some paperwork.” She tossed her head in a leftward direction and he
assumed she referred to the tiny detached building nearest the main house that
he’d thought to be a tool shed.
“Oh, everyone,
listen now,” Dinah said over the din of conversation and laughter.
Peyton watched as
every adult in the vicinity quieted and turned toward her with full attention.
Except for Lucy.
She sat cross-legged on an ottoman, staring at whatever movie was playing on
the television in the ebony media suite. Her back faced the kitchen and even as
the adults started to move in that direction in a sort of herd, she remained
seated.
He’d bet his
father’s pocket watch that Lucy was no shrinking violet, that she was a
chatterbox who could talk a person into a stupor. Not at all like the
wallflower she was pretending to be now. But based on what he’d seen of her
today, he had nothing to support that bet.
It had pretty much
taken the Jaws of Life to get an explanation out of her when he’d found her at
his grandfather’s house—and even that was probably littered with half-truths.
The taking a taxi from school part made sense, but when he’d asked why she’d gone
there, she had insisted that she wanted to skip class and was in his
grandfather’s study sketching fashion ideas.
Well, she’d
admitted to her mother that she’d taken the trip to tell him to leave town. As
much as it stung, he recognized it as the truth. But what she’d really been up
to before she’d come barreling down the staircase was still a mystery.
After he’d gotten
her to crack open a book and get started on her homework, he’d looked around
the study and found everything where he’d left it—namely the chessboard that
sat on the table on top of the sketchbook Lucy kept there. This morning he’d
dropped a rook onto the board and it dangled halfway over the edge.
To get to her
sketchbook, she would have had to move the board and the rook would’ve been
shifted out of place.
She’d lied. And it
wouldn’t take him too long to find out why. That, he could promise.
“All right, all,”
Dinah was saying, “we’re having a guest for dinner. So try not to talk about
branding and calving through the entire meal.”
“Aren’t we guests,
too?” one of the men piped up with an easygoing chuckle.
“Why, y’all are
family,” Dinah said. “You, too, Coop.”
The older man she
called Coop only grunted and darted his eyes away as if a little embarrassed to
be singled out, even in a group of familiar faces.
“Now, then,” she
continued, “this evening Peyton Turner might be a guest, but we ought to start
welcoming him to the family fold. He’s our little Lucy’s papa!”
CHAPTER SIX
P EYTON
MENTALLY STUMBLED , just for a second, no
doubt feeling as blindsided as old Coop had been a few minutes ago. He glanced
around at the stares—a few curious, most accusing.
Then, as if they’d
all become one, his audience centered their group stare on Valerie.
Even Lucy turned
slightly to spy the reaction over her shoulder.
“Jeez …” Valerie
muttered, daring a look at him. “Want me to tell them to go easy on you? It’s a
limited-time offer.”
“No, I can handle
it.” He was about to thank her but she was already jogging up the kitchen
stairs, probably to rid herself of the horse smell that hung over her like a
halo.
“Now where did Lucy
run off to?” Dinah asked.
“She didn’t run.
She’s hiding in plain sight,” he said, pointing, “right there in front of the
television.”
Dinah glanced at
him apologetically, then smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her apron and
called, “Lucy, c’mere for a minute.”
Nothing.
“Lucy Olivia
Jordan!”
The woman may as
well have shouted “abracadabra” judging the way the girl jumped to her feet and
buzzed into the kitchen with her toffee-brown hair flying behind her and a mix
of mortification and irritation on her face.
“Diiii-nah,” she
said in what resembled a genuine whine.
assumed she referred to the tiny detached building nearest the main house that
he’d thought to be a tool shed.
“Oh, everyone,
listen now,” Dinah said over the din of conversation and laughter.
Peyton watched as
every adult in the vicinity quieted and turned toward her with full attention.
Except for Lucy.
She sat cross-legged on an ottoman, staring at whatever movie was playing on
the television in the ebony media suite. Her back faced the kitchen and even as
the adults started to move in that direction in a sort of herd, she remained
seated.
He’d bet his
father’s pocket watch that Lucy was no shrinking violet, that she was a
chatterbox who could talk a person into a stupor. Not at all like the
wallflower she was pretending to be now. But based on what he’d seen of her
today, he had nothing to support that bet.
It had pretty much
taken the Jaws of Life to get an explanation out of her when he’d found her at
his grandfather’s house—and even that was probably littered with half-truths.
The taking a taxi from school part made sense, but when he’d asked why she’d gone
there, she had insisted that she wanted to skip class and was in his
grandfather’s study sketching fashion ideas.
Well, she’d
admitted to her mother that she’d taken the trip to tell him to leave town. As
much as it stung, he recognized it as the truth. But what she’d really been up
to before she’d come barreling down the staircase was still a mystery.
After he’d gotten
her to crack open a book and get started on her homework, he’d looked around
the study and found everything where he’d left it—namely the chessboard that
sat on the table on top of the sketchbook Lucy kept there. This morning he’d
dropped a rook onto the board and it dangled halfway over the edge.
To get to her
sketchbook, she would have had to move the board and the rook would’ve been
shifted out of place.
She’d lied. And it
wouldn’t take him too long to find out why. That, he could promise.
“All right, all,”
Dinah was saying, “we’re having a guest for dinner. So try not to talk about
branding and calving through the entire meal.”
“Aren’t we guests,
too?” one of the men piped up with an easygoing chuckle.
“Why, y’all are
family,” Dinah said. “You, too, Coop.”
The older man she
called Coop only grunted and darted his eyes away as if a little embarrassed to
be singled out, even in a group of familiar faces.
“Now, then,” she
continued, “this evening Peyton Turner might be a guest, but we ought to start
welcoming him to the family fold. He’s our little Lucy’s papa!”
CHAPTER SIX
P EYTON
MENTALLY STUMBLED , just for a second, no
doubt feeling as blindsided as old Coop had been a few minutes ago. He glanced
around at the stares—a few curious, most accusing.
Then, as if they’d
all become one, his audience centered their group stare on Valerie.
Even Lucy turned
slightly to spy the reaction over her shoulder.
“Jeez …” Valerie
muttered, daring a look at him. “Want me to tell them to go easy on you? It’s a
limited-time offer.”
“No, I can handle
it.” He was about to thank her but she was already jogging up the kitchen
stairs, probably to rid herself of the horse smell that hung over her like a
halo.
“Now where did Lucy
run off to?” Dinah asked.
“She didn’t run.
She’s hiding in plain sight,” he said, pointing, “right there in front of the
television.”
Dinah glanced at
him apologetically, then smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her apron and
called, “Lucy, c’mere for a minute.”
Nothing.
“Lucy Olivia
Jordan!”
The woman may as
well have shouted “abracadabra” judging the way the girl jumped to her feet and
buzzed into the kitchen with her toffee-brown hair flying behind her and a mix
of mortification and irritation on her face.
“Diiii-nah,” she
said in what resembled a genuine whine.
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