor could she turn a blind eye to his rebellion. The strain in the house had been nearly palpable, and everyone was feeling the pressure.
Even Christina had sensed the stress and been grouchy from the tension in the air. The little girl was finally getting over a summer cold that had caused her to sniffle and cough for three days. But she hadn’t woken up
screaming. During the past week Christina had slept through the night.
That was the good news.
J.D. was the bad.
James Dean Santini. The enigma. She’d tried to avoid him, but it had proven impossible with him living upstairs. Every night she’d thought about him, only one floor away, as she’d lain in her bed.
