Read Online The Sweet Spot by Laura Drake - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Drake
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Western, Fiction / Romance - Contemporary, Fiction / Contemporary Women, Fiction / Westerns
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she chose an oversize button-down poplin shirt with pastel flowers that matched
the periwinkle shell she tucked into her jeans.
Junior had picked her father up early this morning for a trip to Luckenbach, to look
at a lot of cattle for an upcoming auction. They wouldn’t return for hours.
When the oven buzzer went off, she jogged to the kitchen. She tossed on her apron
and used the oven mitts to remove the bubbling dish, setting it on her mother’s iron
trivets.
The doorbell rang.
“Dang.” She remembered that cobweb in the living room as she bustled to the front
door. She unlocked it and pulled. Nothing. Using both hands, she braced a foot against
the jam and tugged. The door didn’t budge. It had swelled shut with the humidity…
again. Jimmy never had taken the time to fix it.
She shouted through the door, “Bella, come aroundback.” On her way through the kitchen, she straightened a placemat on the dining room
table.
Out of breath, she opened the back door. Bella stood on the back stoop in what Char
supposed was, for her, casual clothes. Skintight jeans tucked into black stiletto
boots, a fitted black suede vest with gold studs over a frilly plunging blouse with
puffy sleeves.
She’d taken it easy on the makeup today as well. With an understated glossy lipstick
and natural-toned eye shadow, her skin appeared delicate porcelain rather than a pallid
death mask. The black riot of curls still overwhelmed her small, pointed face, but
the huge gold hoop gypsy earrings were the right touch: exotic-foreign rather than
Night of the Living Dead
foreign.
“Well, do I pass inspection? Or do I need a password?”
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” Char flushed to the roots of her hair. “Come in!” She led
her through the mudroom into the kitchen. “Please excuse my messy house. I’ve been
in the pasture all morning, and I didn’t get the chance to… what?”
Bella stood in the middle of the kitchen, sniffing and looking around. “You’re kidding,
right?” She surveyed Char from head to foot.
Char frowned and cocked her head.
“I didn’t know anyone still wore an apron. And what is that heavenly smell?”
“Enchiladas.” Char looked at the frilly gingham that had been her mother’s favorite.
“What’s wrong with an apron? It keeps my clothes clean.”
Bella inspected the flowered placemats and dark green ceramic plates. “You set a mean
table, East Texas. Show me the rest of the house?”
“Sure.” Char led the way through the living room with pine floors, comfortable overstuffed
couches, and rag rugs she’d braided herself. The oversized stone fireplace took up
one wall. The tall hearth with tapestry cushions made a great place to enjoy a fire
on cold winter days. She hoped the cobweb would go unnoticed.
As they retraced their steps, Bella lingered at the family photos in what Char had
always called the Rogue’s Gallery to tease her mother. “Six generations of Enwrights.
A bit much, huh?”
Bella squinted at a hundred-year-old studio photo of a unsmiling couple, the woman
seated, man standing behind her, hand on his pistol. “This guy looks like a bandit.”
Char chuckled. “Rumor is that Great-Great Uncle Pete was a horse thief.”
“Oh, cool.” Bella faced her with a smile. “My uncle was in the mob.”
Char gulped. “Yes. Well…” She moved on to the office, Daddy’s bedroom, and the master
bedroom, before leading Bella back to the kitchen, turning her head from the last
closed door in the hall.
Bella pulled one of the barstools from under the kitchen counter and sat, while Char
heated oil in a small cast iron frying pan to heat the tortillas.
“This is a great house, Char.” She dipped a black corn chip in the homemade salsa
Char pushed across the counter.
“Thanks, but I can’t take the credit. I grew up in this house. Mom did most of the
decorating.”
“Where is your mom?” Bella said around a mouthful of
the periwinkle shell she tucked into her jeans.
Junior had picked her father up early this morning for a trip to Luckenbach, to look
at a lot of cattle for an upcoming auction. They wouldn’t return for hours.
When the oven buzzer went off, she jogged to the kitchen. She tossed on her apron
and used the oven mitts to remove the bubbling dish, setting it on her mother’s iron
trivets.
The doorbell rang.
“Dang.” She remembered that cobweb in the living room as she bustled to the front
door. She unlocked it and pulled. Nothing. Using both hands, she braced a foot against
the jam and tugged. The door didn’t budge. It had swelled shut with the humidity…
again. Jimmy never had taken the time to fix it.
She shouted through the door, “Bella, come aroundback.” On her way through the kitchen, she straightened a placemat on the dining room
table.
Out of breath, she opened the back door. Bella stood on the back stoop in what Char
supposed was, for her, casual clothes. Skintight jeans tucked into black stiletto
boots, a fitted black suede vest with gold studs over a frilly plunging blouse with
puffy sleeves.
She’d taken it easy on the makeup today as well. With an understated glossy lipstick
and natural-toned eye shadow, her skin appeared delicate porcelain rather than a pallid
death mask. The black riot of curls still overwhelmed her small, pointed face, but
the huge gold hoop gypsy earrings were the right touch: exotic-foreign rather than
Night of the Living Dead
foreign.
“Well, do I pass inspection? Or do I need a password?”
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” Char flushed to the roots of her hair. “Come in!” She led
her through the mudroom into the kitchen. “Please excuse my messy house. I’ve been
in the pasture all morning, and I didn’t get the chance to… what?”
Bella stood in the middle of the kitchen, sniffing and looking around. “You’re kidding,
right?” She surveyed Char from head to foot.
Char frowned and cocked her head.
“I didn’t know anyone still wore an apron. And what is that heavenly smell?”
“Enchiladas.” Char looked at the frilly gingham that had been her mother’s favorite.
“What’s wrong with an apron? It keeps my clothes clean.”
Bella inspected the flowered placemats and dark green ceramic plates. “You set a mean
table, East Texas. Show me the rest of the house?”
“Sure.” Char led the way through the living room with pine floors, comfortable overstuffed
couches, and rag rugs she’d braided herself. The oversized stone fireplace took up
one wall. The tall hearth with tapestry cushions made a great place to enjoy a fire
on cold winter days. She hoped the cobweb would go unnoticed.
As they retraced their steps, Bella lingered at the family photos in what Char had
always called the Rogue’s Gallery to tease her mother. “Six generations of Enwrights.
A bit much, huh?”
Bella squinted at a hundred-year-old studio photo of a unsmiling couple, the woman
seated, man standing behind her, hand on his pistol. “This guy looks like a bandit.”
Char chuckled. “Rumor is that Great-Great Uncle Pete was a horse thief.”
“Oh, cool.” Bella faced her with a smile. “My uncle was in the mob.”
Char gulped. “Yes. Well…” She moved on to the office, Daddy’s bedroom, and the master
bedroom, before leading Bella back to the kitchen, turning her head from the last
closed door in the hall.
Bella pulled one of the barstools from under the kitchen counter and sat, while Char
heated oil in a small cast iron frying pan to heat the tortillas.
“This is a great house, Char.” She dipped a black corn chip in the homemade salsa
Char pushed across the counter.
“Thanks, but I can’t take the credit. I grew up in this house. Mom did most of the
decorating.”
“Where is your mom?” Bella said around a mouthful of
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