Chapter 6
Six
Colter
Sasspatch Society Group Text
Delilah:
Ladies, we have a SITUATION. Young woman just lost everything in the McCready fire. Literally everything. She’s staying with Mama tonight but we need to mobilize.
Bea:
Say no more. What are her measurements?
Delilah:
About 5’7”, maybe 130? Everly’s sweats fit her well enough.
Glory:
Hair?
Delilah:
Caramel brown, long, wavy. Gorgeous bone structure even covered in soot. She’s got that elegant look.
Monique:
I’m already making a list. Toiletries, basics, shoes. What size foot?
Delilah:
Didn’t get that far, but I’d guess 8 or 9.
Bea:
Bless her heart. We’ll get her fixed right up.
Glory:
This is what we DO, darlings.
Delilah:
Meet at Mama’s tomorrow, 10am sharp. Operation Welcome Wagon is officially in effect.
A different group of vehicles lined Grandma Elsie’s driveway by the time I pulled up after lunch the next day.
The little hatchback—powder blue and plastered with bumper stickers proclaiming everything from “Question Authority” to “I Brake for Yard Sales”—sat tucked beside a massive vintage Cadillac that gleamed cherry red in the afternoon sun, its chrome practically blinding.
A sleek silver sedan rounded out the collection, all three parked in a neat row behind the pickup truck Uncle Dee used for the furniture he often refinished.
The sight told me everything I needed to know: his compatriots had arrived.
Unsurprising, really. Not much happened around Gibson Hollow without the Sasspatch Society being involved somehow, and they loved nothing more than a worthy cause to champion.
A new resident who’d lost everything in a fire and needed help getting back on her feet?
That certainly qualified as worthy of their attention and considerable collective energy.
I just hoped they hadn’t bowled Swayze over in their enthusiasm.
Each of the retired drag queens was a force of nature in her own right.
As a group? They might as well be a steamroller kitted out with disco balls and glitter, leaving a trail of fabulousness and delightful chaos in their wake.
But always a well-intentioned, well-dressed steamroller. Usually with snacks.
The snacks tended to make everything else more endurable.
I found all of them gathered at the kitchen table with Grandma Elsie, each with a mug in front of them, looking for all the world like they were plotting a military operation rather than discussing how to help a stranger. “Hey, y’all.”
“Hello, Sunbeam,” Miss Bea crowed, her voice carrying that theatrical quality that told anyone who bothered to listen that she could vocalize to the back row in any venue without a microphone.
Madame Bea Dazzle wore a rhinestone-studded sweater with trim slacks and a pair of glasses with enough bling to light the way to Asheville and back again.
Her geriatric bulldog, Dorothy, lay snoring in a sploot beside her chair in a matching collar, completely oblivious to the world.
Monique Delight lifted a platter of lemon bars in my direction, her smile knowing and warm. “Our reigning hero deserves sweets.”
Because her lemon bars were a thing of legend, I took two without hesitation. “Thanks, Mo. This helps make up for the fact that I got called away before I got dessert last night.”
Uncle Dee smiled into his tea, a familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. “Oakleigh gets her sweet tooth from you.”
I closed my eyes as the first bite of sweet-tart lemon filling melted on my tongue, the perfect balance of sugar and citrus. “Never denied it.” I wondered if my little minion had ended up with a stomachache after triple dessert last night.
“We’re just having a meeting about how to handle the disaster,” Vanglorious Jones—Miss Glory to those who loved her—announced, crossing one long leg over the other and reaching for her tablet, bracelets jingling.
Steamroller mode was definitely engaged.
I swallowed my bite of lemon bar and aimed for a little diplomacy. “Did you—I don’t know—actually ask Swayze what she’d like? What she needs?”
“Poor thing hasn’t surfaced yet,” Grandma Elsie reported. “I’m sure she’s absolutely worn out after the fire.”
Still sleeping? It had been near to seventeen hours since I’d left her here last night.
Worry lodged itself under my breastbone.
“Has anybody checked on her?” My brain began working its way through medical complications that might have arisen overnight, wondering if there were some preexisting condition that could cause more problems. Smoke inhalation could have delayed effects.
Carbon monoxide poisoning. Hell, even just shock—
A tiny thump sounded from the hall, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.
Dorothy snorted and grumbled awake just as Swayze stumbled into the kitchen, looking like she’d been pulled from sleep against her will.
Her light brown hair was mussed, sticking up at odd angles, her eyes heavy-lidded from the kind of sleep that meant she’d probably temporarily lost connection to reality—a fact that seemed borne out by the expression of confusion on her face as she scanned the gathering of people at the table.
Then her gaze landed on me, and recognition flickered. I’d been right. Hazel eyes. Green and gold and brown all swirled together, framed by lush, dark lashes.
“Hi.” Her voice was a soft rasp, still rough from smoke and exhaustion.
“Hey. You okay?”
She blinked slowly and said nothing, like the question required more processing power than she currently had available. A tiny frown twisted her mouth, as if she couldn’t quite figure out what I’d asked or how to answer it.
I returned to running medical triage in my head, trying to think if I’d seen any other evidence of abuse or injury last night that might explain this level of disorientation.
Her eyes fixed on the mugs on the table with the intensity of someone spotting an oasis in the desert. “I… is there tea?”
Uncle Dee immediately leapt up, ever the gracious host. “On it. What’s your pleasure, love?”
“Anything black, brewed strong enough to stand up and dance on the table,” she said, her words gaining a little more coherence.
