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Blue cranked open the kitchen window. Through the glass, he watched April’s lithesome, sensual movements and those blades of long hair flying around her head like knives.
“Nobody over the age of thirty should be able to dance like you,” he heard Blue say when the song ended.
Riley piped up, breathless from trying to follow April. “Dad is fifty-four, and he dances great. Onstage anyway. I don’t think he dances anywhere else.”
“He used to.” April ran her hands through her hair to sweep it back from her face. “After his concerts, we’d find some out-of-the-way club, and we’d dance until the place shut down. Lots of times they’d stay open just for him. Of all the people I’ve ever danced with, he was—” She stopped, then shrugged and leaned down to pet the dog. A moment later, her cell rang and she slipped out of the kitchen to answer it.
Yesterday, he’d overheard her address one of her callers as Mark. Before that, it had been Brad. Same old April. Same old hard-on whenever he got near her. Even so, he wanted to make love with her again. He wanted to excavate her layers and discover where her strength came from.
He had meetings in New York and intended to ask her to watch Riley for a few days while he was gone. He trusted her with his kid. The person he didn’t trust her with was himself.
Someone started pounding on the door as Dean headed back downstairs from his shower. He pulled it open and saw Nita Garrison standing there. Behind her, a dusty black sedan pulled away. He turned toward the kitchen. “Blue, you’ve got company.”
Nita smacked him in the knee with her cane, and he automatically stepped back, which opened up a hole big enough fo
r her to slip through. Blue emerged from the kitchen, followed by a trail of great cooking smells. “Oh, God, no,” she moaned as she spotted Nita.
“You left your shoes on the stairs,” Nita said accusingly. “I tripped over them and fell all the way to the bottom. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck.”
“I didn’t leave my shoes on the stairs, and you didn’t fall. How did you get here?”
“That fool Chauncey Crole. He spit out the window the whole way.” She sniffed the air. “I smell fried chicken. You never fix fried chicken for me.”
“That’s because I can’t find a place to hide the ground glass.”
Nita sucked on her teeth, then whacked him in the shin again for laughing. “I need to sit down. I have bruises everywhere from that fall.”
Riley popped in from the kitchen, Puffy trotting behind her. “Hi, Mrs. Garrison. I practiced with the book today.”
“Go get it and let me see. But first, find me a comfortable chair. I took a terrible fall today.”
“There’s one in the living room. I’ll show you.” Riley led her away.
Blue rubbed the back of her hand over a dab of flour on her cheek. She didn’t quite look at him. “I’d better ask April to set another place at the table.”
“That woman is not eating dinner with us,” he said.
“Then you figure out how to get rid of her. Believe me, it’s harder than you think.”
Dean followed her into the kitchen, protesting all the way, but Blue waved him off. He looked in the dining room and saw his antique Duncan Phyfe table had been set with fringed yellow place mats, old-fashioned blue and white dishes, a bowl of shiny stones Riley had collected, and a vase of yellow flowers. All the room needed to be complete were the murals Blue refused to paint. April ignored him as she began filling glasses with iced tea. He tried to help Blue out but ended up getting in her way. Jack appeared fresh from his shower. Blue dropped her wooden spoon.
“Good to see you, Blue.” He reached into the refrigerator for a beer.
“Uh…hi.” She knocked over the flour sack as she fumbled to pick up the spoon.
Dean grabbed some paper towels. “We have unexpected company in the living room, Jack, so you’ll have to make yourself scarce.” He tilted his head toward Blue. “I’m sure your number one fan over there will save you some dinner.”
Jack’s eyes followed April, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I can only hide out for so long,” he said. “Your farm’s private property. Even if people figure out I’m here, they won’t be able to get to me.”
But Dean had spent twenty years avoiding anything that could connect him to Jack Patriot, and he didn’t want Nita Garrison blabbing to everybody that Jack was staying here.
“Dad went into the beer store today,” Riley said from the doorway. “He was in his work clothes, and he wasn’t wearing any earrings, so nobody recognized him.”
“Recognized who?” Nita appeared behind her. “That football player? Everybody knows he’s here.” She caught sight of Jack. “Who are you?”
“That’s my dad,” Riley said quickly. “His name is…Mr. Weasley. Mr. Ron Weasley.”
“What’s he doing here?”
