“Irene will do just fine,” she harrumphed, but Blake could see a smile tilting her lips.
He patted her hand as he pulled his arm away and got up from the table to retrieve a second coffee mug. “How about a toaster pastry to go with that?” he asked. Maybe if he got some food in her, she’d snap out of it and figure out he wasn’t Walter.
“What in the hell is a toaster pastry? Your mama usually makes gravy and biscuits.” The smile faded and her eyes darted around the room.
“Not this morning, darlin’.” So the woman who put even more craziness in the old gal’s eyes wasn’t Walter’s wife but his mother.
“I keep telling you to move out on your own,” Irene continued as he placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of her. She wrapped her hands around it like a lifeline. “If you had your own place, I’d leave my husband and we could be together all the time.” She pursed her mouth so tight that her long, thin face had hollows below the high cheekbones. “A man who’s almost forty years old has no business living with his mother, especially one who won’t make you a decent breakfast.”
“But what if she can’t get along without me to help her?” Blake asked.
She shook her fist at him. “You’ve got four brothers. Let them take a turn. It’s time for you to own up to the fact that this ranch is bad luck—always has been, always will be. You aren’t going to make it here, but we could do good out in California. We’ll both get a job pickin’ fruit and get us a little house in town. I always wanted to live in town.” She took his hand, hope shining in her eyes. The old girl just about broke Blake’s heart.
“Let me make a call and see what I can do,” he said gently.
The only phone number he had for anyone in Dry Creek was right there in bold print on the bottom of a 1999 feed store calendar hanging on the wall beside the refrigerator. Strange but January 4 was on a Monday that year, too. Blake wouldn’t even need to get a new calendar.
Maybe the folks from the feed store would know who to call. He hoped to hell that phone number hadn’t changed in the past seventeen years.
“Well, what in the hell are you waiting for?” she yelled, all the piss and vinegar coming back in a hurry. “Call one of them. Call them all. I don’t really care but it’s time for you to cut the apron strings and get on with your life, Walter.” She picked up the coffee and sipped it. “And put that dog outside where he belongs.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
The wild look in her eyes got even worse. “Don’t you ma’am me! I’m not an old lady, by damn. I’m a woman in her prime and don’t you ever ma’am me again.”
He had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Whoever this woman was, she wasn’t about to let anyone steamroll her.
“And after you’ve called and we’ve had our coffee, we can fool around until she gets back in the house.” Irene smiled up at him.
As if Shooter understood he wasn’t welcome, he circled around the table, keeping a wary eye on the newcomer until he got to the back door where he whined. Glad to have an excuse to leave the table, Blake went to open the door and let the old boy out, wishing the whole time that he could escape with him.
Just exactly what did she mean by “fool around”? Did it mean the same in her demented mind that it did in today’s world. If so he’d have to make that cup of coffee last until someone could come get this woman or else learn a whole new level of bullshitting his way out of a messy ordeal.
He eased the cell phone out of his pocket and poked in the numbers from the calendar. Irene seemed very content to sip her coffee and mumble about a damn dog being in the kitchen where womenfolk made food. Dog hairs, according to her, were covered with deadly diseases that could kill a person if they got into their fried potatoes.
“Dry Creek Feed and Seed. May I help you?” a feminine voice answered on the third ring.
“Ma’am, I’m the new owner of the Lucky Penny, and an elderly woman named Irene showed up at my door this morning. It’s starting to rain and…” He didn’t get another word out.
“Oh, no! Just hang on to her and I’ll send someone for her in the next few minutes. Don’t let her leave,” the woman said, and the call ended.
Chapter Two
Allie hated two things: cleaning and cooking. But every third week it was her turn to clean the big two-story house known as Audrey’s Place.