“Hey, mister, you almost stepped on me.”
Shane swore under his breath as he sidestepped the little guy, who was on the grass beside the gazebo. The kid’s hair was on the long side, a mad mess of russet curls, and his clothes looked well lived in, with smudges of dirt and grime to accompany the skinned knees. His honey-colored skin glowed with sweat as he pushed back hair from his face to reveal eyes nearly identical to those of his great-grandmother.
He looked up at Shane, eyes narrowed a bit as the sun fell on him. “That was a bad word,” he said.
Shit. The kid had good ears. “Sorry. I’ll have to watch my tongue.”
The kid shrugged. “Don’t matter to me. Just don’t let Nana Callie hear you curse. She puts up with a lot, says it comes from age, but cursing is something she don’t tolerate.”
Okay. The kid looked young, but he spoke with a conviction way beyond his years.
“How old are you?” Shane asked, moving aside so he could see what the kid was so interested in.
“Old enough,” he replied with a grin.
Shane gave him a look.
“I’m six.” He pushed out his chest. “But I’ll be seven soon.”
Shane nodded. “What’s got you so interested down there?”
The boy moved aside. “Ants. Millions of them. See?” He pointed to a big ant hill, and Shane caught sight of a long line of them marching down the edge of the flower garden. “I love ants,” the boy said. “Did you know one ant can carry fifty times its body weight?”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“I read it in a book I got from the library. It also says they’re super fast.”
“Ants are cool,” Shane said with a nod.
The kid looked up sharply. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Nope.”
“Because sometimes adults say stuff just to shut me up. Daddy says the polite thing to do is stay quiet when that happens.” His grin widened. “But Nana Callie tells me that even though I’m just a kid, I shouldn’t let an adult walk all over me. Not if what I have to say is important, anyway.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I have trouble figuring out what’s important i
s all.” He looked down at the ants and shook his head. “Sometimes, adults don’t make sense. Like when our neighbor Mrs. Darlington kept going over to our other neighbor’s house, Mr. Peters’s, in the middle of the night. I saw them because I used to get up when it was dark to watch the fireflies along the fence line. I told Daddy about that, and he said I should never repeat that kind of gossip.” The kid scratched his head. “I didn’t know gossiping was telling the truth.”
The kid was smart.
“Sometimes gossiping and the truth are pretty much the same thing.” Shane took a chair on the gazebo. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Mackland Davis Weathers. But everyone calls me Mackie.”
“Well, Mackie. It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Shane.”
Mackie climbed onto the chair opposite him just as Miss Callie appeared with two plates, one filled with breakfast food, the other pastries. She set them down and winked at her great-grandson. “Only two, Mackie.” She glanced at Shane. “Lord, but he loves his sweets.”
The boy was already thumbs-deep into a chocolate croissant. “Promise,” he replied with a giggle before shoving as much of it as he could get into his mouth.
“My daughter, Marybeth, told me you’re an artist.” Miss Callie cocked her head. “A famous one at that.”
“I don’t know about famous, but my work has hung in some reputable galleries.” Shane dug into the ham. “It’s why I decided to take a road trip. My sister told me about the plantation outside of town. According to her, it’s a mecca for local artists, and she thought the inspiration would help get me past…” He cleared his throat as his thoughts darkened. “Well, I’m just having trouble finishing up some projects for a show.”
“I’ve heard of writer’s block, so I’m guessing an artist gets the same affliction from time to time. Trust me, this corner of the world is just what you need.” Miss Callie grabbed up his empty coffee mug. “Another?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Miss Callie glanced over to Mackie. “You mind your manners and don’t go pestering our guest.”