It Took a Rumor (14 page)

“Put me down right this minute,” she said, but the yawn kind of ruined the effect. She rested her head on his shoulder and let him carry her up the steps and into her house. She’d initially intended to walk up to her room, but since Boone was inclined to be a gentlemen about the whole thing, she went ahead and let him.
 

“Your old man must still be asleep,” Boone whispered as he lay Ivy in her bed.

“He won’t be for long. I need to make him breakfast.”

“You need to rest. Text me when you wake up.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanna know you’re okay. You check in with me, or I’ll come over and check on you.”

“Okay,” she said, curling into her pillow. “Night, Jake.”

“Wrong brother, honey.” He stroked her hair.
 

She was asleep before her door clicked shut.
 

Jake slept fitfully at best, achingly wishing for some contact from Ivy. They’d left on such good terms, he was sure she wasn’t purposely ignoring his text.
 

When four-thirty rolled around, he gave up and got up. He fixed his coffee, drank his coffee, dressed, and dragged himself down to the stables. Ivy wanted to be properly courted, and though it was early in the morning, he still intended to see her. He saddled up Old Gray, who was substituting for Jake’s mare. Eloise was due to foal in a couple of months and Jake had quit riding her. He walked her regularly, but didn’t want to take any chances on hurting her.
 

He rode out to a little pond on the western part of the property where he knew there to be a bunch of Forget-Me-Nots blooming. He hopped off his horse, gathered some flowers, then found a thin vine to wrap around the stems, making a beautiful, blue bouquet for Ivy to wake up to.
 

He might leave it on her windowsill, if he could figure out which was hers. But barring that, he’d leave it in the handle of her front door. No note. She’d know who they were from.

Smiling to himself, he adjusted his Stetson, climbed back in the saddle, and rode through the fields, jumping the fence between his property and hers. Old Gray’s hooves pounded the earth, and wind whipped through its mane and Jake’s hair. The thrill of riding never ended, not since the first time he’d ridden as a child, except now it was equally as peaceful as it was exciting.
 

As the top of Ivy’s house came into view, Jake slowed. The sun hadn’t yet breached the horizon, but the sky was becoming a lighter shade of blue by the second. Still, it was dark enough that Jake could see a light in one of the upstairs windows. He brought his horse to a stop just outside the picket fence around the yard. He couldn’t see the front door from where he stood. When the light went out in Ivy’s room, he smiled to himself and hopped off his horse. Perhaps she’d be coming outside. If not, he felt comfortable knocking since he knew she was awake.

He jumped the picket fence and made his way to the corner of the house, just about to round to the front. The door swung open. He stopped and stepped back. Because coming out of Ivy’s house, as casual as could be, was his youngest brother.
 

Jake spied on him until he’d driven away. He leaned back against the siding of the house and frowned. What the hell was going on? Jake could think of only one good reason to be in this house at this time of morning, but that didn’t make any sense. He wanted to trust Ivy. The fact was, he did trust Ivy. She said she wasn’t sleeping with his brothers, so there must be another explanation. But then again, Boone was a charming kid. And hadn’t the two of them grown up together? Gone to school together?

Maybe he should knock. Maybe he should leave and gather his thoughts. No, he should definitely knock.

Jake slowly blew out a deep breath and jogged quietly up the front porch steps. He stared at the door for a solid minute. Then he tucked the bouquet of flowers in the screen door handle. He got back on his horse, rode home, and hoped for the best in spite of the fear burning in his stomach.

Clara Deathridge knew something was wrong with her boys. She’d thrown out more leftovers in a week than the past thirty-some years combined. No one was eating. It was an abomination.

Thinking she needed to up her game, Clara scoured Pinterest for new recipes to try. She’d never done it before, and what she found was that the world of country cooking had changed drastically. There were still good ole fried foods, but nowadays people had salads with them. And not just chopped up iceberg lettuce with carrot shavings on top. No, these were much greener, much more complex salads. Perhaps this was the sort of thing that would jar her boys out of their funks.

Clara went grocery shopping, full of energy and enthusiasm. Tonight, she would fix a meal fit for modern cowboy kings. The shopping took longer than usual since there were so many unfamiliar ingredients. Once she had what she needed, though, she picked up her pace and headed straight home to begin cooking.

