Page 33 of Roughing the Player
All this time she’s hung back, quietly observing Butch. Can’t blame her. She has a young daughter. Before she lets Butch into her house, she has to make sure he’s well behaved. But seemingly he’s passed the test. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be putting out the welcome mat.
“We can eat on the back porch while Butch checks out the yard.”
“Yes, please.” I’m not about to turn down that offer. The food at the Outlaws’ facility is great, but nothing beats the taste of home cooking.
As soon as Ellie opens the door to the back porch, Butch makes a beeline for the huge oak tree in the back of the yard to baptize it.
“Just marking his territory,” I say.
“Boys will be boys,” she says with a grin.
“I have yet to lift my leg and pee on a woman.” Standing in the screened-in porch with the sun dappling her face, she’s breathtakingly beautiful. I ache to touch her, to feel the softness of her skin, but I can’t do that. Not when she wants to keep things professional. She’s made that perfectly clear this week at the condo.
“And thank God for that.” Her smile reminds me of past happy times. Before I marked her and ruined our friendship forever. I want to return to those carefree days when we joked around. Well, I joked around. She was all business then, just as she was a week ago. Maybe it’s not too late to be friends again. I can only hope.
“This is amazing,” I say, glancing around.
With its white wicker love seat, two rocking chairs and chimes tinkling with the breeze, the wraparound porch reminds me of many southern homes. So do the white stools, the containers overflowing with pansies, and a fern that sits in a golden pot in the corner. The backyard itself is beyond spectacular. An array of blue, yellow and pink flowers grows wild next to the fence that separates their yard from the one next door. But the main attraction is definitely the oak tree from which a rope swing hangs.
“We like it,” Ellie says, taking a seat on one of the chairs, while I park myself on the roomy two-seater.
Behind us, the door swings open and Ruth emerges with two slices of pie.
Ellie taps the rocker next to hers. “Join us, Mama.”
“Can’t. I have to keep my eye on the food, honey. Would you like some coffee, Brock?”
“Yes, please. I take it black.”
“How about you, Eleanor?”
“No, thanks, Mama.”
After Ruth brings my coffee, Ellie and I watch Butch who’s busy exploring the yard. When a squirrel scurries across the grass, Butch races after it, hoping to catch him. But it’s faster than him, and soon it’s scampering up the majestic oak, leaving him literally barking up the tree.
“He’s in heaven.” I relax into the love seat. Butch’s exactly where he should be, and so am I.
Ellie side glances me. “You were worried, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I have to admit I was. I didn’t know if he’d like the place, or if you would be okay with him. Butch is the closest thing I have to family.”
“What about your father?”
“He passed away during my last year in college.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
It’s no wonder she doesn’t. I didn’t make a big deal about it. When his lawyer called to tell me he’d died, I went home to bury him and came right back to school the next day. “Don’t be. I hardly noticed. We were never close.” I fork off another piece of the scrumptious dessert and savor the taste. “Your mother always made the best apple pies.”
Taking the hint I want to drop the subject, she bites into her slice.
The scent of something delicious wafts in the air. Not apples. At least not anymore. “Whatever your mom is cooking, it smells great.”
“Chicken pot pie. Most Sundays, she comes over with enough dinners to feed Kaylee and me for the entire week.”
“She comes here and cooks?”
“Usually she brings home-made meals she’s frozen for us. But this weekend Steve’s at a convention in Boston. Since she needed to meet Butch, plus, of course, she wanted to see you again, she decided to fix the food here.”
