The corner of Nate’s moustache twitched. “Mr. Jenkins? Oh naw, you can’t go ‘round calling me that. Only my wife can call me Mr. Jenkins.”
Kay rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Among other very specific names.”
“Hey, Daddy, did you see how the dogs took to him?” Sophie knelt down and ran her fingers through the retriever’s golden fur. “You always say dogs know a good person when they see one.”
Nate jolted Wes’s entire body with a firm pat to his shoulder. “Even dogs can have an off day, huh Wes?” Nate shook from laughter and pointed to the younger men scattered across the front garden. “We was fixing to start up a football game now that everyone’s here except Eisley. We have about an hour before she gets here.” Nate’s expression darkened with challenge. “Lots can happen in an hour, can’t it, boy?”
“Oh, good grief.” Sophie shook her head. “Give the man a break.”
Wes hoped Nate didn’t notice his tension. He’d never appreciated his acting lessons so much in his entire life. He was on a very different stage.
“Don’t you worry, Wes.” Kay lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’s not as mean as he looks.”
Wes’s smile tightened and he matched her volume. “That’s comforting.”
“But he’s not going to make it easy on you.”
Wes swallowed down his newfound confidence.
“Rachel’s brought the first round of dessert’s,” Sophie shouted, pulling Wes’s attention from Nate’s surly scowl to a woman stepping from a small blue car.
“No dessert ‘til we finish football, men.” Nate called to the others tossing the football and then turned to Wes, smile ruthless. “You too, Wes.”
Wes’s grin perched on one side. He had a good mind to believe Nate Jenkins wouldn’t tease him if he didn’t like him a little.
The dark-haired beauty walked from the car and handed Kay a white box. “Julia’s bringing the rest. She’s trying to keep Eisley busy at the shop for a little longer.”
Wes watched the sweet exchange as Sophie took the box from her mom, shot him a scrunched smile, and nearly danced up the steps into the house. What a collection of differing personalities.
“She is beautiful, isn’t she?”
Wes blinked his way back to the present and turned to see the brunette at his side, her dark brow raised. He drew in a deep breath and tried to collect some words to satisfy her curiosity.
“Don’t be embarrassed. Everybody looks at Sophie that way…until they meet Julia. And then they’re awestruck for a while.”
Wes offered his hand. “Eisley said Julia was the pretty one, but it appears this family has a genetic disposition toward lovely ladies. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Rachel.” She took his proffered hand, smile guarded. “Impressive, Mr. Harrison. Words as smooth as that fancy voice of yours.”
Obviously, Nate Jenkins wasn’t the only one who had him on trial. He studied the defensive tilt of her chin and chose his words carefully. “I’m quite sincere. My words as well as my intentions.”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’ve figured out we’re a close-knit bunch and pretty protective of our own; especially the ones who have been hurt the most, so you’re walking on some pretty precarious ground. I advise you to watch your step. My dad knows how to get rid of a body.”
Wes shot her a look.
Her gaze softened. “Have I scared you yet?”
“Terrified.”
“Healthy fear is a good thing, eh?”
Wes pushed up a fake grin and became distracted by some colorful design on the side of Rachel’s neck. It was a curious tattoo: a small red dragon devouring a flaming sword.
“I’m the family’s reformed pagan.” Her lips twisted into a saucy grin.
“That would be all of us, wouldn’t it?”
She measured him with her stare, and then a genuine smile bloomed. “Smart, too?”
“Intelligence by trial might be more like it.”
She chuckled and crossed her arms, nodding. “It’s nice to have a smooth talker among the pack of Neanderthals around here.”
“Hey, boy, we’re gonna introduce you to some country charm.” Nate claimed attention and pointed toward the two men tossing a football. “Here’s two of my boys.” He gestured toward a dark-haired man who offered a one finger salute in Wes’s direction. “That’s Rick.”
The other man, golden haired, caught the ball and then sauntered forward, hand extended. “Great to have you, Wes. I’m Greg.”
“You can’t play football in prissy clothes like that, boy.” Nate’s gruff voice drowned out all others. “Didn’t Kay tell you to bring your play clothes?”
