“Please come in.” River motioned for Lucille to enter. She was puzzled about the dish covered with a blue plaid towel, but she didn’t ask.
“Do you mind if I set this on the counter?” Lucille raised the dish a little in River’s direction.
“Yes, of course. I should have asked to take that for you.”
“It’s no trouble.” Lucille removed the covering to reveal some sort of baked casserole with a crumb topping. “This is still warm if you want to have some now. I worried you might not be set up for cooking or forget to eat altogether. That can happen after the loss of a loved one.”
“That smells…good. What is it?” River tried to act excited, but she couldn’t quite identify the sweet smell wafting from the dish and was almost afraid to ask.
“This is my special pineapple casserole. The Ritz Crackers brown nicely because of the butter and then there’s shredded cheddar cheese underneath.”
She proudly relayed the partial list of ingredients, while River fought to keep her expression neutral. The combination Lucille had just described sounded terrible.
“Hmm, that sounds delicious.”
“Should I serve you a little helping in a dish, honey?”
“Oh, no, I’m not quite hungry yet, but thank you.” River glanced at the wall clock in the kitchen and realized it was almost the dinner hour. She’d lost track of time looking through her aunt’s things.
“I’ll be happy to jot down the recipe for you, dear.”
“Oh, thank you, maybe another time?”
“Well, that’s probably a good idea. I don’t want to be late. I’m off to play bridge down at the Methodist Church. Now you be sure and eat it while it’s still warm. It won’t be good once the cheese gets hard.” Lucille slid her short purse strap up to the crook of her arm. “And if you need anything you just give a shout. I live two doors down. Look for the house with the ladybug mailbox.”
Of course, Lucille had a ladybug mailbox. That went along with the rest of the adorable package.
“Thank you so much.” River followed Lucille to the door and waved as she walked to her late model sedan parked at the curb in front of the house. It was sort of hilarious to see Lucille’s diminutive frame drive off in the huge auto. She appeared to be swallowed up by it and could probably hardly see above the steering wheel.
River returned to the casserole and regarded it suspiciously. Curiosity and hunger pangs got the better of her. She fished a spoon out of a nearby drawer and scooped out the teeniest portion. Timidly, she nibbled a bit off the end of the spoon. Then she tasted a bit more. She scooped out a larger bite and chewed the savory-sweet mixture. Pineapple casserole was pretty darn good. Ten minutes earlier, she didn’t even know such a thing existed, and now she was tempted to sit down and eat a good portion of it with a spoon right from the baking pan.
The sugar rush kicked in a dozen mouthfuls later. River glanced up at the clock again and decided to make a quick trip to the market for something green to balance out the dessert casserole that she was quickly consuming.
Chapter Eleven
The Piggly Wiggly was busy with after-work shoppers. The only empty spot River could find was an angled slot out front marked twenty-minute parking for loading. She didn’t need much and would surely be in and out in less than twenty minutes, so she pulled in.
The automatic door slid sideways, and the inside cooled air hit her like an arctic blast. The store’s interior seriously felt like a meat locker. She wielded a small shopping cart quickly through the produce section and then headed for the cheese counter. Now she just needed to find artisan crackers and sparkling water. Artisan crackers turned out to be missing in action so she settled for a box of Ritz Crackers. When in Rome. Amused with herself, she tossed a second box in her cart for good measure, rounded the end of the aisle, and almost bumped into MJ.
“Why, hello there.” MJ’s cart was completely full.
“Hi.” River pulled her cart up alongside MJ’s.
“That’s hardly what I’d call groceries. No wonder you stay so slim.”
River looked down at her carefully selected produce, cheese wedge, and crackers. MJ was right. This was more appetizer than actual substance for a meal. The truth was that River loved to graze on small bites. She wasn’t much of a cook.
“I don’t expect to be here much longer. These are simply a few things to tide me over.” If she stayed in the South for very long, River was figuring out that she’d have to get used to everyone offering their unsolicited opinion.
