by Becki Willis
“The secret is Genesis Baker. When I’m not so tired, remind me to propose to you.” He stuffed another generous bite into his mouth.
“I’ll make a note.”
“Remind me to tell you how beautiful you look, too.”
Genny made light of his compliment. “I’ll underline that reminder in red.”
“These eggs are fantastic. I guess these are the home version, too, huh?”
“Special reserve for special guests.”
His hazel eyes twinkled, despite his weariness. “So what time should I be here tomorrow morning?”
“Sorry, Charlie. You’re out of luck.” She refilled his empty coffee cup.
“I’m free next Sunday. Pencil me in.” He washed down his bacon with a gulp of coffee. “Forget the pencil. Use a permanent marker.”
“How can you do that?” she asked, not for the first time. “Doesn’t that burn when you take such a huge gulp?”
Cutter flashed a grin. “I’m a firefighter, Genny darlin’. Burn is the name of the game.”
“Speaking of burn… It was a bad one last night, huh?”
The twinkle in his eyes wafted into smoke. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion. “It got the barn and about three hundred bales of hay. The tractor and a few small pieces of equipment scattered around the barn. We called the Forestry Department when it hit the trees. It’s not going anywhere, but it will probably flare up for a couple of days.”
“What started it?”
“That’s the thing. It looks like someone may have deliberately set it.”
Genny frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Bob.”
“I agree. Especially when he’s in Galveston on vacation.”
“So who would do such a thing?”
“Good question.”
“Here, you eat the last piece of toast while I go throw on some clothes. You look like you’re about to fall asleep at the table.”
Cutter cleaned his plate while Genny slipped from the room. When she returned five minutes later in jeans and a t-shirt, she found him sound asleep, his head slumped forward where he sat upright in the chair.
Her heart swelled with admiration. He had been up all night, helping fight a fire because it was the right thing to do. No one paid him to be a fireman. No one paid him to risk his life in the line of duty. He did it because he was a good man.
Genny touched his shoulder to wake him. Her hand lingered.
He awoke with bleary eyes. His hand came up to cover hers on his shoulder. “Genny darlin’,” he slurred, his smile crooked and completely captivating.
He had only recently started calling her that, but Genny liked it. Perhaps a bit too well. “Would you like to crash here at my house for a while?” she offered. “I know you’re exhausted.”
He came wider awake, slinging the fatigue from his mind with a vigorous shake of his head. “Nah, I gotta take the truck back. Thanks for breakfast. That hit the spot.” He patted the hand still under his.
“My small contribution to the department,” she smiled.
“Small but mighty. Just like you.” He pushed away from the table. “Ready? Do I need to help you with the dishes before we go?”
“That might be fun to see. Cutter Montgomery in the kitchen.” She grinned, imagining him in a frilly apron and cowboy hat. “Somehow, I can’t quite picture you with dishpan hands.”
“I can wash with the best of them. My mama didn’t raise no fool.” He grinned as he put his hand on her waist and ushered her toward the door. “It’s a known fact. No man has ever been shot while doing the dishes.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“What tornado struck in here?” Granny Bert demanded when she walked in and saw her dining room table.
Bethani and Megan had the entire table covered with art supplies. Posters and handheld signs, all in various stages of creativity, littered the entire surface. Jars of poster paint, brushes, markers, scissors, and tubes of glitter and glue scattered from the table to the floor.
“Oh, hi, Granny Bert,” Bethani said casually, waving a blue-speckled hand in greeting. “We’re making posters for the cheerleading squad.”
“Are you painting the posters, my table, or yourself?” her great grandmother asked wryly.
Megan, her face streaked with blue, yellow, and one bright blotch of pink, grinned and confessed, “Maybe all three. But it’s washable paint, so it’s all good.”
Granny Bert’s loud harrumph begged to differ, but she didn’t say another word as she continued to the kitchen. Another mess greeted her there.
