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~*~
AT FIRST, PAUL’S CLOSE attention didn’t bother me. When we were newly married, I thought it was sweet how he hated for other men to look at me. And they always looked. “Beauty is your curse,” my mother always said. “Find a strong man who can protect you.”
Protecting was all Paul did. I’d be black and blue from his harsh grip as he steered me back to our car, every time we went to town. Then it happened every time we went to church. It got to where he didn’t let me go out. We’d have dinner parties at home, to entertain his boss and friends.
One night, Paul’s friend Russell brought his wife, Miranda. She walked into my dining room, cracked a joke with a wide-open smile, and wrapped me in a hug like we’d known each other forever. I admired her from that day on—she was someone who didn’t measure every word before she spoke it. When Paul would make his blanket statements, she’d challenge him and shoot me conspiratorial looks.
I loved my auburn-haired friend. We planted flowerbeds together and sewed quilts for other women’s babies. We shared gossip and recipes. But there were two things I never mentioned to Miranda: Paul’s possessiveness meant my slavery, and now his attentions were shifting to her.
~*~
ONE THING ABOUT MY mother-in-law: she’s the best cook I’ve ever known. Tonight, she’s dropped off a container of her famous sausage lentil stew, along with six cornbread muffins. Ever since Nikki Jo heard we’re having a baby, she’s committed herself to fattening me up. And since Thomas and I live in the cottage right behind her big house, that means I’ve been getting lots of free meals lately.
About the time I’ve snuggled in on the couch with my steaming bowl to watch a rerun of MacGyver, Nikki Jo calls. Her familiar chirpy voice is always a little too loud.
“How are you, honey? Did you see the soup? I left it right on the counter.”
“Yes, Mom, I sure did. Thanks so much—it’s delicious.” I pull my favorite green afghan around my shoulders. Even though the days are chillier, I’m determined to save money by keeping our heat turned down.
“Now, I know Thomas won’t be home till late. But you tell him not to forget his school reunion is tomorrow night at seven.”
“Will do.” The Buckneck High School is so small that all their graduates are invited to their yearly reunion. Thomas will doubtless take me along as what he calls “arm candy.”
“Now, you just get some rest and don’t worry about looking for a job.” Uh-oh. Here it comes: the “I-was-a-stay-at-home-mom” speech. “You know that Thomas and his two brothers grew up fine with nothing but their daddy’s income from the railroad and the National Guard.”
“True, but it was also thanks to their momma’s good cooking.” I smile in spite of myself. I haven’t figured out how Nikki Jo kept it all together, with Roger traveling most of the time.
In the background, Dad shouts, “How about some more of that stew, Nikki Jo?”
She sighs into the phone. “How’s Miranda doing over at The Haven? I worry about her—stuck in that wheelchair.”
Nikki Jo lived near Miranda when she was a small girl, and the Grande Dame was somewhat of a legend in small-town Buckneck. She was the classy woman in the huge green house, who gave out real chocolate bars for Halloween.
“She’s doing well. Actually...she’s dating Paul Campbell. Do you know him?” Putting out some feelers can’t hurt.
“Dating Paul Campbell? Good lands! Now doesn’t that just take the cake?” She takes a deep breath. “Paul was an early widower. His wife, Rose, was well-nigh the prettiest girl ever born in these parts. Doc Cole—that’s her doctor—said she took a heart pill overdose. Suicide.”
Dad’s voice drifts into the silence. “Nikki Jo? What you doing, honey?”
She ignores him and continues. “Would you believe Rose dropped dead right there in her favorite chair? I can’t figure out how Paul’s lived in that same house all these years.”
Nikki Jo gets quiet, and I know she’s processing the implications of Miranda dating Widower Campbell.
“I’d better eat some of this stew now, Mom. Thanks for calling.”
“Sure, honey. You have a great night.”
It’s still a little strange for me to call Thomas’ parents Mom and Dad, but Nikki Jo and Roger seem too fancy-schmantsy. Besides, they’re the closest thing to real parents that I’ve got.
Hm. A heart pill overdose. Like Nitroglycerin? Miranda has to pop those little pills occasionally, since her heart attack.
I ponder this as I watch MacGyver disarm some lasers with a piece of glass. Man, that mullet still works on him somehow. He has warm brown eyes, just like Thomas.
The old brass knob moves on our front door, and Thomas walks in. We don’t even have a lock. Thomas’ parents live so far out in the woods, I'd be surprised if the UPS man ever finds us.
“Hey babe, you’re home early.” I jump up to greet him, but sober down my smile when I notice his face. “Rough day?”
“You said it, hotcakes. What’s that smell? Is it stew?”
