Page 26 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

She leans closer. “Help me pull this one out.”

I lift it out while she keeps the rest of the stack from flipping over, then pushes them back. I heft the painting, tilting it right side up.

It’s a nice painting of some Native Americans dancing around a fire on the great plains at dusk.

Tori leans to the signature in the bottom corner. “It’s him. Oh my God. Do you know what this is?”

“Nope.”

“This is a Jules Arneaux. He was a famous painter in the late eighteen hundreds.”

I shrug. “You say so.”

She rolls her eyes. “Figures you’d have no appreciation for art.”

“What are you talking about? I’m the one who asked to see the damn things. If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t even have given them a second glance. You’d be upstairs playing your fancy new piano.”

“Why are you here if you hate us so much?”

“I was sent up here by my boss, darlin’. You think I sit around, wishing I could come move furniture for the likes of you?”

“The likes of me?” Her brow hits her hairline, and she flings a finger toward the stairway. “Get out.”

“With pleasure.”

“You’re a jerk.” Her words follow me, and I pause on the third step to look back at her.

“And you’re a bitch,” I say, then grin at her. “But sweetheart, you sure looked good in that little red bikini.”

She gasps, and I pound up the rest of the steps and slam out the screen door off the kitchen.

I meet Bubba at the pickup. He’s bent over the side of the truck bed, his forearms on the edge, and his head dropped between his shoulders.

“You okay, Bubba?” I ask.

He groans and tries to straighten. “Pulled a muscle in my damn back. Can you drive us to the shop?”

“Sure. You need help getting in the passenger seat?” I grin as he shuffles his feet toward the door. “You want, I could lay you out flat in the truck bed, old man?” I tease.

“Fuck you. Just start the damn truck.” He slides into the cab and settles against the seat. “Damn, I wish this thing had heated seats.”

I fire it up and head down the hill.

He looks over at me. “What the fuck took you so long?”

“Me and that bitch got into it.”

“You and that old witch, Ruth?”

“No, Tori.”

“Oh, it's Tori now, is it? You don’t listen too well, do you? I told you to steer clear of her.”

“I couldn’t help it, could I? She followed us to the basement.”

“You piss her off or something?”

“Sort of.”

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