Jeb drew her against his chest. She trembled in his embrace like a spring aspen leaf in a high wind. “It’s all right. Of course you wanted to pet one. It’s my fault, not yours. I should have helped you go inside.” His experience at soothing a hysterical child could have fit inside a cold-remedy cup, but he instinctively began to rock back and forth, doing a butt plant on the heels of his boots and then shifting forward. “It’s okay. I won’t ever hit you, Chloe, I promise. Not ever.”
He felt her shuddering subside a bit, and then she shifted in his arms to brush at his cheeks with her glove. “Don’t cry, Mr. Jeb. I know you won’t ever hit me. Bozo told me so. But I still get scared and think I might get hit.”
Until that moment, Jeb hadn’t realized that tears were streaming down his cheeks. Damn. He never wept, not because he didn’t feel like it sometimes, but because his dad had raised him to keep a stiff upper lip. But seeing this child prostrate on the ground with her arms folded over her head to deflect blows had opened his floodgates.
Chloe caught more tears with her fingers. “Don’t cry. Sometimes I even do it if Mommy swings her arm toward me, and she never hits. I just duck. I can’t help it.”
Jeb gathered her closer, embarrassed that she was trying to comfort him when it should be the other way around. “You’re just hand-shy, sweetheart.” He loosened one arm from around her to wipe her cheeks. Tears born of terror. What had that son of a bitch done to her? Jeb suspected he had whacked her a lot, much as he might a pesky housefly. “It just makes me sad, is all. Little girls shouldn’t be afraid that an adult is going to hit them.”
“I know.” She brushed her glove over his cheek again. “But my mean daddy didn’t care.” She squirmed to sit erect on the downward slope of his thighs and gazed out at his backyard. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jeb. All your chickens are loose. How are we going to catch them?”
That was a damned good question. Collecting himself, Jeb followed her gaze. Hens streaked one way and then another. Bogie, the caretaker of his flock, had gone into rooster panic mode, taking flight to check on first one cluster of females and then another. Bozo, distracted from his pissing tour, had turned to stare at them, his expression a mixture of alarm and eager anticipation. Something to chase!
“Bozo, no!” Jeb yelled.
But he was too late. Bozo surged forward, his boots slipping under him, to approach a cluster of hens. Kicking up his speed, the dog was almost upon them when he lost traction and went into a slide, all two hundred and thirty pounds of him cannoning into the birds. Feathers flew, and so did Bozo, bypassing the chickens to plow into the front of Jeb’s shop. Jeb’s feathered friends took off in all directions.
“Well, shit,” he said.
Chloe got off his lap. “My mommy says that people who say that word have filthy tongues. After we catch the chickens, you need to scrub yours really hard.”
Jeb almost laughed, but it wasn’t funny. He couldn’t cuss like a sailor around a little girl. His mother would scalp him. “You’re right. I’ll scrub my tongue really good with a toothbrush when we get back inside.”
As he pushed to his feet and helped Chloe up, Jeb was thankful for the chicken shit that his birds deposited on the bottom of the run with amazing frequency. Frozen solid, it provided plenty of traction.
Only that wouldn’t be true once they left the pen. He knew how treacherously slick it was out there, and Chloe wore no shoe chains. “Sweetheart, I think you need to go back in the house. I’ll catch all the chickens, okay?” Just then, Bozo regained his feet and lunged at another hen, only to do another belly flop. This isn’t looking good, Jeb thought. “I don’t want you falling and getting hurt.”
Chloe jerked her hand from his. “I’ll be okay, Mr. Jeb. I don’t fall as far as you do.”
Jeb started to protest, but with amazing dexterity Chloe had already shot out of the pen. “Sweetheart, chickens peck!” he yelled. “They might hurt you!”
She took a spill and quickly regained her feet. “They can’t peck me through my clothes!” And off she went. Bozo saw a partner in crime and did a slip-slide approach, falling just as he reached Chloe. The collision knocked Chloe down again. She giggled and sprang back up, clearly delighted that they had to chase chickens in below-zero temperatures. Watching her fall and regain her feet with so little effort made Jeb feel old.
