She shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. I’ll keep her here with me and the dogs, then bring her back to the cottage after dinner. Don’t mind waiting around there. Always liked that place.”
She headed toward the doorway, leaving me with my feet glued to the rug and my mouth still gaping. “I’ll pay you,” I called after her, finally rediscovering the ability to move and speak.
“We’ll discuss it,” Liza said over her shoulder. “I know you think you’re getting the good end of the deal, but you got no idea what a mess you’re getting involved in.”
We found everyone, including the dogs, alive and unharmed in the kitchen in an oddly homey scene. Waylay was perched at the island, judging every ingredient Nash added to the salad as she added mixed seasoning and condiments in a bowl. Knox was drinking a beer and stabbing at the meat in the pan while reading out ingredients to Waylay.
There appeared to be no new bloodshed. Both men had cleaned up their wounds, leaving behind only bloodstains and bruises. Nash looked like a hero who had taken a few hits for a damsel in distress. Knox, on the other hand, looked like a villain who’d gone a few rounds with the good guy and come out victorious.
It was definitely my recent mistake with the good guy—on paper at least—that had me overcorrecting and finding Knox and his villainous attitude attractive. At least, that’s what I told myself when Knox’s gaze landed on me and I felt like hot bacon grease had just been poured directly into my spinal column.
I ignored him and his sexy standing-at-the-stove-ness, choosing to focus on the rest of the room instead.
Liza’s kitchen had an astronomical amount of counter space that had my fantasies shifting gears and thinking about the Christmas cookie baking potential. The refrigerator was ancient. The stove practically an antique. The countertops were battered butcher block. The cupboards were painted a lovely loden green. And, judging from the contents visible inside the glass-fronted ones, they were all close to overflowing.
I’d start the clean-out in here, I decided. The kitchen was the heart of the home, after all. Though Liza didn’t seem like she was the sentimental type. More like the frozen-in-time type. It happened. Life threw someone an unexpected curve, and things like household maintenance went right out the window. Sometimes permanently.
When it was ready, we took the food and wine into the sunroom, where a smaller table looked out over the backyard. The view was all woods and creek, dappled in gold as the sun sank lower in the summer sky.
When I moved to take a seat next to Waylay, Liza shook her head. “Uh-uh. These two sit next to each other, they’ll be wrestling on the floor before cookies.”
“I’m sure they can behave themselves for one meal,” I insisted.
She snorted. “No, they can’t.”
“No, we can’t,” Knox said at the same time.
“Of course we can,” Nash insisted.
Liza jerked her head at Waylay, who scampered to the opposite side of the table with her plate. The dogs filed in and trotted up to claim their sentry positions around the table. Two of them had judged Waylay to be the one most likely to drop food and stationed themselves next to her.
Waylon plopped down behind Liza at the head of the table.
Both men moved to take the chair next to mine, Knox winning it by throwing an elbow that nearly had Nash dropping his plate.
“See?” their grandmother said with a triumphant jab of her fork.
I took my seat and tried to ignore my acute awareness of Knox as he sat down. The task became downright impossible when his denim-clad thigh brushed against my arm as he sat down. I yanked my arm back and nearly put my plate in my lap.
“Why are you so jumpy?” Waylay asked.
“I’m not jumpy,” I insisted, bobbling my wine glass when I reached for it.
“So, what were you fightin’ over this time?” Liza asked her grandsons, magnanimously changing the subject.
“Nothin’,” Knox and Nash said in unison. The glare that passed between them made me think they didn’t like being on the same page about anything.
“Aunt Naomi broke ’em up,” Waylay reported, studying a slice of tomato with suspicion.
“Eat your salad,” I told her.
“Who was winnin’?” Liza asked.
“Me,” the brothers announced together.
The pronouncement was followed by another chilly silence.
“Rough and tumble as they come, these two,” Liza reminisced. “’Course, they used to make up after a fight and be back to bein’ thick as thieves in no time. Guess y’all outgrew that part.”