“I think somebody secretly wants to get some.”
“Shut up. My serve.”
“Game point,” Dusty said. “But I probably don’t need to tell you that.”
It was my serve. And a lot was riding on this moment. Though I was beginning to feel the same as Dusty, even if I lost, I would still be a winner.
In all actuality, it was good that I had that attitude. Because I did lose. I hid my face behind my hands while Dusty casually flung his paddle onto the table as if he did this all the time. I was hiding a humongous grin, and I was embarrassed that I let him into my head enough to lose this game. He had set me up to make a great ace shot with my forearm. Except I had never had a good forearm shot. I was a much better defensive player. Which he must have known. He played right into my weakness.
I heard movement closer to me, and I gave myself a second to put on my brave face before removing my hands.
He walked toward me slowly, his soft green eyes boring into mine. Oh my heavens, were we going to do this now? In my nasty sweatshirt and sweatpants? My heart rate spiked. I thought he said…sometime…not now.
He paused in his pursuit and folded his arms, eyeing me. “Why do you look like I’m about to kill a baby bunny? Did you think I was going to kiss you right now?”
“No,” I scoffed.
“You did.”
A piece of fuzz on my sweatpants needed my direct attention.
He leaned forward with barely restrained glee, to meet my eyes. “I’m not giving away the farm. You’ve got to work for it. Besides,youhave to kissme. You have until I leave, whenever that is.” He slid past me, brushing against my arm lightly, and began walking up the stairs.
“This might be our best game yet, Lou.”
8
Out of the sweetness of her heart, Grandma made us all roast beef sandwiches on homemade gluten-free bread for lunch. We had been careful not to open the fridge too much since we had no power, but Grandma had reached her limit of serving her guests food from a box. Grandpa napped while the three of us sat at the kitchen table with our sandwiches and a bag of chips and a full glass of room temperature water, courtesy of the water jug dusted off from their food storage. I fully expected the bread to turn into a dense paste in my mouth, similar to the pancakes, and was surprised when the texture was light. Still more dense than regular bread, but really, a lot less brick-like than I had been anticipating. The flavor was actually quite good.
“Mmm… Is this homemade bread, Susan?” Dusty asked, innocently. I looked at him warily, but he kept his earnest gaze firmly fixed on Grandma. “I’ve only had gluten-free one other time in my life and it didn’t taste at all like this. It’s so fluffy.”
Grandma beamed, reaching out a bracelet-clad hand to clutch Dusty’s forearm. He had just become a battery powered lantern in her anti-electricity nightmare. “Thank you, sweet thing. Yes, it’s homemade. Once Bob got his diagnosis from the doctor, I told myself I would learn how to make gluten-free bread taste good, if it was the last thing I do.”
“I’d say you nailed it. Now, if somebody wanted to or needed to learn some tips on cooking gluten-free, what would be your best advice?”
I kicked him under the table, but the only sign that he felt it was the tiniest pull of his lips upward.
“For bread, I would say use buttermilk, if possible. Changed the game for me. People told me to use gelatin, but I could never get that to work.”
Grandma droned on while Dusty nodded as though he understood exactly what she was talking about. The big fat liar. Finally the talk moved on to other things, and as the afternoon wore on, Dusty began to seem like a caged lion. Stalking to the window every so often, giving the pained expression of somebody who had his wings clipped. The lazy afternoon stuck on someone else’s ranch must be torture for a man used to going and doing. Working from sun up until sundown.
“Did the weatherman from last night tell us when the snow will let up? Before we lost power?” Grandma asked from the kitchen. I had finished my sandwich and moved to lounge on the couch. Both of our eyes shot to Dusty, who stood by the window.
Dusty looked out the window again, as if we all hadn’t already been aware of the sky pouring buckets of snow. “He said it should stop around 4 pm, which means, if all goes well, the roads should be cleared enough for me to head out by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.
The thought of him leaving didn’t sit right with me. Our gazes clashed for a moment before we both turned away. I knew he would be leaving as soon as the roads let up, but the problem was, I liked this team we had created in the short time we had been together. I would probably never see him again if he left. Which made perfect sense because we lived in two different states. But…something about him leaving didn’t seem right.
“How’s Grandpa?” I asked, turning to my grandma. “How long did it take him to beat pneumonia last year?”
Grandma wiped the counter down with a washcloth. “Oh it was about a week or so, I think, but that was with antibiotics from the doctor. I doubt we’ll be able to make it into the doctor for at least a couple more days.”
Grandma’s eyes turned soft as she looked at us both. “We are so thankful you two are here. I don’t know what we would have done. I just feel terrible that both of you are stuck out in that awful weather so much.”
“Don’t worry about me, Susan. I don’t have anything bad to say about this storm,” Dusty said, moving from the window and back to the chair, but his eyes never left mine when he said the words. I swallowed the beating heart trying to escape my chest.
“Well, Lucy, are you ready for that snowmobile ride?”
I smiled, relieved for the teasing. “I think the question is…areyouready for a snowmobile ride?”
