“Yes, ma’am.” He grabbed six plates from the old pie safe, and set the table. Granny handed him the silverware, and soon it was as if he’d been there his whole life. Granny and Momma Taggart chatted at him and had him moving chairs and shit, easy as you please.
The triplets stood there, staring like he’d grown another head.
“What?” He blinked at Adam.
“Nothin’, I’ve just never seen Granny take to anyone like that.”
“I told you. Folks like me.” Folks, dogs, horses. Maybe they liked him because he liked them.
“So do I.” Adam winked. “You’re fine.”
He bowed playfully, laughing. For folks with money, they sure were decent. The only one who didn’t seem to be completely sure of him was Brian, who was frowning a lot. Then again, maybe that healing foot hurt some.
He ended up sitting between Reba and Adam, the casserole cheesy and rich and good. He ate hearty, feeling like he’d been running for miles on empty. Nervous energy did that to him.
The triplets barely talked, but Reba chattered on, and it was easy to ramble back. Their momma joined in every so often, offering a dry, funny comment. He liked both the ladies a lot.
He helped clean off the table, clearing plates as Reba told him story after story of the triplets when they were little. “So there was little Adam, hanging from the hayloft, his little shirt ripping bit by bit…”
“Oh, Lord. Tell me somebody caught you, cher.”
“I landed on Brian and Chris. They had a blanket, like we’d all seen in cartoons.”
He winced, but laughed anyway, because he could see it. Hell, he and Laurel had jumped out of a tree once, expecting to fly. For a second, he thought it had worked, too.
The sound of his ankle snapping had come as quite a shock.
“You want some pie, son?” Momma Taggart asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” He crossed his fingers for apple.
His wish came true when Granny plonked down apple pie and ice cream. If Laurel was here, he’d believe this was heaven.
He stared at it. Oh, man. Look at that crust.
“Well, go ahead, honey. Cut it for me?” She waved gnarled hands at him. “I’m not good at getting them even.”
“You want me to cut it in six or eight?”
“Six’ll do. That way I can make cherry tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Chris moaned, almost like a kid. “Cherry.”
Landon chuckled and nodded, carefully cutting the pie. He made six slices that pretty much matched and plated them up while Adam dished up ice cream. Yum.
It was strange and normal, all at once—like living in a TV show. He’d only ever seen a family like this in movies and such. His and Laurel’s folks had died so early on. He’d never had such a normal family thing like this, like in the old fifties things. He couldn’t wait to tell Laurel. She’d clap her hands and declare it too much, tell him he was joshing her.
“You okay, Landon?” Adam nudged him, gently.
“Oui, cher. Just thinking that Sister would love this.”
“Would she?” Adam grinned and put ice cream on Landon’s slice of pie. “She like pie?”
“She does. She don’t make them much, ’cause of the heat. Crusts wilt. She likes a bread pudding.”
“Mmm. I like that with a bourbon sauce.” Adam’s eyes were all lit up.
Chrissy snorted. “You like all the desserts, old man.”