Before MJ could reply, a sickening stench wafted in their direction. River was so caught off guard by it that she reacted without thinking, scrunching up her nose and covering her mouth. MJ leaned sideways to look past River and down the long aisle.
“Hm-mm.” MJ shook her head with a knowing expression on her face.
River turned and saw a woman with tousled light brown hair walking leisurely down the aisle in their direction. Her tan work pants were tucked into high rubber boots covered with dry mud. Her plaid flannel shirt was faded and two sizes too large. As she drew near, River realized that she was the source of the noxious odor. And if she was aware of that fact herself, she gave no indication that she cared one way or the other.
“Birdie, you smell like a skunk.” MJ spoke as Birdie’s cart came up alongside them.
“I reckon I do.”
“And you didn’t think to spare the rest of us?” MJ braced a hand on her hip.
“A woman’s gotta eat ain’t she? I’d starve waitin’ for the smell to fade.”
“I could’ve brought something by for you.”
“Too much trouble.” Birdie reached between River and MJ for a can of tomato soup. “If folks is too fragile to stand the smell of nature, then there’s no help for ’em.”
“Well, there’s the smell of nature and then there’s the smell of a skunk. I daresay I prefer one and not the other.”
The stench was beginning to make River’s eyes water. It coated her throat so that she had to ward off a coughing fit.
“Do you mean you actually got sprayed by a skunk?” The question, which sounded ludicrous when voiced aloud, had escaped before River could stop herself.
Birdie seemed to notice River for the first time. She stared at her with the soup can still in her hand. Not a polite, quick appraisal, more of a laser-focused, melt your core kind of look.
“Why, no, this is my expensive perfume. It’s imported. Don’t you like it?”
“I, um…”
“Of course, I got sprayed by a skunk. Are you challenged in some way? Are you one of those people who can’t recognize smells?”
“That’s face blindness you’re thinkin’ of. It doesn’t apply to smells.” MJ had come to River’s rescue, or tried to.
“And who is you anyway?” Birdie dropped the soup loudly into her cart as she stared River down.
“I’m River…River Hemsworth.”
“This is Eve’s niece.” MJ jumped in. “She’s here to settle Eve’s affairs.”
“Is she now?” Birdie gave River an up and down look. “Well, I’m sorry for yer loss. Eve was a fine person in my opinion, and there aren’t many of them left.”
MJ nodded in agreement.
River had been trying to breathe through her mouth the whole time, but still the skunk smell was beginning to seep into her pores. Shoppers were cutting a wide path around them. The entire center of the store was clear of customers except for River, MJ, and Birdie.
“Well, I reckon I’ll get on out of here before the store manager runs me off.” She nodded good-bye and wheeled her squeaky cart to the first available checkout. Bag boys ran for the exit. River felt sorry for the young woman ringing her up. She stretched as far away as possible while still being able to run items past the bar code scanner.
River and MJ headed to the far end of the aisle in an attempt to get past the cloud of skunk that hung in the air. River pushed her cart next to the open freezer case and leaned into the
chilled air before she took a breath.
“Welcome to country living.”
“How does she stand it?” River braced her hands on the cold case and considered adding some chocolate ice cream to her collection of snacks.
“She’s probably used to it. This happens at least once a year.” MJ leaned against the case, clearly waiting for Birdie to leave the building before continuing to shop. “She sets traps for rabbits to keep them out of her garden. She doesn’t kill them. For all her gruffness, Birdie’s an old softy on the inside. Anyway, she takes ’em out in the woods and turns ’em loose. But every now and then she catches a skunk instead of a rabbit.”
River reached for a pint of Dutch chocolate.
“Well, I better finish my shopping. I still have chores back at the B and B before my day is at an end.” MJ smiled at River as she eased her cart down the next aisle. “Nice to see you, River.”
“Nice to see you also.”
After another ten minutes of quick turns down a few more aisles, River had a bag in each arm and was heading toward the truck. She came up short when she saw Officer Jamie Grant standing near the driver’s side door, scribbling on a small pad.