She boiled pasta for the individual spaghetti bakes she was making in the new ramekins she’d bought. One thing she learned from Pinterest was that you could spice up an ordinary food just by preparing it a little differently.
 

She hand-rolled pasta to make ravioli which she then breaded in preparation for frying, later. As mealtime approached, she got the spaghettis in the oven, slapped a big rib-eye on her griddle, and began frying ravioli. In between batches, she flipped the steak, gathered the salad ingredients, and began tossing them in a large, wooden bowl: arugula, baby greens, sprouts, cherry tomatoes, red onions, and large shavings of fresh parmesan cheese. She’d always bought the granules in the green, plastic container…wow, what a difference fresh was.
 

She pulled the peppered steak off the grill and let it rest while she finished the last of the ravioli. She sliced the steak and topped the salad with it. At ten minutes until the boys would be coming home, she began setting the table. The salad was the centerpiece, in a large wooden bowl. She put several different dressings in tiny glass pitchers she’d bought just for the occasion. These she placed around the salad bowl. She divided the ravioli onto two small platters so each end of the table could get to them without having to pass them around. Each plate had ravioli surrounding a small bowl of marinara dipping sauce.
 

After that, she set out the plates, napkins, forks, and knives. She placed a ramekin of baked spaghetti on each plate. With less than two minutes to go, she filled six glasses with ice, poured sweet tea in each of them, and got the last one placed as Gideon walked through the door, closely followed by the boys.

“Smells good. I’m hungry,” Gideon said, though the compliment had little meaning since that was what he said every evening.

Clara smiled as she removed her apron. Cooking had been a rare thrill, today. It had actually been a creative experience. Fresh and lively. She gestured her wan-looking boys to take their seats. They all remained standing behind their chairs until she sat. Such sweet, gentlemanly boys. After they were seated at last, Gideon said, “So…what do we got here, momma?”

“Well, there’s individual baked spaghettis. Fried ravioli with dipping sauce. And a steak and parmesan salad.” She put on a proud smile, though she was twisting her apron string round and round her fingers as she waited for a reaction. All she got from her boys was the hesitant lifting of their silverware as they took careful first bites of their spaghetti. Perhaps because it was served in different dishes they didn’t know if it would taste the same.
 

Gideon merely frowned at his. He looked at the salad. “We supposed to dip that out with our hands?”

“Oh, the tongs.” Clara hopped out of her seat and hurried to the kitchen. It was frustrating, but it seemed there was always at least one thing she forgot to bring to the table. She dug them out of the utensil drawer and hurried back to the table. “Here you go, dear.”

Gideon took the tongs, stared at the salad in confusion for a moment, then put a few leaves on his plate, followed by most of the steak.

“Dear, think of the boys,” Clara said.

“Yeah, Pop, jeez,” Dallas said, snatching the tongs and getting as much steak as he could before Cody smacked his hand and took over. By the time poor Jake got to the salad, there was no meat left on top at all.
 

“I can cook another steak,” Clara said.

Jake shook his head. “Not necessary, Mom. Unless you want some.”

Clara stared in dismay at the failed salad.
 

“Where’s the parmesan cheese?” Gideon asked. “Didn’t you say there’d be parmesan cheese?”

“That’s it, there on the salad. It’s real. Not the jar stuff.”

Gideon grunted, tasted a shaving of cheese, and made a disgusted face. He picked the rest of the cheese off the salad.
 

Dallas and Boone seemed to be in a grabbing match for the plate of ravioli nearest them. Gideon pulled the other plate to his setting, clearly claiming the entire thing as his own. Jake and Cody didn’t get any.

“They’re supposed to be for sharing,” Clara said, though her words were drowned out by the noise of the tussle.
 

“You know better than to set the table like this, Clara,” Gideon said. “Gotta dish out the food in the kitchen, or the boys always end up fighting.”

Clara sank into her chair.
 

“You snooze, you lose,” Boone muttered.

To which Jake gave a completely disproportionate response when he shouted, “You’re a selfish asshole, Boone!”

“Whoa! What the hell, man?”