Wes swept a downward glance at his navy jacket, beige trousers, and a pair of his more comfortable dress shoes.
“But if you don’t mind messin’ up your nice duds, you could still play.” Greg frowned and ended with a one-shoulder shrug. “Unless you’re…well, chicken.”
Nate slammed his hand into Wes’s back again, sending him forward two steps. “Naw, he ain’t chicken. What’d you know about football, boy?”
Wes studied the football flying overhead. “American football?”
“What other kind is there? Football is football.”
Ahhh, the golden calf of American sports. “Back home football is what one refers to as soccer, but rugby is more akin to American football, I believe.”
“Why don’t they call football…football?” Nate challenged with hands to his hips. “Don’t make no sense to call soccer…football.”
“It seems in soccer, one mostly uses one’s feet, thus the reason why the British refer to it as football. From my limited experience, in American football one tends to use one’s hands for the most part.” He donned a smile as a peace offering. “Thus the confusion.”
“Naw, naw. Football’s all about strategy.” Nate pointed to his forehead. “You use your brain to really get the job done right.”
“And a few three-hundred pound linebackers help too.” Greg started off at a run to catch the pass from Rick.
“Similar to rugby, but I notice you throw the ball forward, not back? In rugby, a forward throw is illegal.”
“Boy, this ain’t rugby, this is football.” Nate spoke with the conviction of a preacher.
“Come on, Lizzie, I’ll give you some tea and we can let the boys finish their testosterone-driven stand-off.” Kay ushered Lizzie toward the veranda.
“Daddy, remember.” Sophie took a seat on the steps and rested her chin in her hands like a little girl. “Be nice. He’s not used to your way of playing.”
Nate’s head jerked up and he patted his chest. “Nice? I’m always nice.” He called to the house. “You just ask my little wifey over there. I gotta heart of gold, right, honey?”
Kay turned from the doorway, brow tilted with pure innocence. “Did you say as hard as gold?”
“Hmmpf!”
“Are ya’ll gonna talk all day?” Greg braced his palms on his hips “Or can we play some football?”
“You in, boy?” Nate pointed the football in his direction, a challenge in his eyes.
Wes pulled in some air through his clenched teeth, placed his hands on his hips, and grinned. “I’m in.”
***
The boy stayed plumb nice. Not one sassy word or dirty look. Nate rubbed his scruffy jaw and eyed Wes Harrison from top to bottom. He wasn’t lookin’ so prissy no more. Dirt slathered his pretty clothes and his hair stuck spiked from a healthy mixture of mud and sweat. Nate tried not to grin, tried not to show he kind of liked the city boy, but when his gaze met his wife’s lifted brow, he knew…she knew. Daggone it. Why’d she always have to read his mind?
He growled. Well, just because the boy was fast at catchin’ onto football and could kick a mean punt didn’t mean he was a match for Eisley.
Wes caught Nate’s pass and then made a run for the goal line with Greg and Rick in hot pursuit. The boy was quick, but his fancy shoes
slowed his speed. Greg caught him around the waist and slammed him to the ground, with Rick landing on top of him for good measure.
Sophie hopped up from the steps. “Oh no. You’ve made a sandwich of a movie star. This is bad.”
Greg helped the city boy up from the ground, no more worn for the wear, and Nate nodded toward him. “Aw, he’s all right. Tougher ‘n I thought.”
“That’s comforting.” Wes tossed up the ball, caught it and then kicked it out toward Rick. The ball sliced through the air in a clean spiral.
Nate pulled his jaw up from the ground at the pure beauty in the kick. “Where’d you learn to kick like that?”
Wes massaged one of his arms and that infernal grin returned. Nate just couldn’t seem to wipe it off the boy’s face. “I was the Fly Man in rugby and top kicker on the team.”
“You take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’, don’t ya, boy?”
Wes looked up through squinted eyes and let out a weak chuckle. “I suppose you could put it that way. One question, though. When I’ve watched American football, I don’t recall seeing the players pull at each other’s trousers to distract them from catching the ball? Is this an American ritual?”