“I see you’ve been in the kitchen, too.”
“That was Blake and his friends. They stopped by for a snack before going to Jamil’s for lunch.”
Granny Bert grumbled as she set about cleaning up the mess. She made noise about them eating her out of house and home, complained no one knew how to clean up after themselves, and pretended great distress over the steady stream of teenagers that trailed in and out of her house. But inside, her heart was happy. It good felt to have young people underfoot again.
“I’ll come help you, Granny Bert,” Megan offered.
“Looks to me like you’d better supervise your friend, before she goes and paints my walls.”
Megan giggled and left Bethani in her artistic attempt to draw a crown atop a cotton bale. The school mascot was the Cotton King, a leftover nod to the glory days of cotton plantations and the renowned Randolph Blakely. Without his legendary feuding daughters, there would be no such towns as Naomi and Juliet.
“You don’t have to help,” Granny Bert told the teenager. “Lord knows no one else bothers to.”
Lowering her voice, Megan said, “I wanted to talk to you, without Beth hearing me.”
“What’s on your mind, child?”
Megan went through the motions of tying the bread wrapper closed as she articulated her thoughts. “It’s my dad.”
Granny Bert listened in concern. “Something’s wrong with Brash?”
“He’s not sick or anything. He’s just sad.”
“Sad?”
“Or maybe he is sick. Lovesick, that is. He’s crazy about Miss Maddy. And I’ve seen the way she looks at him. They think no one knows, but I can tell how they feel about each other.”
“You and me both, sister. And half the world, to boot.”
Megan continued to twist the tie, knotting it unmercifully as her lips puckered into a pout. “The problem is Bethani.” She shot a look into the dining room, where the problem she spoke of was busy with her creation.
“How is she a problem?” Granny Bert asked, pretending not to know the answer.
“She doesn’t want them getting together. It’s not that she doesn’t like my dad. It’s just that she doesn’t like him with her mom.”
“Bethani has been through quite a bit this past year, Megan. Her father died unexpectedly. She had to move away from her friends and her home to a new town, a new school. She’s still trying to adjust.”
“And I totally get that. I do. But her dad is gone now. And her mom deserves to keep living.” Her voice took on a sulking tone. “She gets really upset when I try to tell her that.”
“She just needs some time.”
“I don’t like seeing her sad. But I don’t like seeing my dad sad, either. I think we could all be happy if Bethani would just give them a chance. But my dad is so caught up in doing what’s right and what’s honorable, and all that other hokey stuff, that he’ll put her happiness before his. I know him,” she insisted irritably. “He won’t date Miss Maddy unless Bethani gives them her blessings.”
Granny Bert acknowledged the words with a glower. “You have a point. So what do you think I can do about it?”
“Are you kidding?” Megan’s face broke out in a wide smile. “You’re like a legend. You can do anything!”
Touched by the teenager’s claim but too proud to admit it, Granny Bert shoved a package of cookies into her hands. “Take these out there and stop your worrying,
child. These things have a way of working themselves out.” Seeing the teen hesitate, Granny Bert patted her arm and went back to complaining. “Go on, now. Shoo. I have a mess to clean up. Lord knows those heathen boys won’t clean up after themselves. No, that’s what they have me for.”
Megan recognized her gruff facade for what it was. “You’re the best, Granny Bert!” she whispered, before scampering back to her friend, cookie package in hand.
A smile lingered on the old woman’s face as she filled the sink with dishwater.
“Granny!” Bethani wailed from the dining room. “This package is empty! The human garbage disposal must have eaten them all.”
“I guess you girls will just have to help me make a batch of our own.”
She heard giggles and high fives from the other room. “Granny Bert, you’re the best!” the girls called in unison.
Granny Bert chuckled. Hearing such a claim never got old.
***
While the paint dried on both the posters and the girls, spices and laughter sweetened the kitchen air.