“I’m here, Officer. I’m just leaving,” River called to Jamie from about ten feet away.
Jamie glanced up as she tore the sheet off the pad and slid it under the windshield wiper.
“Seriously?” River hurriedly stowed the groceries on the passenger side and then rounded the front of the truck. Jamie watched her with a neutral expression.
“Ms. Hemsworth, this is a loading zone.”
“I know it’s a loading zone. But I’m sure I wasn’t in the store for more than twenty minutes. The sign says twenty-minute parking.”
“You were in the store for thirty-five minutes.” Jamie closed the flip cover over the pad and turned toward her squad car. “Feel free to mail the ticket in if you don’t have time to go by the courthouse and pay it in person.”
Unbelievable. Skunked and ticketed and all she had to show for it was chocolate ice cream and Ritz Crackers. The joy of small town life was wearing thin if it had ever existed in the first place.
* * *
Clay was ready to take off for the day. It was after five, and she was itching to get on her motorcycle and ride. She needed to clear her head. But Bo was still lurking in the dark recesses of the garage. Eddie had to leave a little early for his niece’s soccer match, which left Clay to babysit Bo. She weaved around a rolling toolbox strewn with a haphazard array of socket wrenches. She didn’t see Bo, but the sound of metal clinking pulled her to the far corner of the garage. This was the second time today he’d gone MIA, skulking around for no good reason. She wasn’t really in the mood to search for him in the dark storage room.
“Bo, are you still here?” The metallic scuttling sound issuing from the storage room could’ve been a giant rat, or Bo. She figured it was a toss-up.
He stepped out of the doorway, wiping his hands as if he’d actually been working on something. Clay knew better, she figured he was casing tools to see what he could walk out with in his pockets. She seriously didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. And considering Bo was about the same size as her, that wasn’t very far. He was the same surly loser she’d known in grade school.
“I’m ready to close up. Are you finished for the day?”
“Yeah, I reckon I’m done.” He stuffed the rag in the back pocket of his sagging jeans. He had a slight beer gut, but no ass to hold up the seat of his pants.
“I’ll lock up the front office if you close the bay doors.”
He nodded and shuffled toward the nearest large retractable door as if his legs were mired in deep mud. The chain ground against the pulley as he tugged. The sound of metal on metal echoed across the concrete floor and bounced off the cinder block walls. Clay waited in the open front door as he closed the last bay door and switched off the overhead fluorescent lights.
She watched him as he crossed the parking area to his barely legal Toyota truck. The truck had a lift kit, oversized off-road tires, large amorphous spots of unpainted primer, and a roll cage around where doors used to be. The entire rig looked like a castoff reject from the set of the original 1979 Mad Max movie.
Clay swung her leg across the seat of her bike but waited until his beater truck disappeared down the street before she slid her helmet on and cranked the V-twin engine. In her opinion, the transverse cylinder heads that projected prominently on either side made the Moto Guzzi’s design unique and singularly badass. Every ounce of thrust between her legs was a much-needed confidence boost after dull hours at the garage spent thinking way too much about things she couldn’t change or things she wished she’d done differently.
The motorcycle had been a gift to herself for selling her first painting to a commercial gallery. She was barely eighteen and had decided she was old enough to make potentially unsafe vehicle choices if she wanted to, much to her mother’s displeasure. Her grandpa understood. He’d been a gearhead since he was old enough to hold on to a steering wheel so she’d come by her love of all things motorized honestly. Trip had driven down to Florida with her to pick it up. She’d gotten a great deal on the used Guzzi California, all sleek retro, black and chrome. It took every penny of four summers of work at her grandpa’s garage, every cent of graduation gift money, and the money she’d earned from selling the painting. And she’d still had to borrow extra from her grandpa, a secret they’d yet to reveal to her mother. Clay had considered upgrading since then, but the newer model Guzzis had lost a bit of charm from her perspective. They were too big and they had too much crap on them. The California was the bike for her. A long ride on this bike was the best therapy money could buy. Money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could buy a motorcycle, and the Guzzi certainly brought unparalleled joy.