“My kind of woman.” He put the kettle on.
“Not a coffee drinker?” I asked.
“No gross bean water,” she mumbled.
I grinned. “Just gross leaf water instead?”
“Potato potatoh.” Swayze scrubbed both hands down her face. “Sorry, I’m muzzy. I’m still really jet-lagged.”
“Jet-lagged?” That explained some of the disorientation, at least.
“Where did you come in from, sweetie?” Grandma Elsie asked.
“New… Zealand.” Her answer was split by a massive yawn that she tried and failed to stifle behind her hand.
New Zealand. Well, that certainly added a new dimension to things.
I wondered what she’d been doing down there on the other side of the world.
Had she been living there? On a work trip?
Or something for pleasure? Perhaps that vague suspicion that she was running from something was totally off base.
She really might be just an unlucky traveler who’d gotten scammed by Wayne McCready’s greed.
“I’d already been up for forty hours by the time I got in yesterday.
Was it yesterday?” She glanced at the watch on her wrist, squinting at it like the numbers didn’t quite make sense.
“Anyway, I was too tired to deal with the fact that the house I rented was some kind of bait and switch, and planned to deal with it whenever I surfaced.” She winced. “I guess that’s now.”
“Don’t you worry, darlin’. The Sasspatch Society is on it,” Miss Bea assured her.
Swayze blinked again, slower this time. “The who now?”
“The Sasspatch Society,” Uncle Dee explained, returning to pull out a chair for her with a courtly flourish. “AKA, the four of us.” He gestured around the table as he made introductions, giving each member their moment. “We are the movers and shakers of Gibson Hollow. The ones who get things done.”
“I’ve already started a list,” Miss Glory announced, tapping her tablet screen with one perfectly manicured nail. “Wardrobe, basics, a new place to live, and activating the Casserole Deliveries of Doom for Wayne McCready for putting you in this position in the first place. Greedy old bastard.”
“The… Casserole Deliveries of Doom?” Swayze went brows up. “Dare I ask?”
“I mean, no matter what civil or criminal charges he may face for all this mess, the man deserves to be punished with casseroles and Jell-O molds that will have him rethinking his life priorities,” Monique declared with the righteous indignation of someone who took the weaponization of Southern hospitality very seriously.
Those brows knit together. “Couldn’t he just… throw them away?”
“He could, but we’d know,” Miss Glory intoned.
“They would,” I agreed. “The CIA’s got nothing on the Sasspatch Society.”
“One does not simply throw away a gifted casserole or Jell-O mold in this town without there being social repercussions,” Uncle Dee explained. “And sugar, we will use them all in the name of righting this wrong.”
Swayze’s lips twitched, and a glimmer of amusement lit those hazel eyes, which were starting to clear of sleep. “I do admire your ingenuity.” Then the amusement faded, and she looked to me with concern. “Wait, criminal charges? Are there any? Am I under suspicion?”
I kicked back against the counter and relaxed my posture, hoping it would help her do the same.
The last thing she needed was more stress.
“As of this time, you’re not. Preliminary ruling is that the fire was caused by an electrical short, which was quite probably the result of some unpermitted repairs.
The rest will depend on what the fire investigator finds this afternoon when he does his full assessment.
I’ve gotta go meet him shortly. I just wanted to come by and see how you were doing. ”
“That’s kind of you.” Something soft entered her expression, gratitude maybe, or just relief that someone was looking out for her.
Uncle Dee set a steaming mug in front of Swayze with gentle care, but I felt his eyes on me, assessing, considering. “Yes, very kind.”
My uncle loved nothing more than a matchmaking scheme. The man could read signs of romance into a grocery list. This was officially my sign to skedaddle before he got it into his head that this was more than a simple welfare check on someone I’d pulled from a burning building.
“Well, I believe the ladies have you well taken care of.” I pushed off from the counter.
“They’ll see you get sorted. I need to get on.
” I stopped myself from adding an offer that she could get in touch with me if she needed anything.
The truth was, she’d have plenty of other offers.
The Sasspatch Society would make sure of that.
She wouldn’t need anything from me in particular.
I’d done my part in pulling her out of the fire and seeing she had somewhere safe to stay last night.
“Thank you, Colter.” The sound of my name in that drawl, just a bit different from ours—Georgia, maybe?
Or South Carolina?—sounded unfairly appealing to my ears.
Or possibly it was the faint rasp still lingering in her voice that I knew was from smoke inhalation, but made my brain veer toward more intimate settings entirely.
Yep, time to go.
“See you around, Swayze.” I made myself move toward the door. “That is, if you’re staying in Gibson Hollow after all this.”
Her hands curled around the mug of tea like it was a lifeline, and something flickered over her face—something vulnerable and a little lost. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. So if I can find a new place here, then yeah. I’ll see you around.”
I thought again of how insistent she’d been last night that we not call anyone for her.
It didn’t make sense. She’d mentioned a mom, brother, and a sister.
It was possible they were no longer living, but the sister at least had been referenced in present tense in a way that suggested they talked.
So why not let family know what was happening?
Did she just want to avoid worrying them unnecessarily?
Were they estranged? My own family was so tight, it was hard to imagine, but I knew not everybody was as lucky as us.
With a final nod, I gave the table a collective salute and headed out before I got roped into any of the Sasspatch Society’s elaborate plans or Uncle Dee’s matchmaking schemes.
I had enough on my plate with my work and my daughter. I didn’t have room for gorgeous brunettes with mysterious pasts and hazel eyes that seemed to see right through me.