Bright Eyes

by Catherine Anderson

  When he reached the Westfield house, he circled around back where they parked their cars, the better to catch Natalie on her way out. To his surprise, the patchy backyard was lined with flowers, the borders so thick that blossoms spilled over onto the grass. Zeke suspected Natalie was responsible for all the color. Her father seemed to have back problems, Gramps was too feeble to work outdoors, and Valerie was probably far too busy primping.

  Just as Zeke reached the rickety back porch, he heard Natalie burst into song somewhere inside the house. He paused and grinned as he listened to the words, something like, “And I shaved my legs for this?” Damn, but she had a beautiful voice. He almost hated to knock and interrupt her.

  As he ascended the wooden steps, he saw that the screen door opened onto the kitchen. Through the wire mesh, he could see Natalie in front of an old-fashioned gas range. Just as Chad had described, she was pretending the long-handled fork she held in one hand was a microphone. Bending slightly at the knees and throwing her other arm wide, she belted out the song’s refrain. Zeke became so engrossed in her performance that he just stood there. The lady didn’t need stage lights and sequins. She was pure dynamite without props.

  He finally collected himself and rapped his fist on the wood. She jumped so violently that she almost shoved a fork prong up her nose. “Oh!” She clamped a hand over her heart. “Zeke! You scared me out of ten years’ growth.”

  “Sorry.” He swept his gaze over her. She’d changed into pink shorts and a flowery blouse that was faded and wash worn, the thin cloth clinging softly to her full breasts. Her hair lay loose around her narrow shoulders, an ebony cloud of curls. “You forgot your watch. I thought you might need it at work.”

  She laid aside the fork and came across the kitchen, tugging self-consciously at the shorts in a futile attempt to cover her legs. Zeke fixed his gaze on her face, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable.

  “I don’t go in tonight,” she said. “I take Sundays and Mondays off.”

  “Ah.” Fishing in his pocket for her watch, Zeke stepped to one side as she pushed open the screen door. “You didn’t mention that today.”

  “Our busy nights are Thursday through Saturday,” she explained. “Frank, my piano player, holds down the fort for me on Sunday and Monday, and I return the favor on Tuesday and Wednesday. It gives us each a break.”

  Zeke put the watch on her outstretched palm. She had gorgeous legs—not that he was looking. “That’s good—you getting a little time off, I mean.”

  She held the screen ajar with her left elbow while she donned the watch and fastened the clasp. “Thank you for bringing it over. I took it off while I was painting. I can’t believe I left it.”

  “Not a problem.”

  She pushed the screen wide. “I just made some ice tea. Won’t you come in and have a glass?”

  Zeke hadn’t intended to stay, but the lady issuing the invitation tempted him in a way he couldn’t understand and didn’t want to resist. “I’d love to.”

  As he stepped inside, she sniffed the air and got a horrified look on her face. “Oh no, the chicken!”

  The screen slapped Zeke on the ass as she rushed back to the stove. She grabbed a potholder to take the lid off a big cast iron skillet. Smoke billowed upward. She waved her hand and coughed.

  “Darn it!”

  From somewhere at the front of the house, Gramps or Pop, Zeke wasn’t sure which, yelled, “Nattie, have you gone and burned supper again?”

  She made a face and whispered, “No. It’s just well done.” As she retrieved the fork and turned the meat, she added, “Crispy on one side, that’s all.”

  Zeke grinned and sank onto a chair at a battered gray table, which reminded him strongly of the one in his grandparents’ kitchen when he was a boy. Slanting a long look at the stove, he watched the lid bounce on a pot that sat over a back burner. Judging by the smell, she was boiling potatoes.

  “Might better turn that rear flame down. I think your spuds are about to spill over.”

  She adjusted the knob, then wiped her hands on her blouse. “Tea!” She hurried over to the refrigerator. “I’m sorry. Organized, I’m not.”

  Zeke thought she was adorable, distracted by his presence and all aflutter with nerves. When she bent over to take a pitcher from the fridge, he was afforded a fabulous view of her bottom and the backs of her bare thighs. If she had cellulite dimples, he couldn’t see them. Not that he had anything against a few dimples here and there.

