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“For telling the truth? I don’t believe in coddling children. People like you want to solve every little problem for them so they never learn how to take care of themselves.”
“That particular child just lost her mother,” Dean said with deceptive mildness.
“Since when has life been fair?” Her mean eyes narrowed, further crinkling her blue frosted eye shadow. “It’s better they understand how things are when they’re young. When I was her age, I spent my nights sleeping on the fire escape to get away from my stepfather.” She bumped the table with her hip, and the coffee mug rolled to the floor, followed by a stack of junk mail. Nita made a vague gesture toward the mess. “Nobody in this town is willing to do housework anymore. Now all the black girls go off to college.”
Dean rubbed his ear. “That damned Abe Lincoln.”
Blue reined in a smile.
Nita looked him up and down. “You’re a real wise guy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The practiced way she took him in suggested she’d assessed more than her fair share of good-looking men. At the same time, there was nothing coquettish in her manner. “Do you dance?”
“I don’t think we’re getting on well enough for that.”
Her lips thinned. “I taught at Arthur Murray in Manhattan for many years. Ballroom dancing. I was quite beautiful.” She gazed at Blue, her distaste making it clear that Blue wasn’t. “You’re wasting your time mooning over him. You’re too plain.”
Dean lifted an eyebrow. “She’s not—”
“That’s what he likes about me,” Blue said. “I don’t steal his limelight.”
Dean sighed.
“You’re a fool,” Nita sneered. “I’ve known men like him all my life. In the end, they always picked women like me—like I used to be. Big boobs, blond hair, and long legs.”
Nita had hit the nail on the head, but Blue wouldn’t give up without a fight. “Unless they’re into cross-dressing. Then, it’s all about the woman with the prettiest lingerie.”
“You’ll let me know when you’re done?” Dean said.
“Who are you, anyway?” The old woman lobbed the question at Blue like a stink bomb.
“I’m a portrait painter. Dogs and children.”
“Really?” Her eyes flickered with interest. “Well, then. Maybe I’ll hire you to paint Tango.” She tilted her head toward the ancient dog. “Yes, I think I will. You can start tomorrow.”
“She already has a job, Mrs. Garrison,” Dean said. “She works for me.”
“You’ve been telling everybody in town that she’s your fiancée.”
“She is. And I know she’ll be the first to say that I’m a full-time job.”
“Rubbish. You’re just leading her on so she’ll keep sleeping with you. The minute you get bored with her, you’ll dump her.”
He didn’t like that. “Out of respect for your age, Mrs. Garrison, I’m going to let that pass. Now you have twenty-four hours to call off your dogs.”
Ignoring him, she turned back to Blue. “I want you here at one o’clock tomorrow to start painting Tango’s portrait. Once you show up, I’ll tell the men to get back to work.”
“Blackmail is supposed to be a little more subtle,” Blue said.
“I’m too old to be subtle. I know what I want, and I make sure I get it.”
“You don’t understand, Mrs. Garrison,” Dean said. “What you’re going to get is a lot of trouble for yourself.” He grabbed Blue’s elbow and steered her out the door.
When they got back to the car, Dean didn’t say much beyond ordering Blue never to go near Mrs. Garrison again. Since Blue hated orders, she was tempted to argue with him on principle, but she had no intention of letting the old woman inflict more torment on her. Besides, she wanted to enjoy the evening.
They pulled up in front of a one-story blue shingled building with a yellow sign over the front entrance that said BARN GRILL. “I thought this place would be a real barn,” she said as they walked toward the door.