What followed was a comedy of errors. At one point, Jeb went down on his back and slid toward Babe’s pen, his head going under the fence rails. With his butt shooting shards of pain up his spine and his head swimmy from hitting the ice, he blinked and looked up at a pig snout and beady eyes. Babe gifted him with a snotty snort, which splattered his face. Yuck. When he’d collected his senses enough to wipe his cheeks, he found that the drippings had frozen to his skin. With far less agility than Chloe, he struggled to his feet, took a deep breath to dredge up some macho, and took off after the chickens, who seemed to have multiplied in minutes from twenty-seven to well over a hundred. And, stupid bastard that he was, he’d never clipped their wings. The little bitches huddled and clucked until he got near them, and then they flew away, leaving him with nothing to grab but drifting feathers.
Chloe loved it. She caught Bogie first, and then, losing her footing en route to the run, fell several times, always keeping the rooster above her so she wouldn’t injure him under the crush of her slight weight. She made Jeb feel like an overmuscled bumpkin. What the hell? She was so tiny. How come he was blowing this?
At some point, Amanda appeared in her blue parka and snow boots. Jeb guessed she’d seen what was happening from the kitchen window. So far as Jeb could tell, she wasn’t any more graceful on the ice than he and Bozo were. When she did an ass plant, he worried that she might have hurt herself, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He doubted she’d ever met a chicken. Now she was trying to catch the damned things.
Slowly but surely, they collected all the hens and returned them to the run. By then, Chloe had learned the hard way to shoo the fowl away from the door before she opened it to return another chicken to the flock. The cold wind had made Amanda’s eyes water, and the tears had frozen to her cheeks. Jeb felt older than Methuselah. Panting, Bozo lay sprawled on the ice, his jowls spread over the crusty snow, making Jeb worry that his lips might have frozen to the ground. But, no, he drooled so much that sticking was impossible.
Jeb still needed to collect the rest of the eggs, and Chloe begged to go with him. Amanda nodded to let Jeb know it was okay, so he held the child’s hand as they walked behind the coop. It wasn’t until Jeb collected two more eggs and started to stuff them in his pocket that he realized the four he’d gathered earlier had been crushed.
“Well, shit,” he said. “What a slimy mess.”
Chloe was clinging to the shed to stay upright. “You definitely have to scrub your tongue, Mr. Jeb. It’s filthy.”
Jeb couldn’t help but laugh, and Chloe grinned up at him. As their gazes locked, something intangible yet magical passed between them.
Amanda picked her way toward the house. “I’d better go back inside to finish breakfast,” she called. “We’ve all worked up an appetite.”
“We’ll be right there,” Jeb yelled back.
After gathering more offerings from his flock and wiping his egg-smeared fingers clean on his jacket, Jeb grabbed Chloe’s hand so she wouldn’t slip on the ice. Why he bothered, he didn’t know. She’d fallen at least a dozen times already, and as far as he could tell, no damage had been done.
“Will you tell me more of the hens’ names tomorrow?” Chloe asked.
Jeb glanced down into her innocent eyes. He could come up with more names today while he checked on neighbors. He’d keep a running list on his center console when he got short breaks between houses. Maybe he could call two of the hens Lucy and Ethel. Tomorrow when Chloe helped to do chores, he just hoped he wouldn’t need a cheat sheet. “Sure. I can do that.”
He winced. “Um, that isn’t really a name, Chloe. It’s another not-very-nice word.”
“Oh.”
As they walked with caution across the yard, Jeb gave her fingers a quick squeeze. “So Bozo is talking to you, is he?”
She nodded. “In dog language. He told me you never hit people or pull their hair, and you never, ever kick mommies in the stomach.”
Jeb felt as if a shod horse hoof had nailed him in the solar plexus. He yearned to assure her that he would never allow anyone to be mean to her or her mother again. But that was a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. At least he could tell her that she was right about him . . . or, rather, that Bozo was.
“Uh . . . no, I don’t. Never. Now, we both know Bozo can’t really talk, not with words, anyway. So how did he tell you all that stuff about me?”
