by Tina Leonard
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be a good thing. They’ve had enough worries. It would hurt them to know she wasn’t interested in them.”
Whew. So many betrayals for such short lives. “Tell them I’ll be back later to get them,” Calhoun said. “We’re going to run out for some fun. With your permission.”
“It’s fine. They’d love that.”
“About twelve.”
“I’ll have them dressed.”
He looked at Olivia one more time, noticing her hair lay softly over the jacket collar and seeing that her lips were a little chapped. He was struck by an urge to do something about that, but a promise was a promise, and one should always keep his promises, especially ones made to himself.
He loped off, still not believing that he could have the incredibly bad luck to fall for a woman who was related to Marvella.
Especially since he couldn’t stop thinking about how wonderful she felt, how sweet she tasted and how beautiful she was naked.
Nudes. Always his favorite thing. But now he only had room in his heart for one nude. His brushes had gone dry; his paint hadn’t been touched. He’d quietly nabbed the portrait he’d started of Minnie and Kenny and planned to finish that in his spare time over the next week.
But what he really, really wanted to do was make love to Olivia again.
That was something that would never happen. It would be like saying that her runaway heart and her family ties didn’t matter. It would be like following his heart over Niagara Falls in a barrel. Caution to the winds.
It would be unfair to her.
But he wanted her, as he’d never wanted anything before in his life.
And maybe that was part of his attraction to her. She was the one thing he couldn’t—shouldn’t—have.
“NOW THIS,” CALHOUN SAID that afternoon when he had the kids with him. “This is a birdhouse.”
Minnie frowned at the gourd. “It looks like a squash.”
“Yes, but certain birds love to make their homes in them. It doesn’t matter the shape or size of a home—it just matters that the birds find it just right for them.”
“Like our motor home,” Kenny said.
“Exactly.” Calhoun went up the ladder. “Now the important thing to remember is that certain birds feel this is the farthest south they can fly for the winter. So we try to take care of them. We keep bird food out for them, as well.”
“Really?” Minnie moved closer. “If I was a bird, I would never fly away. I would just let you feed me all the time.”
Calhoun laughed, adjusting a wire that a birdhouse hung from. “Now, if you’ll notice,” he began, “this house is empty. But in a couple of weeks, we may find something totally different.”
“You’ll have to write us and tell us,” Kenny said.
Calhoun hesitated. “Right. Now in the interest of birdie friends everywhere, we only rent these apartments out because we know if we don’t, they’ll create their own place to live and make a mess, or they’ll simply keep flying, looking for the perfect spot. We think we have the perfect spot right here.”
He leaned out to adjust one of the squash-shaped houses, his hand missed, his boot slipped on the rung, and before he knew it, Calhoun slid down the ladder, pinwheeling his arms until he hit the ground.
“You’re hurt!” Minnie exclaimed, grinning down into his face. “Calhoun! You’re hurting!”
“Yes, I am,” he choked out. “It could be any number of things, but I’m starting with general misery.”
Kenny clapped his hands. “This is the best!” Then he peered closely at Calhoun. “Is anything broken?”
“Maybe my spirit,” Calhoun said.
“Is it the Curse?” Minnie whispered.
“The Curse?” Calhoun frowned, trying to concentrate, realizing he was out in the back fields with two kids who were too young to be around a groaning man.
“The Curse of the Broken Body Parts,” she said reverently. “I prayed that’s what you’d get for Christmas.”
“And I thank you,” Calhoun said, grunting as he tried to focus on his fingers. Still on his hand. Check. “But there’s no such thing. It’s just a silly superstition. And it’s completely unnecessary for you to waste your Christmas prayers on me.” He groaned longer for sympathy and also to make certain he still could. God, the pain left him breathless.
“Christmas prayers are never a waste, Calhoun. Try to sit up. Or do you want to cry first?”
“Cry first,” Calhoun said. “Give me ten minutes to adjust my wits.”
“I bet none of your brothers ever fell out of a tree,” Kenny said admiringly. “That was like a swan dive.”