  “Lemon?”

  He jerked and fixed his gaze on hers. “Pardon?”

  She’d caught him looking. Two bright spots of color flagged her cheeks. “Do—you—want—lemon?” she asked with exaggerated slowness.

  He liked his tea the same way he liked his women, sweet with just a hint of tartness. “Yeah, a little lemon will be great.”

  She plucked a small bowl of lemon wedges from the shelf, rinsed her hands, and then shoved a wedge over the edge of his glass. She fetched a spoon from a drawer before advancing on him with the tea. Zeke fleetingly wondered if he was going to drink it or wear it.

  “Thanks,” he said when she set the glass on the table with a decisive click and slid the sugar toward him.

  “You’re welcome.” She returned to the stove to check the chicken. Every time she turned a breast, she tugged at the legs of her shorts. “Can you stay for supper? We have plenty. Valerie and the kids aren’t here tonight.”

  Zeke preferred his breasts plump and tender. “Where are they?” he asked as he stirred two heaping teaspoons of sugar into his drink.

  “Valerie worked for an attorney who recently retired and closed his office. She got her severance pay in the mail yesterday. She’s springing for pizza and a movie tonight.”

  “That’s sweet of her.”

  “Yes. My kids don’t get many treats these days.” She slipped the lid back over the chicken, adjusted the flame to simmer, and went to pour herself a glass of tea. When she joined him at the table, she said, “Sweet as it is, though, I can’t help but wonder where her head is. She went to a community college for two years to become a legal secretary, which is great, but now she’s hell-bent to do nothing else. There are no jobs in her field at present. I keep hoping she’ll take something else, a regular secretarial position or a job as a receptionist, but she won’t even consider it. And in the meanwhile, she’s out blowing money she can’t afford to blow. Next week, she’ll be broke and wonder how on earth it happened.”

  Zeke plucked the wedge of lemon from the edge of his glass and squeezed the pulp into his tea. He’d had similar thoughts about his younger siblings more than once. “I hear you. You’re wondering if she’ll ever grow up.”

  She looked a little startled. Then her sweet mouth, which he found himself wanting to kiss more and more by the moment, curved into a slight smile. “Yes. How’d you know?”

  “One of six kids, remember? And I’m the second oldest.” He touched his temple. “See the gray? I earned every white hair.”

  “What gray?”

  “It’s there, trust me. First off, it was Bethany. When she got hurt, I thought it was the end of the world. Then came Hank. He’s finally straightened out, thank God. Now the twins are driving me nuts.”

  “Tucker and Isaiah, right?”

  “Good memory.”

  “So, what are the little darlings doing to push you over the edge?”

  Zeke chuckled. “The little darlings will be thirty-three in December. They’re only ten months younger than I am.”

  “My goodness, your poor mother.”

  His chuckle deepened to a rumble. “Another story. Don’t distract me. I stopped by unannounced at their town house the other night. Not a good plan.”

  “Uh-oh.” Her eyes sparkled with laughter. “Let me guess. A toga and Wesson Oil party, minus the togas.”

  Zeke grinned, trying to picture her in a toga. He decided she’d be beautiful in anything. “Nope. Tucker was entertaining a lady.”

&nb
sp; “Hmm.” She raised her eyebrows and dimpled a cheek at him. “That sounds pretty tame. There must be something more. If not, get a life.”

  At that precise moment, he thought that sounded like damned good advice. He could go for getting a life, especially if it included a curvaceous vocalist with eyes he could get lost in. “Oh, there was more.”

  “Do tell. Were they—? Well, you know.”

  Zeke touched his tongue to the squeezed lemon rind. The sweetness and tartness made him look at her mouth. “Nope. Tucker was mixing drinks at the bar, and the lady was hanging all over him, but nothing else was going on.”

  “What, then?” Her eyes reflected genuine interest. “I’m dying here. Get to the good part.”

  “She was calling him Isaiah.”

  Long silence. She stared blankly at him for a full second, and then her eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh! They’re switching places.”

  “Isn’t that juvenile?”

  “Juvenile? It’s low down and rotten and—and absolutely unforgivable.”

  “I agree. And now you know why they’re driving me nuts.”

