Now watching him walk up the front walkway, she allowed herself an unhurried moment to admire the man. After all, he was a good-looking guy. Tall and muscular. A wide chest and strong arms. Personally, these days she preferred men with more sophistication, more polish. But still she’d have to be dead not to notice him. Worn soft-looking blue jeans molded to his thighs and a plaid flannel shirt over a clean white T-shirt covered his chest. Simple work clothes, but somehow on Donny Joe they didn’t look so simple. He looked like an ad for a magazine that screamed “Here he is, ladies. Come and get your dose of sexy, rough and tumble working man.” This afternoon he wasn’t wearing his usual cowboy hat, so she got a good look at his tawny head of hair. It reminded her of a lion’s mane. Wavy and thick. And the way he moved reminded her of a big lazy cat. Playful, but dangerous. Always ready to pounce.
Right now he was ready to sink his claws into her family’s home. She would do well not to get distracted by his surface animal charm and remember the true nature of the man lurking underneath. She jumped up when his boots hit the wooden planks on the porch and met him at the front door before he had the chance to knock. She pushed open the screen door and forced herself to greet him civilly. “Come on in, Donny Joe.” She guided him to the living room. “Why don’t you have a seat while I tell Belle you’re here?”
Donny Joe noted Etta’s brittle smile, nearly laughing at her forced politeness. It was pretty obvious that she didn’t like him. That was fine. Dealing with her wasn’t his idea of a lazy day at the fishing hole, either. But she was a woman, so he did what he always did with women. He smiled back and said, “Sure thing, Etta. Take your time.”
He watched her lips purse slightly as if his effort to charm left a sour taste in her mouth. She was gonna be a hard nut to crack. That was for sure. Etta was short like her grandmother, not much over five-two, and they both had brown eyes that sparkled with fire when they were excited. She was a feisty one, all right. Cute and sassy. Normally, he liked that, but he had a lot on his plate right now, and Etta Green’s suspicious attitude was going to be a real headache.
Donny Joe waited for her to leave the room and then took a seat on Miz Hazel’s burgundy velveteen sofa. It always reminded him of the upholstery on the pews at church when he was a kid. Brushing his fingers over the arm rest, he watched the shade of the nap lighten and darken with every stroke. He ignored the tight place in his gut that kept expecting Miz Hazel to come bounding into the room bearing a big piece of pie, her eyes blazing with excitement over her newest proposal for the bed and breakfast venture. Wanting his opinion and making even her more outrageous ideas sound like the best thing since sliced bread. Most of his enthusiasm for the project had died with her, but he would do his best to follow through with the old girl’s wishes. To do that, he needed her granddaughters to agree.
He heard footsteps, and when he looked up Miz Hazel’s eight-year-old great-granddaughter was standing in the doorway staring at him with those serious green eyes. She wore jeans and a green T-shirt emblazoned with a purple dragon. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a neat pony tail.
“Hello,” he said, adding a grin that usually dissolved the reserve of most females young and old.
Her only reaction was to move closer. She held out her hand. “How do you do? My name is Daphne.”
She remained solemn, so he reverted to a more sober expression. He took her small hand in his and shook. “It’s nice to meet you, Daphne. I’m Donny Joe.”
“Do you know my mother?” She was studying him intently as she asked.
“Well now, I knew your mother when she was younger. She used to visit your Great Grammy Hazel every summer, so it’s been a while, but yes, I know her.”
“I don’t think we are going to stay here very long. I heard Mama talking to Roger on the phone. He wants her to go to Paris with him.”
Donny didn’t know what to think about this bit of information, but Daphne seemed to be gauging his interest. “Paris, huh? That’s quite a trip.” He was saved from having to make a more elaborate reply when Etta and Belle came into the room. Beulah Cross, Miz Hazel’s elderly cousin, trailed behind them. He stood up and walked over to greet Beulah first. He wrapped her in a big hug. “How are you holding up, Beulah?”
“I’m doing okay, Donny Joe. I miss her, that’s for sure, but I’m okay.” Beulah Cross was barely five feet tall and had to crane her head back to talk to Donny Joe. At eighty-two years of age she dressed strictly for comfort, and today’s outfit was some kind of purple leggings under a wild animal print Mumu. Red sneakers completed the ensemble. Donny thought it was one of her more conservative outfits.