Calhoun’s eyes felt as if they were spinning in his head. “Do swans dive? I’m thinking no.”
Minnie patted his hand. “Do you want us to go get Gypsy?”
“Gypsy?”
“Yes,” Minnie said. “She can drag you home.”
“No, thanks. I just want to lie here for a minute and let the clouds roll by, accompanied by the sweet choral music in my head.”
Kenny patted his shoulder. “When we prayed, we prayed you’d only get hurt a little. Just enough to make The Curse work.”
“There’s no such thing as a curse,” Calhoun said. “Well, there might be, but it’s statistically unproven. It’s a theoretical thing. Or maybe it’s statistically proven, but not verified by an independent counsel.”
“Gosh,” Minnie said. “I don’t think this worked,” she told Kenny. “He was supposed to get hurt and fall in love with Momma. He’s yakking, but not about her.”
“Hmm,” Calhoun said. “You kids have been working on me. I’ll have to keep an eye on you in the future. You’re regular little voodoo-meisters. Witch doctors.”
“Kenny wants to be a doctor when he grows up.”
“Yeah? What do you want to be?”
Minnie smiled. “A mother. And a horse trainer.”
He closed his eyes. “I can see you being a mother. Be a horse trainer first.” He sighed. “You know, I fell because I thought I saw my brother Last.”
Kenny giggled. “In the tree?”
“No.” Calhoun took stock of his body parts again. “I thought I saw a motorcycle drive up, and I quit paying attention to my footing, and down I went.”
For a moment, he closed his eyes, then opened them again. When he could focus, he saw Last’s face peering down at him. It looked like Last, only the earring was gone and the hair looked right. There were no visible tattoos, scars or bones through the nose. Calhoun moaned. “I am seeing things. Kids, maybe you better go get your mom or one of my brothers.”
“What are you doing lying down on the job, Calhoun?” Last asked.
“Did I just hear my little brother speak? Minnie, is there a Jefferson hanging over my face?”
“Yes,” she said, “you’re not imagining things.”
“How can you tell it’s a Jefferson?” He wanted to be sure in case he was hearing things, too.
“He looks like you. And he gave us peppermints.”
“Calhoun, can you sit up?” Last asked.
“I don’t know as I care to. If you truly are you, what are you doing back so soon?”
“I have a baby being born. Jefferson men always look after their responsibilities.”
Maybe it was Last with a brain transplant. “Your baby was already born. Yesterday. Congratulations, it’s a girl named Annette. She has a bald head, rubbery lips and eyes so big she looks like an alien. I suspect those attributes will help her take a beauty-queen crown in a pageant someday.”
“She’s not supposed to arrive until tomorrow,” Last said.
“Annette is a punctual lass. I predict she will always be early, but never Last.” Calhoun smirked, pleased with himself.
“Look, Calhoun. I think you may have rung your bell just a bit. Can you sit up or do you need me to get the boys?”
“You can get the boys,” Calhoun said. “I’ll just lie here like a good sacrific
e.”
“Yeesh, he thinks he’s a comedian when his brain’s bumping around inside his skull. Kids, will you sit right here and make sure he doesn’t wander off?”
Minnie giggled. “He’s not that bad.”
Kenny dutifully waved his hand over Calhoun’s face.
“I’ll be right back.”
“That’s not what you said before,” Calhoun protested. “Before, you said you didn’t know when you’d be back. That’s not my brother. It’s an impostor. An impostor!” He looked at the children. “Was my brother just here?”
“Mr. Calhoun,” Minnie said, “could you try to be quiet for just a few minutes? As Momma sometimes tells us, ‘I need to empty out my ears, children, and you keep fillin’ ’em back up.’”
“Sure,” Calhoun said on a sigh.
