by Sharon Sala
* * *
Duke couldn’t help but notice the sway of Mercy’s hips as she entered the kitchen. Those long legs were really something, but when he saw she was eating a cookie, he frowned. “You’re going to ruin your dinner.”
Mercy waved it in the air. “The cookies were in my room. That is an invitation to eat one, so I am.”
He blinked.
Jack hid a grin as he began dishing up stew. This might be the best thing ever to happen to his brother. Mercy Dane was definitely not a woman to knuckle under to Duke’s bossy ways.
She put the half-eaten cookie on a plate. “This marks my spot,” she said, grinning at Hope. “What do you need me to do?”
“Just sit here with me,” Hope said. “The boys will bring the food to us.”
Mercy nodded, reclaiming her cookie as she sat. “My room is beautiful. Probably the prettiest room I’ve ever had. Thank you.”
Hope beamed. “I’m so glad. I want you to feel comfortable and welcome.”
Mercy lifted the cookie. “Cookies are my kind of welcome. And they’re really good. Did you make them?”
Hope shook her head. “No, we get them at the bakery in town. I’m not much of a baker.”
“I bake,” Mercy said. “I’ll make some for you whenever you want.”
“That’s great!” Hope said.
Jack carried bowls of the hot stew to the table and set them on their plates. “Beef stew,” he said. “Corn bread coming up.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Mercy said. “Something hot to warm us up.”
“I suppose riding a motorcycle is cold traveling in the winter,” Duke said.
“And wet when it rains, miserable when it’s hot, and scary when you’re riding at night with nothing between you and the semi beside you but the draft of passing air,” Mercy added.
Duke frowned. “Then why choose such a dangerous mode of transportation?”
Mercy shrugged. “I didn’t choose it. An old biker who used to come to the Road Warrior died and willed the bike to me. Before that, I didn’t have any transportation.”
“Did you know how to ride it?” Jack asked.
“Not when it was given to me, but I learned, and I learned the hard way. Now when I ride, I wear leather because the first wreck I had on that bike took most of the hide off my legs and arms.”
“Oh my word!” Hope said.
Mercy shrugged again. “Life teaches you to cope. I’m good at coping.”
Hope’s eyes welled with tears all over again. “You were cheated out of so much,” she said, wiping away tears.
“Not really,” Mercy said. “The deal is, when you’ve had nothing, every little gain in life is a big deal. I felt pretty darn lucky when I got the Harley. I learned how to fix it and how to ride it. When you expect nothing, windfalls are golden.” Then she glanced at Duke. “It’s a good thing I had it, or I would have had no way to get to Blessings to donate that blood.”
Duke was embarrassed that she’d had to point that out. “I’m sorry. It was a pointless question and somewhat rude.”
“Then why ask it?” Mercy said.
“Because sometimes I am pointless and rude?” Duke muttered.
Mercy laughed. “And sometimes honest, so you can’t be all bad.”
He grinned, relieved that she wasn’t really angry.
Jack set a platter of thick crusty squares of hot corn bread on the table as Duke got butter from the fridge and a pitcher of sorghum molasses from the pantry.
“For the corn bread,” he said as he set it on the table.
Finally, they were all seated at the table, two brothers—two sisters. It felt strange, and yet somehow, so very right. “Thank you for this,” Mercy said.
“You mean the meal?” Jack asked.
Mercy’s chin trembled. “No, the welcome, and insisting I submit to the DNA test. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Today is a dream come true for me, and there are many more good things to come,” Hope said.
And so the meal ensued. Oddly familiar when it shouldn’t have been. Even comfortable enough for Mercy to object every time Duke’s conversation turned into judgmental comments or orders.
By the time the meal was over, Duke’s face was flushed and Mercy’s chin was set. Jack was grinning and Hope just rolled her eyes.
Finally, Duke had to speak up or bust. “Mercy Dane, you are a beautiful woman, and I am so glad our Hope has found the sister she has grieved for so long, but you are a damned hardheaded woman.”
