Chapter Six
Martin had serious reservations about Gia Abernathy and Cricket staying with Bailey Rae even for a night or two, but there’d been no deterring her once her mind was set. At least he could give her home and property a once-over to make sure Gia’s husband wasn’t lurking in a closet or behind a tree.
And Martin wasn’t overly confident they would anytime soon. Portions of the river were deep and treacherous, used in the past for log driving to the paper mill. Other stretches were narrow and marshy, populated with gators and snakes.
Minutes later, a thorough clearing of each room assured Martin that no one lurked in the farm cabin other than Skeeter, who’d had no sense of personal space and kept bumping into his legs.
Standing in the open doorway, Martin waved to the two cars out front—his truck and Keith Farrell’s van.
At least Thea and June had convinced Bailey Rae to let Keith stay in the Airstream out back for protection, and they would keep watch over Libby.
Keith appeared to be relieved for the break from caregiving for his mom.
Gia stood at the open truck door with her arms wide for her child. The little girl leaped out and wrapped herself around her mother like a spider monkey. Gia flinched but didn’t let go in spite of her cracked ribs and battered face.
Martin’s gaze shifted to Bailey Rae, protective urges thrumming a steady cadence in his brain. Bailey Rae had to be exhausted from working in the restaurant, clearing out the house to sell, and now taking in temporary pseudo-boarders.
Bailey Rae motioned toward the hall, a cluster of thin bead bracelets sliding along her wrist. “You can set that down just in there. I’ll show them to their room in a bit.”
“And you’re certain no one had access to the security system while you were away?” he asked, nudging the suitcase farther in a corner by a box of children’s books. A Little Golden Book rested on top, yellowed with age. The Little Engine That Could .
“Absolutely.” She waggled her phone at him. “I have an app.”
He would still feel better once he’d swept the property beyond the yard as well. Keith and a lazy hound dog felt like pitiful defense against a man who beat his own wife.
Back in the living room, Bailey Rae knelt in front of Cricket, who hadn’t pulled her thumb from her mouth since they’d picked her up from the social worker at child services. “Gia, I’m sorry I don’t have more toys for her to play with. I sold most of them last weekend.”
Keith opened a hall closet—still full of jackets—and reached up on the top shelf. “There may be a few things left. Let me look around. Aunt Winnie and Uncle Russell used to keep a few special toys here for when I came over to play. Aha. Here we go.”
Smiling, Keith pulled down a shoebox with childish handwriting on the outside: Keep out.
This belongs to Keith Farrell . He pivoted back to Cricket, who wore a pink shorts set a size too large.
“Matchbox trucks were my favorite. I used to sit on that same braided rug. My good friend Russell taught me how to use the grooves as guides on a racetrack.”
Lowering himself to the rug, Keith lifted the lid from the box.
He ran the cars along the curves and transformed the floor covering into their own Formula 1 tournament, while Bailey Rae persuaded Gia to put her feet up in the recliner.
Close to her daughter, of course. Although she would likely drift off before long, with Skeeter keeping vigil beside the chair.
Martin shuffled from foot to foot, eager to get started scouring the grounds around the cabin.
Bailey Rae smoothed her hands along the floral sundress she’d changed into during the scramble to get to the hospital today, explaining on the ride over that she’d wanted to make a good impression on the hospital staff when they released Cricket and Gia into her care.
“Do you have time to stay for supper? It won’t be anything fancy.
I’m working to clear out the freezer before I go.
Tonight’s menu is gumbo stew served over grits. ”
Grits.
As if he needed more motivation to head outside. He stifled a wince. “I can’t, but thank you.”
She laughed softly. “Your disrespect for grits is showing. If you can’t stay, at least let me make a to-go dish for you, and you can let me know what you think of grits made properly, by a Southerner.”
“I imagine you will use this gift of a meal to make a believer out of this Arizona boy.”
“That I will.” She held up a hand as she walked toward the kitchen, hips swaying gently. “It’s all about the consistency, salt, and butter.”
She multitasked with smooth efficiency and confidence.
Setting a pot of water on the stove to boil.
