and said, “Ladies first.”
She lifted her eyebrows slightly and mentioned, “Lady? The last time I heard you refer to me, you called me a cold – – – – –.”
He slid his narrowed eyes over her and replied, “I was being polite.”
She tilted her head and regarded him. “Polite? Then...or now.”
But Kirt hollered, “Hustle up!”
* * *
Sitting under the roof of the overhang by the porch, Stefan ate two quarters of one pie. It was delicious, and Mildred insisted he take the rest of it home. She smiled and told him, “Helen did this one.”
Helen laughed with such humor that Stefan knew the mother lied.
Although the host insisted he’d follow Carrie home to be sure she was safe —in that isolated, pure, staid area —he couldn’t argue when Stefan explained Carrie was going in his direction and her house came first.
So the marriageable daughters and their papa all went out to supervise the separate ones in getting into their cars and leaving the Overmann place.
Kirt was at Stefan’s Jeep, talking, as Stefan waited for the sisters to finish their farewells to Carrie. They’d been talking since last night, apparently, but they still had things to say...and things to laugh about.
Finally, finally Carrie eased her car along, and the sisters walked along to finish one more hysterical comment. Carrie eased her way with the sisters bending over and touching one another in their hilarity.
As he followed Carrie, Stefan wondered, What was so funny?
With dispatch, the cold witch drove perfectly down the road, staying on her side of it, not nudging the speed limit, driving perfectly. Women were such an irritation.
Deliberately sagged down in his seat, Stefan lagged along. Keeping her in sight, he was looking around just wishing some yahoo would harass her. And he could go to her rescue and sort things out.
Now...why on this earth would he want something like that to happen?
He moved his mouth around as he mentally chewed on such a stupid wish. He supposed it was because she was so damned confident that, at almost twenty-three, she felt she was more mature than him.
They entered the town of Blink from one side and drove through residential streets. From some distance, he saw her turn between the cement posts at the entrance of the Pierce driveway and park her car by the back door. She got out and immediately went into the house.
He leisurely swung his car between those same cement posts and into her drive...as the back house light went out.
She hadn’t waited to thank him for his escort.
Her parents were out of town. Her brother was in grad school. Carrie was alone in the house.
He pulled his car up in back of hers and got out with great, enduring patience. He went up on her screened back porch’s steps and pounded his fist, rattling the wooden frame of the screen door.
He heard the upstairs shower turn on.
Now, she had to’ve heard his Jeep. She had to’ve heard the Jeep door slam. She had to’ve heard his feet clunk on the back wood steps. And she had to’ve heard his knock on the loose, although hooked screen door. He knew it was hooked because it had not opened to his tug.
So he sat in the mist, on the steps, and waited. When the upstairs shower finally turned off, some time later, he swung his fist around and really rattled that door.
After a time, he repeated the rattle.
She came to the kitchen door that led onto the screened porch. She was dressed in a bathrobe that buttoned under her chin, and said, “Some problem with your Jeep?”
Still sitting on her back steps, he replied, “You got inside before I knew nobody had accosted you. How’d I know the sound of the shower wasn’t a cover-up of a ravishing?”
In a dead voice with no emphasis at all, she replied, “Glory be.”
“You’re not only cold, you’re mouthy.”
“Yeah.”
He said grudgingly, “Thank you for the protection you gave me tonight at the Overmanns’.” The words were wooden, but along with an eye-rolling sigh, his mother would’ve been proud of him.
But that nasty, mostly blond redhead said with greatly exaggerated candor, “What was threatening you out at the Overmanns’? On the way here? How did I help you? You’re allergic to water...the rain? Why don’t you get back in your Jeep and get out of the rain?”
He gave her a slow turning of his head and a withering look that should have shriveled her. It did not. Then he rose and stretched his tired muscles. He breathed the misting air before he took his own sweet time going back to the Jeep and leaving her standing there, in her doorway, watching after him.
But as he was slowly backing down her driveway, he heard her phone ringing.
Some poor dolt was trying for her. Stupid guy. It never entered Stefan’s mind that the caller might be female. He only thought of some guy talking in her ear in a low and intimate way and...trying.
Sourly, he drove on to his car lot. He went around, being sure it was all secure...followed by the patient security guard, Tad.
Tad said, “Mac was here. He thinks you’re avoiding him. That you won’t face your responsibilities.”
“Do you know how long he’s had that Jeep? He got it at a post World War II government auction.”
“He says it was here.”
“I wasn’t alive then. This was grazing land at that time. I don’t sell used Jeeps. Nobody gives them up.”
“He’s allowing you that privilege.”
“Tad. This has not been a good day. Kirt bought two Jeeps and got away with them before Manny or I could go over them with him. Do you realize how many times I’m gonna have to go out yonder to his place...just before supper?”
Tad smiled.
“Tad...would you go th —”
“I’m tagged. Eula wouldn’t allow me to set foot on Kirt’s property. She’s a hellcat.” His voice was benign and a bit smug.
Stefan gave him a slow and deadly look. “I hate a bragging man.”
“You need a permanent woman. She’ll be nice to you. She’ll guard you from other women. You can tell her now isn’t the best time to get it legal.”
“You’re smarter’n me.” Stefan looked glumly out over the darkening night fall over the TEXAS land. The rain was a benediction. How could he be so glum? At his age and circumstance, he should be carefree and jubilant. He ought to be able to peel off those coveralls and go out and romp in the gentle rain, glorying in being alive and free.
Everywhere he looked, there were traps.
Two
Stefan turned away from his night watchman, Tad. He walked toward his Jeep. He was ready to leave his car lot and said his usual comment, “Watch.”
So his night watchman replied with great patience, “Hell, man, I do. That’s why you hired me. Me and Tom are good watchers.”
Stefan frowned at the placid dog. “I knew of a watchdog in Florida who did only that. He would watch as the whole kaboodle was stolen.”
“You’re offending him.” Tad indicated his alert dog.
Stefan placated, “Naw. Saying ‘watch’ is just automatic. My mother still tells me to ‘be careful’ every time I leave their house, after visiting.”