Natural Born Charmer (25 page)

Riley dashed out. The Silly Putty smile stretched across her face made her look like a different child from the sad little girl Blue had found sleeping on the porch just over a week ago. “Guess what, Blue?” she squealed. “We’re not going home tomorrow! Dad says we get to stay a couple more days because of working on the porch.”

“Oh, Riley! That’s great. I’m so glad.”

Riley pulled her toward the front door. “April wants you to go in this way so she can show everything off. And guess what else? April gave Puffy some cheese, and Puffy got stinky farts, but Dean kept blaming it on me, and I didn’t do it.”

“Yeah, right.” Blue grinned. “Blame it on the dog.”

“No, really. I don’t even like cheese.”

Blue laughed and hugged her.

April and Puffy met them at the front door. Inside, the foyer glowed in the late afternoon sun with fresh eggshell paint. A carpet runner patterned with earth-toned swirls ran down the hallway. April gestured toward the splashy abstract Blue had spotted in a Knoxville gallery. “See how great the painting looks? You were right about mixing contemporary art with the antiques.”

The chest beneath had a wood and brass tray that already held Dean’s wallet and a set of keys, along with a framed early childhood photo of him wearing shorts and a football helmet so big it rested on his collarbones. Next to the chest, a curly iron coatrack waited for one of his jackets, and a rustic twig basket held a pair of sneakers and a football. A sturdy mahogany chair with a carved back offered a convenient place to change into running shoes or glance through the mail. “You’ve designed everything around him. Has he noticed how personalized this is?”

“I doubt it.”

Blue took in an oval wall mirror with a carved wooden frame. “All you need is a shelf for his moisturizer and eyelash curler.”

“Behave. Have you noticed that he hardly ever looks at himself?”

“I’ve noticed. I just haven’t chosen to let him know I’ve noticed.”

Blue loved the rest of the house, especially the living room, which had been transformed with pale, buttery paint and a big Oriental rug. The vintage landscapes Blue had discovered in the back of an antique shop looked great with the bold, contemporary canvas April had hung over the fireplace. The worn leather club chairs April had found were in place, along with a carved walnut armoire to hold stereo equipment, and an oversize coffee table with drawers for remote controls and game film. More photos sat on top, some taken of him with childhood friends, others from his teen and college years. Somehow Blue didn’t think the pictures were his idea.

Dean unconsciously adjusted his hammering to the music of the Black Eyed Peas coming from the kitchen. He and Jack had been working on the porch most of the day. The exterior walls were up, and tomorrow they’d start on the roof. He glanced toward the kitchen window. Blue had nodded at him when she’d arrived, but she hadn’t come out to say hello, and he hadn’t gone in. He was pissed with himself for losing it with her last night on the stairs, but at least he had her on his turf now, and nothing beat a home field advantage. Blue loved the farm, and if she was too stubborn to move back, he could at least remind her of what she was missing. One way or another, he was determined to get what he wanted—the affair they both deserved.

Inside, someone turned up the music. April and Riley were supposed to be helping with dinner, but April didn’t like to cook, and he could see her dragging Riley away from peeling potatoes to dance. He watched Blue set aside a mixing bowl and join them. She hopped around like a tree fairy, arms waving, her ponytail bobbing. If she’d been alone, he might have gone in to dance with her, but not with April and Jack hanging around.

“I thought you and Blue broke up.” Jack’s voice momentarily startled him. Other than a request to pass over a tool or hold a board in place, they hadn’t spoken all afternoon.

“Not exactly.” Dean drove another nail home. He’d been exercising his shoulder, and it was finally loosening up. “We’re at a transition point, that’s all.”

“Transition to what?”

“We’re figuring that out.”

“Bullshit.” Jack swiped his face with his sleeve. “You’re not serious about her. She’s just a diversion to you.”

Blue had been saying the same thing practically since the day they’d met, and Dean had to admit there was some truth in it. If he’d seen her on the street or in a club, he’d never have noticed her, but only because she wouldn’t have come on to him. With so many beautiful women trying to catch his attention, how was he supposed to notice the ones who didn’t?

“Be careful with her,” Jack went on. “She acts tough, but those eyes give her away.”

