Bounty(87)

And I was home.



* * * * *



An hour later, it started happening.

That “it” being, even if Deke hadn’t begun the process of washing away what had happened in that house, the town of Carnal was clearly intent on doing that same thing.

However, it began not with a Carnal citizen.

It began with Mr. T.

Playing butler along with security expert, Cal answered the door to him at eight o’clock sharp.

I watched Mr. T walk in carrying a cardboard holder with four coffees (of course Mr. T wouldn’t forget Cal) and a white bag with a colorful flower hand-drawn in Sharpies on the outside.

La-La Land treats.

“Callahan,” Mr. T greeted Cal.

“Thurston,” Cal greeted Mr. T back.

But I was up and moving quickly across the space.

Cal took the coffees and bag so when I made it to the man who’d devoted his life to making life easy for my granddad, my dad and me, I could move right in for a hug.

He stiffened, as was his way, before he gave me a perfunctory hug back and pushed me gently away with his hands on my upper arms.

This was not done to get me out of his space. It was done so he had an unobstructed view of my face and I knew this because I knew Mr. T and also because he didn’t let my arms go.

And if Deke’s fury yesterday morning was crazy-scary, Cal’s look that morning was just plain scary, Mr. T’s look was downright terrifying.

I’d never seen that. He could get irritated. He could get frustrated. I’d seen him smile (though barely and they didn’t last long).

But I’d never seen him angry.

And obviously not that angry.

Even so, that look, as perverse as it seemed, calmed something inside of me.

And this was because he so totally would push me out of the way of a train and take that hit.

I let him have his look, doing this feeling all he was giving me at the same time hearing Deke coming down the ladder.

Mr. T kept hold at both my arms until he was forced to let go, this done by Deke wrapping an arm around my chest from behind and pulling me back into his body.

Once he got me in this position, he also, incidentally, did not let me go.

Mr. T looked from me and up. Then he took his time and did it brazenly looking down. Once he did that, he looked back up and I knew by the angle of his head and the shrewdness in his eyes that he was equally brazenly measuring up Deke.

Then he shocked the absolute shit out of me.

He pushed forward a hand and grunted, “Bill.”

I blinked.

Deke’s hand came out and they shook while he returned a grunt of, “Deke.”

They separated.

But I was stuck on “Bill.”

Granddad called Mr. T “Bill.” I did not. Dad did not. Joss did not and Joss didn’t recognize any authority figure in all the world, even going so far as, when referring to her, calling the Queen of England “Liz” like they were best friends.

Except Mr. T.

Joss called Mr. T “Mr. T” just like everybody.

This being the case, obviously I’d never heard Mr. T introduce himself as “Bill.”

I had no idea what to do with this but didn’t get the chance to wrap my head around it before Cal declared, “Bet I could get a lot more done if I wasn’t standing here holding a tray of coffee.”

I grinned, quickly pulled out of Deke’s hold and moved to Cal. I distributed coffee. I opened the bag and discovered just by the scent that Shambles was in a cinnamon mood that morning.

Perfection.

I loved cinnamon.

I gave out treats, left mine in the bag for later, and set it aside as I reclaimed my coffee from where I’d put it on a stack of drywall.

While doing this, Mr. T demanded, “Show me around your home, Justice.”

“Okay, Mr. T,” I agreed.

I started to move but stopped and looked back to see Deke had a hand on Mr. T’s shoulder.

Except for the hug I just gave him, and a few hugs I made him endure after he gave me presents and such, as well as a number of handshakes, I’d seen nobody, not even his wife, touch Mr. T.

But he stood under Deke’s hand, his neck twisted, head tipped back to lock eyes with Deke and he nodded after I heard Deke whisper, “Careful with her in her bedroom.”

Deke dropped his hand, turned his head to send a small smile my way, and he went back to the ladder.

I showed Mr. T around, inside and out, sipping coffee while Mr. T ate what he told me was a slice of apple cinnamon bread. We finished at my private deck.

We stood at the railing and Mr. T stared at the rushing river.

I stared at Mr. T’s jaw, which was only slightly jowly with age, and was now tensed hard.

“I should not have allowed you to move in here without Callahan doing his work first.”

Oh shit.

I shifted closer, starting, “Mr. T—”