Page 42 of A Twist of Faith
“Who can remember?”
“Okay, that does it. On Saturday, we’re taking you on a family hike and picnic. It’s obviously been way too long since you did something besides work, and helping my brother deliver cows doesn’t count.”
Dee’s smile spread until it turned into a laugh. “When you put it that way, my life does sounds pathetic.” Pathetic and painfully true.
“It needs a little spicing up, I think. Mitchell-style.” Rainey rubbed her hands together, a sparkle in her eyes. “But first—let’s talk about giving children therapy and having fun doing it.”
“No, Emma Mitchell.”How many times would Reese have to repeat himself? “Dee and me are not dating. That’s the last time I’m gonna say it.”
Emma’s sneaky brow shot north along with one side of her lips. “Sure you aren’t, bro.” She placed her palms on the restaurant table and leaned over him, her little white apron almost dropping into his coffee. “You two make a wonderful couple. I can tell.”
Reese gestured toward the pair at the back of the restaurant. “Just because you matched up Widow Edwards with Old Man Parker, doesn’t mean you’ve grown some kind of pink matchmaking thumb. You got lucky.”
She shrugged in awhateversort of way, but her golden eyes kept their mischievous glint. “They happen to be the second couple I’ve successfully encouraged into matrimony.”
“Isn’t there some famous story about a young girl who wouldn’t mind her own business? Kept matchmaking and the like?”
Her smile brightened. “You mean Jane Austen’s Emma?”
“Good grief, you even have her name?” He slapped his forehead and groaned. She’d stepped into her role with prophetic zeal, no doubt. Not so great for the singles of Ransom.
“I think I’ve found a gift.”
“Well keep that gift of yours to yourself and top off my coffee instead of wasting my time.”
Emma slid into the booth seat across from him instead. Weren’t little sisters supposed to listen to their older and wiser brothers? No chance with his sisters—even this prissy one. He got the same response as talking to the back end of his tractor. Nothin’.
“You should really shave off your beard.”
“Now listen here, little girl.” He palmed his chin, protecting his fuzz. “I don’t tell you how to cut your hair or shave your face, so don’t you be tellin’ me.”
She harrumphed. “I’m sure there’s a handsome man underneath all that fuzz somewhere. You look the most like Daddy of any of us.”
Reese pointed at her and nodded. “And Daddy had a beard too.”
“AndDaddywas born back when houses had dirt floors and phones were scarce in these parts. You wanna live like that now too?”
Reese growled.
“Who knows, you might even catch Dee’s attention if you shave. Maybe even wear a suit or something. You look like an old grizzly bear in overalls.”
Reese’s BLT turned in his stomach. He reserved his only suit strictly for funerals and weddings. No wonder bellyachin’ was called bellyachin’. What had happened to his nice, sweet baby sister? The one who looked up at him like he was the best thing on the planet? His stomach clenched with another spasm. Would Lou grow up to bellyache too?
“Why is it so all-fired important that I shave my face?”
Emma rolled her eyes to the ceiling as if only Heaven could help her bear with such a brother. “How many fuzzy-faced heroes are there in movies, Reese?”
“A whole lot. Most of them, in fact.”
“I don’t mean westerns. Women aren’t watching a whole lot of westerns. They’re watching primetime cop shows, or romantic comedies, or historical dramas; and ninety-five percent of those men are clean shaven or pretty close.”
Reese sat a little taller and grinned. “Then I’m a nonconformist.”
Emma didn’t laugh. “No, you’re a stereotype. Grizzly, uneducated, narrow-minded mountain man.”
“The only one I resemble in that list is mountain man.”
“And grizzly.” Emma looked past him and her face suddenly brightened. “Oh, boy! Look who’s coming in for her evening dessert. I call this positively providential.”
