“Ain’t no cause to git into that, no siree.”
Camilla released an honest-to-goodness snort. “There’s every reason to get into that, especially if you and Beulah snuck copies of that infernal apple pie recipe into the chicken coop, hoping I’d pick up at least one of the copies as I went about cleaning or collecting eggs, because . . .who in their right mind would expect to find a recipe hidden in a chicken coop?”
Given that Aunt Elma immediately took to wincing, and Meemaw immediately headed into the henhouse with Harvey tucked under her arm, it wasn’t a stretch to conclude that Camilla was exactly right and that his grandmother and aunt had been up to some shenanigans again.
And even though he’d never been convinced the apple pie recipe held the power of securing matches, he found himself just a little disappointed that Meemaw and Aunt Elma had been foiled in their latest scheme because—given that he could no longer deny he found Camilla far too fascinating, but knew she was far above his reach—if she’d suddenly found herself in possession of the secret family recipe, perhaps—just perhaps—the odds of him having a small chance of winning her favor might have actually increased.
Twenty-Five
“Come across any crumpled-up recipes buried in the dirt as you’ve been planting those lima beans?”
Camilla straightened after she stuck the last of her lima bean seeds into the ground, finding Charles standing a few feet away from her, holding a hoe and swiping a handkerchief over a forehead that was dotted with perspiration, as well as a great deal of dirt.
Her lips immediately curved. “I’ll have you know that I’ve not run across a single recipe while I’ve been planting today, although don’t think for a minute that Beulah wasn’t considering that, at least until I caught her and Elma up to some shenanigans yesterday after you, Luella, and I returned from riding.”
Charles folded his hands over the top of the hoe and leaned his chin on it, his eyes twinkling. “Shenanigans? Do tell.”
“Well, if you’ll recall, you and Luella stayed on Beulah’s porch to visit with the sewing ladies while I went in to grab a bowl of water from the kitchen for Gladys and the hounds, since they’d been running after us all afternoon.” She grinned. “Guilt does not begin to describe the expressions on Elma and Beulah’s faces when I walked in on them in the midst of making more copies of the infamous recipe.”
“I’m surprised neither of them thought to just hand you a copy as you walked.”
“Oh, Elma tried, but I’m too savvy for that nonsense. And after I safely navigated my way to the cupboard to get the bowl, I then told them in no uncertain terms that if their attempts at skullduggery didn’t stop, I was going to have no choice but to delve into some of my own.”
Charles’s brows drew together. “Do you even know how to delve into skullduggery?”
“Of course not, which Beulah immediately pointed out, but I don’t think she was expecting what I said next—that I might not know how to carry out any skullduggery, but that Nems and the boys most certainly would, and that I wouldn’t blink an eye over asking them to assist me with coming up with a few ideas that would teach Elma and Beulah a lesson.” She smiled. “Needless to say, Beulah and Elma abandoned their pads of paper and pencils and retreated to the porch, Beulah muttering something about Nems being more of a menace than I am.”
“I have no doubt Nems would be capable of some interesting skullduggery,” Charles said, sending a nod across the garden to where Nems was sitting in his wheeled chair, under the shade of a maple tree. “He’s not really a menace, though, even though he’s been trailing after me as I’ve been planting potatoes, observing every move I’ve made.” He gave his jaw a scratch. “I particularly enjoy when he decides I’m not planting properly, like an hour ago when he stopped me with a potato halfway in the ground and told me, and I quote—‘Dem dare taters ain’t gonna grow right, boy, iffen you plant ’em upside downs.’”
“Nems calls youboy?”
“Among other things, none of which are complimentary, but he’s taken to slapping me on the back, which Owen told me means Nems likes me.”
“You seemed fairly pleased about that.”
Charles nodded. “It’s nice to fit in for a change, and the menaround these parts seem to accept me, especially after we went fishing and I caught the largest catfish of the day.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but I had no idea how to get a catfish off the hook, what with their sharp spines, but as luck would have it, the fish I caught did some flopping about as I was carrying my fishing pole off to the side to ponder the matter and ended up hopping off the hook by itself.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “That allowed me to retain my dignity because I wasn’t forced to swallow my pride and ask anyone for some much-needed assistance.”
“A decidedly fortuitous event, but speaking of people accepting you—Luella certainly seems to enjoy spending the majority of her time in your company.”
Charles ducked his head. “It’s the oddest thing.”
“What is?”
“Luella wanting to spend time with me.”
“Why is that odd?”
“BecauseI’modd, and I wouldn’t expect a lady like Luella to give me a second look.”
“Oh, she does more than give you a second look, Charles. She adores you, and I know you adore her because why else would you agree to go furniture shopping with her even when you knew I wasn’t available to chaperone and Elma was?”
“It was worth Elma’s company just to spend an afternoon with Luella.”
“A telling statement if there ever was one, just like it was telling when Elma told me that you and Luella talked nonstop during that furniture expedition.”
“We never seem to run out of things to say,” Charles admitted. “Although we didn’t actually talk nonstop since Elma interrupted the conversation quite a few times to dispense what she calls helpful advice pertaining to matters of romance.”
Camilla laughed. “I’ve had my fair share of that type of advice from Elma and the sewing ladies, but tell me, what advice did she impart to you?”
