But the truth was that I was terrified.
Each day that passed, it just got harder and harder when he didn’t back down. I’d thought he’d eventually concede. Decide it wasn’t worth it to him. But I should have known better, the way his giving up would look, the man refusing to have his perfect reputation tarnished.
What bullshit.
Gramma squeezed the side of my face with her bony hand, and still it felt like the most comfortable thing. “It’s okay to be afraid. The times I’ve fought hardest in my life are the times I’ve been most scared. Only because I was afraid of losing. And that’s what makes us fight all the harder.”
I set my hand over hers, pressing her closer, savoring the warmth. The comfort she’d always given. “I love you. So much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She sent me a grin. “Well, you’d probably starve. We could start right there.”
A shot of laughter escaped me. “Are you telling me I’m a bad cook?”
She cocked a brow. “What I’m telling you is that you’re a terrible cook.”
“So much love, Grams. So much love,” I said, voice wry.
She chuckled. “Well, we all have our strengths. It’s not your fault that you could burn the house down tryin’ to boil a pot of water.”
I feigned a gasp. “I take offense to that. I’ll have you know I’ve been told I make a mean pot of mac and cheese.”
She patted my arm. “I’m sorry, sweet thing, but this is where that delusion needs to end. Only thing a person can do is choke that rubber down and hope they don’t up and die trying. You’re lucky you have me around.”
A pout formed. “How’d I spend my entire life with you in the kitchen and not learn a single thing?”
“Like I said, we all have our strengths. I filled your belly to show you my love. Tucked you in at night.”
“Read me stories,” I supplied, my heart pressing full at the memories.
“That’s right,” she said.
“That was my favorite,” I told her, wistfulness winding its way into my tone.
She brushed back the hair matted to my forehead. “And you show yours by writing them.”
My throat clamped up. Overcome. Love and adoration and gratitude threatening to spill out.
She cleared her throat and inclined her head. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. You’re a sight.”
She led me into the kitchen. She went to the sink and turned on the water. When it warmed up, she ran a cloth under it and then pulled out a stool from the small table in the center of the old kitchen.
“Sit.”
“Bossy,” I told her.
“Don’t you know it.”
“That I do.”
She’d been as strict as they’d come when she’d been raising me, but not even close to clipping my wings, the woman always there believing that I could go soaring.
When she dabbed the cloth on my face, washing off the blood and the dirt and the tears—so softly, so gently—I almost felt like that same little girl she’d taken in when I’d lost my parents.
My mind drifted back to the day that she’d tended to me in this exact same spot when I had scraped my knee after falling off my bike.
I wondered if she were remembering the same thing because the hint of a smile played around her mouth. “Let me see that knee. Looks like you did a number on it.”
I gathered the fabric so she could get a better look. It wasn’t all that hard to do considering the dress was shredded, a rip running up the opposite side of the one where the slit was actually supposed to be.
Damn dress.
Gramma whistled low. “Look at those gams.”
I tried to spread the material back out. “Gramma,” I chided.
She hiked a shoulder. “What? If you’ve got it, flaunt it, and girl, you’ve got it. You come from a long line of beautiful women. Don’t you know that?”
There was a gleam in her eyes.
Light laughter filtered free. “I know, I’ve seen pictures of you. You were a knockout.”
“Pssh.” She waved her hand. “What are you talking about, was? I am a knockout. You should see all the men fighting for me down at the bingo hall.”
“Do I need to come down there and whip them into shape? Tell them to back off?”
As if the spitfire needed the backup.
“God no. Best night of the week.”
I shook my head at her, then winced when she dabbed the cloth on my knee, the cut there a little deeper than the rest.
“You definitely need to get some medicine and bandages on this one. You’re lucky you don’t need stitches.”
She glanced up at me from where she was bent down to inspect my injured leg. “So, if it wasn’t that two-bit, no-good jackass who likes to pretend he’s a man when he’s nothin’ but a snake slithering up behind you, who was it that sent my girl running?”