Firefly Nights. Cynthia Thomason
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but how much assistance am I going to get from a lady who looks like an underripe eggplant and her outlaw son?”
Virgil waved his hand, dismissing Campbell’s concern. “You’ve got them all wrong. Kitty can do anything—cook, clean, do laundry. And her boy, why, he just stole that stuff to help out his mama. He’s a good boy.”
Campbell only believed about half of what Virgil was saying, since he’d seen the glower on the kid’s face, and he’d already concluded that Miss Kitty looked as if she needed more help than she could give. A good stiff wind sweeping off Saddle Top Mountain could carry her all the way down the gap. But on the other hand, a woman without any means of support who was driving an old pickup could probably use the work. Of all the people Virgil might have brought to his door, she’d likely be so grateful for a place to stay that she’d just do her job and mind her own business as he’d tell her to.
Campbell chewed on his lower lip. He hated being dependent on anyone. But for now, like it or not, he was. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give this living arrangement a chance—as long as the woman and her kid fed him and kept his clothes clean and otherwise left him alone. He thought of the alternative—Wanda Oakes force-feeding him collard greens and down-home advice—and decided that trying to make it work with the Watleys was a better solution.
“You win,” he said. “At least I won’t have to treat these strangers like family. But if it doesn’t work, you’re going to come get them.”
Virgil nodded. “Oh, absolutely.”
“Okay. Bring them in.”
KITTY HURRIED FROM the breezeway to meet the sheriff when he came out of the motel lobby. “How’d he take the news?” she asked, shaking her fingers, which had become numb from clenching them so hard. “Is he okay with Adam and me staying?”
“He didn’t like the idea at all, did he?” Adam said, his voice blatantly hopeful.
“He liked the idea all right—after I told him you could cook and clean, wash clothes and—”
“Okay, sure,” Kitty said. “How hard can all that stuff be?”
Virgil’s eyes rounded with shock. “What?”
“What I meant was that cooking and cleaning—it’s all second nature to me. Not hard at all.” Actually those tasks were second nature to Esmeralda, the housekeeper who’d been working for Owen Galloway for years.
“All right, then. Let’s go inside.”
Kitty and Adam walked ahead of the sheriff into the lobby. They passed a couple of tired old Danish chairs and a counter with a chipped Formica finish. Adam’s fingers wrapped around Kitty’s arm like a claw. “Nice place you picked here, Mom,” he whispered.
“I picked?” Kitty started to argue but realized the futility of bringing up Adam’s mistake again.
“Do you know the difference between a washing machine and a stove?” Adam asked.
“Hey, I’m not the one who confused a jacket for a shopping cart.”
They entered a living space just slightly larger than a typical studio apartment. Forcing her gaze to sweep quickly across the room, Kitty avoided for the moment the man whose presence was definitely the dominant feature. A queen-size bed covered with a colorful Navajo-print comforter sat next to an uncluttered desk. A knotty pine dresser held an assortment of men’s toiletries on a wooden valet tray situated precisely in the middle of a pair of polished brass lamps. Brass drawer handles sparkled on each of the nine dresser drawers.
An immaculate kitchen occupied one corner. The gleaming white appliances appeared new. Two doors at the rear of the room were closed. Kitty assumed one was a closet and the other led to a bathroom.
And in the middle of this space, there was a distressed leather sofa and a pine coffee table with a notebook computer on top. And then, because she could no longer avoid acknowledging the man at the center of this meticulous display of orderly living, Kitty focused on a wide leather recliner, which was filled quite respectably by Campbell Oakes.
He wore a Charlotte Bobcats T-shirt and navy blue cargo shorts. A shock of dark brown hair fell onto his forehead and partially covered a fresh bandage. One long bare foot at the end of a well-muscled leg extended over the chair’s footrest. Campbell’s other leg, buried in at least a three-foot length of cotton batting and fiberglass splint was supported by a pillow.
He stared at her with an overtly appraising green-eyed gaze that made her feel like squirming. She tried to smile, but her lips refused to obey the command from her brain. She wondered how Campbell Oakes, even with damaged ribs and a broken leg, had the capacity to render a person speechless and smileless. Just imagining him standing fully upright, dominating everything around him, brought a strange quiver to her stomach. It wasn’t like the trepidation she felt when she faced her father. It was strange in a different sort of way.
“All right, now,” Sheriff Oakes said cheerfully. “I’ll just make the introductions and be on my way. You young folks’ll get along just fine. Campbell, this is Kitty. Kitty, Campbell.” The sheriff reached over and tousled Adam’s hair. Adam flinched. Sheriff Oakes pretended not to notice. “And this towheaded youngster is Adam.”
Campbell nodded, but his intense scrutiny didn’t ease up. In fact, his gaze settled above Kitty’s neck and refused to move.
Assuming something must be amiss, she ran a hand through her hair, felt the blunt-cut strands prickle her palm and spring back to attention with what was left of yesterday’s gel. She drew her lips together. No lipstick, of course. What little she’d applied before hitching a ride on the watermelon truck had been chewed off in the Value-Rite parking lot. She ran her tongue over her teeth, searching for an embarrassing food scrap, and then remembered that raspberry lipstick and two swigs of coffee were the only things she’d eaten all day.
Campbell’s gaze wandered over her and ended in a puzzling frown. “Kitty, is it?” he said, returning his attention to her face.
“Yes.”
“You picked out a room to stay in?”
“No, not yet. Any one will do.”
A low, rumbling sound that might have started as a sarcastic laugh but ended as a stifled groan came from his throat. Obviously something hurt, bad. He pushed himself up in the chair. “Actually none of them will do, but it’s take it or leave it.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Virgil intervened. “I’ll put Kitty and the boy in the first room past the breezeway. That way they’ll be right next to the washing machines.”
Adam cupped his hand over his mouth. “Lucky break, eh, Mom?”
“Is there a phone in there?” Virgil asked.
Campbell nodded. “Doesn’t work, though. The only phone that’s hooked up is this one.” He pointed to a portable unit on the end table.
“No problem,” Virgil said with a chirpiness that was beginning to get on Kitty’s nerves. “I’ll stop at the phone company and have Kitty’s turned on. That way you can call her and Adam in their room anytime you need them.”
“I won’t need them much,” Campbell answered.
“You could just keep us on a leash and yank,” Adam said.
The sheriff laughed as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard and tried to tousle Adam’s hair again. This time Adam was too fast for him.
“Wanda was here yesterday,” Virgil said, sticking the hand that had swatted the air over Adam’s head into his pocket. He walked to the kitchen. “She stocked the cupboard and icebox for you.”
He opened the refrigerator door and stuck his head inside. “You’ve