Before Nate could decipher Wes’s question, Greg answered. “Dad fights dirty.” Greg shrugged and stepped past Wes to catch another pass from Rick before adding, “He’s always looking for the weak spots.”
“That’s right.” Nate winked. “It just keeps you on your toes.” Nate held Wes’s gaze for a second of healthy intimidation. “See what you’re made of.”
Wes didn’t flinch, but an impressive southern accent toppled out of his mouth. “I’m made of a lot better stuff than I used to be, Nate. I’m a changed man. I’ve learn from my past.” He tipped his eyebrow in challenge. “And so, I reckon in the future, I’ll keep a better hold on my trou…pants.”
Nate’s grin broadened until he tossed his head back and laughed. “Now you’re talkin’, boy. Now you’re talkin’.”
Twenty-One
Eisley boxed up another dozen of Julia’s red velvet swirl cupcakes, but her sneaky two-year-old kept distracting her. The scent of the freshly-baked combination of sugar, flour, and butter seemed to add pounds when Eisley simply walked in her sister’s bakery, Sugar and Spice, and Emily’s little fingers wanted to investigate the confectionary delicacies. It was a good thing all those tasty sweets were going directly to her parents’ house or she’d succumb to the temptation of hoarding them away in her refrigerator…and then mourn the appearance of an extra ten pounds around her already cushiony waistline.
But at least she could indulge for today. Her birthday. One year older. She groaned and snatched Emily from a stool before her little acrobat made another chocolate chip cookie dive.
Julia emerged from the kitchen, white apron wrapped around her slender body and arms filled with a piping hot apple-raspberry pie. How on earth Julie kept her waif-like figure while cooking up these delicious masterpieces blew Eisley’s mind. And seemed extremely unfair to the entire female population.
Of course, no one could be angry with Julia. She breezed into the room bringing a calming warmth with her. She’d always been the sister who eased away looming chaos with a gentle word. Always the optimist—until three months ago and Mack Richards. If the courts didn’t prove next month that Julia had suffered a date rape and find Mack guilty, her dad might take the law in his own hands. Thankfully, for Julia’s sake, the news had been safely tucked within the family’s walls. Eisley shuddered. Julia had already suffered enough. The last thing she needed was her private horror splattered all over the papers for the whole south side of Virginia to read.
Rick’s runaway-bride story from last year had already turned her brother into more of a hermit than he’d been before. Their family had its fair share of bad publicity. Julia’s story needed to stay nice and quiet. For her sake.
“Would you mind locking up once you finish icing those?” Her powder-blue eyes glimmered with a smile that rarely made it to her lips now that Mack had left her with shadows of pain behind her gaze and a growing baby bump beneath her blouse. “I need to pick up a few other things on the way to Mom and Dad’s.”
“Sure.” Eisley licked a frosting-covered finger and placed Emily down on the floor with an almost empty bowl of icing. “It shouldn’t take fifteen minutes to finish up here.”
Julia’s eyes widened. “Um…Oh. Well, take your time, sis. Greg’s always late to these family gatherings anyway, so we’ll have to wait for him. There’s really no rush.”
“Ohhhkay.” If she didn’t know better, she’d think Julia was stalling. “I won’t hurry, then.”
Weird. If anyone else in her family sparked a question mark in Eisley's thoughts, it wouldn’t have concerned her, but Julia? What was she hiding?
“Come on with me, Em.” Julia gathered Emily’s hand and tugged the toddler to the door. “Let’s go see Nana and Papa.”
Julia waved as she went out the door, and Eisley went back to working with the cupcakes. The door jingled with an entrance.
“Forget some—” She looked up and caught her mistake. A high-class stranger walked through the door, impeccably dressed, with dizzying heels and enough eyeliner to shame Captain Jack Sparrow. Definitely a tourist. A rich one. “Can I help you?”
The woman pushed back a handful of silky blond hair and offered a toothy smile. “I think I’m lost.”
Eisley rinsed off her hands and met the lady at the counter. “That’s not hard to do this far off the interstate. Where are you headed?”
