Page 53 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

“Go on,” I coax.

“It’s not that long a story. Actually.”

“You don’t have to tell me. But you can tell me about yourself.”

“Pfft. Yeah. Okay. I’m sure you want to hear that.”

“I do.”

She peers at me over her shoulder. “I’m Honey Hamilton. Brown eyes. Five nine. I don’t know how much I weigh. Probably not enough. Ironically, I run the Laughing Gator Grille. Yes, I have a police record. But I was only guilty a few of the times.”

I smile. “Is that so? But you’re so sweet.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

I click my tongue in disagreement. “You left out a few things. You’re a history buff.”

She slackens as if touched that I noticed. “True. I won the Miss Louisiana Pageant because I recited Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.”

“Ironic. Let’s hear it.”

She stuffs down a smile. “What?”

“Recite it to me.”

She shakes her head. “I?—”

“I don’t know those historical words by heart, but Lincoln didn’t start it withI.” I lean closer.

To my surprise, she doesn’t shift away.

“That’s just it, Honey Hamilton. Brown eyes. Five nine. Just right weight—though I’ll make you dinner anytime. Owner of the Laughing Gator Grille. I’ve only known you for a month, but sofar, nothing you do starts withI. You’re ayouperson. You help others.”

Something ripples across her features as she takes a deep breath, then begins the famous speech by President Lincoln.

We’re both quiet when she concludes. She faltered once or twice but got right on track. I can’t help but believe those words also guided her life—what may have been a tough one. A life she’s tried to drive away from but can’t seem to get past the town limits without being pulled back.

“That was amazing. Profound.”

“You can thank Abe.”

I chuckle. “What else don’t I know about you?”

“Everything.” Her eyes sparkle.

I instantly regret agreeing to the job offer from Leyton. I want to sit on this couch until I know everything there is to know about this woman. But she’d never tell me. I have to witness it. Live it. Despite being able to recite all two hundred and sixty-eight words of that address, Honey is an action person, which I suppose is at the heart of what Lincoln intended.

I open the coffee table and take out a deck of cards. “Found packs of these all over the house. Looks like Tickle liked to play a round. When on overnights at the firehouse, we’ll sometimes play poker.”

“Tickle was a gambler. Poker was his main game. A realbrigand.” With her accent, it sounds like Honey saysbrie gone.

“What does that mean?”

“He was a bandit, wily.”

I glance around the room, imagining the man who left riddles on his tombstone filling this space. “How do you know?”

“This is Hogwash Holler. Telling stories is what we do.”

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