“You should see yourself!” Bethani giggled at her friend. “You have four colors of paint on your face, flour in your hair, and grease smudged on your glasses.”
“Try looking through these smudges at yourself,” Megan retorted. “You’re like a fuzzy blur of color. I sure hope that blue paint comes out of your blond hair.”
“If not, at least I’ll be fashionable. Vivid hair color is all the rage these days.”
“I know. I wanted to get my hair streaked, but my mom said no. She said with dark auburn hair like mine, no telling what color it might come out to be.”
“You’ve got your daddy’s hair, that’s for sure.” Granny Bert wormed into the conversation, steering it onto the path she wanted to take. “That thick, dark hair of his is part of what makes him such a looker. That and those gorgeous blue eyes. Whew. Hot stuff.” She fanned herself with the recipe card they loosely followed. The girls were adding a few touches of their own, like adding peanut butter chips in with the chocolate ones, and substituting macadamia nuts for the pecans.
Scandalized, Bethani cried in chagrin, “Granny!”
“What?” she asked innocently. “Brash deCordova is what your mom’s generation called a stud muffin.”
“A what?”
“A stud muffin. A hunk. What you girls now call a hottie.” She flapped the card for more air. “No matter what you call it, your daddy is one fine specimen of a man.”
“I guess I should say… thank you?” The uncertainty in Megan’s voice made it a question.
“I know it gets bothersome, having all those women fawn over him the way they do.”
Unsure of where this was going, Megan tried a timid, “Well—”
“Oh, we all know it’s true. And I’ve come to the conclusion that Bethani is right. Your dad would be best off, not getting too interested in her mom.”
“What?” Megan cried, practically jumping from her chair. This wasn’t at all what she asked Granny Bert to say.
Bethani cut her eyes at her great grandmother, surprised to hear this change of attitude. She always got the impression that Granny Bert was one of Mr. de’s biggest supporters.
“Well, with them all going off to college in a few years, your dad would be left behind, nursing a broken heart,” Granny Bert explained. She sounded completely sincere. “He might as well play the field now, while he still has his looks. No reason to get involved with Maddy and then have her move away.”
“Wait. Mom’s planning on moving?” Bethani was clearly confused by the announcement.
“Of course. You don’t want her rattling around in that big old house all by herself, do you? No, no. She’ll go off to college with you and your brother.”
“Uh…uhm… college?”
Granny Bert clapped her hands together in manufactured glee. “I’m sure she’ll find some cute little apartment, close to campus. That way she can be involved in all your sorority parties and get to know all your friends. It will be best this way. While all the other kids are going to wild parties and binge drinking and getting the whole ‘college experience’”—this with air quotes—“you and Blake will be spending Saturday nights on your mom’s couch, watching all your favorite TV shows and making scrapbooks of your freshman year.” Her face beamed as she added, “And I’ll be sure and come down every Sunday, so we can make cookies and deliver them to all your professors!”
“Oh. Well, uh…” Looking slightly ill, and more than just a little panicked, Bethani tried to find a graceful way out of her great grandmother’s plans.
Getting into the spirit of the charade, Megan nodded. “You know, Granny, I think you’re right. If our parents started dating now, they might get too fond of each other. It might be hard for Miss Maddy to move away and leave my dad after dating him for a couple of years. And I know how Daddy is. He would want her with him on the weekends, not hosting some college frat party.”
Granny Bert looked suitably mournful. “Even if they didn’t break up right at first, they would eventually. I saw a Lifetime movie about that, just the other day. A mom went away to college with her daughter and ended up falling in love with the girl’s math professor. Of course, when that ended badly, he flunked the girl and she ended up dropping out of college altogether.”
Sneaking a calculated look at the teenager and noting her panicked expression, the old woman pretended to cover her thoughtless blunder. Patting Bethani’s hand, she was quick to say, “Oh, I’m not suggesting that could ever happen to you, dear. After all, your mom doesn’t really like the math types.”
