Silver Thaw: A Mystic Creek Novel

by Catherine Anderson

  When the kitchen was tidy, Jeb bundled up to do his outdoor chores. Bozo, otherwise occupied, didn’t accompany him. When Jeb returned to the house, the sounds of Chloe giggling, Amanda laughing, and Bozo doing his growly thing drifted down to him from upstairs. He doffed his outerwear, pulled on no-clank boots, drew two snifters from the liquor cabinet, and grabbed a bottle of fine brandy, which he carried to the table. He didn’t know if Amanda imbibed, but tonight he had a hunch she would need two fingers of false courage.

  * * *

  When Amanda reappeared downstairs, she was alone. Gesturing behind her with the gloved hand, she said, “Bozo climbed in bed with Chloe. I wasn’t sure if you allow him on your furniture, but he wouldn’t get down, and I couldn’t lift him.”

  “He isn’t allowed on the furniture, but after I turn my light off, he sneaks onto my bed. I let it go. He likes to cuddle. He’s big, but he’s careful. He won’t roll on her.”

  With extra caution, Amanda removed the glove so as not to disturb the absurdly large bandage. “You got Chloe no-tears shampoo and bath bubbles. How did you know to do that, not having kids yourself?”

  “Mary Alice Thomas,” Jeb replied. “I call her Ma. She adores kids and knows everything little girls Chloe’s age like.”

  “Oh, Mary Alice! I know her. Well, only in the most casual way. When Chloe and I walk to town, I often go into her shop to browse. Chloe loves the play corner. I can’t afford most of the stuff, but Mary Alice always has things marked down in a basket by the register, and sometimes I can get something special for Chloe.”

  For Chloe. That told him all he needed to know about this woman. No marked-down perfume for herself, only special things for her little girl. Jeb knew the shop owner well—had known her all his life, in fact—and he suspected that Mary Alice grabbed items off the shelf and quickly marked them down when she saw Amanda coming.

  “Why do you call her Ma?” Amanda asked.

  “Everyone does,” Jeb replied. “For years, she’s signed everything with only her first initials, M and A. At some point, someone called her Ma, and it stuck.”

  After putting the glove back under the sink, Amanda resumed her seat across from him. “I have a feeling my bed will be a little crowded tonight. I got the impression that Bozo has no intention of moving.”

  “I’ll call him.” He gave her a grin. “At times, obedience classes do pay off.”

  She rested her elbows on the table. “I’m accustomed to sleeping in a small space. Chloe nearly cuddles me off the bed. He looks so happy, being with her. I really don’t mind if you let him stay.” A dimple flashed in her cheek. “I’m glad you bought nontoxic bubbles. Bozo ate them.”

  Chuckling, Jeb poured each of them two fingers of cognac. He saw shadows slip into her eyes. “Uh-oh. You a teetotaler?”

  “No,” she said softly. “It’s just that my husband got mean when he drank.”

  “I don’t, but we can have decaf coffee if you like.”

  “It’s fine. I haven’t tasted fine brandy in a long, long time.”

  Jeb slid a snifter over to her. “One thing about Bozo moving into your bed is that you won’t need to shove the dresser in front of the door. He’ll stand guard. He loves that child so much, he’d kill anyone who entered that room intending to do her harm.”

  Amanda’s cheeks went rosy. Oops. She had been hoping he hadn’t heard her moving the dresser.

  “Even you?” she asked.

  It took Jeb a moment to recall where they’d been in the conversation. “Bozo loves me, too. I don’t think he’d ever bite me, but he might to protect you and your daughter. And if I were trying to hurt you, I’d have it coming, so I wouldn’t blame him.”

  Jeb tried to think of a gentle way to tell her about the roof cave-in. A copy of the Mystic Creek Daily lay near her elbow. He tapped it. “This is a couple of days old. I haven’t been getting a newspaper delivered since the storm hit. But with this weather, I’m guessing that few people responded to the classifieds. Now might be a good time to check out the available homes for rent.”

  “Do you think the pipes at my place are beyond repair? I keep hoping my landlord will call.” She shrugged. “Chloe and I can make do for a few days with bottled water. I can’t afford to move unless I have to.”

