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“She was the housekeeper.”
“But not anymore?”
I’m being nosy. I’m also desperate, needing any possible insight about what I’ve walked into. Movies and books always suggest small-town folks are chatty, but everyone here talks like they’re being charged by the word.
“No.” Jamie takes a step back. “If you need anything else, Mabel should be able to help. I’ve got to get going.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
He nods and then disappears outside, leaving me standing in the center of the room.
I drop my bag on one of the beds, my first priority being changing out of this dress. I decide to shower first, relieved the plumbing works well.
Once I’m dressed in more casual attire, I call and cancel my reservation at Lone Star Bed and Breakfast. I’m worried if I don’t, I’ll be too tempted to head for air-conditioning. I make up one of the lower bunks with bedding from the cedar chest and pull out my laptop, using the hotspot on my phone to check emails.
At six on the dot, I head toward the farmhouse.
Kyle is out on the front porch, standing in a position almost identical to the posture he adopted earlier, arms crossed and expression annoyed. He’s showered, too, his hair tousled. Instead of jeans and work boots, he’s in mesh basketball shorts and bare feet.
I force my steps not to falter, trying not to think about how different I look from every other time he’s seen me. It’s hard not to feel self-conscious with my damp hair and bare face. I’m wearing the T-shirt and jean shorts I put on after my shower, which is nothing like the attire I normally wear for anything work-related.
“I told you to leave.”
I don’t stop at the bottom of the stairs this time. I climb right up onto the porch so we’re standing at the same level. He’s still taller than me, annoyingly.
“No, you said Ishouldleave.”
“What’s the difference?”
I exhale. “Look, Kyle—”
“I need help in the kitchen,” Mabel’s voice calls out, carrying easily through the screen door.
One of Kyle’s eyebrows rises. I’m not sure if it’s a challenge or if he’s waiting for me to finish my sentence.
I take the offered out since assisting Mabel sounds far preferable to begging Kyle to let me stay.
I’m not going to make this easy on him. If he wants me to leave, he’ll have to make me.
The interior of the farmhouse isn’t what I expected. It’s open and uncluttered, a well-worn woven rug covering most of the hardwood floor. A mismatched couch and a couple of armchairs take up most of the space with a wooden table and four chairs tucked away in the far corner. A staircase leads to upstairs, and the kitchen is visible through the opening next to the table.
I head into the kitchen, where I chop cucumbers for the salad and meet Mabel’s husband, John. He offers me a friendly smile, but not much in the way of conversation.
Kyle’s a silent, glowering presence in the background, his attention burning holes in the back of my head.
Once all the food is ready, everyone migrates over to the table that stretches almost the full length of the kitchen wall. The wooden surface is gouged and scarred in spots by years of obvious use.
“Not at dinner,” Mabel says, knocking at the brim of John’s hat.
With a grunt, he removes it, revealing a full head of hair that’s more salt than pepper. His brow is creased from years of squinting at the sun. He walks with a slight limp, steps slow as he joins us at the table.
I grab my water glass and take a long swallow, painfully aware I’m the outsider here. My job has never required me to eat dinner with strangers before, and I would have been fine with that staying the case.
Utensils scrape plates as everyone serves themselves. The food smells delicious. But hunger is replaced by dread as I stare at the ribs dripping with barbecue sauce. I’m already an unwelcome house guest, and I’m positive this won’t help.
Mabel follows my gaze. “They’re beef. From our own cows.”
I force a smile. “That’s great.”
