37
Clara was not really concerned that Jesse couldn’t handle the dog; Greer still spent ninety percent of her time dozing in the crate. But the man did have a bad shoulder and a bruised rib, and Greer was a bit antsy from all the captivity. If she did something unexpected, they could both get hurt.
But when she returned from Mass, Greer was asleep like usual and Jesse was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table.
“Is she asleep or is she unconscious?”
He gave her a Look. “Where’re your parents?”
“I dropped them off at Aunt Liesl’s, but I wanted to come see Greer. Did you look at her sutures?”
“Yeah, they’re fine. Probably take them out next week before I fly out.”
“Okay.” She pulled out the chair across from him, sat, and folded her hands on the tabletop. “Do you want to talk about poker night?”
“Nope.”
She was undeterred. “Who all was there?”
He turned a page of his paper and ignored her.
“I know Helio was there,” she went on. “I talked to his fiancée at church. Y’all were pretty good friends back in the day. Are you going to hang out again before you leave town?”
He ignored that, too.
“Well, maybe next time,” she said cheerfully. “Saw Mrs. Nunez again, too. She sends her best. Oh, and Polly Pickford asked after you. I told her you were single and ready to mingle.”
That made him look up. “You did not.”
“No, I didn’t,” she admitted. “Tempted. But I thought, better not raise Cain on the Lord’s day.”
“Isn’t she married by now?”
“Divorced,” Clara said, studying him for any sign of interest in his high school sweetheart of about three months.
“Doesn’t surprise me one bit,” he said, going back to his paper. “That girl was a piece of work.”
“Am I a piece of work?” she asked a bit wistfully.
“You’re a whole assembly line.”
She smiled, satisfied.
A minute later, he volunteered, “DeWitt Petty is in jail in Houston.”
“Really? Why?”
“Skipping bail or something.”
“Oh, great!”
“Great for him, too, because I think your dad was about to snuff him.”
“My dad would never snuff anyone,” she said in surprise. “He’s a pillar of the community, you know.”
He threw the newspaper down suddenly. “What’s with inventing the Marine? Seriously.”
“Yoli,” she exclaimed hastily. And what did that say about her, that her first instinct was to throw Yoli under the bus?
“You’re just as guilty as she is. And don’t tell me I jumped to conclusions. You deliberately misled me.”
“I’m sorry,” she faltered. She remembered her father’s warning and decided not to explain the real reason for the deception. “It was just a joke. You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, I just think you’re insane.”
“I am,” she said humbly.
“So, all day long on Friday, nobody was texting you? You were faking it?”
“No, my dad sent me a picture of Greer. Then I was texting Birdie and some of my friends, and responding to comments on my OOTD posts.”
He shook his head in disapproval. “Insane. You know, I had to tell that idiot cop, Jordan, to stop calling you a fine piece.”
“Last night?” she asked, surprised. “You defended my honor?”
“What choice did I have? Everyone thinks we’re dating.”
“That’s your fault,” she pointed out gently. “I warned you.”
He frowned at her for a moment. Then—“You did,” he admitted. “I should have listened.”
“Try to remember that in the future,” she advised. “Clara knows best.”
“No, I’m not willing to go that far,” he said dryly. “It may interest you to know that you have a reputation among the locals for being high-maintenance and pushy.”
“I’m glad. I’d hate for people like Jordan to assume I’m low-effort in any way.”
He considered her for a long moment, and she would have given almost anything to know what he was thinking. “He’s afraid of your dad,” he said finally.
“I don’t know why people think Dad’s scary. He’s a total softie.”
He looked amused. “Only with you and your mom.”
“Oh, you mean like you?” she said, laughing.
“Me?”
“Tragically susceptible to the wily ways of witchy women?” she teased, getting up to find something to eat for lunch. “Y’all should start a support group. Let’s see, you could call it T.S.W.W.W…W.”
“It’s sad, the stuff you think is funny,” he said with dignity. “You have the worst sense of humor I’ve ever seen.”
“I have a great sense of humor,” she disagreed, opening the fridge. “Eat yet?”
“I don’t need you to feed me.”
“Baby, ’long as I got a grilled cheese, you got half.”
“I don’t want half your grilled cheese,” he said, getting up to leave the room.
“Shouldn’t have saved my dog, then,” she said lightly, plucking the dish towel from the oven handle.
Jesse whipped around and snatched it out of her hand, pinning her against the counter with his body. “What are you doing?”
The snarl sent a shiver through her, even as she started to laugh. “Drying my hands, of course.”
“Your hands aren’t wet,” he pointed out, dangerously calm.
“Did I forget to wash them?” she murmured. “Silly me.”
“Clara Marie Wilder, the day you snap a towel at me is the day I toss you in the stock tank. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah,” she said, grinning up at him. “I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit. I’ll work on it.”
“It’s not a habit,” he growled. “You’re just being a brat.”
“I will stop,” she promised. “Probably really soon.”
He let go of her and tossed the towel across the room—a precaution, no doubt. He glared at her as he left. “Stock tank,” he repeated significantly.
“Understood,” she vowed. Her heart was still racing from the promise of danger in his eyes, but she’d been tossed into the stock tank a time or two in her day, and it wasn’t as much of a deterrent as he probably assumed. In other words, if she had a good shot, she was still going to take it. She owed him one.
As she made lunch for herself and the man who had saved her dog, she considered her father’s recommended strategy. Patience and friendship might not seem like much of a master plan, but if that was what Jesse needed most from her right now, then that was what he was going to get. Luckily, poking fun at him was almost as fun as kissing him on a moonlit porch in the rain.