Page 17 of Luck Be Mine
Another knock sounded.
“Coming,” she called, hesitating over the steps.
When had she gotten so sensitive to strangers in her space?
She didn’t want to be alone, but the thought of anyone seeing her scars, her pain, her weaknesses made her flinch. Once again, she faced the uncertainty and fear that haunted her since Afghanistan.
Another knock on the door made her heart race. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she called again.
She carefully planted her feet after every shuffled movement and leaned on the crutch under her right arm. She did a quick survey of the gray sweats, baggy shirt, and crappy hair. Unable to do anything about it, she took measured, painful steps to the door. She had so far to go to recover. She wasn’t stable, and the fear of falling was real. She wouldn’t be able to get back up.
Finally there, she blew out a huge breath and leaned against the hard wood to rest.
She didn’t recognize the Black woman through the peephole, but the shape of her face and her smile reminded her of someone. She struggled to move to the side. Twisting the lock, she carefully opened the door, bowing to the inevitable.
“There you be, honey.” The woman’s big smile looked like Doogie’s. “Sorry to get you up, but I wanted to come introduce myself before those boys decided to do it for us. Never met a man who needed to be in the midst between two women. Adele Whitman Dugan.”
“Cait Michaels Hunter.” She shifted on her crutch to make room for Doogie’s mom to enter, trying not to wince at the pain from shifting a body not wanting to move.
Had she ever heard Hunt referred to as a boy?
Adele took it upon herself to shut the door and lock it before turning to Cait.
Her hair, swept into a tight braid, was wrapped into a bun on the top of her head. Each ear held four pierced holes, dripping with silver and ruby earrings. Her brown eyes popped behind long, fake lashes. Red lipstick accented the red flowered shirt, white pants, and red flats. A hint of Chanel No. 5 lingered. Cait recognized it instantly because her stepmother loved the same scent.
“Sit. Sit.” The tall woman ushered Cait to the recliner, her brown eyes going wide at the red sofa. She straightened to full height, hands going to her hips. “They did not.”
Cait’s eyes went from Adele’s disgusted surprise to the tufted red velvet monstrosity with the dramatic rolled arms. “They are suffering from Cait almost died syndrome. They thought they were helping. Hunt didn’t have any furniture. He’s never here.”
Cait eased carefully into the recliner. Adele gripped her good elbow to steady her. Doogie obviously had done a thorough briefing of her injuries to his mother.
“I objected when Warren bought that silly thing. It’s…”
“A statement.” Cait found herself staring at the deep red velvet. It shouted bold with theatrical flare and was unforgettable in a bordello kind of way. “I figured I could find a cover and make do until I can get my furniture shipped from Texas.”
“Let’s do that.” She walked to the kitchen and pulled one of the table chairs next to the recliner and sat. “This room needs help.”
“Don’t I know it. I want the kitchen organized, too. I need an outlet. Baking and cooking would help.” Especially if her subconscious kept drawing Rusty Dent.
“Girl, don’t mind me saying so, but you look like you need a bit more.” Her eyes went to Cait’s hair. Cait stopped herself from shoving her hand through it to disguise how tangled it was. Adele waved her discomfort off. “I can take care of your hair. I don’t go anywhere without my kit.”
“Your kit?”
“Did that son of mine not tell you I own a salon? I got this covered. You could stand a decent cut. It’ll help you take care of it better. We’ll get you fixed up right now.”
She went to the suitcase of a red purse she’d set by the door and rummaged. She removed a small black box and travel-size shampoo. “Not wanting to hurt you, so you’ll have to tell me how to get your hair wet.” She slapped the back of the kitchen chair, silently asking Cait to move from the recliner.
Cait shifted so slowly she wasn’t sure she was moving, positive she didn’t have the energy for a full-spa day. “I usually shower with Hunt so he can keep me stable.”
“May I?” Adele dropped hands into her hair and shifted through the strands. “Head injury this side?”
Cait nodded, swallowing hard against a lump in her throat.
She tilted her head so Adele could see the scar. The act took all she had in her.
“You won’t be able to shower with Hunt after he goes out, so maybe try it on your own. Well, with me here to catch you. I prefer to cut it wet and clean.” She caught Cait’s eyes and held them in challenge.
She’d told Jackie she wanted more activity, more trying to get back on track. Was she going to fold at the first challenge? “My energy level is in flux, but let’s try. I have to be able to manage with Hunt gone.”