Placing a container of gumbo on the counter.
Carrying a mug of hot tea and an ice pack for Gia, whose face looked even worse today.
But what alarmed him even more? That the child didn’t seem in the least concerned about her mom’s injuries, as if this were a normal occurrence.
While Bailey Rae stirred the grits, adding a surprising amount of butter and salt, she nodded toward the living room, where Keith and Cricket moved trucks along the circles in the braided rug.
“Uncle Russell didn’t just show Keith how to use the rug as a racetrack, he also bought cars for Keith when he was a kid with no father.
They’re probably worth a fortune now. Not that I would ever sell them.
Too much sentimental value. Also, as you saw by the very official labeling on the box, I am not even sure they belong to me. ”
“That was kind of him,” Martin said, leaning against the archway between the two rooms. He wasn’t letting anyone out of his sight. He understood that the past and present were melding in his mind. The threat of the random shooter in the hangar then. The threat of Gia’s husband now.
“My aunt and uncle never had children of their own, so they enjoyed spoiling other people’s kids.
” She turned the stovetop to low and began pulling bowls from the cabinet, along with a disposable plastic container.
“Russell was part of a NASCAR pit crew. He even raced a bit, before his health failed and he took on more long hauls as a truck driver at the mill.”
Cricket nudged a toy vehicle with her toe, sending it off the rug and toward the kitchen. “Dirt track? Daddy do that.”
At the mention of Gia’s husband, Bailey Rae stepped back from the stove.
“I think I may have some blocks. Would you like to build towers?” She patted Martin on the chest on her way past. “Stir the grits so they don’t get lumpy.
Hopefully the blocks will distract her from mentioning her father again. ”
Her touch lingered. “Grits aren’t supposed to be lumpy? I haven’t tasted them any other way.”
Her laugh carried as she dumped a tub full of colorful blocks onto the rug, effectively distracting the child from discussions of her father. Together, they stacked, then toppled, then repeated the process over again. Each time, Cricket giggled in surprise like it was the first.
Martin couldn’t draw his eyes from Bailey Rae.
Then he heard a pop, pop, pop behind him and nearly hit the floor. Only to realize it was just the grits bubbling in the pot. The grits he’d forgotten to stir. His mind still full of wartime gunfire, he sprinted back to resume his post at the stove.
Stirring, he let the even movement slow his heart rate and took in the sound of voices drifting from the other room to will away the echoes of the past in his head.
“Keith,” Gia said, softly. From fear? Or because of the ache in her jaw? “It’s kind of your mother’s friends to look after her while you’re here.”
“They insisted it’s no trouble at all,” Keith answered. “We’re a tight-knit group. Those women helped raise me after my dad died. Now they’re there for her as she would be for them.”
Libby had seemed so disoriented at the market sale, no wonder they were keeping a close watch on her.
A hand on his shoulder made him jolt, only to find Bailey Rae had come up behind him undetected.
He needed to get his head together. He would be no good to these women in need of protection if he let the past smother the present.
Bailey Rae closed her fingers around his and took over stirring again.
He slid his hand away slowly and turned to face her.
Her green eyes held his, her aloe scent mingling with the spiciness of the gumbo.
His guard down, he couldn’t deny that she tempted him as he stood beside her, both of them unmoving other than her slow stirring of the grits, while voices from the other room filled the silence.
“I’m curious.” Gia resumed her talk with Keith. “You’re good with Cricket. Do you have children?”
“No, just stepkids and divorces.”
Gia gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
“Well, I guess you could say I’ve mastered the art of knowing when to call it quits—” Keith stopped short. “That came out wrong. Please don’t take offense.”
Martin cleared his throat, stepping away to resume his post in the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room. The sensitivity from Keith surprised him. But then Martin hadn’t learned much about the man in the past few months.
His instincts from days as an army cop resurfaced. A part of him that he’d hoped to leave behind after he’d ended his time in the military. But he was learning the past couldn’t be so easily buried. “Bailey Rae”—he lowered his voice—“are you sure you’re comfortable with Keith staying here?”