by Zoe York
“Stupid. Stupid.” She gritted her teeth and rushed two more. “Go. Get out. Out!”
The hens scattered into the yard in a flustered flurry of feathers. Anna eyed the remaining bird with disdain. “What? Are you too stupid to know you don't belong here? Get. Get.” The agitated hen ruffled her wings in defiance. She bore down on the helpless creature, cornering it in the far reaches of the pen. “You're just like her,” she hissed. “Go, get out.”
The hen cackled, raising the fine hairs on the back of Anna’s neck. Tires crunched on gravel. The growl of a motor undercut the clucking of the birds pecking about the scrubby grass.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she whispered, her eyes widening in panic as she rushed from the pen.
The grill of Bram's pick-up truck sneered at her when it cleared the corner of the house. Anna cast about wildly, her mind racing to formulate a plausible story.
Crap, crap, crappity-crap.
Sunlight glinted off the windshield, and Anna raised one hand to shield her eyes. She spied Lynne Prescott in the cab of the truck. When he pulled to a stop, Anna noted the frown cutting a deep furrow into the other woman's brow.
Anna smiled. That's right. Frown a little harder, honey.
“Anna?” Bram called, pushing the driver's door open with his foot.
“Thank goodness you're back,” she gushed. “I stopped by to show Ms. Prescott my new line of rejuvenating creams, and I saw that her poor little old chickens were loose.”
She whirled, turning her bright, false smile on one of the clueless birds. “Shoo, now. Get back in your cage.” She tried to usher the chicken back into the enclosure, but the bird eluded her. “I never was very good with the farm animals,” she said with a tinkling laugh.
Lynne slammed the passenger door. “Oh no. How did you get out?”
The chickens scurried and scattered when she rushed over. Bram caught her arm and held her back. “Not like that. You're scaring them.”
Anna sidled up beside her, keeping a wary eye on Bram. He stood still, patiently waiting for the chickens to calm down and inch their way closer to him. Two approached, pecking the ground near his dust-covered work boots. She stifled a hum of appreciation while he swooped down.
Good lord, what a delicious ass. In the wink of an eye, he snatched both birds up by their feet and deposited them in the enclosure, ignoring their flutters of indignation. The Prescott woman laughed, and he began to herd the remaining chickens back into the pen.
Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, Anna forced another smile. “That's our Bram,” she murmured. “The chick magnet.”
The woman laughed again, and he shot them both a dark look. Once the last bird meandered its way into the fenced area, he pulled the sagging wire taut, hooking it around one of the surviving nails. “What are you doing here?” he asked Anna without looking at her.
“Me? I stopped by to show Ms. Prescott some of the new spring line I got in,” she said, her eyes wide and innocent.
“Spring line?” Lynne asked.
“I'm your local Bella Signora Cosmetics representative,” Anna said, plastering a professional smile on her face and offering her nemesis her hand.
To Anna's delight, the furrow between her brows deepened as they shook hands.
“Bella Signora? I thought you were with—”
Anna forced a tinkling laugh. “Oh, no. Not anymore.” She leaned in a little closer. “I switched two years ago. I wanted to represent a company that's fresh and new—products that are on the cutting edge of fashion. You won't find your grandmother's cold cream in my case.”
“But you have the pink.... Don't only the top sellers—”
Anna cut her off. “Yes, well, you have to keep moving forward, don't you?” She shot Bram a glance then turned her full attention to the woman beside her. “I wanted to treat you to a facial. I have a wonderful new line that can take ten years off your face.”
Bram cleared his throat and glanced meaningfully at his watch. “We, uh....”
Lynne caught his look. “I'm afraid I can't today. Thank you, though.”
“Do you two kids have plans?” she asked, her voice rising.
“We're due at Bram's parents' house for dinner in an hour,” Lynne explained.
Hatred knotted low and deep in her belly. Keeping her smile anchored firmly in place, she looked at Bram and caught the tail end of a wince. She wet her glossy lips. “How nice for y'all.”
