“Waylay,” I said.
Naomi looked like she was going to slap it out of my hand, so I shoved the rest of it into my mouth.
“Those are for this mysterious Liza J I’m supposed to be making a good impression on,” she complained. “This isn’t a great way for me to meet a new potential landlord. ‘Hi, I’m Naomi. I’m squatting in your cottage, and these guys were fighting in your driveway. Please give me affordable rent.’”
I snorted, then winced when my nose started to throb again. “Relax. Liza J would be worried if Nash and I didn’t show up bleeding and pissed off at each other,” I assured her.
“Why are you pissed off at each other?”
“Baby, you haven’t got the time,” I drawled.
We reached the steps of the big house, and Naomi hesitated, looking up at the roughhewn tim
ber, the cedar shakes. Behind overgrown azaleas and boxwoods, the porch stretched nearly fifty feet along the front.
I tried to see it from her eyes. New in town, running from a wedding, no place to stay, thrown into a guardianship she hadn’t seen coming. To her, everything hinged on this meal.
“Don’t chicken shit out now,” I advised. “Liza J hates cowards.”
Those pretty hazel eyes narrowed to slits. “Thanks for the advice,” she said caustically.
“Nice place,” Waylay said, joining us at the foot of the steps.
I thought about the trailer. The chaos outside that little bedroom with the KEEP OUT sign on the door. She’d done her best to keep the chaos and unpredictability out of her little world. I could respect that.
“Used to be a lodge. Let’s go. I need that drink,” I said, climbing the three short steps and reaching for the doorknob.
“Don’t we need to knock or ring the bell?” Naomi hissed, grabbing my arm.
And there it was again. That electricity charging my blood, waking up my body like it had been exposed to some kind of threat. Some kind of danger.
We both looked down at her hand, and she quickly dropped it.
“Not necessary around here,” Nash assured her, unaware that my blood was on fire and Naomi was blushing again.
“Liza J,” I bellowed.
The response was a fevered fit of barking.
“Oh, my,” Naomi whispered, putting herself between Waylay and the fur circus.
Waylon shoved himself between my leg and the door frame just as two dogs raced into the foyer. Randy the beagle had earned his name by humping everything in sight for the first year of his life. Kitty was a one-eyed, fifty-pound pit bull who thought she was a lapdog. Both kept Liza J entertained in her solitude.
It was cooler inside. Darker too. The blinds stayed closed these days. Liza J said it was so no one could snoop on her business. But I knew the truth and I didn’t blame her for it.
“Quit your hollerin’,” a voice came from the direction of the kitchen. “What’s the matter with you? Your mama raise you in a barn?”
“No, but our grandma did,” Nash called back.
Elizabeth Jane Persimmon, all five feet one inch of her, clomped out to greet us. She wore her hair cut short around her face as she had for as long as I could remember. Never missed a trim. Her rubber gardening clogs squeaked on the floor. She was in her typical uniform of cargo pants and a blue t-shirt. She wore the same thing nearly every day. If it was hot, she wore the pants with the zippered legs. If it was cold, she added a sweatshirt in the same color as the tee.
“Shoulda drowned you in the creek when I had the chance,” she said, stopping in front of us and crossing her arms expectantly.
“Liza J.” Nash dutifully pressed a kiss to her cheek.
I repeated the greeting.
She nodded her satisfaction. Warm and fuzzy time was over. “So, what the hell kind of mess did you bring me?” Her gaze slid to Naomi and Waylay, who were being skeptically sniffed by the dogs.