Born to Die - Lisa Jackson [157]
As he grabbed Kacey’s overnight bag, he whistled to her dog, opened the driver’s door, and stepped outside. Bonzi scrambled after him, leaping and breaking through nearly a foot of powder, while Kacey hauled her computer case up a path broken through the snow.
They took three steps up to a broad back porch, where they tromped the snow off their feet, then stepped through an unlocked back door. Heat, and the smell of wood smoke and spices, hit them full force as they removed their coats and the dog explored.
“Hey there, fella,” a deep male voice from somewhere deeper in the house greeted. “Who the hell are you?” There was a sharp bark, and the same voice said, “Hey, Sarge. Enough! Looks like you’ve got a friend here.” Then a chuckle.
The kitchen was large enough for a full-sized table, its butcher-block counter pressed up to a wide window overlooking the back porch and the outbuildings beyond.
“How’s Eli?” Trace asked as he walked through a wide archway into the living area, where a fire burned in the grate and a man and woman were seated in front of a television blasting the news. The woman was knitting; the man had an ear cocked toward the TV set.
“He just conked out after dinner,” Tilly told Trace as she stuffed a skein of fuzzy yarn into her bag and gave Kacey the once-over. To her husband, she yelled, “Ed, turn that thing down, would ya! I can’t hear myself think!”
Ed snorted, blinked, and did as he was bid, bringing the noise level down several decibels. A large man, Ed Zukov wouldn’t need anything other than a red suit and fake beard to play Santa Claus.
Trace made hasty introductions.
“Nice to meet ya,” Tilly said, but there wasn’t a lot of warmth in her smile. Ed, though, stood and shook Kacey’s hand as if he meant it, then settled back into his corner of the couch, his hands fingering the remote control before it slipped off the sectional’s arm.
Tilly wasn’t finished giving Trace a report on his son. “Poor little thing was plumb tuckered out. Probably the medication,” Tilly said.
“I think I’ll look in on him,” Trace said, peeling off his jacket and dashing up a flight of stairs near the front hallway. Sarge and Bonzi followed closely behind.
“Nice dog,” Ed said. “He yours?”
“He is now. I just adopted him.”
Ed’s whitish eyebrows raised. “Guard dog?”
“Not much.” She smiled.
“Hunter?” Ed persisted.
Kacey shook her head. “Bonzi? I doubt it. Probably will never know.”
As if he’d heard his name, Bonzi came running back down the stairs and bounded past a coffee table, to place his head near the armrest of the couch and Ed’s hand. “Yeah, you’re a good boy,” the man said as Sarge and Trace returned to the living room, too. Sarge, cone surrounding his head, curled up on a rug near the fire.
“Don’t he look silly?” Ed muttered with a deep-throated chuckle.
Tilly patted her husband’s jean-clad knee. “We’d better get going. The storm’s only gettin’ worse.”
Ed struggled to his feet again and pulled a face as he cracked his neck and tried to keep up with his wife, who was walking briskly through the kitchen. “Ain’t gettin’ any younger,” he admitted as they gathered their things, slid into jackets that had been hung on pegs near the back door, and wound hand-knit scarves around their necks.
Once she was bundled up, Tilly said to Trace, “Now, don’t forget, there’s chicken in the refrigerator, along with mashed potatoes, green beans, and gravy.”
“That would be Tilly’s killer chicken,” Ed said with a grin. He was rewarded for his compliment with a good-hearted swat from his wife.
“I hate to brag, but he’s right, you know.” Tilly beamed a little. As an aside, she said, “It’s the paprika. The Colonel, he can have his eleven herbs and spices or whatever. Let me tell you, I’ve got paprika!”
“No one remembers that old herbs and spices thing!” Ed hitched his chin toward Trace and Kacey. “These two, they’re too young. Way too young!” He settled his hat on his head and walked to the porch, where his work boots were waiting.
“Thanks for watching Eli and feeding the stock,” Trace said.
“Anytime,” Tilly answered