Gideon reached over and smacked Jake upside the head. “You watch your language at the table young man.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t raised the little shit to think he can have whatever he wants whenever he wants it there’d be enough…food for the rest of us!”

“Jake, honey,” Clara said, trying to calm him down. This behavior from him was unheard of.

But it was too late for Gideon, who rounded on Jake. “If you don’t lower your voice and apologize this minute, you and me are gonna go out back and have a conversation.”

Jake let out a sharp laugh. “Right, like I’m still twelve. I ain’t gonna be intimidated by you anymore, Pop. And you,” he said, standing and pointing at Boone. “You’re about to learn real quick to quit trying to take what’s not yours.” With that, Jake turned and stormed out of the house. Again.

Clara gasped in her breaths, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. She turned to Boone, surprised to find him pale and staring at the space in front of him. It wasn’t like Boone to act rattled. Then again, he didn’t often get yelled at by his oldest brother. Clara reached over and gave his arm a squeeze. “It’s okay, dearest. I’ll talk to Jake and make sure he apologizes.”

Boone pushed away from the table and left out the back door.
 

Clara looked to her other two boys. Cody was sitting calmly, eyes downcast, holding a fork in one hand, his napkin in the other. Dallas had a hand over his stomach, wincing. “I’m sorry, Mom,” Dallas said, “maybe all the yelling is stressing out my stomach.” He pushed his plate away.

She looked helplessly back at Cody. When he met her eyes, he smiled encouragingly and started eating. “It’s good, Mom. Shame those two had to pick tonight to fight.”

Clara smiled sadly. “You all seem so distracted lately.”

Gideon sat across the table from her, eating his steak voraciously, and popping ravioli in between bites of steak.
 

“It’s just a phase,” Cody said. “We’ll get it together.”

“I hope so. I don’t believe Jake’s eaten a thing in days.”

“Did you hear about the Turners losing a couple of their ranch hands yesterday?” Gideon asked.

It took Clara a moment to realize he was talking to her. She choked down her sadness, put on a brave smile, and said, “No, dear. What happened?”

Gideon grunted. “Apparently their newest hand is one of them fags. Two of the boys found out and beat the tar out of him. You ask me, Turner fired the wrong ones. Fella wants to be gay, I reckon that’s his business, but he damn sure better keep it to himself. You ask me, he had it coming. But oh, no, not Turner. Fancy’s himself a man of the world. Fires two perfectly good hands in order to keep some twig boy probably can’t even lift a bale of hay.”

“I suppose they’ll be looking to hire,” Clara said, for the sake of conversation.

“I reckon. I figure they were understaffed as it was—”

“Is the kid all right? The new guy?” Cody asked.

Clara saw that Cody had now abandoned his supper as well. Perhaps there was a stomach bug going around. He certainly looked pale and ill.

“The fag, you mean?” Gideon asked. “Hell if I know. Even if he survives this earth, he’ll be burning in hell fires for all eternity. Don’t figure it matters much when he starts.”

“Jesus Christ, Dad!” Cody shouted.

Clara jumped in her seat, because if anyone was going to remain silent at the dinner table it was her gentle Cody boy. “Honey, are you—”

Gideon interrupted her. “You’ll not take the Lord’s name in v—”
 

“Fuck that!” Cody leapt to his feet. “I don’t care how much you disapprove of someone, they don’t deserve to get the shit beat out of them simply for existing. Jesus, I can’t fucking believe this family.” And with that, he followed Jake’s path out the door.

“Mom, can I go lie down,” Dallas said.

Clara’s mouth was already open, but she didn’t have time to respond to him.

Gideon interrupted. “If you’re getting sick, you can go rest at your own house. Don’t need me or your momma getting sick, too. It’s harder on us older folks.”

Dallas nodded and stood gingerly, cradling his stomach.
 

“Gideon, please,” Clara said, finally finding her voice. “If he’s sick, I’ll take care of him.”

“No, mom, he’s right. Thanks, though. I’ll be fine.”
 

She watched as he hobbled out the front door. Fortunately, he had a vehicle to drive, since the others had left on foot.
 

Gideon continued the business of finishing his meal. “Don’t know what’s gotten into them lately,” he muttered. “Ought to take my belt to every one of them.”