“Move in with me, dammit. You’re the most stubborn woman I ever knew.”
“No more stubborn than you, since you keep askin’ the same old question. I have my own place.”
Jack frowned and stabbed his egg yolks, making them run. “Then let me live with you.”
“In my aunt’s house?” Legs asked like he was crazy.
“It’s your house now.”
“I’m trying to fix it up. I have to patch and paint. There’s no room for your stuff.”
“I’ll help you, and then you’ll have plenty of space for me. And my junk.”
“Ada won’t like it. She’ll think it’s immoral.”
“You talk about her like she’s still with us. She’s been gone over a year, sweetheart.” His voice dropped an octave and his brows creased. “Don’t you think she’d give in after all this time?”
Legs wrinkled her nose. “No. She thinks you’re a wanderer.”
Jack tossed down his fork. “I own a sporting goods store for krissake! I go fishing!” He touched her hand when she got close enough and drew little circles around her wrist bone with a fingertip. The preschool teachers from Let’s Explore stifled sighs at the next table. “It’s time to let go, hon. His expression turned earnest. She raised you, I know. But I want to be with you now. It’s time to let me in.”
“Not if that means letting her go. I’m sorry, Jack. I just can’t.”
Jack sighed and returned to his breakfast. “We’ll talk about this again tomorrow.”
It seemed like Jack was the only person in town who didn’t believe the Anderson place was haunted. Or maybe he pretended not to know. Ada had died but still stood like a sentry in the two-story white Victorian where she had raised her niece. And it was clear Legs liked it that way. After her parents died in that car crash, she and her aunt had become almost inseparable. Legs still slept in the spare room she used as a child. The master bedroom belonged to her aunt as far as she was concerned.
Legs couldn’t bring herself to move into Ada’s old room, though she’d hauled out much of the furniture and torn down the old-fashioned curtains. Most of the bigger, fussier antiques in the house had been sold to pay land and inheritance taxes. The rest Legs rearranged to her liking and hoped Ada would approve. But a man moving in? Ada would pitch a fit.
How do I know all this? My name is Cloris. I own the Special T café. Ada was my best friend and I’ve known Legs since before she was born. Her given name is Linda, but I’ve always called her Legs, ‘cause she reminds me of a sleek, long-legged colt. The nickname stuck with customers after her first shift at the café.
I hired Legs as my runner around the time Ada got sick. My knees throb and my feet ache with arthritis, though I still manage the restaurant and take orders at the counter. Legs had just graduated college when she came home to nurse Ada. It was nice of her to help me around the café, too, and then stay on after her aunt died. I’m a realist, though-- I know our arrangement can’t last much longer. The girl has a business degree to use.
Back at Jack’s table Legs shook her head as if further talk would make no difference. Her ponytail swished between her slim shoulder blades. “I’ll be painting all weekend. You can help if you want, but I make no promises about you moving in. Ever.”
A satisfied smile curved Jack’s lips. He held Legs’s large brown eyes with his deep cobalt blues. “I’ll bring coffee and biscuits. I’ll be there by eight.”
Legs nodded once. “Okay. Guess I could use an extra pair of hands.”
Every other woman in Hartsville would have passed Jack a paintbrush with her teeth if he brought those rugged, strong looking hands to her house. Yet, there was an unspoken, but palatable admiration for Legs the other women seemed to share. They liked that she could handle him--probably better than they could. Legs had an unshakable confidence that earned other women’s respect.
I think Jack liked that about her, too.