“Why? Because I don’t agree with you?” Mercy said.
Duke shrugged. “No one else is so perverse with me.”
Hope frowned. “Duke! Really! This is her first day here and her first meal with us. You could try to be more agreeable.”
Mercy looked at her sister. “I’m not insulted. It’s obvious why Duke’s still a bachelor. He’s bossy. No woman likes being told what to do.”
If Duke hadn’t been so floored, he would have gotten up and walked out of the room, but then Jack laughed and Hope snickered, so he sat there, too stunned to respond.
“I’ve told him that a dozen times myself,” Jack said. “It appears he took it better from me than he has from you.”
Mercy glanced at the angry jut of Duke’s chin. “I’m sorry, Duke. I don’t mean to be antagonistic in any way, but you’ve been more than blunt with me. I assumed if you needed to dish all that out, that you were man enough to take it. However, you need to understand something about me. Foster families are hard. One or both parents will usually be rough taskmasters. Nothing you do suits them. Everything you do is never enough. If they have kids of their own and also take in fosters…those kids often delight in reminding you you’re not living under the same rules. I bit my lip for eighteen years. I didn’t talk back. I did everything I was told, even when it was to my detriment. The day I aged out of the system was the first day of my life. I was in charge. I made the decisions. I made the rules. It was an empowering feeling to just say, ‘No, I don’t want to.’ Do you understand?”
Duke was shocked, and for the first time in his life, truly moved by the story of someone else’s life. “I’m sorry. I never thought…I didn’t mean…”
Mercy leaned across the table and tapped his hand, then offered hers. “Truce?”
He nodded.
“Shake on it,” she said.
And he did, wincing slightly from her grip.
Hope leaned back with a sigh. “Finally, peace at the table. There are cookies for dessert.”
“Or corn bread and molasses,” Duke said.
Mercy felt the need to make peace. “I’d like to try some of that corn bread and molasses. I’ve never had that before. I’ve eaten it on pancakes but not corn bread. Sounds tasty.”
Duke was so pleased by her request that he fixed a serving for her. “Hope you like it,” he said. “But if you don’t, you won’t hurt my feelings.”
Mercy knew everyone at the table was waiting for a response, and then to her surprise, she didn’t have to fake it. “This is good!” she said, and forked another bite into her mouth and chewed. “This might be my new favorite thing.”
Duke slapped his knee in delight. “I knew it! I knew you’d like it alright!”
Mercy grinned at Hope and winked. Hope leaned back, her eyes twinkling. She was watching the dethroning of Duke, the tyrant. He just didn’t know it yet.
Once dessert was eaten, Mercy got up to clear the table, but Jack stopped her. “Not today. Today is your welcome home. Duke and I have this covered, and Hope needs to lie down. Do me a favor and take her back to her room, okay?”
“With pleasure,” Mercy said, and held out her hand.
Hope clasped it firmly and let Mercy help her up. They left the room with their heads together, already talking.
Duke shrugged. “I’m still out on that verdict.”
Jack laughed and punched him on the arm. “Get over yourself, brother. She just calls you on your bossy bullshit. You’re a nice guy and a decent brother, but you’re getting as set in your ways as an old maid.”
Duke’s eyes widened. “Please! Say what you really think.”
Jack laughed again. “I just did. Relax, Duke. Life is short. Eat cookies.”
Duke grinned and shook his head.
Chapter 10
Lon was coming out of Granny’s Country Kitchen when his radio squawked: “Dispatch to Chief Pittman.”
He jogged to his cruiser and slid into the seat. “Pittman to dispatch, go ahead.”
“Requesting your presence at the precinct.”
“On the way,” Lon said, and left the parking lot.
By the time he got to the station and parked, he could tell something was up. There were two pickup trucks parked in front, and as he neared the back door of the station, he could hear pigs squealing. “What the hell?” he muttered, and entered the building.
