Chapter 6 #2
“Then there’s the comments from younger women. Surprisingly, around twenty-five percent of my audience are women in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties. They ask the best questions.”
“Sounds like therapy more than a fashion channel.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s what I said to Meghan a few weeks ago. In a way, it kind of is, but I don’t claim to be anyone’s therapist. I’m not trained or licensed in that field.”
I grunt. “I bet what you have to say is worth twenty licensed therapists. Bunch of crooks.”
Tilting her head to the side, she studies me for a minute. “What do you have against mental health professionals?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “As long as they stay the hell away from me. I went to more than one after my wife—” I stop upon realizing what I’ve just said … what I was about to say.
“You need more chili.” I rise to my feet and take Ellyn’s nearly finished bowl of chili along with mine to the kitchen.
Behind me, she says something like she doesn’t need anymore.
Ignoring her, I slice another piece of cornbread onto her plate before buttering it, along with adding more chili to her bowl.
“You didn’t need to fill my bowl,” she says as I place the food on her tray in front of her. “I hope you got seconds for yourself.”
She eyes my refilled bowl and nods.
“Meghan will be happy to see that you’ve eaten well.”
I observe Ellyn as she breaks off a piece of her cornbread and dips it into the chili before eating it.
Satisfaction rolls through me as she closes her lips around her fingertips, enjoying the bite of food.
“Shit,” I grunt under my breath.
“What did you say?”
“Not a thing.” I shake my head, and scoop a spoonful of chili into my mouth.
“Your daughter’s in law school, huh?” I ask after a few more minutes of silence.
“Second year,” Ellyn answers, pride lacing her voice. “She wants to be a public defender.”
“In New York?”
Ellyn chuckles. “I’ve already told her she’s going to be broke, but Meghan has a justice streak a mile wide. Once when she was twelve, she watched a documentary of a man who was unjustly sentenced for over twenty-five years.
“It was one of those public organizations that goes back and reviews sketchy convictions. They retested the DNA the police had just sitting around in evidence for years. It wasn’t a match. That, along with some other evidence, proved his innocence.”
“And ever since then she’s wanted to fight the good fight?” I ask.
“That’s right.”
I chuckle. “Like my Ace. He watched that damn eighties movie about fighter pilots with Tom Cruise and he was a goner.”
“Is he an Air Force pilot?” Ellyn asks.
“Sure is. He’s been teaching at the Academy an hour away for years. That’s where Aiden gets it from.”
“Aha!” She snaps and points with her uninjured hand. “I did remember correctly. Your grandson is in the Air Force.”
I smother the grin that twitches my lips but narrow my eyes on her. That makes her laugh.
“Admit it.”
“Yes, alright. He graduated from the Air Force Academy last year,” I groan out with an eyeroll. “But the bastards won’t let ’im return home for Thanksgiving this year. Some training or other bullshit.”
“That’s tough,” Ellyn says. “But I bet you’re proud of him. I hear the Academy isn’t a walk in the park.”
“It sure ain’t.” I sit up straighter, puffing my chest out. “He got his work hard spirit from all of those summers working on the ranch with me.”
“I’m sure his dad had nothing to do with it,” she jokes.
“Hell, where do you think Ace gets it from?”
“The military.”
Ellyn smirks when I cut her a sideways glare.
“You might’ve had something to do with it. From what I’ve seen of you, hard work is encoded in your DNA.”
The grip I have on my spoon tightens from the compliment. It feels good.
Too damn good.
No sooner than I make the decision to hightail my ass out of here than Ellyn’s front door opens.
“Meghan?” Ellyn calls, turning her head to face her daughter.
“It’s me. Oh good, Mr. Townsend, you’re still here. I’m sorry I took so long, Ma.” She appears at the entryway, her eyes sparkling and a smile on her lips as she looks from her mother to me and back to her mother.
I’m a man of instinct.
I trust my gut more than anything else.
My hunch is telling me this little girl isn’t the slightest bit sorry that she’s left her mother and me alone for as long as she has.
“I’m leaving,” I grunt at the same time I take Ellyn’s tray from her.
I place the tray with the bowls and plates on the countertop.
“Don’t worry about those,” Meghan says as I start to empty the bowls down the garbage disposal. “I’ll toss them in the dishwasher as soon as I put my stuff away.”
She grins at me, and I nod without saying a word.
“I’ll come back in a day or two to finish painting the door,” I tell Ellyn before leaving.
Meghan follows me.
“Thanks for keeping my mom company. She’s not used to staying still for too long. I know in a few days she’s going to be going stir crazy.”
I eye the girl, wondering what she’s angling at.
“Oh, speaking of the holidays,” she says, her voice dropping low. “I picked this up.”
She lifts a bag that she’s left by the door and pulls out a wreath made of faux maple, oak, magnolia leaves, spray-painted pinecones, and pumpkins.
“I thought this would be perfect for the door. I don’t know if my mom’s told you but she’s not into decorating much this year.” Meghan frowns. “A shame since she used to do these huge, elaborate decorations in our old home.
“Anyhow, I thought this would look great on the door.”
Without a word, I take the wreath from her and pull out a nail and my hammer from the toolkit I’ve brought over.
Minutes later, the wreath hangs at the center of the door. “Perfect,” I mumble. “Make sure to lock the door behind me.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Townsend,” Meghan gushes before I pull the door closed.
I take a step back and examine the door. It definitely looks better with the wreath on it.
As I step down the three wooden porch stairs, I try to force myself to stop from wondering more about the woman inside of the house.
But why would a woman who obviously enjoys fashion and decor, and who used to go above and beyond for the holidays, suddenly not want to do it in her new home?
I shake my head as I go back to my own house.