Heart Of A Cowboy: Creed's Honor / Unforgiven. B.J. Daniels
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said. As he straightened up again, he was looking at Tricia’s overheated face. Something shifted in his eyes, with a distinct but soundless click. “Guess I’d better get in line if I want any of that famous chili,” he finished, before walking away.
Tricia looked around for Sasha, found her behind the book table, looking very busy as she restacked the volumes into tidy piles. If Carolyn hadn’t been standing right next to Sasha, Tricia probably wouldn’t have noticed the way the other woman followed Brody’s progress through the crowd.
She recalled something Carolyn had said the week before, when they were cleaning up after the barbecue at River’s Bend. What a fool I was, way back when.
As though she’d felt Tricia watching her, Carolyn swung her gaze away from Brody and back to her friend’s face. She made a funny little grimace and shrugged.
Tricia’s curiosity was piqued, but she was a great believer in her late father’s folksy philosophy: everybody’s business was nobody’s business. She didn’t know Carolyn well enough to grill her about her fascination with Brody, though a part of her wished she did. Because then she would have had someone to confide in about Conner.
It was all so confusing, and Diana was so far away.
You, Tricia McCall, she thought glumly, are flirting with slut-dom. You’re going on a romantic cruise with one man, and getting all hot and bothered over another. Not becoming. Not becoming at all.
Fortunately, there was a new run on the community center when the chili was finally served, and Tricia was so busy helping to ring up the sales—if making change from a cigar box could be called “ringing up”—that she didn’t have a chance to think about Brody or Conner again until early afternoon.
There was a lull, so she and Sasha grabbed the opportunity to go home, take Valentino out for a walk and measure more of the top-secret spices into plastic bags, to be added to tomorrow’s batch of chili as soon as the door closed on the last of the rummagers at six that evening.
They were about to head back, in fact, when a hired sedan drew up at the curb in front of the house and who should get out of the back, with the driver’s careful assistance, but Natty McCall herself.
Tiny, with a cloud of silver hair pinned into a billowing Gibson-girl style, Natty reminded Tricia of the late stage actress Helen Hayes. She had beautiful skin, virtually wrinkle-free and glowing with good health, and blue eyes that snapped with intelligence, energy and, occasionally, mischief.
“Natty!” Tricia cried, descending on her great-grandmother with open arms. “You’re home!”
“I couldn’t stand being away any longer,” Natty admitted, fanning herself with one hand. “Worrying about the chili recipe, I mean. Surely that wasn’t good for my heart or my blood pressure.”
Smiling, the balding, middle-aged driver left Natty in Tricia’s care and went to collect her suitcases from the trunk of the Town Car.
“And who is this lovely person?” Natty asked, her gaze falling, benevolent but unusually weary, on Sasha.
Tricia made the introductions.
“And this is Valentino,” Sasha chirped, indicating the dog, who seemed on the verge of genuflecting to Natty. She had that effect on people, as well as animals, with her queenly countenance. “He lives with Aunt Tricia, but she says she’s not going to keep him.”
“Famous last words,” Natty commented wryly, allowing Tricia to take her arm and escort her toward the front steps, while Sasha and Valentino and the driver followed. “I have missed Winston sorely,” the older woman confided, handing the key to Tricia, who unlocked the front door.
Winston was right there, waiting to greet his elderly mistress with a plaintive meow that might have translated as, Thank heaven you’re home. Another day, and I would have starved.
Delighted, Natty scooped the cat up into her arms and held him while Tricia squired her to her customary chair in the old-fashioned parlor.
“You should have called,” Tricia fretted, glad Conner had persuaded her to turn up the heat that morning, when he stopped by to bang on the pipes with a wrench. “I would have had a nice fire going, and prepared a meal—”
“Don’t be silly, dear,” Natty scolded, in her sweet way, once she was settled in her chair, Winston purring and turning happy circles in her lap. She handed her small, beaded purse to Tricia. “Pay the nice man, won’t you?” she asked, indicating the driver.
Tricia settled up with the fellow from the car service, and he left. Natty’s baggage stood in the entryway.
Both Sasha and Valentino seemed fascinated by the old woman. They stared at her, as though spellbound by her many charms.
“Would you mind building a fire now, sweetheart, and putting on a pot of tea?” Natty asked Tricia, stroking Winston with a motion of one delicate hand. The cat purred like an outboard motor.
“Of course I wouldn’t mind,” Tricia said, grateful, now, that Conner had laid a fire on the hearth and all she had to do was open the damper and light a match to the crumpled newspaper balled up under the kindling.
Soon, cheery flames danced on the hearth.
Tricia tucked a knitted shawl around Natty’s shoulders before hurrying into the kitchen. While she was making the requested tea, she listened to the rise and fall of voices as her great-grandmother and her goddaughter chatted companionably, getting to know each other.
“And I think Aunt Tricia really likes Conner,” Sasha was saying, as Tricia entered the parlor carrying a tea tray. “He likes her, too. You can tell by the way he looks at her. It’s the same way my dad looks at a cheeseburger.”
Natty smiled at that, and her wise, china-blue eyes shifted to Tricia with a knowing expression. “How is the rummage sale going?” she asked.
Tricia set the tray down, poured hot, fresh tea into a delicate china cup for her favorite elderly lady. “It’s an enormous success, as always,” she answered.
“You’d better get back there,” Natty said, after taking a sip of tea. “I wouldn’t put it past Evelyn to sneak a sample of that chili out of the community center and have it analyzed by some lab, just so she could find out what makes it so special.”
Tricia smiled, sat down on the chair nearest Natty’s. There were blue shadows under the old woman’s lively eyes, and she looked thinner than she had before she left for Denver. “I’ll guard that recipe with my life,” she vowed, making the cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die sign. “But right now, I’m more concerned about you.”
Sasha, by that time, was busy entertaining Valentino on the rug in front of the fire, so Tricia felt free to express her concern.
“I’ll be perfectly all right,” Natty said, looking down at Winston with a fond expression and continuing to stroke his sleek back. “Now that I’m home, where I belong.”
“Just the same—”
Natty yawned and patted her mouth. “Winston and I,” she said, “would love a nap.” She sighed, a gentle, joyous sound, full of homecoming. “Right here, in our very own chair. Do hand me the lap robe, Tricia dear.”
Tricia obeyed.
“I could stay here and look after Natty,” Sasha said, in a loud whisper, when Natty had closed her eyes and, apparently, nodded off. “Valentino, too.”
Tricia was reluctant to agree. After all, Sasha was only ten.
“Please?” Sasha prompted. “It’s so nice here, with the fire and everything.”
“You know my cell number,” Tricia said, relenting. She nodded to indicate Natty’s old-fashioned rotary phone, in its customary place on the secretary, over by the bay windows.
Sasha seemed to read her mind. “I know how to use one of those, Aunt Tricia,” she said patiently.