“ONLY A SLIGHT CONCUSSION,” Doc Gonzalez said a few hours later, after the Jefferson boys had come galloping out to where Kenny and Minnie sat keeping watch over Calhoun. They’d picked him up gently and carried him sacrifice-style—his word, not theirs—to a truck. Then they’d sent Minnie and Kenny to the house to be with their mother and taken Calhoun to the hospital for a scan. “He’ll be right as rain in a few days. No strenuous activity for a couple days, though.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Mason said. “Let’s haul him home.”
“What do we do with him, then?” Archer asked.
“Calhoun, you have two choices,” Mason said. “You can stay at the main house, and Helga will look in on you when she has time. Or you can stay in the second house, and be a part of the little family you brought home for the holidays.”
“I’ll go with the little family I brought home for the holidays. At least I’ll get some peace and quiet,” Calhoun said. “And while we’re all here, I propose a family caucus.”
No one said anything. Doc edged to the door. “I’ll just be seeing patients. If anyone needs anything short of stitches, call me.”
“Mason, Mimi’s selling her place,” Calhoun said from his perch on the examining table.
“What?” Mason exclaimed. “What are you smokin’?”
“Nothing.” Calhoun gingerly sat up. “Not smoking anything, and my head’s not swimming with little birdies anymore. Someone back me up here.”
The brothers all silently nodded, except Last.
“I don’t understand,” Mason said. “How can she sell her family home?”
“Because life goes on,” Calhoun told him. “We all need to get better with our adjustment cycles.” He took a deep breath. “Now the really bad news. Olivia’s mother is Marvella.”
“That is bad news,” Last said. “That’s worse news than when I got Valentine pregnant. That was just a plot I succumbed to. You’re actually considering bringing Marvella into the family tree.”
“Thank you, Last, for your support,” Calhoun said on a growl.
Mason crossed his arms. “It is bad luck,” he said, “but I don’t see what difference it makes.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” Mason rubbed at his chin. “It may even come to some good. She may have some loyalty inside her somewhere. We absorbed Valentine into the family. It may be a bit harder, but I’m sure we can absorb Marvella, as well.”
“Dude, can you imagine her sitting down to Christmas dinner with us?” Crockett demanded.
“Yegods,” Calhoun said. “I don’t know that I’ve thought that far ahead. I just wanted to get the confession out of the way. And I think the concussion moved the confession schedule up by about a week, because I’m pretty certain I hadn’t planned on dealing with this today.”
“Speaking of Christmas dinner, did anyone get an invitation out to Hawk and Jellyfish?” Mason asked. “Those two are just as much a part of the family as the girls from the Union Junction Salon. And did we invite Delilah and the Lonely Hearts girls?”
“Did we order extra help for Helga?” Calhoun said on a grunt.
“There’s all of us, and I figure Olivia will be happy to help. Are you sure Mimi’s selling her place?” Mason asked. “This could be our last Christmas together.”
“Oh, boy. Who’s got diarrhea of the mouth now?” Calhoun asked, sliding off the table. “I need to empty out my ears,” he said, quoting Olivia’s kids. “Don’t freak, Mason. She’s just moving into town.”
“But that’s not the same. And people just don’t sell their family home.”
“They do when they have to. Mimi’s going to finish her father’s term as sheriff and then run for the office herself. She can’t do that and take care of her farm and take care of him. It makes sense,” Calhoun said, cramming his feet into his boots. “I wish everything made as much sense as Mimi.” He sighed. “I’m heading down the hall to visit Valentine and Annette, and then I want to be taken to my lodge where my squaw and her papooses can treat me like a chief.”
“Yeah, buddy,” Archer said, “he only lost about a billion brain cells with that swan dive from space.”
“I heard that,” Calhoun said, “and until I can think more clearly, the family conference is adjourned. I’ve got a baby to hold.”
Chapter Sixteen
Olivia watched as Calhoun casually strolled into the house, followed by his brothers. “I’m fine,” he said, holding up a majestic hand before he went upstairs.
His brothers looked at her apologetically. “Can you take care of him until his wits are unscrambled? It shouldn’t take long since it’s only a slight concussion,” Mason said. “Shouldn’t is the operative, but perhaps dicey, word. He seems to be channeling some ego-driven ghost from our family’s past.”