Even as he walked up the hall he could hear someone bawling, two people yelling, and Avery’s voice was lost somewhere in the pig squeals.
“What the hell is going on in here?” he shouted.
Avery groaned aloud. “Thank God, you’re here.”
Lon identified Bo Weaver as the one bawling. Bo’s brother, Joe, was the one arguing with Buzz Higdon, a pig farmer, whose place was a few miles from Blessings. And then there were two pigs. About weaning age and probably fifty pounds apiece.
“Joe, you and Bo put the pigs down.”
“But Chief, we’re just—”
“Now!” Lon said.
They put down the pigs. The moment the pigs’ little hooves touched the floor, the squealing stopped. They bunched up and started running together, looking for a way out.
“Avery! Herd them toward that open cell down in the jail, and lock them up until we get this figured out.”
“Yes, sir,” Avery said, grateful that someone besides him had finally made a decision.
“Okay, now I want all three of you back in my office. Follow me,” Lon said, and followed Avery and the pigs down the hall.
Bo and Joe were sobering up fast, and Buzz Higdon stomped every step he took behind them. They sat in the three chairs on the other side of the chief’s desk, and when Joe opened his mouth, Lon pointed at Joe and shook his head.
Joe shut his mouth and slumped in the chair.
Lon started with the pig farmer. “Alright, Buzz Higdon, why are you in my station?”
Buzz pointed at the brothers with a shaky hand. “I had two weaning pigs stolen last night. I went by the sheriff’s office this morning to report them, and then came into Blessings to pick up some groceries at the Piggly Wiggly for the missus. These two were passed out in their truck in the store parking lot, and when I got out of my own truck, I heard pigs a-squealin’. I looked in the backseat window and saw my pigs on the floorboard of their truck, so I called your office, and Deputy Ralph responded and ordered us all here.”
Lon got on the intercom. “Avery, where’s Deputy Ralph?”
“Working a domestic abuse call.”
“Okay,” Lon said, and then stood and walked around to the front of his desk to where the Weaver brothers were sitting. They were staring at their boots.
Lon kicked the toe of Joe’s left boot and Bo’s right boot. “Look at me!” he said sharply.
They lifted their heads then leaned back so they could see his face.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Lon muttered.
They both nodded.
“Now. Which one of you would like to tell me why you had Buzz Higdon’s pigs in your truck?”
“I will,” Joe said. “Bo was passed out when they got in.”
Lon frowned. “What do you mean, they got in?”
“Why, into our truck,” Joe said. “We were on our way home last night, and I needed to pee, so I stopped on the road by Buzz’s house. I got out of the truck to pee, then stepped in a mud hole, and fell down on my knees. ’Course I peed my pants before I could get up. It happens when I’ve had too much to drink.”
Joe paused for breath.
Lon’s arms were crossed over his chest, and he was biting the inside of his mouth to keep from grinning. “I’m listening,” Lon said.
Joe nodded. “Anyway, once I’d done wet my britches, I didn’t really want to sit back down in the seat in them, so I figured since we was so close to home that I would just strip down and drive without any drawers.”
Bo’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know your butt was nekked,” he muttered.
Joe punched him on the shoulder. “We’re brothers. You’ve seen my business plenty of times. Now be quiet. I’m trying to explain the situation,” Joe said.
Buzz looked at the chief and rolled his eyes.
Lon was staring at a spot on the wall just above Joe Weaver’s head. “I’m losing my patience,” he said. “Finish your story.”
“Yes, Chief,” Joe said. “Anyway, as I was saying… I started to take off my britches when I heard a rustling in the brush, and out comes these two pigs. I said, Bo, there’s two pigs here, but he was too drunk to wake up. The pigs saw me and came running toward the truck like they’d just seen the Holy Grail.”
Lon sighed. “Holy Grail? Really?”