“Maybe we should try to set my dad up with someone,” Megan said thoughtfully, drumming sticky, paint-splashed fingers against the table. “I know he’s interested in Miss Maddy, but you’re right; it wouldn’t last. Not with her going away to college with Blake and Bethani.” She turned to her friend with a crafty, wistful expression. “Gee, you’re lucky, Beth. My mom would never do that for me. Just think. You can eat home-cooked meals every night, instead of having to eat in the common areas like the rest of us. Instead of all the noise and the music and the craziness that is college nightlife, you’ll be all snug and cozy at your mom’s apartment. You are so lucky!”
“Enough of this!” Bethani finally exploded. “I’m barely in high school, and the two of you already have my college life all mapped out for me!”
Madison came through the door at that very moment, her arms full of groceries. “Hi, Megan. Hi, Beth. Mmm, something smells great. What’s this about college?”
Bethani jumped from her chair and pushed past her mother. “Nothing! Just drop it!” she said irritably. She got to the doorway, whirled around, and jabbed her finger toward her mother. “And you are NOT going away to college with me and Blake!”
Bethani stormed from the room, leaving Granny Bert and Megan to dissolve into laughter. Brow puckered and completely confused, Madison frowned. “What did I miss?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was more testosterone than any one booth should be allowed to hold. Two of the area’s finest and most handsome men, sitting across the table from one another in the back booth of New Beginnings. Brash and Cutter enjoyed a late lunch while the noisy clatter of other guests dwindled to a low and occasional murmur.
“So you suspect the fire was set,” Brash said, lifting his glass for a long draw of sweet iced tea.
“It appears that way. We found a bottle of accelerant in the ashes of a wood pile, near the initial flash site.”
“And you don’t think Peterson had anything to do with it?”
“I don’t. He was away at the time of the fire, visiting his daughter who lives on the coast. He sent a ranch hand out to check on things when he got the call. The hand tried to save the barn and ended up getting the tractor caught in the crosswinds. Peterson cut his vacation short and came home. I heard him tell his banker he might have to sell. His insurance wouldn’t cover enough for him to replace everything.”
“That’s a shame. I always liked Bob. No one deserves to lose his place like that to fire, even when it’s an act of nature. Knowing someone may have started the fire makes it that much worse. Any idea who might have done it?”
“None at all. Bob Peterson may have a few funny ways, but none of them bad enough to incite this sort of hatred.”
“Well, if it was arson, someone had a reason for setting the fire.” Brash stabbed a piece of chicken fried steak and dipped it in gravy. “First thing we need to do is see who might benefit from the fire.”
“Unless someone is trying to run him off his land, I don’t see where anyone could benefit.”
“What about that fire earlier in the summer, the one that destroyed part of the old Crowder place? Did y’all ever figure out the cause of that one?”
The firefighter shook his head. “Couldn’t find a thing. The grass was still green; earth still damp from recent rain. No visible reason a fire should have spread that fast.” He leaned forward and admitted in a confidential tone, “I suspected the landowner may have started it. It was that fella from Odessa who lost his business when the oil industry fell flat. I figured he needed the insurance payoff. I told Dean Lewis as much, but he didn’t seem too concerned. I hear the guy collected the insurance, sold out, and moved on.”
“That sort of thing seems to happen all too often,” Brash agreed. “You would think the insurance companies would do more thorough investigations.”
“You would think,” Cutter agreed. “I know they didn’t bother investigating when Dugan Rankers’ hay field burned last month.”
Both men mulled over the problem as they finished their meal. Genesis arrived with a smile and a refill of sweet iced tea.
“Could I interest either of you gentlemen in dessert?”
“Not me,” Brash said, rubbing a hand over his flat stomach. “Buttons hardly meet as it is,” he claimed.
A smile broke out across Cutter’s face as he tugged on his shirt and bragged, “Still plenty of room in mine. I’ll take a couple of turnovers and try to fill the gap.”