Chloe gave him a gap-toothed grin that dimpled her rosy cheeks. “Bozo loves you. When he’s snoring on the floor, he doesn’t wake up when you walk around his legs. And when you wave your hand after he toots, he isn’t afraid you’ll hit him. You don’t even get mad when he slings drool. Mommy says I should wait to be sure you’re really nice before I let myself like you too much, but I think that’s because my daddy tricked her. He made her think he was nice when he was really very mean.”
“Ah.” Jeb rolled that revelation through his mind. “So your mommy doesn’t really like me very much yet.”
“She’s starting to. She says you seem nice.” The child’s eyes grew round. “Oops! I forgot to say thank you for my snow clothes! Mommy told me I should.”
Jeb stopped just short of his back steps. “You need to thank Myrna for the clothes. She’s the nice lady who lives across the road.”
Chloe shook her head. “Mommy said you bought it all. She knows. Clothes in a closet for a long time don’t smell like these do. I thought she was going to give it all back, but she said it didn’t seem right to say no to answered prayers.”
Jeb’s heart caught. He had to fess up. Nothing else would do with those big eyes trained on his face. “Well, she’s right about the clothes. I bought them. No wonder your mother doesn’t trust me yet. She knows I told her an out-and-out lie.”
Chloe squeezed his hand. “Mommy says you did it for a good reason. I don’t think she’s mad at you.”
“I sure hope not.”
Jeb whistled for Bozo before they went inside. Still grasping Chloe’s hand as they scaled the steps, he realized that even with two pairs of gloves separating their fingers, he could feel the child’s trust in him seeping through the layers. It was a precious gift.
Chapter Seven
Sans the parka and snow boots, Amanda still wore her sleeping outfit when they reentered the kitchen. To Jeb, she looked beautiful with a crease on her cheek from the pillow and her long hair tousled from the chicken-chasing escapade. The soft curve of her unfettered breasts drew his gaze. He had to force himself to look away. Easier thought than done.
After Jeb doffed his outerwear, Chloe tugged on his hand. “It’s time for you to go wash your filthy tongue,” she informed him.
Amanda sent Jeb a questioning look. He ignored her and, accompanied by Chloe, went to the master bath. As Jeb bent over the sink to scrub his tongue with a toothbrush, Chloe said, “All the way back. You need to get all the dirt off.”
Jeb had always gagged easily, and now was no exception. What he didn’t expect was for Chloe to gag from watching him. She ran to the toilet, hunched her shoulders, and coughed up clear stuff. Alarmed, Jeb dropped the toothbrush in the sink.
“Are you okay, princess?”
Straightening, Chloe gulped and nodded. “Hearing sick sounds makes me get sick, too.”
Remembering that he’d had the same problem as a kid, Jeb lifted her onto his hip. “Well, I think I did a good job.” He poked his tongue out. “Is it clean enough?”
Chloe peered into his mouth. “You’ve still got blue bumps at the back.”
“Toothpaste.” Jeb swallowed and opened up again.
“Say aw for me.”
“Aw.”
Chloe sighed. “It could stand more scrubbing, but then we’ll both upchuck again, and I don’t want to.”
“Me, either.”
* * *
Amanda had made bacon, fried potatoes, and oven-browned slices of homemade bread. Chloe’s egg was already scrambled.
“How do you want yours this morning?” she asked Jeb when they returned to the kitchen.
Jeb asked for over easy and got perfect eggs. During the meal, Chloe fretted that breakfast was too high in fat, which to Jeb was a bewildering observation from a six-year-old. But then, Chloe seemed mature for her age in many ways, especially when she spoke.
Amanda caught Jeb’s gaze. “Mark detested high-fat meals.”
Mark. Jeb finally had a name for the son of a bitch. He wondered what Mark had done to Amanda when her cooking hadn’t suited his dietary preferences. Mark Banning. Now he could use his people-tracking app to find the jerk and pay him an unexpected visit someday. Oh, how Jeb looked forward to that. He might end up in jail, but it would be worth it. His father had zero tolerance for abuse of women or children, and he’d raised his sons to rectify matters if they ever got wind of an infraction.