  “You have to, Amanda. I stopped by there this evening to get your SD card. Busted pipes are the least of the problems now.”

  She gave him a questioning look.

  “With all the snow and freezing rain, the weight was too much for the roof. When I got there, I found that a section over the front room had collapsed.”

  Her face drained of color. Jeb hated that he had no choice but to tell her the rest. “I knew the house would never be habitable again, so I broke in the back door to get your SD card and personal effects. While I was in Chloe’s room, the house groaned and then a cracking sound went through the rooms. I skedaddled as fast as I could. I was barely off the back stoop when the rest of the roof caved in.”

  “Oh, my God.” She cupped her hands over her face. “You could have been killed.”

  “What bothered me more was that you and Chloe could have been inside. When the front section went down, support beams fell on the sofa where you two were snuggling yesterday to stay warm.”

  She lowered her hands and, if it were possible, grew even paler. “We heard a loud cracking sound, and Chloe asked me if the roof was breaking.”

  Jeb’s stomach clenched.

  “I told her it was nothing.”

  Jeb could imagine the awful pictures spiraling through her mind. “On a bright note, I think I got everything out of there that’s important.” He listed the things he could recall, including her pink writing tablet. “I put everything in two pillowcases, but I left them in the truck. I didn’t want to break this news until after Chloe was asleep.”

  “Did you find the SD card?” A trill of panic slipped into her voice. “I absolutely can’t do without that, no matter how dangerous it’ll be for me to go back. It’s—”

  Jeb cut her off. “I got the SD card. I couldn’t get your bedding on the sofa. It was covered with debris.”

  The tension eased from her shoulders. “The SD card is the most important thing. And the photographs, of course. I don’t have many of Chloe. My husband wouldn’t pay for professional ones, and I could use his fancy camera only while he was at work. I saved the pictures onto a card so he wouldn’t know I’d touched his equipment.”

  Jeb could only wonder what her husband would have done if he’d caught her.

  “Thankfully, when he noticed an SD card was missing, he thought he’d lost it.”

  Jeb forced a smile. “I’m glad you have pictures of Chloe. That’s great.”

  “It’s a nice camera. You can put it on a timer to take pictures of yourself.” As she spoke, her cheeks lost color again, but she visibly collected herself and smiled. “Thank you so much for getting our stuff. It was a dangerous thing to do.”

  “All’s well that ends well.”

  “All hasn’t ended well yet. I need to find a place to live.”

  Jeb pushed the newspaper toward her. “Before you start worrying yourself sick about buying all new furniture, I can lend you plenty. When I built this place, I tore down the original dwelling, and most of that furniture is stored in my shop. I’ve even got a cookstove and an old washer and dryer. I keep meaning to sell all that stuff but haven’t gotten around to it. You can borrow it for a while and get it out of my way.”

  “You’ve done too much for us already,” she protested.

  “It’s old stuff, Amanda. I’ll be glad to get rid of it. When you’re done with it, maybe you can save me the headache and sell it for me. My shop is huge, but it’s taking up space I can use for my work.”

  Without indicating whether she would accept his offer, she studied the classified ads. When she saw
a house of interest—which Jeb suspected appealed to her only because of the low rent—she asked about its location. Because she walked to work every day, she wanted a place within a mile of the school.

  Sweet Lord. She couldn’t walk a mile each way to work throughout the winter. She’d be on unpaved roads that hadn’t been plowed. She would freeze, even wearing the coat he’d gotten her, and she might slip on the ice.

  He tried to think of ways he might help her. He couldn’t imagine being so poor. Even at university, he’d had a car, medical insurance, decent clothes, and spending money. How did someone as nice as Amanda get dealt such a rotten hand of cards? It made him angry—no, not only angry, but so pissed off his hands shook. Where were her parents? Her brothers and sisters? Her aunts and uncles and cousins? And to have no friends? Surely she’d had friends during her lifetime.

  Early on, she’d mentioned being twenty-five. Chloe was six, possibly almost seven, which meant Amanda had gotten pregnant at seventeen or eighteen. Had her husband cut her off from all her relatives and acquaintances?

