Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 12
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Papa had to have been waitin’ for me. I was surprised he was even home. It wasn’t even six o’clock yet. He leaned against the banister of the stairs I woulda stomped up. Arms crossed, not blockin’ me from headin’ up to my room—it was the expression that stopped me.

“Should I be concerned?” I asked.

“Blowback already startin’,” he said.

“Of Ezra showin’ Thomas around?” I asked.

Papa narrowed his eyes for a moment. “Are ya an idjit or just a fool? The property.”

“Oh. Well, we expected that,” I said.

“Council receptionist walked out of the buildin’. Said she’d heard enough cussin’ to last her a lifetime.”

“The building will blend in,” I said. “Folk will get over it once the masons are done. We’ll make it look really nice. Fit right into the side of the mountain like it belongs.”

“I studied yar plan,” he growled. “Many of our folk would rather live in the Stone Age than see progress. Ya better get out there tomorrow and do what ya can to smoothe the ruffled feathers. And stay out of that blasted bar.” His voice raised considerably on the last sentence.

“Bliar!” Mama’s voice filtered down the hall, from the kitchen.

“Speakin’ of that fool,” Papa said. “Where is he?”

Knew who he meant, but when did we talk about Thomas? “Ezra was pickin’ him up this afternoon. Haven’t heard from her. Or him.”

“Didn’t she,” his voice rose again, “already cause enough—”

“Bliar!” Mama’s a-bit-angrier shout cut him off.

He clenched his face up. Could almost hear one side of his brain tell the other, “Don’t rile the ogre hen.” He turned and headed for the kitchen.

’Course I followed him. Finally noticed he was in cargo shorts and a simple tee, so he’d been home a while. Oh. Had he escaped the office to get away from the risin’ anger and cussin’ too? That didn’t bode well.

Mama didn’t turn from her cauldron she stirred on the stove. The roasts she was prolly blackenin’ in the oven hit me and I had to swallow like a fool to keep the drool from hittin’ my chin.

She didn’t wear her typical cotton smock and billowy, ankle-length skirt. Donned, oddly, a lacy, silken-lookin’, one-piece with spaghetti straps, which slunk low, way low, down her back, molded to her contours. Skirt-part flowed only to mid-hamstring. Accented her hips and back end. Whoa. I shouldn’t be thinkin’ what I was thinkin’. But pretty sure they had been havin’ an adults’ afternoon.

So that’s what it took to get him home early. Oh. I shouldn’t be thinkin’ like that. The gods of decency might smite me. Give me bad luck for a decade. The gods can be unkind, sometimes. I was often told, when younger.

“Yar youngling,” she murmurred without turnin’ from her stirrin’, “has done little to embarrass this family. Given us plenty to be proud of.”

Wow. A kind word. Papa had stopped a few feet in front of me, maybe four steps from Mama. By the tilt of his head, I could tell what he was studyin’. Stink. They’re somewhere past their sixties. Seventies? I couldn’t remember. Gross.

He padded slowly to her. Hip against hers, his arm reached around her, hand clutchin’ her other hip, slid up and down. I think I was learnin’ a counter adage to, “don’t anger an ogre hen.” Would go something like, “an ogre hen has more ways than ire to control her bull.”

“Hey, Mama,” I said.

“Sweetie,” she murmured, as Papa nuzzled a tusk into the back of her neck. “Text Ezra and see if she and Thomas are joinin’ us for dinner.”

I gave her a yes ma’am and headed for the back stairs to give my folks some privacy, mind goin’ to a conversation I had with one of my bull siblings years ago. He had remarked it was nice to see them actin’ like they were in love again. Evidently there were a lot of years they both kept so busy it was kinda business-like at home.

I guess havin’ four younglings and a dozen businesses to run, can keep a couple thinkin’ about other things. Maybe. Maybe, I need to do what Kriz did, and get my own place.

~ Ezra ~

“He’s not with ya?” I texted Ike back. Duh. He wouldn’t be askin’ where the fool is, if he was with him.

I searched for Daze in my contacts, and shot him a, “Where’s the human?”

Fifteen long seconds later Daze surprised me. Didn’t know he was tech savvy enough to send a group text—to me and Ike. “Taking him home to meet the missus. She’s preparing a meal for us.”

Maybe my chin hung a few inches. Figgered that text startled Ike the same way it shook me. Five seconds later, Ike texted, “Ya know they don’t eat crickets and centipedes, right?”

“I meant we were havin him for dinner,” Daze texted back.

Daze has a sense of humor? Mr. Grumpy-grump? That was sarcasm, right? I wonder if everyone really does call him Grumpy-grump?

Ike sent a text just to me. “Thought ya were pickin’ the fool up this afternoon?”

I double checked the time. A bit after six. I’d kept my mind pretty distracted workin’ with the hens in the kitchen. I shoulda just gone home and settled in for the evening.

Chose not to answer the idjit’s last text. Mind, for some reason turned to Kriz. Texted him, “Ya coming here or to yar mama’s for dinner?” He’d know I meant Ike’s place, not mine, or the Inn. Oddly, we never congregate at my home. Mostly always Aunt Dorig was feedin’ the three of us our dinner meal.

Almost a minute later he answered, “No wonder I’m so hungry.”

Maybe he’s not really an ogre. He musta looked at the time too. Prolly worked till three this morning, went back to it at six, and hadn’t stirred from his computer since. The idjit needs a hen to take care of him. Amazin’ he survives on his own. No wonder he’s so skinny.

“Ya got any of those peach pastries?” Kriz texted. Clearly thinkin’ about the Inn’s offerings.

He’s definitely not an ogre. What ogre asks about pastries? I texted back, “Think Chanz was baking cherry this afternoon. Think the peach went at lunch.”

I slipped my phone back into my skirt pocket, washed my hands quickly, and finished the current platter, which I slid across the counter for the servers to deliver, about time for my phone to ping again.

Zarade teased me about the string tied between me and my cousins. I gave her a good ogre hen glare before I pulled out my phone.

“Mama’s got no pastries. So I’ll see ya in a few.” Which meant an hour or so. Takes an act of the gods to get the idjit away from his computer. But then, he prolly hadn’t eaten all day. Might put an urgency into whatever code-thing he was workin’ on.

Glaar, my favorite troll hen, sidled next to me. “What’s up with that cute human lad ya’re sweet on?”

A growl came from deep down in my chest. She snorted.

“Ya think he’s cute, huh?” I asked. Maybe she wouldn’t expect that.

“Like a toy. So tiny and spindly. So cute how he turns red in the face. He’s certainly attracted to ya.”

“Talk like that already causin’ trouble,” I growled at her. Besides, when had she seen the two of us together?

“Ike’s other misdeed drawin’ minds off yar attraction,” she said. “So stop yar worryin’.”

The gossip in the kitchen is renown. How do five hens stay so in tune to what’s going on outside of the Inn? Idjit wonderin’. A dozen servers in the dining room surrounded by the center of all gossip answers that question.

~