Eye of the Storm (Hudson 3)

When she moved those arms. however. I could see

that they weren't flabby. She was tall, at least Jake's

height, and she had a small bosom but wide hips.

There were rolls of flesh up the back of her neck

making it look like a spring upon which her large

round head bobbed as she gazed down at me with a look of surprise. I imagined she had been expecting a lily-white Southern girl. Who else would Victoria

Randolph have for a niece?

"I'm Mrs. Bogart," she said raising her voice on

Mrs. Her stern expression, cold ashen eves clearly

telegraphed her insistence on being addressed that

way. There would be no familiarity, no use of

Christian names. This was no mammy out of Gone

with the Wind, and there was no question in that face

about who I was and wasn't.

Looking from me to Jake, she brought her thick

lower lip over her upper, stretching the skin on her

chin until I could see her jawbone clearly outlined. "I'll take her from here," she told him. If he had any intention of arguing with her, her

quick, decisive move to seize the handles of my chair

ended it. She practically knocked him out of her way

and shoved me and my chair into the house. Once

inside, she paused and looked back at him.

"Put anything of hers right here," she ordered

nodding at the table in the entryway,

"Yes sir," Jake said and saluted.

I laughed, but before I could thank him, she

moved me forward,

"Wait," I said. "I want to thank Jake," "You can thank him later. We've got to get you

acclimated as soon as possible," she said.

"This is my home. I'm acclimated already." Instead of replying she pushed me along, past

the sitting room and the formal dining room and the