“No one else takes care of him?” I asked. I was full of questions today.
Jude shook his head. “Only me.” Muttering under his breath, with venom lacing his words, he said, “No one else cares.”
Something in my heart shifted.
I was beginning to realize that I’d misjudged Jude.
I’d hated him for the stunt he pulled with Graham’s girlfriend and the part I’d believed it played in Graham’s death.
I’d hated his whole playboy demeanor.
I’d hated the way he always seemed to use women.
But, the fact of the matter was, I didn’t really know him.
Right now, this man in front of me, was the real Jude and he just might be worth getting to know.
“I’m going to shower before we go,” he informed me. “Pap will be mad if we don’t stay for dinner. I hope you don’t mind.” He appeared almost sheepish.
“I don’t mind at all.” It was true. I liked Jerry and I hated to think of him sitting in this house eating dinner alone. In fact, I’m pretty sure it broke my heart.
“Good.” Jude’s smile was wide, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
With that, he disappeared inside and through the screen door. I could hear his boots slamming against the steps.
I stayed outside for a moment longer, admiring the way the stars sparkled like new diamonds and the sounds of nature weren’t masked by car horns and chaos.
Maybe there was a little bit of a country girl inside me.
I stood and folded the blanket, draping it over my arm. I placed it back inside the basket I got it from and joined Jerry in the kitchen.
“Can I help?” I asked, leaning against the doorway. My stomach came alive at the smell of whatever he was cooking.
He turned to look over his shoulder at me. “Of course, sweetheart.”
I smiled at the term of endearment. I might not like Jude, but I was kind of falling in love with his grandpa.
As I approached, I noticed he was stirring something in a large pot with a wooden spoon. “You take over with this,” he told me. “I’ll get the table set.”
I leaned closer to the pot and smelled. “Mmmm,” I couldn’t contain my hum of approval. I hadn’t had a home cooked meal like this in a long time. I could cook, but nothing I made could ever compare to how this smelled and I hadn’t even tasted it yet.
Jerry chuckled from somewhere behind me. “You like the smell of that.”
“It smells so yummy,” I told him, stirring the mixture carefully.
“That’s my Mama’s world famous chili. That recipe has been passed down for generations,” he explained, setting bowls and napkins on the table. Returning to my side he said, “That should be done now.” He peered down at the mixture and nodded. “It’s perfect.”
He reached in front of me and turned off the stove eye. He picked up the pot, carrying it over to the table and placing it on a trivet.
“Julia, there’s some cornbread in the oven, could you grab that for me?” He asked.
“Absolutely,” I replied, slipping an oven mitt on and reaching inside to pull out the pan. I placed it beside the chili and put the mitt back where I found it.
Before I could sit down, Jude strode into the kitchen. “Something smells good,” he sniffed the air, reaching above his head to clasp the top of the doorway leading into the kitchen. I swore he did it on purpose because the gesture did amazing things for his muscular arms and the way his shirt pulled taut over his chest hinted at a six-pack.
And oh my God, I was staring—and not just at anyone, but at Jude Freakin’ Brooks.
Had my brain taken a vacation?