Chapter 9
Walking into the darkened living room, I roll my eyes at Clayborn, snoring his ass off in his recliner. As I get closer, I can smell the stench of alcohol seeping from his skin and my nose wrinkles.
Originally, I planned on waking him nicely, but considering he’s drunk off his ass before it’s even dark out, I choose to kick his foot instead. “Hey fucker!”
Between the kick and my loud voice, he comes awake fast and swinging, spittle flying as he snarls, “What the fuck are you doin’, girl?”
I jerk my head back, moving out of the way of his fist. Holding my hands up, I attempt to ward him off. Before I even have a chance to say another word, he’s bellowing at me, his eyes completely unfocused.
“The fuck I tell you about the goddamn noise in here?” His words are slurred, barely coherent rumblings from both sleep and drink.
“Calm down, buddy. Jesus.” I take another few steps back, giving him room to put his feet down. Realizing it’s just me, he leans forward to rub his palms over his eyes, mumbling something, but again, it’s unintelligible. I look around for Corbin’s wallet, asking, “Can’t understand your drunk ass. I’m here for Corb’s wallet.”
“I said I thought you were Edith. His wallet is over there.” Clay lifts his chin to the entertainment table where the TV is set up.
I scoop it up, then cock my head at him. “You talk to your daughter like that? Come up swingin’ in your sleep?”
“What?” He seems confused by my question, so I just change the subject, assuming this wasn’t a normal reaction. Some people just aren’t morning people.
“Started a bit early today, huh? Work get done sooner than expected?”
Instead of answering, he only grunts, then leans back into his chair, fumbling with the remote as his feet go back up, reclining almost fully horizontally.
I glance back toward the door hiding Edith as she scurries around the kitchen. “So, listen. I got nothin’ to do for the rest of the evenin’ and Corb’s wife is makin’ corned beef. Not my favorite. You got space at the table for an extra mouth? Edith said she wouldn’t mind fixin’ extra, but said I ought to check with you.”
The longer I talk, the higher his brows lift up. “Did she?” His voice carries some sort of warning, but I’m not sure what the problem is. I’m distracted as he keeps rambling. “Sure, if she’s got enough, I don’t give a shit. I’m plannin’ on eatin’ in here later. Gonna nod off again until she’s done, but you can watch TV while you wait, if you want.”
“I’ll figure somethin’ out. Want someone to wake you up when she’s done?”
Another grunt and brush off. “Hell no. I’ll get it when I’m ready.”
Leaving his grumpy ass alone, I spend my time watching his daughter as she moves around and find myself getting more and more intrigued. Edith Hughes really is a beautiful woman and I feel like I missed it happening. She was never around when my brother and I came over. Clayborn always insisted she liked to be alone and was shy.
Now, I’m stuck staring as she takes her first bite of plain pasta, a bit bothered she’s eating something of such little substance. But hey, if that’s how she prefers it, who am I to judge?
Spinning my fork in the middle of the heaping pile of spaghetti she set in front of me, I groan in approval when the flavors hit my tongue. “Jesus, woman. I know it’s just spaghetti, but yours is so much better than the way my mom used to make it.”
Edith’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink after my compliment, and she dips her head to take another bite. After swallowing and wiping her mouth, she asks, “Did she do something different? I don’t think mine is anything special. It’s not from a recipe or anything.”
“Our mom was a fantastic baker, but anything outside of that was a disaster. She could never master how long to cook noodles. They were always either crunchy or dissolved in your mouth from how overboiled they were. Mushy.” My nose wrinkles, then I snicker to myself remembering when my dad cracked a crown the night she made lasagna.
Seemingly pleased with my little story from her tiny smile, Edith remains quiet, so I scramble to find something else to talk about. We both eat for a few minutes before I finally ask, “So, aside from cookin’ for your dad and building barns, what else do you? Got a job or anything?”
Her hand pauses halfway to her mouth, and her eyes widen. “Job?”
“Yeah, job. What do you do?” She is out of school, I’m sure of it. I could have sworn Clay said she’s like twenty or something. “How old are you?”
The easy smile she’s had while we’ve been eating falls and it seems like something I’ve asked has made her shut down. She clears her throat as she drops her fork to push around her pasta. “Twenty… I have a birthday coming up.”
