Page 18 of Giddy Up, Daddy

“I won’t. I promise.”

Stafford sat and reached for the food. He filled her plate with a large piece of steak and plenty of potatoes before filling his own. Grandpa Jack already had food on his plate.

“Thank you,” she said.

“The boys got your car,” he said as she picked up a fork and scooped some potatoes up.

Should she be eating with her hands? He wanted to insist on feeding her, but even he knew that was going too far.

“Oh, thank you! That’s amazing.”

“I don’t want you driving it,” he demanded.

“I won’t drive it until my hands are healed. Oh, do I need to go and get groceries, though?”

“I don’t want you driving it at all until a mechanic has looked it over. It’s unsafe. I think you need new tires, too. And we get our groceries delivered. I’ll show you how to put in an order.”

“Driving it at all?” she repeated.

“At. All.”

Grandpa Jack cleared his throat. “Don’t think you can make those demands as her boss, boy.”

There was a strange note in his grandfather’s voice. But he didn’t take the time to decipher it. He was too focused on Blakely.

“It’s too dangerous. Understand?”

“Um. I suppose so,” she said hesitantly.

“I know someone that will come look at it when they have time.”

“No rush,” she said. “Not like I can afford to pay someone just yet.”

Stafford thought about offering her an advance on her wages, but she shouldn’t be driving for a while with her hands, anyway.

“Good. Are you all settled in?”

“Yes, thanks. The room is lovely.”

“The flower room, my Elsie used to call it,” Grandpa Jack said. “She loved that bedroom.”

“It’s beautiful. I’ll take good care of it.” She ate some more potatoes.

Why wasn’t she eating the steak?

“You a vegetarian, girly?” Grandpa Jack asked.

“Oh no.” She grasped hold of the knife and attempted to slice through the meat.

Shit. Her hands.

Reaching over, he carefully took the utensils from her hands and cut the steak up for her without a word.

When he slid the plate back in front of her, she gave him a look filled with wonder.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said gruffly, ignoring the look his grandfather shot him.

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