A five-year-old with all the wisdom of the ages.
“Hey, Jeremiah,” Lucy said, leaning against the door like a teenage girl waiting for her date to pick her up, and he felt something smooth and sweet slip into his bloodstream. That old desire to flirt, to lean back and charm this woman’s secrets from her, to share a few of his with her—the harmless ones. The fun ones.
It was a powerful drug. Back in the early days of his rodeo career, he got ribbed all the time for nearly missing his call times because he’d be chatting up the girl at the snack bar.
But that had been a million years ago and he stifled that smooth, sweet inclination.
“Hey Lucy, how did it go today?” He put one foot on the first step of the porch and tipped his hat back. Casey copied him, his little boot on the step next to his.
“Good.” She nodded. “Just fine.”
He’d been expecting a little more. “Was he polite?”
“No.” She laughed, but when he turned toward the truck, she stopped him. “Stop. I...didn’t expect him to be polite. But he was fine.”
“What did he do?”
“Sulked mostly.”
“Did he do what you asked him to do?”
She winced.
“I knew this was a bad idea. We can forget it. Just—”
“No, Jeremiah.” She touched his arm, the contact burning through his shirt. His disappointment. “Let’s not give up. Not yet.”
“Did he...did he say anything? At all?”
In the movies the kid would open up to the pretty stranger, pour out some of his grief. Maybe develop a crush that would pull him out of the pit of despair he seemed to live in. Jeremiah had no reason to believe anymore that life was anything like a movie, but he could still hope.
“No, Jeremiah,” she murmured, her eyes liquid with sympathy, “he didn’t say anything. But it was the first day.”
Behind Lucy, Sandra appeared, flushed and smiling. “Well, hello boys,” she said, and Jeremiah tipped his hat, stupidly pleased when Casey did the same.
“Howdy, Sandra,” Jeremiah said.
Casey took the three steps up to the door. “Excuse me, Sandra?” he asked, and she smiled down at him. Here comes the banana bread, thought Jeremiah, not un-tickled that his nephew seemed to have Jeremiah’s way with women. There should be something of him in these boys he was raising.
“What are you having for dinner?” Casey asked.
“Brisket, corn on the cob, beans and a salad.”
“That sounds real good. We’re having peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” Casey poured the orphan routine on thick.
“Casey,” Jeremiah groaned. “That’s not true.”
Well, not totally. There was something in the freezer he could pull out.
“That’s no way to feed a growing boy like you.” Sandra winked at Jeremiah over Casey’s head. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
“Yes!” Casey cried just as Jeremiah said, “No.”
Casey whirled and frowned at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Brisket, Uncle J. Bris-ket.”
“Three growing boys,” Jeremiah said to Sandra and the gape-faced Lucy. “They’re like locusts. Honestly, they’d eat the cupboards if you let them...”
“Excellent,” Sandra said. “We’ve got a fridge full of leftovers no one is eating around here. Go tell your brothers that they need to come in and shuck some corn.”
Casey jumped off the porch with a wild whoop and ran off to the truck to share the news. They were going to eat well tonight. But Jeremiah didn’t like feeling like an interloper, didn’t like shifting the burden of feeding three bottomless pits onto an unsuspecting Sandra.
“Wow,” Lucy said, looking at Jeremiah with twinkling eyes. “The kid is a smooth talker. Wonder where he gets that from?”
“You don’t have to do this,” Jeremiah said, ignoring Lucy. “He made us seem much worse off than we are.”
“I’m sure he did,” Sandra said. “But we would still love to have you. This house could use three growing boys in it for a night.”
“What about Walter?” Lucy asked.
“What about him?” Sandra asked, her face falling into stern lines. She twisted the wide delicate silver cuff on her wrist, as if turning a key in a lock.
“Well,” Lucy laughed. “I’m pretty sure he won’t like having three growing boys here.”
“Then he can stay in his room,” Sandra snapped in a voice Jeremiah had never heard from the woman before. Sandra left and Lucy stared after her mother with a wrinkle set deep between her eyes.
He wanted to kiss that wrinkle. Slide his hands into the satin of her hair where it touched her shoulders, her neck. He wanted to warm himself, those places inside that had been cold for so long he no longer felt them, against the warmth of her skin. That fire that kindled and blazed in her eyes. The stubborn, knowing set of her shoulders.
The truck door slammed, and Casey and Aaron ran past him. Ben, sullen and dragging his feet, brought up the rear. In a flash Jeremiah saw how tonight might end. How Ben with his disdain could hurt Sandra and the thought made him furious. Sick to his stomach.