“It’s their fault,” Calhoun called down the stairs. “The kids wanted me banged up. So here I am.”
Olivia smiled. “Sure. He and Dad can keep each other company.”
The brothers left, after glancing one more time at the ceiling. Before he left, Mason whispered, “He’ll be fine soon, but for the moment, he’s having delusions of grandeur.”
“No royalty here,” she assured Mason. “I’ll let the kids take care of him.”
Mason nodded, tipped his hat and left.
“Olivia!” Calhoun called. “Where are the kids?”
She went halfway up the stairs. He came to the landing.
“They’re at the main house, making cookies with Helga.”
“Where’s your father?”
“He went with the kids, then apparently took some stuff over to Mimi’s house for Helga, met the sheriff and decided to sit and have an old man’s chat. At least that’s how he referred to it when he called here a moment ago to check in. How do you feel?”
“Like I had a watermelon dropped on my head. Splitting sort of headache. Doc says it’ll pass. It sure doesn’t feel like a mild concussion, though.”
“Go to sleep,” she told him. “Did they give you any painkillers?”
“No. They want you to watch me in case I start getting sick, or a bit clueless, or whatever. Changes in my personality.”
“They want me to watch you?”
Calhoun nodded. “Doc said someone had to do it. Your children prayed for me to get hurt, so the Curse of the Broken Body Parts would be visited upon me. I’m hurt, so now I’m here.”
Olivia nodded. “Okay. See that room at the top of the stairs that has a bass over the door?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes. It’s my room.”
“Excellent. Go in there, shut the door, turn out the light and snuggle up in your bed. I’m going to stay down here and fix some supper for my clan.”
He frowned. “Don’t you want to eat at the big house?”
“Well, it’s nice, Calhoun, but Helga shouldn’t have to take us on unexpectedly.”
“You’re Jefferson guests. She’ll think you don’t like her cooking. All Jefferson guests eat at the main house.”
Olivia shook her head. “Kenny and Minnie are up there eating more cookies than they bake, I’m sure. Helga will know we just need our family time down here.”
&n
bsp; “If you say so. But I don’t like it,” he said.
“Well, we’re not going to have any opinionated moments that we blame on our concussion,” Olivia said lightly. “Your brother warned me that you might get a bit lippy.”
“Ha! Don’t you listen to anything my brothers say, especially not Mason! If he wasn’t such a turtle, he’d have married the woman he loves instead of watching her move away!”
Olivia walked back down the stairs. “Go rest. I’ve got things to do.”
“Aren’t you concerned that your children specifically prayed for me to get hurt for Christmas? So that The Curse would work?”
“Yes, I am, actually. I’ll talk to them about it,” Olivia said. “They should never want someone to get hurt.”
“That’s not exactly the point,” Calhoun said. “In my family, we tease that we haven’t fallen…oh, never mind.”
“Go to bed. I’ll check on you in an hour and make certain you’re not ‘stupid,’ as you suggested.”
Calhoun watched Olivia walk away, then heard her go into the kitchen. Maybe The Curse wasn’t a curse. Falling out of a tree was just plain falling out of a tree, then. He’d have to tell Minnie that he’d been wrong; The Curse, which could actually be considered a blessing, was truly only a superstition.
“I don’t suppose you want to check on me from the close proximity of my bed?” he called.
“No! Go to sleep!”
“Spoken to just like a little kid,” he grumbled. “Stupid curse isn’t worth a flip!”
THANK HEAVENS Mason had warned her not to listen to anything that came out of Calhoun’s mouth! If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was trying to sweet-talk her.
Apparently, not only did you have to watch out for cowboys, but cowboys with concussions were particularly to be avoided!
As she chopped peppers, she thought about what it would be like if she and Calhoun were married. She thought about her last name being changed to Jefferson. “Olivia Jefferson,” she murmured. “Ew, that would make my initials OJ, like orange juice. I’d have to stick with Spinlove. Spinlove-Jefferson. That might work.”