Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2) by Cheri Allan Page A
Authors: Cheri Allan
Ads: Link
Grams cooking up a batch of those pocket pastry thingies for her friends. Better get ‘em while they’re hot.”
His uncle gave him a long, quiet stare before he finally let go of the handles and stood, a slight grimace the only indication his back was still giving him trouble. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”
“The bacon and herbed cheese are the best. I highly recommend them.”
His uncle shook his head and bent to pick up a trowel from the grass nearby. He looked at it a moment then stuck it point first into the mortar in the wheelbarrow. “You were a lot cuter when you were little,” he said as he walked away around the side of the house.
“Love you, too, Pop!”
Carter watched his uncle walk away, his chest tight, then backed the load of mortar through the kitchen door.
“Don’t mind me, ladies. Just carry on. You’ll hardly know I’m here.” Carter wheeled by the dining room where Grams and her friends were getting ready to play cards. Whenever they played at Grams he made a point of stopping by, because Grams was a firm believer that wherever two or more are gathered, there should be food.
Grams stepped into his path and smacked his chest with a potholder. “Stop! You can’t roll that thing through my house as if it were some construction zone! You’ll track dirt all over. It’s bad enough the whole yard is torn up fixing the septic system.” She ended on a near whisper, presumably because septic systems were a subject polite ladies didn’t speak about.
Claire Walker, Liz Beacon’s great-aunt, sat at the table sipping a mixed drink from a tumbler and picked up her poker hand one card at a time. With her deadpan expression, chin-length gray hair and hideous bowling shirt, Carter was tempted to hand Claire a cigar to complete the picture. “That reminds me,” Claire announced, “Lydia wants to know if she should withhold fluids. I told her you had plenty of bushes outside if she was desperate to go.” She winked at him.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Ruth said we can still use the bathrooms.” June Hastings, another of Grams’ friends, gave Claire a reproving look. “Why do you say things like that? You know how gullible Lydia is.”
Claire’s lips twitched. “That’s what makes it fun.”
Carter lifted the wheelbarrow handles again, but hesitated, torn between making his escape before his mortar set up and trying to wheedle one of the hot hors d’oeuvre thingies Grams had just set on the table.
“Lydia? Are you coming?” Grams called. “Claire’s dealt already! Now, about you,” she said, turning toward Carter again, “I want you to do a nice job for the Beacons. They’re old friends.”
“But, not too nice,” Claire said, fanning out her cards. “Keep your pants on.”
“What?” Carter said.
Claire took a sip from her tumbler. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re about, young man. You’ve got that same look as your father. Liz used to be a little plump but she’s slimmed down now and filled out rather nicely, if you know what I mean. Boys like you always have one thing on their minds when they see an attractive girl. Just sayin’.”
Carter met his grandmother’s eyes pleadingly. She wasn’t helping.
“Why am I getting a lecture here? What have I even done ?”
“You’ve eaten dinner there. You put out a grease fire and you saved her cat, and we all know what that means.” Claire enumerated her points as if they were charges against the accused instead of acts of friendly goodwill.
“You saved her cat?” June asked.
“He got loose. I caught him. Who told you that, anyway?”
“Lydia and I let the cat out by accident when we went to visit Elizabeth yesterday. He’s a sprinter, that one. Shot out like a rocket.” Claire eyed him. “Anyway, we heard the whole story. If you’re around enough to be putting out grease fires and saving cats, then you’re around enough for other things, too, by my way of thinking.”
“I’m just
His uncle gave him a long, quiet stare before he finally let go of the handles and stood, a slight grimace the only indication his back was still giving him trouble. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”
“The bacon and herbed cheese are the best. I highly recommend them.”
His uncle shook his head and bent to pick up a trowel from the grass nearby. He looked at it a moment then stuck it point first into the mortar in the wheelbarrow. “You were a lot cuter when you were little,” he said as he walked away around the side of the house.
“Love you, too, Pop!”
Carter watched his uncle walk away, his chest tight, then backed the load of mortar through the kitchen door.
“Don’t mind me, ladies. Just carry on. You’ll hardly know I’m here.” Carter wheeled by the dining room where Grams and her friends were getting ready to play cards. Whenever they played at Grams he made a point of stopping by, because Grams was a firm believer that wherever two or more are gathered, there should be food.
Grams stepped into his path and smacked his chest with a potholder. “Stop! You can’t roll that thing through my house as if it were some construction zone! You’ll track dirt all over. It’s bad enough the whole yard is torn up fixing the septic system.” She ended on a near whisper, presumably because septic systems were a subject polite ladies didn’t speak about.
Claire Walker, Liz Beacon’s great-aunt, sat at the table sipping a mixed drink from a tumbler and picked up her poker hand one card at a time. With her deadpan expression, chin-length gray hair and hideous bowling shirt, Carter was tempted to hand Claire a cigar to complete the picture. “That reminds me,” Claire announced, “Lydia wants to know if she should withhold fluids. I told her you had plenty of bushes outside if she was desperate to go.” She winked at him.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Ruth said we can still use the bathrooms.” June Hastings, another of Grams’ friends, gave Claire a reproving look. “Why do you say things like that? You know how gullible Lydia is.”
Claire’s lips twitched. “That’s what makes it fun.”
Carter lifted the wheelbarrow handles again, but hesitated, torn between making his escape before his mortar set up and trying to wheedle one of the hot hors d’oeuvre thingies Grams had just set on the table.
“Lydia? Are you coming?” Grams called. “Claire’s dealt already! Now, about you,” she said, turning toward Carter again, “I want you to do a nice job for the Beacons. They’re old friends.”
“But, not too nice,” Claire said, fanning out her cards. “Keep your pants on.”
“What?” Carter said.
Claire took a sip from her tumbler. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re about, young man. You’ve got that same look as your father. Liz used to be a little plump but she’s slimmed down now and filled out rather nicely, if you know what I mean. Boys like you always have one thing on their minds when they see an attractive girl. Just sayin’.”
Carter met his grandmother’s eyes pleadingly. She wasn’t helping.
“Why am I getting a lecture here? What have I even done ?”
“You’ve eaten dinner there. You put out a grease fire and you saved her cat, and we all know what that means.” Claire enumerated her points as if they were charges against the accused instead of acts of friendly goodwill.
“You saved her cat?” June asked.
“He got loose. I caught him. Who told you that, anyway?”
“Lydia and I let the cat out by accident when we went to visit Elizabeth yesterday. He’s a sprinter, that one. Shot out like a rocket.” Claire eyed him. “Anyway, we heard the whole story. If you’re around enough to be putting out grease fires and saving cats, then you’re around enough for other things, too, by my way of thinking.”
“I’m just
Similar Books
