The Girl in the Mist (Misted Pines 1)

I had a sorry feeling I understood why Jesse was in such a bad mood, and it didn’t have much to do with the dastardly fathering of Don Ashbrook.

Even with his mood, I still knew I liked Jesse very much.

And because of his mood, I remained quiet and listened.

“But she didn’t lose the baby ten years ago because she was stressed or anything. She lost it because there’s something up with her womb. Not my business,” he shared, while sharing all David and Robyn Ashbrook’s business. “But they been having troubles getting pregnant. They’re over the freakin’ moon the latest whatever-they-did worked. She’s in her second trimester. She’s taking a break from work because court reporting can be serious stress. Until the baby comes and after, she’s being super careful. So they need money and David will break his back to do you right.”

“I’m talking to him tomorrow,” I said in a conciliatory tone.

“All right,” he spat.

I looked him right in the eyes as I said, “You found her.”

“Yes,” he hissed.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He took such a strong sniff into his nostrils, they rested against his columella.

And his tone was much changed when he muttered, “Thanks.”

My attention slid to Bohannan.

He was studying his son.

He felt my gaze, and his came to mine.

His shake of the head was barely a movement.

I still caught it.

Therefore, I announced, “Right! Dinner! Everyone sit. Cade, at the head, please. I’m at the foot. You boys and Celeste, you get your pick.”

Bohannan and his sons took their beers, Celeste worked at my side to finish then dish up food and take it to the table, and we all settled.

We passed around platters and bowls.

I caught some looks being exchanged and declared, “I have a rule. You eat what you like in my house. If you don’t like it, and you’re still hungry when the meal is done, I’ll make something else.”

I nearly burst out laughing when, upon those words, Jesse scraped the asparagus off his plate back to the platter it had been presented on.

“Bro, you gotta consume green things,” Jason admonished.

“I do, shamrock shakes when it’s St. Patrick’s Day,” Jesse retorted.

I couldn’t bite back that laugh.

“I like asparagus, Ms. Larue,” Celeste piped in.

I glanced at Bohannan.

Another sigh, this one louder.

I looked back at Celeste. “Honey, please, I’m Delphine.”

She glanced at her dad.

He inclined his head.

She smiled at me.

“Delphine.”

That wasn’t Celeste. Jason was calling me.

I turned to him and lifted my brows.

He was pointing at the polenta on his plate with his fork.

“What’s this?”

I was about to answer when Jesse, mouth full of polenta, answered for me.

“It’s boss, man.”

“Polenta,” I said quickly in order to get it in.

“Cool,” Jason muttered, and bent to his food.

I looked at Bohannan, who was watching me.

My clitoris contracted.

My mouth opened.

“So, I’ve had a think on things, and I like it here. I’ll probably be staying. And when I do, I’m running for the school board. I have a feeling my campaign will be successful. Anyone have any ideas about how our education system in Misted Pines can be improved?”

There was complete silence at the table.

And then Celeste, Jason, and even Jesse exploded with laughter.

Bohannan’s beard twitched before he looked down to his plate and started eating.

Twelve

The First

I was in my reading nook when I saw his shadow cross the window.

I wasn’t surprised.

In fact, I was ready.

I set my book aside, got up, and in my thick socks and warm, knitted loungewear, I padded to the back doors in the living room.

I opened one.

Bohannan slid in.

There was a lamp on the kitchen counter lit, a small one. The glow was golden but didn’t extend very far.

Without a word, Bohannan went to my armchair and sat on the arm.

I closed the door and stood at it.

His shoulders were slouched, his neck partly bent, but he turned his head to me.

“We got things to talk about.”

To communicate I agreed, I moved to the arm of the couch, which was caddy-corner to him, and sat.

“Beer? Bourbon? Whisky? Vodka? Other?” I offered.

“I only drink beer. My dad was an alcoholic.”

Boy.

That was forthcoming.

“So do you want a beer?”

“I don’t drink it when I need it. I drink it whenever.”

“Right.”

He straightened, both his hands coming up, and he swiped them over the sleekness of his pulled-back hair.

He dropped them to his thighs.

“She was a man’s woman,” he declared.

We had a lot to talk about, I figured.

Though what he was saying, I did not understand, I was simply glad he was finally conversing (we could just say that Jason and I carried the dinner conversation, with some interjections from Celeste—Jesse had again started to brood, and more pieces had fallen, declaring that Bohannan, naturally, was just not a talker).

“I’m not following.”

“Grace, my ex. Their mom.”

Interesting place to start.

“Okay,” I said encouragingly.

“She was good when she had three boys to spoil her. She was not so good when we accidentally got pregnant eleven years down the line, and it was a girl.”