Page 12 of A Twist of Faith
“This ain’t worth your pride, Reese. The woman up in Charlottesville said somethin’ about Dr. Roseland bein’ an expert on accents or somethin’.”
Reese pressed a heel of his palm to his head and wondered if Doc’s headache was contagious. “Well, it won’t work, no matter what kind of expert she is.”
“You and I both know we can’t keep the better half of this farm unless more money’s coming in. Even if Trigg’s next report comes back good, he ain’t gonna be able to do his part for a while yet. More strength he saves to fight cancer the better, but we’ll still have to pay hired hands.”
“I know, Mama.” And boy did he know. The gaunt look of his brother’s face after surgery, and then nearly a year of meds kept the thought fresh in mind. Seeing his big brother weak and broken not long after their stepfather’s death to cancer upended all the pain like reinjuring an old wound. They’d lost enough in the last two years. All of them.
“I don’t plan to sit back and let the bank take any of our land to pay those bills. I’ll find a way.”
“God’s provided a way. That Chicago job pays good money. More in a few weeks than what you make in a couple months on the farm. You can’t afford to make a bad impression, son. It’s too important.”
“Then I’ll get Rainey to teach me.”
“Teach you what?” His sister marched into the room, blonde hair pulled back in her usual ponytail, and a dusty pair of jeans to show she’d already been out to the barn.
Rainey was born and bred for this type of life. Strong. Independent. Tough. Not some city girl with heels sharp enough to cut up Mama’s potatoes.
“Reece wants you to give him speech lessons.”
“Speech lessons?” Rainey laughed as she slid onto the barstool next to him at the counter. “I can think of a host of other lessons he needs, but speech?”
“It might help me with my interview.”
Rainey rolled her eyes, picked a raw potato slice from Mama’s pot, and popped it in her mouth. “I’m not giving you speech lessons.’”
“Why not? You do the same thing Dee does.”
“Dee? Who’s Dee?”
Reece almost kicked himself for using her name—not even her name, some nickname he’d heard Dr. Murdock call her. Fit her better than Adelina, though, and was a whole lot easier to say. “Dr. Adelina Roseland, the woman staying in grandpa’s house.”
“Oh, yeah, the new assistant chair.” Rainey nodded. “Did you askDeeto give you therapy or something?” Rainey’s eyes narrowed. “What’d you do to her?”
“Do to her?” Reece looked to his mother for support, but she only raised her brow clearly in agreement with his sister. Women! “I didn’t do nothin’ to her. As a matter of fact,sheaskedmeabout therapy. But there ain’t no way we’d be a good pair for working together. She don’t even like dogs.”
That argument alone should have set the record straight, but Mama just stared back unmoved, and Rainey’s eyes took on a mischievous glimmer.
Reece pushed away from the bar and pointed toward the window in the direction of grandpa’s house. “I was as nice as could be. I helped her find her way out here, offered to unpack her car, and even brought Haus over ’cause shedon’t like dogs.”
Maybe they didn’t hear him the first time.
“Well, you’re gonna have to be nice to her, Reece Mitchell.” Rainey snuck another piece of potato from Mama’s pot and gestured to him with it. “Lest you forget, I work with the kids who speak very little or not at all. Accent modification and speech sounds are not my area of expertise.” She popped the slice in her mouth and shrugged. “Though the idea of getting to boss one of my big brothers around has lots of merit.”
“I bet it does.” Reese ignored her wrinkled-up smile and stared through the doorway of the living room, where Lou and Brandon sat watching cartoons with Rainey’s girl, Sarah. “I’ll take my chances with your bossiness, sis. I’ve fended it off for years; figure I can handle it for a few mo—”
“What’s the matter, brother?” Rainey gave a playful nudge to his arm. “Are you afraid of her?”
Oh, that spilled through him like hot coffee. “I was just thinkin’ it’d be less trouble on everybody if you tried to teach me all that accent stuff, than some citified foreigner. She doesn’t want to do it.”
“She said that? She said she didn’twantto help you?”
“With everything but her mouth.” The thought of her pouty bottom lip nearly distracted him. He groaned and looked back over at the kids. Life was much simpler then. Cartoons, capes, and good old-fashioned hard work. “She kept trying to convince me. Win-win is what she said, but all I see is trouble. Trouble, and probably a whole lot of frustration for both of us.”
“Here, son, try a piece of this apple pie.” His mom walked over, fork brimming with the golden sweetness she’d just pulled out of the oven.
The scent of cinnamon tickled his taste buds as he accepted her offer. Mama’s eyes teemed with mischief, the kind that made him a little nervous. Brown sugar, apples, and butter melted onto his tongue. “It’s good, Mama.”
“Did you pick those apples for this pie?”
