Home Free - Fern Michaels [79]
“No, ma’am, I figured it out.” Jack stuffed some bills under the saltshaker, got up, held Nikki’s chair for her. They both raced to the door and bundled up.
Outside, the precipitation was a mixture of sleet and snow. Laughing like two kids, they made their way home, slipping and sliding and giggling the whole time.
Gasping for breath, they climbed the few steps to the front door. While Nikki fumbled with her keys, Jack said, “I love you, Nikki Quinn Emery.”
“Not as much as I love you, Jack Quentin Emery,” she said, thrusting the door open. They both barreled through the door at the same time and headed for the stairs.
“I thought we were going to make peanut butter fudge?” Nikki grumbled.
“Are you nuts! No pun intended,” Jack managed to blurt out.
Giggling, Nikki sprinted up the steps, Jack hot on her trail.
Chapter 21
Charles Martin stood at the back door in the kitchen, straining to see the weather outside. Sleet crashed against the windows and even found its way to the panes in the kitchen door, even though there was a protective overhang. For sure, winter was here. And early this year, in his opinion.
In the background, Charles could hear Myra laughing and the dogs barking as she did her best to wrap Christmas presents in the living room. He’d peeked in earlier, while he was readying a prime rib to put into the oven. So much food for just the two of them, but Myra said she was in the mood for prime rib, so prime rib it was. He turned and walked to the door leading into the living room. Myra was actually rolling across the floor, a skein of scarlet ribbon in her hand, which one of the pups was intent on getting. A mountain of gaily colored paper and ribbons were strewn everywhere. As fast as Myra fixed a bow, one of the dogs snatched it from her. Charles smiled as he listened to his beloved’s hysterical laughter. He knew at some point she would have enough, at which point she would whistle and say, “Enough!” and the dogs would retire to the fireplace, where their beds were lined up. Of course, she would have to bribe them with chew bones, whereas all he had to do was give a command, and the dogs fell into line. The dogs knew who was boss and whom they could trick.
Charles did one last check of the kitchen for tidiness—he did sooo hate a mess—as well as looked at the banana cream pie he’d baked earlier. Satisfied that he had a good two hours before it was time to serve dinner, he headed for the war room. He decided to make his way through the dining room, out to the hall, then to the hidden opening behind the bookshelves that would lead him to the dungeons under the old farmhouse. No sense in disturbing Myra; she was having too much fun, something that was sorely lacking in her life these days.
Charles took a moment to look around what the Sisters called his “lair,” the place where they said he made things happen. That was back in the day, he thought ruefully.
These days, the upstarts were showing him up. He hated to admit it, but his sources simply hadn’t kept up with the times. But, he did have the manpower.
He touched a few keys to see if he had incoming e-mails to go to the printer and was disappointed that there was nothing there for him to analyze. He stared down at the round table where his chicks, as he thought of the Sisters, had sat so many times, plotting a revenge to right some wrong. He focused on Julia’s chair, Annie’s chair now. He said a little prayer for Julia, the way he always did when he got in one of his moods. Julia might be gone, but she would never be forgotten.
He thought about the wager he’d made with himself, a wager he hadn’t even told Myra about. When this, for lack of a better word, mission, this elusive something or other the Sisters were supposed to tackle was completed, he thought they would finally pack it in and get on with their lives. He’d seen all the subtle changes: their personal lives and happiness were starting to be more important than missions and righting wrongs. They had been flattered, even excited, when Lizzie had brought the gold shields and