He stared at her. It was all she could do to keep from squirming under that intense blue scrutiny. She shook her head, and his stare shifted to her hair. She lifted one hand to pat it into place then checked the turquoise and silver hoop earring dangling from her ear. His eyes widened slightly, and she averted her gaze, turning to face the enemy.
She smiled at Lynne, changing battle plans mid-campaign. “Well, then why don't I drop by tomorrow? We can have a little girl talk.”
“Oh. I...um....”
She saw Bram give his head an imperceptible shake. “Do y'all have plans for tomorrow, too?” she asked. “Perhaps a visit with Brother Johnston?”
His eyes grew round as saucers at the mention of the pastor's name. Anna went in for the kill. “No plans? Wonderful.”
“Um, I don't....”
“I'll be by at about ten. I'll bring coffee cake, too,” she added, giving them both a jaunty wave while she beat a path to the front of the house, making her escape with one hand pressed to her hammering heart. Keep your enemies close....
She stomped up the porch steps to retrieve her black case. With it firmly in hand, she hustled to her car, a new tactic taking shape in her mind. Her heel sunk into the ground as she wrenched open the car door. A sharp twinge tingled in her ankle and zinged up her leg. She grimaced, pulling the heavy door closed. Gripping the steering wheel, she stared blankly at the worn wicker chair on the porch. It's a sobering thing for a woman to discover she doesn't own the right shoes for a life of crime.
Chapter 17
Lynne smoothed her hands over her hair then fussed with her skirt. She glanced up when Bram opened the door. “Are you sure this is okay?”
He offered his hand to help her from the truck. “You look nice. Pretty.”
She hopped down, her fingers brushing his cheek. “You clean up real pretty too.”
When a pink flush flooded his cheeks, her smile grew. Dark lashes fluttered, then he rolled his eyes. Her hands fell to her sides as she glanced around. Her gaze came to rest on one of the outbuildings.
“Think the chickens will be okay?”
“The wire was rusty. I tacked it up again, so the fence should hold for tonight. I'll replace it tomorrow.”
His hand closed around hers. She glanced down at their clasped fingers then back at his parents' house. “You don't need to hold my hand. I'll be fine.”
His smile came slow, lighting his eyes as he gave her hand a warm squeeze. “I might need you to hold mine.”
She laughed and started toward the porch. “Come on, chicken.”
The door opened before they reached it. Bram released her hand the second his mother appeared, and Lynne's lungs ceased function. Gimme the hand back. I need the hand. His warm palm pressed against the small of her back, and her traitorous organs kick-started again.
“Mama, this is Lynne Prescott. Lynne, my mama, Ada Hatchett.”
“We've met, Abram,” she murmured, taking Lynne's proffered hand in both of hers. “Nice to see you again.”
Lynne relaxed, basking in the warmth of the older woman's welcome. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
“Come in, come in. Everyone's here,” she said, ushering them into the house.
“That's what we were afraid of,” Bram murmured.
A flurry of introductions flew the moment she crossed the threshold. While the others rushed forward, Bram’s daughter hung back, hovering at the side of a tall, sandy-haired young man. Lynne didn't miss the gentle prod Bobby gave his fiancée. She took a quick hit of oxygen and stepped up. “
Hello, Willene.”
“Hi.” Another elbow to the ribs had the younger woman stammering, “Uh, I like your skirt.”
Lynne glanced down at the long filmy skirt she'd tossed into her suitcase at the last second. “My dryer died,” she blurted.
“It's not dead, only sick,” Bram corrected.
“Deathly ill,” she countered.
“I'm sure Bram can take care of it for you,” his mother chimed in. “The boy's always been good with his hands.”
Abe's wife, Jennifer, shot forward. “Would you like some tea, Ms. Prescott?”
Al brandished a cloudy green bottle. “I have some of Della Madison's Pear wine.”
“No one in their right mind would want that, Alsom,” Ada said, snatching the bottle from her husband's hand.
“Might as well serve moonshine,” Bram mumbled.
“Please call me Lynne, and tea would be perfect.” She smiled. “I think I'm addicted.”
“I'm hungry,” A.J. whined as his mother passed.
“Shush,” Jennifer hissed.
