Firefly Island by Lisa Wingate Page B

situations are beyond even the pasty smile. Our future was involved here. Our family.
    They were headed this way now, Jack striding up the footpath with Daniel. Nick followed along, Pecos at his heels, both of them darting surreptitious looks at Mr. West’s hulking frame, as if they couldn’t decide what to make of him. He gave no regard to either of them. Apparently he wasn’t interested in friendly dogs or adorable children. Another one of my father’s bits of advice: You can assess a man by how he reacts to those most vulnerable.
    My head swirled, and I turned to make a dash for the bathroom, but something strange happened. I can only describe it as the essence of the Ellery women inhabiting my body. I could hear my mother and Grandma Louisa Ellery whispering in my ear. Invisible hands pulled me upward like a puppet on strings. Stand up straight, Grandma Louisa commanded. An Ellery woman does not bow to anyone. My mother added, Make a good impression. A wife can be her husband’s best asset, if she knows how to present herself. . . .
    I greeted Daniel and Jack West as they stepped into the sunny porch-like room with the old oak desk and the icky yellow carpet. Jack West was even larger and more intimidating in a confined space. He was six foot five at least, with ruddy skin, black eyebrows, and a thick head of gray hair that tumbled from his straw cowboy hat when he took it off to mop his forehead. His piercing blue eyes were cool and aloof in a way that brought Corbin’s rumors to mind again. Daniel’s new boss had the countenance of someone who could murder two people, hide the bodies, and not be haunted by his own conscience.
    He had the hands for it, too. His broad, long-fingered grip compacted the bones in my knuckles when he greeted me. He didn’t smile along with the crushing grip, but merely met my gaze, as if the display of strength were more of a test than anything. I squeezed back. The Gymies would havebeen proud. All those pre-wedding workouts were good for something.
    â€œY’all are settled.” Jack West’s words were more of a statement than a question, requiring no answer. His slow drawl, more Southern than western, echoed through the room in a baritone perfect for voice-overs. He seemed oblivious to the echo and the lack of furniture or boxes in the house. If he wondered why we hadn’t moved anything in, he didn’t ask. His gaze swept the chalky, slightly crazed paint job on the walls and then skimmed the stained yellow carpet without interest.
    â€œUhhh, no, not . . . exactly . . .” I stammered. This house is a wreck, have you noticed?
    Beyond Jack’s broad shoulder, Daniel took a step to one side and widened his eyes with an almost imperceptible headshake. He’d been watching me go into panic mode about the house all morning. He’d even joined me in panic mode several times. He’d agreed that surely there was some mistake, and Jack West was not aware of the condition of the house. Now Daniel seemed to be taking it all back. He was giving me the don’t-rock-the-boat look.
    I sent an eye-flash back at him when Jack’s attention darted to the dog barking outside. On the back porch, Nick had found the tennis ball, and he and Pecos were playing keep-away again.
    In the few seconds while Jack’s attention was elsewhere, unspoken dialogue pinged back and forth between Daniel and me with amazing clarity, considering that we were new at this marriage thing. All of a sudden, we could read each other’s minds. I understood quickly and clearly that Daniel had just found out Jack West thought the house was shipshape as is, or at least that it was good enough for us. The very idea I’d been trying to backhand away was now landing smack-dab in the middle of our reality.
    â€œSwimmin’ hole down at the creek,” Jack said flatly, seeming to be talking about Nick, though it was hard to tell.