Joe shrugged. “Or maybe they smelled the leftover bucket of fried chicken on the floorboard. I don’t know. But they came right up to me. I figured they were lost, so I put them in the back with the chicken and shut the door, then I turned the truck around and was coming into town to report finding lost pigs. I guess I got too sleepy and fell asleep in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly.”
“You would have passed the police station to get to the Piggly Wiggly lot,” Lon said. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“And I was almost as drunk as Bo,” Joe said. “I’m pretty sure that by the time I got back to Blessings, I forgot what I’d been intending to do, and just parked out of the line of traffic.”
Lon wiped a hand over his face, giving himself time to restrain a grin, and then glanced at Buzz. “Well, you heard their story. Do you want to press charges and come back to testify before the judge, or do you want to take your pigs and go home?”
Buzz leaned forward, fixing Joe with a cold hard stare. “Were you gonna sell them or eat them?”
“Probably sell ’em,” Joe said, and then groaned when he realized what he’d said.
Buzz sighed. “I’m gonna take my pigs and go home.” Buzz pointed at the brothers. “You two owe me. Big time. And you know it.”
Their heads were bobbing up and down like fishing floats with a fish on the hook. “We were drunk, Buzz. We’re really sorry. You’re a good neighbor to us. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Neither do I,” Buzz said. “However, I expect the both of you at my place within the hour. Bring a new roll of hog wire, half a dozen metal posts, and some fence clips. You’re going to fix my hog pen.”
“Yes, sir. As soon as we pick up the stuff from the lumberyard, we’ll be right out,” Bo said.
Joe frowned. “I’m broke.”
“I’m not,” Bo said.
“No, you’re broke too,” Joe said. “I rolled you for your wallet about half past midnight to pay our bar bill before we started home.”
Bo stood up with a roar, swung a fist, and popped Joe in the nose. “Damn thief! Can’t even trust my own brother.”
Joe shoved Bo in the chest and sent him flying backward into the wall.
“That does it!” Lon said, and grabbed Joe by the back of the neck and Bo by the
belt in his pants. He pushed Joe forward and dragged Bo backward toward the jail, yelling at Avery as he went.
Avery came running and opened the jail cells on either side of the pigs. Lon shoved Joe in the first and Bo in the third, while Avery locked the doors.
Bo rubbed the back of his head where he’d hit the wall, not the least bit sorry that his brother was bleeding all over the floor of the jail.
“Dang it, Chief! How can we fix Buzz’s hog pen if you go and lock us up?”
“You have family,” Lon said. “You each get one call. They need to bring bail money and enough extra for Higdon’s hog pen.”
Joe groaned. “You’re arresting us? Why?”
“You stole Buzz’s pigs and admitted in front of me, the chief of police, that you were going to sell them, then started a fight in the office and bled all over my floor, that’s why!”
Bo sat on the bunk and put his head in his hands. Joe kicked at the commode and then sat down on the bunk, his nose still dripping blood. The pigs grunted.
Lon walked out of the jail area with Avery behind him. “Gosh, Chief. I can’t say we’ve ever had pigs in jail before.”
“They’re not in jail anymore. Get the key. I’m sending Buzz back to get his pigs.”
“Yes, sir,” Avery said, and headed back to the jail while Lon returned to his office.
Buzz Higdon was down on his hands and knees with a handful of wet paper towels, wiping up the blood beside the chief’s desk.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Lon said.
Buzz shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
“Pull your truck up to the back door. Avery will help you get your pigs in your truck,” Lon said.
“I sure appreciate this, Chief.”
Lon grinned. “I didn’t really do anything but watch them sink their own ship,” he said.
Buzz chuckled. “Damn fools. They aren’t mean. But they’re stupid as all get out when they’re drunk.” He tossed the wet towels in the trash. “Thanks again, Chief.”
“You’re welcome,” Lon said, then closed the door to his office and started laughing.
* * *