Food wins out over chitchat every time for my boy-man. “I’ll get you a bowl,” I say.
Rumples crease the back of his blue striped shirt. His hair looks like he’s run his hand over it, back and forth, all day. He kicks his shoes off in the middle of the jute rug and heads up the rickety steps to our attic bedroom—one of the four rooms in this farmhouse-style cottage.
“What’s up?” I shout up the steps to him.
“Job stinks. That’s all.”
It irks me when my brilliant husband gets no street-cred at work. “You need to go rogue! Start your own business! After all, you did go to UVA!”
“Tess, no one around here cares where I went to school. They just want a lawyer to handle all the grunt work. I’m too young to start my own place.”
“Whatever, babe," I mutter, scrounging under the piled dishes in the sink for my ladle.
“I heard that.” Thomas sneaks up behind me, grabbing me around the waist.
I turn, taking in the spiky blond hair, the faded red tee, and the boot-cut jeans. Too much. I kiss him, full on the lips.
He grins. "Woman, can’t you see I’m famished?” He grabs the ladle, deftly washes it and helps himself to a bowlful of stew.
We both settle into the couch before I drop my news on him. “Thomas, the Grande Dame has a stalker.”
“What?” He eats his stew like some high-class laird, placing the entire spoon in his mouth. Not a drop of it hits his shirt.
I explain about the note and tell him Rose’s story. Thomas assumes his lawyerly, pensive look until I’m finished, then starts his questioning.
“Let me get this straight. Rose took an overdose? In her twenties? What would make a woman do that?”
I’ve been wondering the same thing. “Maybe because she couldn’t have kids? Miranda said she wanted them so badly.”
Thomas peels his muffin from the wrapper, meticulously dropping each tiny yellow crumb into his napkin.
“Thomas, you make me feel like a peasant when I watch you eat. I have to stain spray my clothes every day from spilling stuff on them!”
“You’re just pregnant, little missy.” He lightly pats my stomach. “It’s common knowledge that pregnant women can be klutzy.”
“Thanks a lot. I—”
The door flies open and Thomas’ youngest brother runs in, skidding to a stop on our rubber doormat. The twelve-year-old reminds me of a self-contained tornado.
“Petey, what on earth? Have you no manners, boy?” Thomas stands to greet him, not a crumb escaping the napkin gripped in his hand.
Petey’s red curls have grown over his ears, so he looks like a cross between a street urchin and a skater dude.
“Sorry, bro. Hey, Tess. You look nice.”
Thomas shoots me a sideways grin. Petey has a little crush on me, and everyone in the family knows it.
“Thanks, Petey. What’s your hurry?” I fold the afghan over the back of the couch.
“Just wanted to tell you I followed Thor out into the woods. He was hot on the scent of something, barking his head off. Turns out, someone took off—they were right near your house!”
Thomas’ family must’ve been feeling ironic when they named their miniature Doberman Thor. I keep telling Thomas they should get a full-sized Doberman, and name it Thor Senõr.
Thomas runs upstairs, no doubt retrieving his twelve-gauge—typical protocol in our deep-woods locale. Petey and I head outside.
“Right over there, behind that bush.” Petey points, and we close the distance quickly, a yelping Thor on our heels.
The leaves are smashed in a circular pattern, but nothing else looks strange. Thor noses into the flattened leaves, destroying any kind of evidence. Why am I thinking I need evidence, anyway? This whole thing with Miranda is freaking me out.
Thomas bolts out the door, shotgun aimed toward the sky. “Get back, you two!”
He’s nothing if not heroic. And quite angry with Petey and me, to boot.
“What are you doing? What if someone were out here with a gun? You could’ve both been killed!”
Petey and I edge back toward the house. Thor pulls his nose from the debris, takes one haughty sniff, then pees all over the leaf evidence. Charming dog.
Thomas looks around the perimeter, lowering the gun slightly. He glares at Thor. “Maybe we need a bigger dog.”
“Or a lock on the door,” I suggest.
“This isn’t funny, Tess. We’re out in the middle of nowhere with no protection.”
Petey gets serious, too. “Don’t worry, bro. I’m around after school. I’ll watch out for Tess. And Dad’s around too. You know he’s got a whole arsenal up at the big house.”
I chime in. “I’d prefer a throwing star, so I could practice my rare ninja skills.”
Petey laughs, and even Thomas cracks a grin.
“We’ll figure out what’s going on.” When Thomas says this, it sounds like a declaration of war. He won’t stop until he finds the person who’s been watching us. He trudges off into the woods, gun at the ready.
A nice sentiment, but what if I run into that person first?