  She clunked her glass down on the table and sank back in her chair. Zeke was glad to have distracted her. She was no longer tugging at her shorts. “That poor woman!”

  He peeled the pulp from the lemon rind with his teeth and pocketed it in his cheek, enjoying the sourness as he sipped the tea. “I’m sure that Tucker didn’t take it that far. He’s a decent guy at heart.” He no sooner spoke than he shrugged and added, “Well, I can’t be absolutely sure, of course. That’s why it bothers me so much, I guess. I didn’t blow the whistle on him. How do you tell a woman she’s getting cozy with the wrong man?”

  “Oh, Zeke.” Her tone rang with sympathy.

  “I’m sure, in his misguided way, Tucker was only trying to help Isaiah out. But it still bothers me.” Zeke lifted a leg to prop a boot on his knee, then immediately lowered it to the floor again. Thinking about the twins agitated him. “Isaiah’s the serious, bookish one. Always has been, even as a kid. When Tucker was swinging from curtains and sliding down banisters, Isaiah was off in a corner, totally absorbed in something cerebral. Nothing’s ever changed. He’s far too busy thinking about a cure for the latest swine virus to connect with reality, thus socks that don’t match and two dates the same night.”

  Natalie’s eyes went soft. “You love them.”

  “Well, of course, I—” Zeke sniffed the air and jumped up to advance on the stove. “If I’m staying for dinner, I’ll help get the meal on the table. If you don’t mind, that is.”

  “Not at all. Chad says you’re a gourmet cook.”

  “Not a gourmet, exactly. I just enjoy cooking.”

  He plucked the lid off the skillet. After pushing at the meat with the fork, he decided it wasn’t beyond redemption. More like chicken jerky. Thank God he had strong teeth. He turned off the heat, slapped the lid back on the skillet, and leaned forward to check the spuds. They were as close to mush as potatoes could get.

  “How did you plan to fix these?”

  “Mashed.”

  Damned good thing. Zeke turned off the burner. “How’s about if we work while we talk?” Without waiting for her assent, he washed his hands and opened the fridge to grab milk and butter. “Where’s your masher?”

  She jumped up and opened a drawer. Zeke grabbed the utensil, grinned at her, and said, “I hope you don’t mind. I can’t sit still in the kitchen.”

  She smiled and shrugged. “Have at it. I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”

  While Natalie fixed a salad, Zeke cut the chicken into paper-thin slices and created an Alfredo sauce from scratch, which he served over both the chicken and the mashed potatoes. He enjoyed himself immensely, talking nonstop, which was a rarity for him. His brothers laughingly said that he was a man of few words, but around Natalie, he had plenty to say. They discussed gardening, horses, the employee turnover at his business and hers, the alfalfa crop in her father’s fields, and different ways to fix chicken.

  It felt good. Zeke didn’t think about what he said or how he said it; he just turned loose and enjoyed conversing with her. All and all, it was a liberating experience, and, best of all, Natalie seemed to enjoy herself as much as he did.

  When dinner was finally served and everyone had gathered around the table, they joined hands and blessed the food before they began to eat. Zeke liked that, too. It reminded him of home.

  “For a change, it smells like we got something to eat that we can really be thankful for,” Gramps commented.

  Natalie flashed Zeke an impish grin. “My reputation in the kitchen is legend.”

  “Can’t cook for squat,” Gramps inserted. “Only person I know who can’t boil an egg.”

  “I can so!” Natalie cried.

  “Ha. Dad-blamed things bounce off my teeth.” To Zeke, Gramps added, “She’ll never find her way to a man’s heart through his stomach, that’s fer sure. Girl’s got too many songs in her head to mind the stove.”

  “It’s the new millennium, Gramps,” Natalie inserted. “A woman’s talents needn’t be confined to the kitchen anymore.”

  “Hmmph. Can’t hurt to have some talent in the kitchen.”

  Pop nodded as he sampled the food. “Now this is good.”

  Natalie moaned as if she were in the throes of orgasm when she took a taste. “This is fabulous, Zeke.”

  Gramps made appreciative noises while he chewed. After swallowing, he said, “You oughta marry this fella, Nattie girl. The man can flat cook.”