  Maybe one day Amanda would tell him about it. For now, he didn’t want to reveal that he’d been reading notes she’d tossed into the wind, or that he knew she’d written them. It was enough to know what little he did.

  He sensed that she would almost rather slit a wrist than accept charity, so he couldn’t offer her money. If he meant to help her, he had to convince her she was paying her own way.

  Jeb took the problem to bed with him, barely slept, and awakened in the morning with a crazy plan. Okay, so he’d cooked her and Chloe a meal the first night. She had no way of knowing if he could fix anything else. Maybe pressure-cooked chicken, vegetables, and salad were all he’d mastered.

  * * *

  Jeb slipped into the kitchen before Amanda woke up, put bacon into a skillet, turned the flame on high, and then set about making oatmeal, which he deliberately scorched. Drawn by the awful smells, Amanda appeared in the old T-shirt and sweats, her eyes going wide when she saw the bacon on fire and smoke billowing from a pot. She smothered the grease with baking soda and slapped a lid over the works to put out the rest of the flames. Then she set the ruined oatmeal under a stream of water.

  As she turned to face Jeb, she said, “I thought you were a good cook. You said you even made homemade bread.”

  He winced at the misstep. “I got rid of the bread machine.” Telling white lies is becoming a habit. “The loaves came out gooey inside.”

  Bozo, who’d followed Amanda downstairs to lie near her feet, let loose with a fart that turned the air blue. As Jeb fetched a clean skillet, he glanced at the huge dog and wondered if that was canine-speak for What a bunch of bullshit.

  Amanda took the second pan from him. “I’ll cook. It’s the least I can do.”

  “What about your finger?”

  She held up the digit in question, which now sported a butterfly bandage. “It’s fine. I’ll just wear the glove. It worked great to bathe Chloe.”

  Jeb studied the small bandage. “When did you put that on?”

  “Last night.” She donned the glove and began laying strips of bacon in the clean pan. “I came back down after you were in bed. I couldn’t sleep with that huge glob catching on the covers.” She smiled at him over her shoulder. “It’s a cut, Jeb, not a mortal injury. I knew where to find the first-aid kit.”

  As she turned on a burner, she asked, “Have you listened to a weather report yet?”

  “No, I looked outside. It’s a holy mess out there.”

  She glanced at the kitchen television. “Do you mind if I tune in for an update, just in case the authorities changed their minds and school is open today? I need to work every shift I can.”

  Jeb shook his head. “I don’t mind, but buses won’t be out on those roads. If you’re okay with making breakfast, I’ll check on my livestock. It’s twenty-five below. If my water rings crapped out, I’ll be busting through ice.”

  Chloe appeared just then, wearing her new snowsuit, boots, cap, and parka. With gloves and a muffler clutched in her hands, she asked, “Mr. Jeb, can I go with you to see your cows?”

  Jeb figured he could explain later that he had only steers, both destined for dinner plates. He’d wait until Chloe was, like, maybe, sixteen to tell her. If he still knew her then. The thought of not knowing her at that age made him sad. Against all his better judgment, he was coming to care too much about Amanda and her daughter. Not smart. Jeb was starting to worry that he’d left “smart” behind when Amanda had peered out at him over a chain guard with one expressive brown eye.

  * * *

  Amanda seemed nervous about letting Chloe go outside with him. Jeb wasn’t sure if she was worried that one of the animals would harm her daughter, or if she thought the danger might come from him. He couldn’t think how to reassure her, so he pretended not to notice her uneasiness.

  Once Bozo was booted up like the humans, he accompanied Chloe and Jeb as they braved the outdoors. As always, the dog wandered away to mark his territory, leaving splatters of yellow on the ice. As Jeb let Chloe help him care for the animals, he decided that he’d lived his life “smart” for thirty years, and where had it gotten him? Alone, that was where. He liked having Chloe around to ask rapid-fire questions. Why does the sheep wear a jacket, and nobody else has one? How come the cows blow smoke from their noses? Why do your horses sleep standing up? Jeb explained that Marble had lost some of her wool and needed the protection even inside her shelter. The other animals could go back to their stalls if they got too cold. And it was steam coming from the cows’ nostrils, not smoke.

