I'll Sing for my Dinner (3 page)

Padding out of the laundry room, I went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was full of food, along with two different kinds of beer and three bottles of white wine. I had seen a full wine rack in the dining room. Not what I would have expected of a cowboy. A large jug of orange juice, however, riveted my attention. I found a glass and poured it full. Taking a sip, I moaned in pleasure.

Even though the house was obviously pretty old, the paint both outside and inside was well maintained. The kitchen had been upgraded, and not too long before. They had done it right, with granite counters and a large granite-topped island, a new stainless steel refrigerator, a top-end stove with a convection oven, and ceramic tile on the floor.

Back upstairs, I started water running in the big claw-foot bathtub. I would probably turn the water black, but I could rinse with the shower and clean out the tub. If he was coming home after three in the morning, I would be able to soak until the water got cold, then refill it and wash. I couldn’t remember the last time I had the luxury of soaking in a large tub.

The shelf above the tub held everything a girl could possibly want. I remembered the sad expression on his face when he told me his sister died. If she was anything like him, I bet I would have liked her. And she probably would have been horrified by me. I poured a capful of lavender bath oil in the water, and let the tub fill while I sipped my orange juice.

When the tub was full, I removed the knife hanging around my neck and put it next to the tub. Then I slid into the water and realized why that day seemed so strange. Obviously, I had died and gone to heaven. None of this could possibly be real. Ex-Marines with hearts of gold only happen in fairy tales, especially handsome, gentle ex-Marines, and fairy tales don’t happen in the real world.

It took two tubs to soak off the grime, and I washed my hair four times before my scalp felt clean. My hair was so filthy that the shampoo didn’t even lather properly the first time.

A long thin case on the top of the dresser drew my attention. I opened it and found a flute. McGarrity said he played guitar and his brother had a band. Evidently, they were a musical family. He recognized the Segovia number I played at the bar, which surprised me.

Looking in the dresser, I found a pair of cotton panties that fit me and a large t-shirt. Mary probably swiped it from her brother. I checked in the closet, and just as he said, there were jeans in the back, as long as I didn’t mind them being six inches too long. The tops, shirts and shells were a little loose. That figured. The bra in the dresser was far too large. I might have fit my head in one of the cups, but not my boob.