Late to make his rounds on Elderberry, Jeb had just taken a bite of potatoes when his phone chirped. He fished the device from his hip pocket, saw that the text was from Tony, and slid his finger across his iPhone screen to read the message. “Praise the Lord!” he exclaimed.
Amanda and Chloe gave him startled looks.
“The west side of town has power again,” he explained. “The people on my route have electricity!”
“Yay!” Chloe clapped her hands. She glanced at her mother. “May I say ‘praise the Lord,’ too, Mommy?”
Amanda smiled. “In Mr. Jeb’s house, yes, you may.”
“Praise the Lord!” the child shouted.
“This means I can wrap it up early today,” Jeb told them. “I’ve hauled up enough wood to last most folks for days. Since it’s a no-school day, how about if we look at some rentals this afternoon? Maybe we can find you a new place to live.”
“Does that mean our leaky pipes can’t be fixed?” Chloe asked her mother.
Amanda replied, “The pipes aren’t the problem now. The snow and ice grew too heavy for our roof. Remember when we heard the loud crack, and you thought our roof was breaking? Well, you’re a very smart girl, because you were right.”
“You mean it broke?”
Amanda nodded. “We are fortunate that Mr. Jeb wouldn’t leave us there. Some roof beams fell on our sofa, and we could have been injured.”
Chloe looked at Jeb, her eyes wide. “Could it have squished us? Could we be dead?”
Jeb didn’t want this kid to grow up terrified of storms. He reached over to tweak her nose. “That is an old house and not built very well. Normally roofs don’t break.”
Chloe nodded as if his answer satisfied her. Then that too-old-for-her-years expression flitted across her face. “Mr. Jeb, do good houses cost a lot of money?”
“Not all of them. We’ll see what we can find.” Jeb had a plan. But for now, he needed to humor Amanda and let her believe she’d soon be living on her own again.
* * *
When Jeb finished checking on the neighbors, he dropped back by the house to pick up his guests to go rental shopping. Amanda appreciated his offer. She and Chloe couldn’t remain here for weeks. On her budget, a rental would be stark compared to this luxury, and the longer Chloe was here, the harder it would be for her to readjust.
Once Jeb got Amanda, Chloe, and Bozo into his truck and they were out on the road, Chloe squealed in delight. “It’s so pretty! Everything sparkles.”
&n
bsp; Jeb studied the terrain. “I’ve been so busy working, I haven’t taken the time to notice. You’re right; it’s spectacular. A lot of folks call it a silver thaw because the ice makes everything look sort of silver.”
Amanda turned the phrase over in her mind. A silver thaw. For a long time, her heart had felt nearly as frozen as the world around them. She’d felt no warmth toward anyone but Chloe. Now, being around Jeb, she was starting to see the world in a different light. She’d grown fond of his silly dog, who occupied the backseat with her daughter. The pillowcases that held Amanda’s worldly goods had been stowed under the bench seat because Jeb had forgotten to bring them inside last night. Jeb. When he smiled, he made Amanda’s heart feel as if it were melting. She found that frightening. It troubled her to even think about trusting a man again. She didn’t care how nice he seemed or how handsome he was. He was still a man.
“I can’t afford anything that rents for over five hundred a month,” she told him. “And if possible, I need to pay less. My budget is pretty tight.”
“Gotcha,” Jeb replied.
Their first stop was at an efficiency apartment in a large older home converted into flats. “This could work,” Amanda pronounced. “Small, but within a mile of the school.”
The landlady, a brunette of about thirty, frowned at Chloe. “No children allowed,” she said. “My parents live here, and they don’t like noise.”
Amanda’s heart sank. “But she’s a very good little girl, ma’am, and you didn’t say in your ad that no children are allowed.”
“I’m saying it now,” the woman replied.
Next Jeb took them to an old house that rented for four hundred a month. It reminded Amanda a lot of her last rental. Still, it was close enough to Chloe’s school for her to walk to work. The owner, an old man, was hard of hearing, and they had to shout for him to catch what they said.
Under his breath, Jeb told Amanda, “This place isn’t suitable as a doghouse.”
“But it’s in my price range and close to the school.”
Silver Thaw: A Mystic Creek Novel Page 12