  The horse question stumped him. “I’m not sure why horses sleep standing up. Sometimes they lie down in their stalls, but they don’t do it often.”

  Chloe fell in love with Babe, the pig, who was also destined for dinner plates. Every couple of years, Jeb got a new shoat and named it Babe. The child looked adorable with the pink muffler bunched around her neck and her cap pulled down to meet her dainty eyebrows. She crowed as loudly as the rooster when she met the hens.

  “They are so pretty! Why do they all look different?”

  “Well, I like to raise different breeds. Some are great for laying and some are—” He broke off. With her big brown eyes fixed on his face, how could he tell her that some breeds were better for eating? “And some lay Easter eggs, already colored pretty blue and green.” He had no idea from what hat he’d pulled that rabbit.

  “Nuh-uh,” Chloe said, wrinkling her nose. “Eggs only come in white or brown.”

  Jeb laughed and tugged her cap down over her eyes. “Wanna bet? In a minute, you’ll see for yourself that my hens lay colored eggs.”

  She pushed the wool back up and fixed an incredulous gaze on him. “Really?”

  “Yep. I’ll show you.”

  Chloe twined her gloved fingers over the holes in the pen wire and stared at the birds as they made gluttons of themselves over spinach and grain. With an appalled expression, she asked, “I didn’t eat one of them, did I? Our first night here, when we ate chicken, it wasn’t one of these chickens, was it?”

  Jeb did a mental windmill motion with his arms to keep from stepping off into that hole. He’d lived most of his adult life trying never to utter falsehoods. Now, he was either lying or skirting the truth with alarming frequency. “Oh, no,” he assured Chloe. “You didn’t eat one of these chickens.” That wasn’t a lie. They were still clucking and devouring spinach. “I occasionally buy a fryer at the grocery store.” That, too, was a fact. When Jeb had no fryers ready for harvest, he did buy some. “These hens are my little friends.” Why did I add that? I’m just digging myself in deeper.

  “What are their names?” Chloe asked, okay with eating chicken from a Styrofoam tray, but not okay with eating a feathery critter she’d actually met.

  Jeb was thrown by her question. Names? Thinking quickly, he pointed through th
e wire. “That one’s Sweetheart.” His mind raced for more handles. “The rooster is Bogie, named after Humphrey Bogart, because he was so”—he almost said sexy but changed gears to say—“handsome. And that one’s Fuzzy, and the ornery one”—I’m truly brilliant under pressure—“is Ornrietta.”

  “What are the other ones named?”

  Jeb feared that he’d trip over his own lies if he named any more hens. He needed time to create and memorize a list. “You know, princess, it’s twenty-five below, no time for me to tell you the names of over twenty hens. Your mommy will get upset.”

  Foremost in Jeb’s mind was the thought that if he got lucky enough to keep this child and her mother with him, none of his chickens would ever see a dinner plate.

  “You stay here, okay? Hold on to the wire so you don’t slip while I collect the eggs.”

  “Oh, I hope you find some blue ones!” she exclaimed.

  At the back of the coop, Jeb had pocketed only four eggs when he heard a ruckus, hens clucking, Bogie crowing, and Chloe shrieking. He hurried around the structure and saw Chloe inside the run. Jeb had heard of chickens flying the coop, but he’d never actually seen it occur. Wings lifted, hens were running in all directions outside of the pen. He made his way to the open door and reached for Chloe, his intention being to get her out of there and shut the escape route before any more feathered inmates skedaddled.

  But the fast motion of his hand sent Chloe diving for the ground to avoid the blow she clearly expected. Jeb was so horrified that he forgot all about the fleeing fowl. He dropped to his knees to gather the little girl into his arms, thankful for once that everything was frozen solid. On a warm day, they’d both have been covered with chicken shit.

  “Oh, baby,” he said. “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid.”

  “I just wanted to pet one!” Chloe wailed, trying to dodge his hands. “But all of them ran! I didn’t mean to let them loose!”