Dean swiped his forehead with his T-shirt sleeve. “Don’t confuse reality with your song lyrics, Jack. Blue knows exactly what the score is.”

Jack shrugged. “I guess you know her better than I do.”

That was the last thing they said to each other until Dean went inside to take a shower.

As Jack watched Dean disappear, he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Although he’d only intended to stay at the farm for a week, he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. April had her method of atonement, and he had his—building this porch with Dean. Growing up, Jack had spent summers working with his dad, and now he and Dean were doing the same. Not that Dean gave a damn about any kind of father-son ritual, but Jack did.

He liked the way the porch was shaping up. Everything was solid. His old man would have been proud.

Blue cranked open the kitchen window. Through the glass, he watched April’s lithesome, sensual movements and those blades of long hair flying around her head like knives.

“Nobody over the age of thirty should be able to dance like you,” he heard Blue say when the song ended.

Riley piped up, breathless from trying to follow April. “Dad is fifty-four, and he dances great. Onstage anyway. I don’t think he dances anywhere else.”

“He used to.” April ran her hands through her hair to sweep it back from her face. “After his concerts, we’d find some out-of-the-way club, and we’d dance until the place shut down. Lots of times they’d stay open just for him. Of all the people I’ve ever danced with, he was—” She stopped, then shrugged and leaned down to pet the dog. A moment later, her cell rang and she slipped out of the kitchen to answer it.

Yesterday, he’d overheard her address one of her callers as Mark. Before that, it had been Brad. Same old April. Same old hard-on whenever he got near her. Even so, he wanted to make love with her again. He wanted to excavate her layers and discover where her strength came from.

He had meetings in New York and intended to ask her to watch Riley for a few days while he was gone. He trusted her with his kid. The person he didn’t trust her with was himself.

Someone started pounding on the door as Dean headed back downstairs from his shower. He pulled it open and saw Nita Garrison standing there. Behind her, a dusty black sedan pulled away. He turned toward the kitchen. “Blue, you’ve got company.”

Nita smacked him in the knee with her cane, and he automatically stepped back, which opened up a hole big enough for her to slip
through. Blue emerged from the kitchen, followed by a trail of great cooking smells. “Oh, God, no,” she moaned as she spotted Nita.

“You left your shoes on the stairs,” Nita said accusingly. “I tripped over them and fell all the way to the bottom. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck.”

“I didn’t leave my shoes on the stairs, and you didn’t fall. How did you get here?”

“That fool Chauncey Crole. He spit out the window the whole way.” She sniffed the air. “I smell fried chicken. You never fix fried chicken for me.”

“That’s because I can’t find a place to hide the ground glass.”

Nita sucked on her teeth, then whacked him in the shin again for laughing. “I need to sit down. I have bruises everywhere from that fall.”

Riley popped in from the kitchen, Puffy trotting behind her. “Hi, Mrs. Garrison. I practiced with the book today.”

“Go get it and let me see. But first, find me a comfortable chair. I took a terrible fall today.”

“There’s one in the living room. I’ll show you.” Riley led her away.

Blue rubbed the back of her hand over a dab of flour on her cheek. She didn’t quite look at him. “I’d better ask April to set another place at the table.”

“That woman is not eating dinner with us,” he said.

“Then you figure out how to get rid of her. Believe me, it’s harder than you think.”

Dean followed her into the kitchen, protesting all the way, but Blue waved him off. He looked in the dining room and saw his antique Duncan Phyfe table had been set with fringed yellow place mats, old-fashioned blue and white dishes, a bowl of shiny stones Riley had collected, and a vase of yellow flowers. All the room needed to be complete were the murals Blue refused to paint. April ignored him as she began filling glasses with iced tea. He tried to help Blue out but
ended up getting in her way. Jack appeared fresh from his shower. Blue dropped her wooden spoon.

“Good to see you, Blue.” He reached into the refrigerator for a beer.

“Uh…hi.” She knocked over the flour sack as she fumbled to pick up the spoon.

Dean grabbed some paper towels. “We have unexpected company in the living room, Jack, so you’ll have to make yourself scarce.” He tilted his head toward Blue. “I’m sure your number one fan over there will save you some dinner.”