Bram ran his hand over the boy's buzz-cut hair. “I'm hungry, too.”
Ada rolled her eyes. “Typical men. Well, come on, supper's ready.” She shooed them toward the dining room.
Lynne watched Willene follow Jennifer into the kitchen. “Can I help?” she asked Bram's mother.
“Not this time, honey,” Ada answered. Her hand closed around Lynne's elbow in a surprisingly firm grip. She deftly guided her from the kitchen and to Bram's side. “This visit, you're our guest.”
“What does that mean?” she asked Bram when the older woman bustled into the kitchen.
“That means next time you'll sing for your supper like the rest of us.”
“I don't hear you singing.”
“They cooked; we'll clean,” he said, nodding to his father and son.
“Them's the rules,” Al intoned gravely.
She took her seat between Bram and his father, her eyes widening as a parade of steaming platters and bowls streamed in from the kitchen. “Smells wonderful.”
“Nobody has a hand with the chicken like my Ada.” Al's eyes twinkled when he made a grab for the platter his wife held. “That's why I married her.”
Ada swatted his hand. “I'm still trying to remember why I married you.”
The older man's gaze followed his bride as she bustled back into the kitchen. “She remembers,” he murmured. “I was irresistible in my day.”
Lynne's smile blossomed. “I think you may still be,” she whispered.
He patted her hand while the rest of the family took their seats. “Shh. Bram will get jealous.”
“Uh-huh.” Bram placed a hand on A.J.'s shoulder to keep the boy from squirming in his seat.
A wicked gleam lit the old man's eyes as he stood to help Ada into her chair. He reclaimed his seat, murmuring to his son, “I saw the girl first.”
“Hush, you silly old goat,” Ada hissed. “Say the blessing.”
Al offered up a brief and sincere prayer of thanks then the room sprang to life. Lynne smiled at A.J.'s scowl when his mother dumped a load of fresh green beans onto his plate. Willene waved off the basket of biscuits her fiancé tried to pass in her direction. Dazed by the buzz of activity, Lynne jumped when Bram nudged her with an elbow. Al held the platter of crispy golden chicken and nodded to the tongs.
“Go ahead, darlin'. Help yourself. You won't get much if I pass it to the boys first,” he prompted.
Once the plates and bowls had made their rounds, an awkward silence descended on the table. Bobby Walters cleared his throat. “I, uh, I hear you're from Chicago, Ms. Prescott.”
“It's Lynne, and yes,” she answered, passing the basket of biscuits. “I live just north of the city.”
“I have cousins up there. Visited them a couple of years ago. They took me to a ball game.”
She returned his friendly smile, noting the smattering of boyish freckles that dusted the young man's open face. “Cubs or Sox?”
“Cubs.”
“Games at Wrigley Field are always fun.”
“Yes, ma'am. We had a good time.”
Spoons and forks scraped earthenware plates. Lynne speared a forkful of green beans.
“Your mama is doing well?” Ada inquired.
The conversation paused. Lynne's fork hovered near her lips. “Yes, very well.”
“You knew her mother?” Willene blurted, and every head swiveled toward her.
Ada met the girl's mildly accusatory stare head-on. “Of course I did, Picklepuss. Everyone knew Elizabeth Burdock. She was the first and only Miss Arkansas from around here.”
“Your mother was Miss Arkansas?” Jennifer asked, her eyes widening with interest.
Lynne promptly shoveled the green beans into her mouth. The salty tang of bacon exploded on her tongue. She nodded as she chewed, a soft moan humming in her throat.
“Good, huh?” Bram asked with a low chuckle.
“What year was it? Fifty-two? Fifty-three?” Ada mused.
“Fifty-three,” Lynne and Al answered in unison.
She turned to Bram's father, a surprised laugh bubbling from her lips. “You have a good memory.”
“Oh, Alsom would never forget that,” Ada drawled, an amused gleam lighting her eyes. “He was sweet on your mama.”
“I was not.” The older man shook his head vehemently.
“Lizzie-Beth Burdock didn't have much time for gawky, goggle-eyed sixteen-year-olds,” Ada continued. “Luckily, I was around to mend his broken heart when she moved off to Little Rock.”