It didn’t matter. I really didn’t need a bra, anyway. I turned back the bed, turned out the light, and slipped between clean, crisp linen sheets. I said a quick prayer that this was all real and that I wouldn’t wake up with a drug-fueled hangover in the morning, discovering I’d been dreaming.

~~~

Chapter 3

Jake

Jared’s pickup wasn’t at the house when I got home. I wasn’t surprised. He had two or three girlfriends, who seemed happy to share their beds with him, and he rarely came home at night. I didn’t give a damn where he slept as long as he opened the restaurant at eleven every morning.

Trying to be quiet, I let myself in. The house was silent, but I could see a light on in the laundry room. Going back there, I found the girl’s clothes in the washer, still wet. Having thrown them in the dryer, I turned out the light and went into the kitchen.

I poured myself a shot of whiskey, downed it, and then went back to the foyer and took off my boots. When I went upstairs, I didn’t see a light under the door of Mary’s room. Being very quiet, I flipped on the hall light, turned the knob and peeked in. Cecily lay on her side, sleeping peacefully. Her face was clean and her hair was wrapped in a towel. It appeared that she found an old t-shirt of mine that Mary used to sleep in. Her right hand was outside the covers, resting on the other pillow. The knife she held gleamed in the faint light from the hallway.

I chuckled. The girl would have fit right in over in Afghanistan. Except for her size. She had been bowed by the weight of her backpack, which I estimated only weighed thirty-five pounds. A Marine would have considered that light enough to go swimming with. Even a woman Marine.

I closed the door and went to my room, where I dreamed of an angel with Cecily’s face descending from the sky.

In the morning, I awoke to the sounds of someone trying to be quiet in the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee and bacon frying told me that either Cecily was awake, or Jared had undergone a miraculous transformation the night before. I put on some clothes and went downstairs.

Cecily had set the table for two. A coffee mug sat beside the stove, along with a large glass of orange juice. Bacon lined up like soldiers at attention on a plate. She was wearing a t-shirt that was many, many sizes too large for her. If she had anything at all under it, I couldn’t tell, as it covered her to her knees.

A towel wrapped her head, and without the grime, her freshly-scrubbed face glowed. Being clean also showed just how thin she was. Her cheekbones were so prominent it gave her a slightly foreign, elven look, and her legs looked like sticks. To be fair, she was so fine boned that I doubted she had ever weighed very much.

The cat was bumping around her ankles, meowing.

She turned and took a couple of steps toward me before she realized I was standing there.

“Oh, you startled me,” she said. “I was just going up to ask how you like your eggs.”

“Over easy,” I said.

She went back to the stove and broke eggs into the frying pan. “There’s fresh coffee,” she said. “I don’t know how you like it.”

“Black is fine,” I said with a smile, and went to pour some in the cup sitting beside the coffee maker. “This is a pleasant surprise. I could smell it upstairs. If Jared was cooking, I figured I’d be seeing flying cows when I went outside.”

She smiled at me, her face lighting up, and my heart almost stopped. “I was hungry. I hope you don’t mind. You said it was okay to look in the fridge.”

“I don’t mind at all. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. Thank you for putting my clothes in the dryer. I guess I forgot. What’s the cat’s name?”

I felt my face flush. Cecily looked at me expectantly.

When I didn’t answer, she said, “Doesn’t she have a name?” She reached down and scratched the cat’s ears. “Are you one of Mr. McGarrity’s strays? Why didn’t he give you a name?”

“We call her the Slut-Kitty,” I mumbled. “Jared named her that because she wants to be petted all the time and she doesn’t care who pets her.”

Cecily laughed, then knelt down and scratched the cat’s ears again. “You probably had a hard life before you came here, didn’t you?” she said to the cat. “Well, there’s no shame in being a slut. That’s just a label foolish men and dried-up old ladies use for friendly girls. You and I will get along fine.”

She slid a couple of eggs onto a plate, accompanied by several slices of bacon, and pulled a slice of toast out of the toaster. “Here, go sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

She cooked her own eggs, scrambled with some cheese, and joined me. Looking at me with a pair of eyes that seemed too large for her face, she said, “I wasn’t sure last night if I’d wake up this morning and find that yesterday was just a dream. I didn’t know there were cowboy angels. Or that any angels cared about me. Thank you, Mr. McGarrity.”

“Cecily,” I said, “you make me very uncomfortable when you thank me every ten minutes. And people who know me would laugh at the idea of me being an angel. You needed a helping hand, and it hasn’t hurt me any to give it to you.”

“Those people don’t know you very well,” she said. “Everyone talks about Christian charity, but there aren’t very many people who practice it. I’m more used to people calling me names when I’m standing on the side of the road than having them give me a ride.”

That gave me an opening. “Where are you going?”

“California. I thought I might be able to find some work there.”

“Playing music?”

“Yeah. It’s the only thing I know how to do. I guess I could wait tables, but I’ll try to get a music gig first.”

“You’ve got that now,” I said smiling.

She returned the smile. “Yes, I do, don’t I? Thank you so ...” she trailed off as I held up my hand. “Oh, yeah, you’re not comfortable with thanks, are you?” With a mischievous grin, she said, “Well, damn you very much, Mr. McGarrity, for giving me a job. Is that better?” She picked up our plates, and laughing, took them to the sink.

Her laughter was like silver bells. She quickly washed the dishes, ignoring the dishwasher, dried them and put them away.

She pulled the towel off her head, and bending forward, let her hair fall, gave it a shake, and then straightened. It fell down her back and over her shoulders in a cloud. Thick and at least a shade lighter now that it was clean, it was an astounding amount of hair

“Do you mind if I use your sister’s brush?” she asked.

“No. You can have it, if you like.”

She gave me another one of those smiles that turned my knees to jelly. “Damn you, Mr. McGarrity.” Chuckling as she left the kitchen, she said, “If there are other words you would prefer I use instead of
thank you
, let me know.”

Her bare feet pounding on the stairs as she ran up them reminded me of Mary.

She came back down looking much better than she had the day before, but the image of an angel stopped at her neck. “Cecily, we need to get you some clothes. You can’t perform looking like that.”

She looked down at herself, and then raised her eyes to mine. “I know they’re pretty bad. But I can’t afford clothes right now. All the money I have is what you gave me last night.”

“I’ll advance you some pay,” I said. “Come on.”

I needed to check on the horses and feed them, and she trailed me out to the stable. The dogs came at a run when they heard us.

“Sit,” I commanded, and they plopped their butts down and looked at me expectantly. Their curiosity had them glancing at Cecily, but mostly their attention was on my closed hands.

“Are you comfortable with dogs?” I asked.

“Sure. Can I pet them?”

I turned to her, blocking my hands from the dogs’ sight. “Here,” I said, holding out my hands with the two dog biscuits. “Offer them on your open palm if you value your fingers. Then you can pet them.”

She smiled and took the biscuits. “Barney and Mari, right?”

The dogs minded their manners and didn’t try to eat her hands along with their treats, then leaned against her legs as she scratched their ears.

Inside the stable, I introduced her to the horses. “This is Maggie. That’s Bella over there, and the two duns are Lightning and Thunder.”

“They’re all yours?” she asked.

“Mine and Jared’s. Have you ever ridden a horse?” I asked as I put oats in their buckets.

“I rode a pony at a fair, once,” she answered.

“Would you like to learn?”

Her eyes got wide and she looked very closely at the horse I was feeding. “Is it hard? I know that people take riding lessons for years.”

“No, not that hard. I’m not talking about teaching you to jump and do fancy stuff, but they need exercise. I enjoy just taking them out for a ride. There’s a pond a couple of miles from here. Nice place for a picnic.”

A smile blossomed on her face and her eyes lit up. “Really? Yeah, I think I would like that.”

“Then get to know Maggie. She’s the one you’ll be riding. She’s getting along in years, but she’s still fit and a real sweetheart.” I handed Cecily a carrot. She seemed almost shy as she approached Maggie and fed her the carrot, then reached up and scratched her ears.

After I finished my chores, we hopped in my truck and headed to town. She brought her guitar with her. I had the feeling she never let it out of her sight.

“Do you play any other instruments?” I asked as we drove.

“Pretty much anything with strings,” she said. “Mandolin, violin and cello, along with guitar. I play a fairly good pedal steel, banjo, and bass, but not as well as guitar.”

Violin and cello? “How about electric guitar?” I asked.