Pointing my fork at her, I tease, “Then you’re old enough to be doin’ somethin’ fun. So, what are you doin’ for a job?”
The way her face explodes in a blush tells me she’s embarrassed by whatever it is she’s got lined up. “I’m just working here at home and helping at the church.”
“Bullshit,” I tell her, circling my fork in her direction playfully, catching the way her eyes flash with the lie she just told. “You’re doin’ somethin’, but you don’t wanna tell me. If I guess, will you admit it?”
Edith quickly spins her fork in her pasta, refusing to meet my eyes. “I’m not hiding anything.” Her voice is soft, but I detect another lie, so I call her out.
“I think you’re fibbin’.” I consider her for only a second before I drop my hand on the table, palm up. “How about this? Tap my hand once if I guess correctly. Then you won’t have to say it out loud.”
She slips her bite into her mouth, chewing while studying me. Maybe to determine if she should share. Finally, she nods her head once and her lips curl up in a quick smile. Swallowing, she nods jerkily. “Alright.”
Feeling confident, I keep my hand where it’s at and take another large bite of the delicious meal she made, then lean back to ask my first question. “You do have another job, correct? Outside of helping your daddy and the church.”
Her hand reaches over to mine, and with her index finger, she taps my palm once before she yanks it back to her lap.
I hum, grinning at her. “Alright. You’ve got a secret job.” I peek over to the living room, then tilt my head in that direction. “Is it a secret from him?”
She snorts, then taps my palm again, adding, “Yes. He wouldn’t be happy to know about it.”
Interesting. She’s doing something that might piss off old Clayborn Hughes. My mind works trying to come up with something a twenty-year-old could do that would irritate her old man. “You workin’ at a bar? Waitressing or something?”
Edith shakes her head. “No, nothing like that. Town is too small. My father would hear about that right away and would have my hide.” Her tone is a touch scathing, not with me, but with how she refers to her father’s supposed reaction. I don’t know why he would take issue with Edith working for tips, but I don’t know him that well, even if we do get together from time to time. Game nights normally don’t involve a ton of chit chat.
“Okay. Not working at a bar. You strippin’ somewhere?” I doubt she is, but I can’t help teasing her. “I could see your daddy not appreciatin’ you flashin’ your goods to the men in the area. Is that what you’re doin’?”
Instead of tapping my hand or laying into me for my ridiculous question, she sits back and drops her mouth open in shock. Opening and closing her mouth quickly, she fumbles for the words to deny it. I can’t help chuckling over her reaction, so I push her a bit more. “Is that it, then? You, who rescues kittens in the middle of the night, are actually sneakin’ off to collect singles in her thong?”
“I w-would never do that!” The way she stutters and spits the words out has me losing myself to laughter. My eyes close as I lean forward to attempt to rein it in, and when I finally look back at her, it’s obvious she’s horrified by my suggestion. Her lips are pressed so tightly together, she looks as if she’s sucked on something sour.
Clearly, she’s not finding my suggestion as funny as I find it, so I reel myself in and give her an easier smile. “I’m honestly just teasin’. Not that I think what those ladies do should be looked down on. Everyone’s gotta do what they gotta do to make ends meet, but you’re right. I can’t see you in that line of work. It wouldn’t suit you.”
She jerks her eyes away from me, frowning in thought. “I don’t think I’d be terrible at it,” she mumbles. I swear to God, I think she’s pouting over me not thinking she could be an actual stripper.
Cocking my head to the side, I bite my cheek before saying, “No. I think you’d be a treat for any man who wanted to see you like that. But I don’t think it’s somethin’ you’re actually doin’.”
“I’m not,” she snaps, then picks up her fork to dig back into her dinner, more aggressively this time.
I do the same, and we eat in an awkward silence for a few minutes before I ask, “You’re doin’ work that your dad wouldn’t approve of, though, correct?”
Her finger shoots out and smacks an angry yes on my hand, and I hold back my grin. Her attitude is something else, mainly adorable. Another beat of silence and I have a thought that she’ll probably say no to, but I ask anyway.
“You workin’ for someone your daddy wouldn’t approve of? If it’s not the job he’d have a problem with, is it the boss?”
Her hand pauses again. “Why do you think that?” she asks breathlessly, fingers tightening around the handle. My eyes catch the small tremor in her fingers, and I’m actually surprised I’m closer to the answer than I thought I’d be.
