Trace made hasty introductions.
“Nice to meet ya,” Tilly said, but there wasn’t a lot of warmth in her smile. Ed, though, stood and shook Kacey’s hand as if he meant it, then settled back into his corner of the couch, his hands fingering the remote control before it slipped off the sectional’s arm.
Tilly wasn’t finished giving Trace a report on his son. “Poor little thing was plumb tuckered out. Probably the medication,” Tilly said.
“I think I’ll look in on him,” Trace said, peeling off his jacket and dashing up a flight of stairs near the front hallway. Sarge and Bonzi followed closely behind.
“Nice dog,” Ed said. “He yours?”
“He is now. I just adopted him.”
Ed’s whitish eyebrows raised. “Guard dog?”
“Not much.” She smiled.
“Hunter?” Ed persisted.
Kacey shook her head. “Bonzi? I doubt it. Probably will never know.”
As if he’d heard his name, Bonzi came running back down the stairs and bounded past a coffee table, to place his head near the armrest of the couch and Ed’s hand. “Yeah, you’re a good boy,” the man said as Sarge and Trace returned to the living room, too. Sarge, cone surrounding his head, curled up on a rug near the fire.
“Don’t he look silly?” Ed muttered with a deep-throated chuckle.
Tilly patted her husband’s jean-clad knee. “We’d better get going. The storm’s only gettin’ worse.”
Ed struggled to his feet again and pulled a face as he cracked his neck and tried to keep up with his wife, who was walking briskly through the kitchen. “Ain’t gettin’ any younger,” he admitted as they gathered their things, slid into jackets that had been hung on pegs near the back door, and wound hand-knit scarves around their necks.
Once she was bundled up, Tilly said to Trace, “Now, don’t forget, there’s chicken in the refrigerator, along with mashed potatoes, green beans, and gravy.”
“That would be Tilly’s killer chicken,” Ed said with a grin. He was rewarded for his compliment with a good-hearted swat from his wife.
“I hate to brag, but he’s right, you know.” Tilly beamed a little. As an aside, she said, “It’s the paprika. The Colonel, he can have his eleven herbs and spices or whatever. Let me tell you, I’ve got paprika!”
“No one remembers that old herbs and spices thing!” Ed hitched his chin toward Trace and Kacey. “These two, they’re too young. Way too young!” He settled his hat on his head and walked to the porch, where his work boots were wai
ting.
“Thanks for watching Eli and feeding the stock,” Trace said.
“Anytime,” Tilly answered with a smile, though, when her eyes met Kacey’s, the smile faltered a bit. As Ed yanked on his boots, she pulled a stocking cap over her gray hair, then shepherded Trace aside and whispered something to him while she eyed Kacey skeptically.
“Come on, Mother. Let’s go,” Ed said, opening the door. A blast of cold air swept inside. “Oh, sweet Mary, we’d better get home. I heard on the news there’s gonna be a helluva storm, and for once, it looks like they’re right. You’d better draw some water in the bathtub and the sinks, just in case you lose power here. No reason to be out of water, too.”
They stepped outside, and the door closed behind them with a bang. Through the window Kacey saw the branches of the trees still dancing wildly. Snow was swirling crazily. Already drifts were piling against the side of the house and the outbuildings.
Ed was right. It looked to be one helluva storm, even by Montana standards.
Once the older couple had climbed into their truck and rolled out of the driveway, the taillights of their old Dodge disappearing in the falling snow, Trace locked the back door. Kacey was already removing Tilly’s leftovers from the refrigerator. “Let me guess,” she said, peering over the top of the refrigerator door. “Tilly pulled you aside to give you the word on me, right? I bet she thinks I look a little too much like your ex-wife.”
Trace lifted a shoulder. “And Jocelyn.”
“Huh.” She kicked the door shut. “Now I’m a type.” Placing the containers of food on the counter, she felt immediate contrition when she thought of Jocelyn Wallis and how she’d died. Realizing she was tired, hungry, and her nerves were strung tight as guy-wires, she said, “Sorry. Guess that’s a little bit of a sore point.”
“Tilly’s impressed that you’re a doctor.”
“Well, great.” She cringed at how sharp she sounded. “I think I’m hungrier and grouchier than I thought.”
“Maybe it’s the arsenic,” he said soberly.