  Normally, the very mention of marriage made Zeke nervous, but when he looked across the table at Natalie, he had no inclination to run. “I’m glad all of you like it.”

  “Mm,” she said. “How did you do this with my chicken?”

  Zeke winked at her. “Good Alfredo can disguise the taste of almost anything.”

  She laughed. “Thanks a bunch.”

  Pop dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin and slanted a meaningful look at his daughter. “Short of marrying him, you should at least consider hiring him. That chef you got at the club could take lessons.”

  Natalie flashed Zeke an inquiring look. “You interested in a job?”

  Zeke gazed into her beautiful eyes and decided he was interested in far more than that.

  The meal ended too quickly to suit Zeke. To his surprise, he enjoyed talking with Pop and Gramps, who’d spent their lives working a farm. Ranching and farming were two different enterprises, of course, but there were enough similarities for Zeke to converse intelligently with them on a variety of topics.

  After Natalie’s father and grandfather returned to the living room to watch Court TV, Zeke stayed to help clean up the kitchen. On the counter near the sink, he saw a tattered tablet. The top page was filled with chicken scratch. When he looked closer, he realized it was music and verse.

  “Songs,” Natalie explained with an embarrassed laugh. “I keep tablets in every room so I can jot ideas down as they come to me.” She shrugged. “That way, I don’t grab a pen and write on myself.”

  “Ah.” Zeke didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, so he stopped looking at the tablet. “Makes sense.”

  A smile lighted her eyes. “Which part, writing stuff down—or taking preventative measures so I don’t look like I went to a drunk tattoo artist?”

  “Both. It’d be a shame to forget a song that may become a number-one hit.”

  She made a face. “Not likely. Pop keeps threatening to paper the walls with my songs. I’ve written hundreds and never sold one yet.”

  “Ever tried?”

  “Not yet. The club and my kids keep me pretty busy.” She sent him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about all the ribbing at dinner tonight.” She washed a plate and stacked it in the drainer to be dried. “My family isn’t really looking to marry me off. Gramps just didn’t stop to think how it sounded.”

  “I realized that he was only joking.”

  “Good.”
She handed him another plate. “I’m really not in the market for another husband. I wouldn’t want you to think—well, you know—that I had designs on you or anything.”

  “No worries.” He angled her a questioning glance. “Any particular reason why?”

  “Why, what?”

  “Why you’re not in the market for another husband.”

  She smiled and grabbed a pot to immerse it in the sudsy water. “The first one cured me for life.” Her expression sobered, and she shrugged. “Maybe someday—if I meet a really special man. Then, again, maybe not. Once burned, twice shy, and all that.”

  “Robert hurt you that deeply?”

  She scrubbed on the pot for so long that Zeke almost gave up on getting an answer. Then, in a voice pitched so low it was barely more than a whisper, she said, “A thousand times.”

  His heart caught at the pain he glimpsed in her eyes. Then, just as quickly, it vanished, and she dimpled her cheek in a mischievous grin. “How about you? Fair is fair. Did some wicked woman break your heart? There must be some reason a guy like you is still running around loose.”

  Zeke chuckled. “I’m one of those rare birds who’s never been in love.”

  “Never?”

  “Well, maybe once, if you count puppy love. When I got older, I just never met anyone who struck me as being that special.” Zeke set a drinking glass in the cupboard and then plucked another from the drainer. “I never really wanted to get married. Maybe that accounts for it. Some people are cut out to have a family, others aren’t.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “It was never high on my list. Came from growing up in such a large family, I guess. As a kid, I felt like a sardine packed into a can a lot of the time. No room of my own, no sacrosanct corner where I could escape to read or be alone with my thoughts. With three younger brothers and a little sister, I couldn’t even go for a walk without one or all of them tagging along. When I finally got out on my own, I enjoyed living alone. I didn’t really want to get married and clutter up my life with kids.” Zeke realized with something of a shock that he was speaking in the past tense. He mentally circled that, wondering what had come over him. Then he looked into her soft brown eyes and knew. “That isn’t to say I’ll never change my mind. It’ll just take a very special lady to get me there.”