“It was more of a longshot, but now I think I’m right.” Narrowing my eyes at her, I ask, “Who are you workin’ for darlin’?”
Edith bites her lip and shoves pasta into her mouth, sighing loudly and avoiding me as she chews. I’ve hit the nail on the head. I set my fork next to my plate and lean back, studying her.
“Who, Edith?”
She shakes her head quickly and glances at the door separating us from her father. “It doesn’t matter. I like my job and I don’t want him to tell me I can’t do it anymore.” Her eyes meet mine quickly, she’s desperate for me to understand and not say anything. “Please, Mr. Graham. I really like my job.”
“Griffin,” I correct. Mr. Graham just makes me feel old as fuck. I shrug away her concern. “You’re a grown adult and don’t have to explain to anyone what you do. That’s your business, but I am curious now. Who are you workin’ for?”
She hesitates, debating whether she should share her secret with me. Then, eventually, her shoulders fall as she resolves herself to come clean. “Our neighbor, Mr. Cooper. I’m helping out with his cattle. Feeding the babies and cleaning up the barns.”
Oh, fuck. FUCK! My mind is whirling. Of all the people I thought she’d say, I didn’t expect it to be that asshole. My brother and I, along with Clayborn, have had run-ins with that ass wipe all our lives.
Edith must be able to read my feelings written all over my face because she stiffens her shoulders before grabbing her plate, walking it to the sink. I barely notice that she still has half her meal left, which she scrapes into a plastic container.
“Edith, that guy is bad news. You can’t be workin’ for him. Your dad is gonna lose his shit when he finds out!”
The way she shoots a glare at me only serves to make me drive my point harder.
“I’m serious. He’s a complete asshole. Aside from the fact that he’s been nothin’ but a nightmare for all of us for decades, he’s just flat out mean. There’s no way he’s lettin’ you work there without an ulterior motive.”
She hikes her shoulders to her ears as my anger pours out. Clayborn has to know about this. No way can this slip of a woman be allowed to work for Mason Cooper. He’ll destroy her the first chance he gets.
Shooting out of my chair, wanting to go into the living room to let him know what she’s up to, my feet take me to her instead. Gripping her arms, I spin her around and feel her flinch under my touch, so I release her and lift my hands up as she shuffles away.
“Honest to God, Edith. Please don’t keep workin’ for him. Mason Cooper is gonna take advantage of you. He’ll use your sweetness to get under your skin and fuck you over the first chance he gets. You’re an idiot if you think otherwise.”
The second the insult comes out of my mouth, I instantly regret it. Her face completely falls, cheeks turning bright red in embarrassment.
“I don’t care what you think about it. You told me you wouldn’t say anything to my father. Please don’t be insulting and a liar.” She looks over my shoulder toward the abandoned dinner table. “Are you finished with your meal? I can pack up the rest if you’d prefer to take it with you.”
Frustrated, I shake my head at her. “I don’t care about the damn dinner. I care that you’re stickin’ your nose in business with someone whose only goal in life is to fuck with everyone he sees as beneath him.” Moving into her space, I catch her quick intake of breath as I lean down to keep my voice low. “Be smart, Edith. Don’t get yourself caught up in their stupid as fuck feud.”
“I-I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Graham.”
I hate that her voice cracks, requesting me to leave. What I hate more is that I’m making her uncomfortable. Not being able to help myself, I press a kiss to her temple, then step away.
“Just consider what I’ve said, would ya? Do that at least?”
I release a frustrated noise as I wait for her to answer, but she gives me nothing. Edith keeps her body rigid, back pressed against the counter, and I eventually move away. I finished most of my meal, so I grab my plate and pass it to her when she shoots her hands out for it.
As I put my shoes on, I keep an eye on her, still frozen in her spot and eyes on the floor. Pulling my keys from my pocket, I toss them in my hand a few times before I decide to give up for the night.
“Thank you for dinner, Edith. It was delicious. I’ll see ya around.”
Once I’m headed back to my place, I spend the time trying to decide if I should confront Mason myself and convince him that hiring Edith Hughes is a terrible decision. I’m sure she can get a job somewhere else.
With a quick look at my dash, I figure there’s no time better than the present. It’s not too late and I know where the bastard lives. Taking the next turn, I make my way to Mason Cooper’s home. We’re about to have words.