The crumpled Mercedes caught her eye as she was about to pull out, and her mind traveled to River again. Maybe she should swing by and find out if the insurance company had delivered any news about a settlement. That would be the neighborly thing to do and a professional courtesy seeing as how she’d been the one to tow River’s car away. The fact that River had intermittently invaded her thoughts ever since lunch had nothing to do with it. Maybe seeing River would help clear her head. Something about the lunch conversation had stayed with her; she couldn’t quite shake it.
Her two-tone Ford truck was parked in Eve’s driveway. It was strange to see her truck there and know that River had been driving it. Clay had a flash mental image of driving the truck herself with River next to her on the bench seat, River’s thigh touching hers, the smell of her hair, and Clay’s arm around her shoulder. Butterflies ensued.
Calm down, Cahill.
Clay killed the ignition and ran her fingers through her hair to revive it.
Chapter Twelve
River froze in front of the large living room window when she saw Clay ease up to the curb and remove her helmet. Like some lesbian fantasy butch dream date, River watched as Clay ran her fingers through her hair and crossed the lawn with long, easy strides. River looked down, suddenly aware that she was wearing gym shorts and a scooped neck T-shirt. Did she have time to change? The doorbell rang. No, she didn’t have time to change, and why was she getting all worked up about Clay anyway? Regardless of how hot Clay was in boots, perfectly faded Levi’s, and an ab-hugging charcoal T-shirt, she had clearly given River signs repeatedly that she was not interested. The more pressing question was if Clay wasn’t interested, then why was she here?
“Hello.”
“Hi.” Clay swept her fingers through her hair again. “Um, I was just leaving work, and thought I’d check to see if you’d heard anything from the insurance company about Eve’s car?” She shifted her stance and studied River. The focus of those shadowed dark eyes rippled through River’s stomach like successive seismic shock waves.
“Yes, the adjuster phoned this afternoon. I was planning to call you tomorrow about it.”
“Oh, all right then.” Clay looked down at the ground and then up at River as if she might say something else. She took a half step backward.
“Would you like to come in?” Clay didn’t answer right away. A moment’s hesitation that made River second-guess the invitation. “No pressure, I just thought—”
“Sure. I mean, if you’re not busy.”
“I actually just returned from getting a few groceries. I was about to open a bottle of wine if you’d like to join me.” River did the math in her head quickly. Clay Cahill and alcohol in the house at the same time, probably not the smartest idea given how River’s libido spiked every time she was in close proximity to Clay. Oh, well, too late now.
She stepped aside to allow Clay to enter. Clay set the helmet on the island in the kitchen and casually leaned back against the edge of it. River took a bottle of red wine from the grocery bag. She hoped her aunt had a corkscrew because she hadn’t thought to pick one up at the store. The liquor store around the corner from the market had a surprisingly sophisticated selection of wine. She’d been able to find a bottle of a biodynamic wine from Northern California. A Merlot from Benziger. She held the dark bottle in one hand and began opening random kitchen drawers with the other.
“Want me to open that?” Clay pushed off the counter’s edge and pulled a corkscrew from the drawer nearest where she stood.
Clay obviously knew her aunt’s kitchen better than River did. Given the photos hanging in the hallway, River should have anticipated that.
“Thank you.”
Clay took the bottle from River. She gripped the long neck of the bottle with one hand as she worked on retracting the cork with the other. The lean muscles of her tanned forearms flexed as she worked the cork free. River studied Clay’s hands. She had a strong desire to run her thumb over the back of Clay’s hand, to trace her fingertips along Clay’s palm, and up her arm. A woman with strong hands, long fingers, this was one of River’s weaknesses. She cleared her throat and busied herself finding glasses before Clay noticed she was staring. Yes, alcohol and Clay were definitely a recipe for bad choices.
Take My Hand Page 8