Al snorted. “Tried to break it yourself a time or two,” he muttered with a vicious stab at the beans on his plate.
“Wanted to know if I could.” Ada gave his hand a conciliatory pat. “Turns out, I was pretty good at it.”
Lynne spared Bram a quick glance from under her lashes. He was engrossed in decimating the mountain of mashed potatoes on his plate, so she turned her attention to her own meal.
Jennifer jumped into the pool of silence. “Do your folks still live near you?”
Lynne scraped at her potatoes with the tines of her fork. “Uh, no. My mother moved to Arizona not long after my father passed away three years ago.”
Ada's face softened. “I'm sorry to hear about your daddy. I only saw him the once, just after he and Elizabeth married. He was a handsome man.”
“Thank you. Yes, he was.” Lynne took advantage of the pause by shoveling the spuds into her mouth to avoid having to say more.
“Looked like that movie star,” Ada murmured. Her brow furrowed as she searched her memory.
Lynne's eyebrows rose. She cast a glance at Bram then his father. “Movie star?”
“Redford. Robert Redford,” Ada concluded with a sly smile. “He was so handsome in that movie with Barbara Streisand.”
Bram raised an eyebrow. “Robert Redford?”
A smile lifted Lynne's lips. “Well, he was blond.”
“A doctor, wasn't he?” Ada persisted.
“Yes. A cardiologist.”
Bram's head jerked up. “Your father was a doctor, too?”
“Yes. He was Chief of Staff at Northshore Memorial.”
He picked up his drumstick and eyed it speculatively. “Huh.”
“Too?” Ada prompted.
“My, uh, ex-husband is a surgeon.”
“Oh.”
Somehow the older woman managed to infuse an encyclopedia's worth of acknowledgment into a single syllable. Lynne's cheeks warmed. Bram stared at his drumstick but didn't take a bite.
Willene piped up, filling the lull in conversation. “What do you do, Ms. Prescott?”
Lynne's head swiveled. “Me? Oh, I don't....”
The younger woman pounced. “You don't work?”
Bram’s drumstick landed in his green beans with a plop. “She didn't say that, Willene.”
The blush burned in her cheeks. Lynne's fingers grazed his forearm, stilling him. “There are a few charities—
”
“But not real work,” Willene persisted.
She eyed the girl coolly and smoothed the antique lace tablecloth under her damp palm. “I don't get paid, no,” she answered, her voice calm.
Jennifer leaned across Abe to ask, “Do you do those fancy benefits and fundraisers? The pictures in the Sunday paper are always so glamorous.”
A rush of gratitude warmed her. “We do a couple of those. They can be fun, but mostly they're a lot of work. They can raise a good deal of money, though.”
“Oh, I know what you mean. They're always printing pictures of some swanky dinner-dance in the Gazette,” Willene said, fixing her father with a bland stare. She nudged her fiancé with her elbow. “The guys dress up like penguins to save spotted owls.”
“Honey?” Bram asked in low voice.
Lynne startled, blinking at him like one of the alleged owls.
“Do you want some honey for your biscuit?” Her gaze fell to the jar of liquid gold in his hand. “It's good,” he prompted.
“Thank you.” She glanced at his rapidly depleting plate and wondered if she'd actually get a chance to eat more than a bite of each thing. She drizzled honey over the buttered bread and decided to take the plunge.
“I haven't done much with environmental causes,” she admitted.
Bram stiffened beside her when Willene turned an unflinching stare on Lynne. “No? Well, I suppose since you aren't into farming.”
“Right.” She conceded with a brisk nod. “I don't know much about those things.” Abe shoveled a heaping forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, and Lynne admired the wisdom of his choice. She cleared her throat and chanced a sip of iced tea. “My best friend passed away seven years ago. Some friends and I established a foundation in her memory.”
Willene quirked an eyebrow. “Providing soccer balls to needy private school kids?”
“Willene.” Bram snapped.
This time, Lynne's fingers closed around his wrist. She met his daughter's stare with a level gaze. “We work with a clinic in the city to provide free mammograms to women without health insurance.”
