“I don’t think you could turn it off, even if you tried. It’s who you are, and you need to keep one thing in mind if you’re fixin’ to deny it again.”
She turned to face him so he could see her roll her eyes. “What’s that?”
“I never met your mamma.”
He could’ve sprouted antlers and surprised her less. This had not occurred to her.
It was impossible for Ethan to judge her based on her mom’s sheer perfection. He’d never had the chance to know the first and best Lily.
Otherwise, he’d see how much she paled by comparison.
“You’re an amazin’ woman, all on your own.” His voice was soft and low, a deep whisper that stroked her nerve endings in paths of fire.
And I’m in love with you, she thought. Say it. Say it!
He didn’t, though. He faced front, put the truck into gear and resumed driving.
They didn’t talk again. Lily didn’t want to talk, so she turned on the radio to fill the silence and tried turning over and over in her mind what Ethan had said.
Linda Ronstadt’s cover of “Desperado” came on.
The radio had a sense of irony, didn’t it?
Chapter Fourteen
That evening, Chelsea served a thick stew in heavy pottery bowls, with homemade bread for dipping. It was just the five of them; Lily, Hyram, Ethan, and the couple who’d adopted and raised him, whom he still called Uncle and Aunt rather than Mom and Dad.
“This is delicious, Chelsea,” Hyram said. “This better than mine. What’s your secret?”
“My secret is that Garrett makes the stew,” she said.
“And my secret,” Garrett said, “is soy sauce, two tablespoons.”
“I make him use the reduced sodium kind.” Chelsea glanced her husband’s way with a smile and their eyes met. The love between them kind of lit up the room.
Lily sighed and glanced at Ethan. He seemed quiet and deep in thought. He caught her looking, so she shifted her focus lower, and it fell on the crockery bowl in front of her. “I agree the stew is phenomenal, but it’s these bowls I can’t get over,” she said. “I’ve never seen any like them.”
“Right?” Chelsea asked. “A local artist makes them. I’ll take you to her shop sometime.”
“I’d love that.”
There came the sound of a vehicle, and then the screen door creaked, and seconds later Willow was joining them in the dining room.
“I’ll get another bowl,” Chelsea said, starting to get up.
Will held up a hand, “No, it’s fine, you don’t need to—wait, is that Uncle Garrett’s stew?”
Chelsea grinned and went to the kitchen, returning with another heavy ceramic bowl, gray on the bottom half, blue on the top, little handles on either side, brimming with stew, still steaming hot.
Willow accepted it and chose the seat next to Ethan, which was across from Lily. She said, “So I was trying to track down Jeremiah Thorne,” she began.
“Why?” Ethan asked. “He didn’t do anything illegal. Trespassin’, I guess, but I think gettin’ hit by a truck was prob’ly punishment enough, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “His car is a 1982 Buick Electra. Color’s listed as brown. Dark Brown Firemist, to be exact. I looked it up. It was a premium color, cost extra.”
Lily and Ethan exchanged a quick look, and Lily was sure Willow noticed it before she went on. “I’m checking it against the brown paint sample we scraped off that wrecked Caddy.”
Ethan stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth and looked across at his cousin. “Why would you do that, Will? Why would you go lookin’ to cause trouble for my brother?”
