Page 6 of A Twist of Faith
“There ain’t nobody with the blend of sweet and stubborn like my mama. Fell off a ladder ’bout four hours ago while she was paintin’. Bruised a few ribs. Didn’t tell nobody for two hours.” He offered a crooked smile and her heart stumbled into a different rhythm. “Mama didn’t want to miss her appointment with ya.”
“Her appointment? With me?” Dee’s thoughts tinkered to a crawl.
“Yeah, to take you to your house.”
“My house?” The spot above Dee’s right brow throbbed.
Reese leaned toward her. “The house you’re gonna live in while you’re here?” He slowed his speech. “The one at Mitchell’s Crossroads.”
Mitchell’s Crossroads? Reese Mitchell. A sudden sense of dread whooshed through her and drained her face of heat.
“It’s our family’s old house, spittin’ distance from the new farm. My mama’s yer landlady.”
“My landlady?” She knew he spoke English, after all speech clarity was her specialty. But his words and her expectations weren’t matching up. “Your mother is my landlady?”
His smile quirked into a fake, this-woman-is-crazy-grin. Could he tell she was fighting the impulse to run away and never return? A sudden uncertainty quivered from her neck all the way down to her secondhand heels, which she was tempted to click together three times and repeatThere’s no place like home.But the problem was … she didn’t have a home.
“We’ll take good care of ya, Doc. The last professor who stayed with us didn’t leave for eight years.”
Nobody could take care of herthatwell.
Dee steadied herself with palms to her desk and stared at Reese Mitchell, willing him to disappear or tell her it’s all a joke or provide some ruby red slippers. Something. Anything.
Scanning the room, he took in a deep breath and shrugged. “Well, Doc, if yer ready, let me take you home.”
Chapter 2
Yes: in six months—in three if she has a good ear and a quick tongue—I'll take her anywhere and pass her off as anything. We'll start today: now! this moment!
(Pygmalion, Act 2)
Her lips were as tight as her jeans, and both a distraction. Shucks, everything seemed tense about Dr. Adelina Roseland, even the dark bun at the nape of her neck. Reese released a sigh and shifted his truck into a lower gear as he turned off the main road and hit the gravel stretch toward his grandfather’s house. He didn’t need any distractions.
Doc followed close behind in her beaten-up blue Jetta. Not the type of car he’d expected for the high heeled, fancy-faced sort. Course, he hadn’t had much time to think about women lately, between his kids, the farm, and his brother’s illness. There were more important things to worry about than dark eyes and long legs. And she had both.
Reese checked his rearview mirror. A large patch of scuffed paint on the hood of Doc’s car, a sick sounding engine, along with the secret door opening technique he mastered while removing her boxes told him her car had a life expectancy of six months maybe, not including a hard winter.
Reese rubbed his chin. She had old eyes, without any wrinkles. Weary, and maybe a bit lonesome, but tough as nails. Except her hands. They were soft.
Reese shook away the surprising thoughts of dark eyes and soft hands. Clearly, three late nights in a row with the cows turned his brain to mush. Besides, Doc probably kept the view of most city girls: the notion that country boys lacked charm, smarts, and a sense of class. He couldn’t blame her for such thoughts today. He hadn’t exactly made the best first impression. Muck covered overshoes, dirty overalls, and enough hair on his face to clothe a dog. He cringed as the trail of dirt clods on his floorboard basically confirmed any assumption. She probably thought he couldn’t count to fifty, let alone get a job in Chicago.
He hoped his mom’s advice held true in this situation.City folk only get smarter about country folk the longer they live in the country.
Well, that’d take a long while with Dr. Adelina Roseland, and it didn’t matter nohow. Bet she’ll be out of here in a year, maybe less. City mindsets didn’t belong in places like Ransom. Didn’t appreciate it.
The road ahead split the forest and opened up to a small field with his grandparent’s white house at the center. Oaks and pines—planted generations ago—towered over and around the farmhouse like guards. Grandpa told him once how old they were, but Reese couldn’t recall. Since his grandpa’s death, he’d been losing the memories of the smaller things, even though the patriarch’s presence breathed over the property like a warm summer breeze. Through all of his childhood, Reese knew no better place.
He jerked the truck to a stop in the dusty driveway. All eighty pounds of his black lab vaulted off the back and charged Doc’s Jetta.
“Mavis! Git on back here.”
The dog slid to a halt just as Doc opened her door.
“Back in the truck, girl. You ain’t stayin’ long.”
Mavis hightailed it back into place, head down as if he’d scolded her beyond bearing.
“Excuse me?”