Jack’s eyes followed April, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I can only hide out for so long,” he said. “Your farm’s private property. Even if people figure out I’m here, they won’t be able to get to me.”

But Dean had spent twenty years avoiding anything that could connect him to Jack Patriot, and he didn’t want Nita Garrison blabbing to everybody that Jack was staying here.

“Dad went into the beer store today,” Riley said from the doorway. “He was in his work clothes, and he wasn’t wearing any earrings, so nobody recognized him.”

“Recognized who?” Nita appeared behind her. “That football player? Everybody knows he’s here.” She caught sight of Jack. “Who are you?”

“That’s my dad,” Riley said quickly. “His name is…Mr. Weasley. Mr. Ron Weasley.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“He’s…He’s April’s boyfriend.”

April’s eyes snapped as she gestured toward the dining room. “I hope you’re joining us for dinner.”

Blue snorted. “Like you could keep her away.”

“I don’t mind if I do. Give me your arm, Riley, so I don’t fall again.”

“Mrs. Garrison thinks Riley is stupid,” Riley announced to no one in particular.

“I don’t think
you’re
stupid,” Nita said “Only your name, and that’s hardly your fault, now is it.” She aimed an accusatory look at Jack.

“It was her mother’s idea,” he said. “I wanted to name her Rachel.”

“Jennifer is better.” Nita pushed Riley ahead of her into the dining room.

Jack turned to Blue. “Who the hell is that?”

“Some call her Satan. Others Beelzebub. She goes by many names.”

Dean smiled. “She’s Blue’s employer.”

“She’s my employer.” Blue slapped a drumstick on the platter.

“Lucky you,” Jack said.

Blue pulled a pan of roasted asparagus from the oven. They all began carrying in the serving dishes. Blue’s eyes narrowed when she saw that Nita had positioned herself at the head of the table. Riley sat to her immediate left. Dean quickly set down the biscuit basket and grabbed a side chair at the opposite end, as far away from the old lady as he could get. Jack got rid of the bowl of warm potato salad nearly as quickly and hurried to sit next to Riley in the place across from Dean. April and Blue realized at the same time that only two empty chairs remained, one at the foot of the table and one directly to Nita’s right. They both made a dash for the foot of the table. April had a head start, but Blue played dirty and hip-bumped her. As April lost her rhythm, Blue threw herself into the chair. “Touchdown…”

“You cheated,” April hissed under her breath.

“Children…,” Jack said.

April tossed her hair and marched to take her seat next to Nita, who was complaining to Riley about Blue’s bossiness and missed the whole thing. April now sat to Dean’s immediate left. They began to pass the food. After April filled her plate, Dean was surprised to see her bow her head over her meal for a few moments. When had that happened?

“Only one biscuit,” Nita said to Riley, taking two herself. “Any more will make you fat again.”

Blue opened her mouth to jump to Riley’s defense, but Riley handled it herself. “I know. I don’t get as hungry as I used to.”

As Dean gazed around the table, he saw a travesty of the American family. It was like Norman Rockwell on crack. A grandma who wasn’t a grandma. Parents who weren’t parents. Blue, who didn’t fit into any definable role, except as Mad Jack’s suck-up. She made sure Jack got the biggest piece of chicken and ran to fetch him a clean fork when he accidentally dropped his. Dean remembered sitting around his friends’ dinner tables while he was growing up and longing for a family of his own. He should have been more careful what he wished for.

Everyone complimented Blue on her cooking except Nita, who complained that the asparagus needed butter. The chicken was crispy and moist. A salty crunch of crumbled bacon topped the warm potato salad, which had a tangy dressing. Blue wasn’t happy with the biscuits, but the rest of them had several.

“Mrs. Garrison used to teach ballroom dancing,” Riley announced.

“We know,” Dean and Blue said in unison.

Nita eyed Jack. “You look familiar.”

“Do I?” Jack wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“What’s your name again?”

“Ron Weasley,” Riley said into her milk glass.

She was developing some good street smarts, and Dean gave her a surreptitious wink. He just hoped Nita wasn’t too familiar with Harry Potter.

He waited for Nita to resume her interrogation, but she didn’t. “Shoulders,” she said, and Riley immediately sat straighter in her chair. Nita shifted her eyes between April and Dean. “You two look alike.”