“Would you like me to give thanks?” He asked, reaching across the table and taking my hand in his.
I nodded and bowed my head. His warm voice washed over me as he thanked the Lord for the food, my safety, and our friendship. I echoed his, “Amen.”
“Do you cook like this every morning?” He asked, after swallowing a bite of eggs.
I buttered my toast. “Not always; why?”
“Well, if I’m going to continue to protect my fair maiden, I want to know what kind of meals I can expect.” He took a cautious sip of coffee and then grinned over the rim of the cup.
I almost dropped the butter knife. “I’m far from a maiden, and I really don’t need protecting, Brandon. It was sweet of you to stay last night, but I’m sure it wasn’t necessary.”
“Ah, but that is where we disagree. Someone wants to kill or hurt you, that makes my staying on the front porch crucial. As long as I’m here, I don’t think the mysterious baker will be making house calls again.” He forked more food in his mouth.
His behavior and the stubbornness of his jaw said that no matter how much I argued he wasn’t going to back down. In all honesty, I didn’t want him to, but I couldn’t let him know that.
“Okay, let’s say I agree. How long do you plan on staying?” I nibbled on my toast.
He swallowed. “Until Mitzi’s killer is caught. I’m sure that you have ruffled his feathers and I, for one, do not want to see you hurt.”
“Brandon, that could be months.” The thought of having him on my front porch for months seemed extreme, but I did like the idea of having him close.
“Maybe. If it does, I’ll just have to make the front porch more comfortable.” He poured himself more coffee.
I couldn’t imagine him spending a month on my porch. “I have a guest room. You can stay there, if you insist on staying.” My coffee needed chocolate. I got up and found some in the pantry.
“No. I won’t have your reputation tarnished because I moved into the house.” Brandon protested.
The laugh burst from my lips. “Come on, we aren’t living in the eighteen hundreds.”
His serious eyes met my laughing ones. “No, but we are still Christians, and I’ll not have people talking trash about us and ruining our Lord’s reputation at the same time.”
The words talking trash weren’t something I would have expected to come from a professor’s mouth, but when he said it like that, I realized he was right. “Man, I hate it when you’re right. OK. How are we going to make the porch comfortable?”
“I’ve got a cot at my house that I sleep on sometimes. It’s comfortable and will fit in that snug cove you’ve created with the potted plants and flowers.” He pushed away from the table and carried his plate and cup to the sink.
I stood to clear the table. “Are you sure you want to go to all this trouble? It might be easier just to ask the police to patrol the neighborhood at night.” I replaced the butter and jam in the fridge.
“Not on your life. I’m staying, and that’s final. You’ll see; it will be no trouble at all.” He opened the dishwasher and put our plates, silverware, and cups inside.
I wiped the table off and replaced my potted plant in the center. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t give you a chance out of this mess.”
He moved across the floor and pulled me into his embrace. His breath smelled of fresh-brewed coffee. “As long as you are in danger, we’re in this mess together.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
It felt like he kissed the top of my head before he released me and headed toward the door. He stopped in the entryway. “If you don’t have anything pressing to do today, would you like to come to the house and help me gather up that cot and some sheets?”
The thought of spending more time with him tickled me to the toes. I tried not to express how pleased I felt at his invitation. “Sure. As long as we get back here by lunchtime.”
“Not a problem.”
****
I was surprised to learn that Brandon didn’t live that far from me. His two-story house sat beside the lake. Trees lined the shore, and ducks swam about giving the place a sense of serenity.
“With a house like this, why do you sleep on a cot?” I tucked my purse against my side, as he led the way through the garage.
He laughed and opened a side door into a spacious kitchen. “I don’t always sleep on the cot. Just when I go camping.”
“So you aren’t crazy?” I laughed as I followed him through a comfy living room. Its interior held hunter green and soft tan hues. A large couch, recliner, and big screen TV filled most of the room. I noticed a bookshelf and fish tank occupied one corner with plush looking chair and matching end table in the other.
“Of course I am. I’m giving up all this to sleep on your porch.” He laughed, extending his arms to encompass the whole house.
We continued up the staircase and into an exercise room. A treadmill, weight bench, and exercise bike were the instruments of torture here.
He pulled down a ladder from the ceiling. “The cot is up here. I’ll get it.” Brandon climbed the stairs with ease.
I couldn’t imagine how he would get a cot down those steps by himself. All the folding beds I’d seen were heavy and bulky.
A plastic slide slowly came down the stairs. “If you’ll slow it down, I’ll send the bed down.”
“OK.” I moved to the end of the slide.
A few moments later, a folded bed slid down. I caught it at the bottom, moved it off the plastic, and smiled up.
“Good catch.” He pulled the slide back up and within moments stood beside me once more.
“That’s pretty clever.” I said.
He picked up the cot and grinned. “That is something my Dad taught me. He invented all types of things.”
I followed him back out to the pickup. “Did you inherit any of those skills?”
He shoved the cot in the back of the truck and grinned at me. “Come with me and I’ll let you decide if I inherited any of dad’s handiness.”
I felt like a puppy on a leash as he led me once more. We went around the side of the house and across a short back yard to a building that stood off to the side.
“This is my workshop.” He pulled the door open.
The aroma of freshly cut timber filled my nostrils. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the woody scent. As I stepped over the threshold I realized the floor was covered in sawdust. Two windows allowed the room to fill with sunshine, displaying wonderful raw furniture.
“You made all these?” I ran my hand over a bookshelf. The wood felt warm and soft to the touch.
He leaned against the door jam. “I did. I had planned to finish that dresser this morning, but since you want to get back to your house, I guess it can wait.”
I heard the disappointment in his voice. A glance at my watch revealed it was nine A.M. “We can stay a couple of hours, if you want.”
A smile brightened his face and eyes. “That’s about all the time I’ll need.” He kissed me on the cheek, and then stepped past.
It had been such a quick kiss, and he’d crossed the room and started working before I knew what happened. I asked myself as I walked to a big shade tree with a wooden bench under it in the back yard, did I seem like a star struck girl? Heat filled my cheeks. Probably.
Table of Contents
Lethal Lasagna
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Lethal Lasagna Page 23