“Actually”—her eyelids drooped with an apologetic smile— “I’m a rather new reporter writing a story about small towns in the southwestern part of Virginia.”
Her accent wasn’t Blue Ridge. Her words formed in an interesting mix of something Eisley couldn’t quite make out. Not northern, exactly. Refined, for sure.
“Well, Pleasant Gap is certainly one of those small towns. I’m closing up shop here in about ten minutes, but I’d be glad to answer any questions about our town. Would you like a treat while you wait?” Eisley gestured toward the desserts behind the glass.
The woman peered forward and tapped the glass container with her nail. “One of those chocolate chip bisc…cookies would be splendid.”
Eisley paused, a sudden warning blasting through her middle. “Which paper did you say you were with?”
The woman’s smile reappeared. “Southwestern Chronicle.” She extended her palm across the counter. “Dana Lewis.”
Southwestern Chronicle? The Southwestern Virginia Chronicle? From the sleek style of her suit, the Chronicle must pay much better than she thought. She took Ms. Lewis’s hand. “Eisley Barrett.”
“Now I will know who to reference. My piece is more about the people and culture of the towns, not the towns themselves. For instance, educational aspirations, family expectations, travel. From all I’ve read, many small-town Appalachian people rarely travel outside their sphere of birth.”
The woman didn’t pronounce Appalachian like she’d ever heard a native say it. Caution etched a little deeper in Eisley’s stomach. “Well, I don’t know if I’m the best person to interview for those questions. My brother studied veterinary medicine in Scotland for a semester, my sister lived in Italy with our aunt for six months, and I just got back from a trip to England.” She frowned. “But my parents have never been north of West Virginia or DC, let alone out of the country.”
“Lack of interest?” She rested her pen against her chin as she studied Eisley like a professor.
“Primarily lack of resources. There’s no absence of dreaming, but most parts of Appalachia,”—she emphasized the appropriate pronunciation— “are pretty poor. I’m sure you’ve learned about it from your research. It’s a common theme.”
“Yes.” She tapped her pen against her lips. “Poverty and lack of educational opportunities.” She shrugged and continued. “Would you like to return to England again someday?”
Alrighty t
hen, let’s not ponder on the big issues, like low socioeconomic status and hungry children. Ms. Lewis wasn’t winning any favors here. “I’d love to go back, but apart from winning the lottery, I don’t imagine it will be a common occurrence in my life.”
Ms. Lewis’s nose crinkled with her grin. “You could always marry rich.”
“Oh yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Marry rich.” Eisley laughed and then the implications of her statement clicked into place. She examined the woman. “Are you writing a fairy tale, Ms. Lewis, or a newspaper article?”
Nathan and Pete crashed from the back room into the main part of the bakery, with Nathan arriving at her side first. “Mom, we finished.”
“All the boxes.” Pete added.
“Are these your children?” Ms. Lewis’s voice heightened into Disney princess pitch. “Oh, how adorable.”
Pete and Nathan froze, staring up at her like she might blossom into something pink any minute.
“Excuse me just a sec, Ms. Lewis.” Eisley turned to the boys. “Did you get the inventory from the crate by the back door? That was the last box of cans to stock on the shelves.”
Nathan looked at Pete, who gave an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Pete. One more and Aunt Julia gives us three dollars each.”
The boys dashed away and Eisley closed the lid on the cupcake container. “I think we’re about done here, Ms. Lewis. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“Are most people in town as helpful as you?” The gleam in her dark eyes appeared more mischievous than friendly.
“I’d steer clear of the Hardware Store. Russell Franklin doesn’t take too well to strangers, but otherwise, you’re pretty safe.”
Strangers. The word resurrected Wes’s wariness. Something didn’t fit here. Eisley looked up from the cupcakes in time to catch Ms. Lewis taking a photo.
“What are you doing?”
She slid her phone into her purse. “Taking a snap for the article. You don’t mind, do you?”
Snap? Where had she heard that word before? “I think I’d prefer no pictures, okay? I hate to rush you, but I need to go. Davis down at the shoe shop can talk your ear off about this place.”
Just the Way You Are (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 1) Page 24
