Page 19 of Giddy Up, Daddy

She was injured. He was only doing what anyone would.

Or that was what he told himself.

Chapter Seven

“What the hell are you doing?”

Blakely sat up, banging her head against the shelf. “Oh. Ouch. Ouch. Ouchie.”

“Shit . . . I mean, shoot, girl,” Grandpa Jack said.

She turned to see him standing in the doorway of the pantry. Her eyes were watering from the pain in her head.

“I was looking for a lunchbox for Stafford.”

“Boy is forty-two. Don’t think he’s used a lunchbox in years,” he said. “Come out of there. You’re not supposed to be working until your hands heal.”

“I’ve been here three days,” she complained as she stood and followed him out of the pantry. “They’ve healed and I’m going nuts with boredom. I have to do something. I feel like a freeloader.”

He grunted. “You got to do as you’re told, girl.” He reached into the smaller freezer they had in the house and pulled out an ice pack. “Put this on your head.”

So far, things between her and Jack had been a bit awkward. He seemed to be doing his best to avoid her. He appeared for meals and if Stafford wasn’t there, which happened more often than not, then it was a very silent affair.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m intruding on your private space. If you’d rather I left, I understand.”

“Where would you go?” he asked as he sat.

She shrugged. “I’d find a place. I’m resourceful.”

He eyed her. “You haven’t got any family?”

“Uh, no. My parents died when I was ten and I lived with my grandfather until he died. Then I went into foster care.”

“Sounds like a hard life.”

“Life is what you make it, right?” She rubbed her head. Ouch. That bang had really hurt. “Have you got any other grandkids?”

“Nope. We only had one son, Stafford’s dad. He died of cancer about ten years ago. Stafford’s mom, well, she divorced him when Stafford was a baby. We never saw her again. They lived in Wyoming. But he used to come out and stay with us during the summer holidays.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“It is what it is.”

They sat for a while as he did his crossword. But the silence didn’t seem so awkward.

“Would you like a coffee? Or tea?” she asked, setting the ice pack aside and standing.

“You feeling all right, girl? Not dizzy?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Your hands?” he asked.

“They’re good too.”

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