Read Online Bloody Kin by Margaret Maron - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Maron
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over a blue oxford shirt unbuttoned at the neck.
“Sorry just to walk in, but the door was open and I did knock.” He pantomimed knocking with the knobbed cane he carried. “Good evening, Mr. Honeycutt; welcome back to Colleton County, Kate.”
Lacy gave a formal nod, but Kate crossed the parlor with outstretched hands and impulsively clasped his.
“Gordon!” she said, conscious of his double loss since they’d last met. “How good to see you again. I almost didn’t recognize you without your beard.”
“The nurses shaved it off after the accident,” said Gordon Tyrrell, “and it wouldn’t grow back properly, so I’ve had to get acquainted with a razor again.”
He bent to kiss her cheek in greeting and she saw the long smooth scar. It followed his strong left jawline and was almost unnoticeable now, but it would undoubtedly stand out in white relief if he tried to grow a beard around it.
“You look very nice without it,” Kate smiled.
And he did. Younger, too, and somehow more vulnerable. In the few times they’d been thrown together over the past four or five years, Gordon had always struck her as very Old South—ever aware that the blood of a heroic Confederate colonel flowed in his veins, but ready to be polite to the granddaughter of Irish immigrants since she was the wife of his own wife’s cousin. Without Elaine’s vivacity to play against now, and bereft of his precisely clipped beard, he seemed more human and less standoffish.
“Can I help with that?” he asked, eyeing the sideboard.
“Oh, no,” said Kate. “You shouldn’t.”
“Because of the cane?” Gordon asked. “That’s mainly for show. My leg’s almost completely healed.”
He laid the stick aside and with all three of them shoving, the sideboard edged another six inches closer to the door.
“This isn’t working,” said Kate, “and we’re wrecking the floor. The movers are bound to have a dolly or something and I’ll get them to shift it tomorrow. Come and sit down, Gordon. Can I get you a drink?”
“Actually, I came to offer you one,” he said. “Dinner, too. Much against her will, Mrs. Faircloth’s cooked a whole leg of lamb, and there’s just Mary Pat and me. We’d be very honored if you and Mr. Honeycutt would join us.”
“Thank you kindly,” said Lacy, who’d never tasted lamb till Kate came, “but I reckon I’d better hang around here. Dogs ain’t been fed yet and there’s still some chores need doing.” His voice trailed off.
The thought of spending the whole evening with Lacy’s taciturnity was suddenly more than Kate wanted to face.
“I’d love to come,” she said. “What time?”
“Now,” said Gordon. “Mary Pat’s still a little young for more formal hours. I’ll wait if you want to change.”
“I won’t be more than ten minutes,” Kate promised. “Lacy, there’s a chicken casserole on the stove, if you want it.”
Without waiting to hear his rebuff, Kate hurried down the hall to her room and kicked off her sneakers. She had not forgotten the quick-change tricks she had learned as a model and in precisely nine and a half minutes, she had showered, brushed her hair into an elegant twist, and slipped into low heels and a short cream-colored skirt topped by an oversized pullover of pale blue, green, and lavender cotton that brought out the blue of her changeable eyes and disguised her thickened waistline.
“Beautiful,” said Gordon as she came back along the hall with a white shawl draped over her shoulder in case the night turned chilly. “Elaine never made a huge mystical production about changing either. She could go from a boat deck to a ballroom in less time than it took most women to decide what shade of lipstick to wear.”
As Gordon held the door for her, Kate paused and said, “Gordon, forgive me, but I must tell you how sorry I am about Elaine and James. Jake and I both were.”
He closed the door and looked down into her earnest face. “It was a
“Sorry just to walk in, but the door was open and I did knock.” He pantomimed knocking with the knobbed cane he carried. “Good evening, Mr. Honeycutt; welcome back to Colleton County, Kate.”
Lacy gave a formal nod, but Kate crossed the parlor with outstretched hands and impulsively clasped his.
“Gordon!” she said, conscious of his double loss since they’d last met. “How good to see you again. I almost didn’t recognize you without your beard.”
“The nurses shaved it off after the accident,” said Gordon Tyrrell, “and it wouldn’t grow back properly, so I’ve had to get acquainted with a razor again.”
He bent to kiss her cheek in greeting and she saw the long smooth scar. It followed his strong left jawline and was almost unnoticeable now, but it would undoubtedly stand out in white relief if he tried to grow a beard around it.
“You look very nice without it,” Kate smiled.
And he did. Younger, too, and somehow more vulnerable. In the few times they’d been thrown together over the past four or five years, Gordon had always struck her as very Old South—ever aware that the blood of a heroic Confederate colonel flowed in his veins, but ready to be polite to the granddaughter of Irish immigrants since she was the wife of his own wife’s cousin. Without Elaine’s vivacity to play against now, and bereft of his precisely clipped beard, he seemed more human and less standoffish.
“Can I help with that?” he asked, eyeing the sideboard.
“Oh, no,” said Kate. “You shouldn’t.”
“Because of the cane?” Gordon asked. “That’s mainly for show. My leg’s almost completely healed.”
He laid the stick aside and with all three of them shoving, the sideboard edged another six inches closer to the door.
“This isn’t working,” said Kate, “and we’re wrecking the floor. The movers are bound to have a dolly or something and I’ll get them to shift it tomorrow. Come and sit down, Gordon. Can I get you a drink?”
“Actually, I came to offer you one,” he said. “Dinner, too. Much against her will, Mrs. Faircloth’s cooked a whole leg of lamb, and there’s just Mary Pat and me. We’d be very honored if you and Mr. Honeycutt would join us.”
“Thank you kindly,” said Lacy, who’d never tasted lamb till Kate came, “but I reckon I’d better hang around here. Dogs ain’t been fed yet and there’s still some chores need doing.” His voice trailed off.
The thought of spending the whole evening with Lacy’s taciturnity was suddenly more than Kate wanted to face.
“I’d love to come,” she said. “What time?”
“Now,” said Gordon. “Mary Pat’s still a little young for more formal hours. I’ll wait if you want to change.”
“I won’t be more than ten minutes,” Kate promised. “Lacy, there’s a chicken casserole on the stove, if you want it.”
Without waiting to hear his rebuff, Kate hurried down the hall to her room and kicked off her sneakers. She had not forgotten the quick-change tricks she had learned as a model and in precisely nine and a half minutes, she had showered, brushed her hair into an elegant twist, and slipped into low heels and a short cream-colored skirt topped by an oversized pullover of pale blue, green, and lavender cotton that brought out the blue of her changeable eyes and disguised her thickened waistline.
“Beautiful,” said Gordon as she came back along the hall with a white shawl draped over her shoulder in case the night turned chilly. “Elaine never made a huge mystical production about changing either. She could go from a boat deck to a ballroom in less time than it took most women to decide what shade of lipstick to wear.”
As Gordon held the door for her, Kate paused and said, “Gordon, forgive me, but I must tell you how sorry I am about Elaine and James. Jake and I both were.”
He closed the door and looked down into her earnest face. “It was a
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