Brady Remington Landed Me in Jail(11)

I was floored. I was beyond—no, I was just clueless. "I have no idea."

"Rayna." My grandmother turned and rested against the kitchen counter. She assessed me, a variety of expressions flashed across her blue, clear, and wrinkle-free eyes. Viola would never need Botox. Not that she'd use it if she had the thought to, but my grandmother was a beautiful woman. One of those classic beautiful types and she scared the living daylights out of me.

"What?" I shifted uncomfortably.

There it was. All those different expressions again: approval, disapproval, disappointment, and impatience. "One day a boy is going to call this phone and he's going to ask for you. I'll admit that I started to think that day would never come. And now that it has I'm going to tell you a part of me rejoices and a part of me wants to handcuff you inside your room. I do not want you spending time with Kid Stephens."

Rejoice? Handcuff?

My grandmother looked pale, more pale than usual, but it could've been the potatoes. She hated peeling potatoes.

Viola waved her hand in the air. "Get Brady in here. Food's ready."

She turned her back before I moved from the doorway. My grandmother was sixty-three, but she'd live till she was in her hundreds.

"Grandma…" I started.

"What?" She glanced over her shoulder.

Here it was. Do I confess or not? What do I say? I wasn't dumb. I know that she worried Kid Stephens was interested in me in a romantic way, but I also knew the only reason she didn't approve was because of his father. The joke was on her because Kid would never be interested in someone like me. He liked girls like Clarissa. If she was that worried about Kid, I had no idea how she'd react to the idea of Brady.

I bailed. "Nothing."

"You sure?" She studied me again.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm just tired."

"Okay. Go get your boy," she shooed.

As I moved back through the living room, I scowled. He wasn't my boy. I wasn't his girl. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all. Then I looked up and my hand halted before it touched the screen door. Brady tipped his head back and laughed at something Neil had said. And then it happened—my grandfather patted his shoulder in approval.

Warmth flooded me and I choked back tears. It didn't mean a thing. It wasn't a secret that my grandparents adored Brady. I was just emotional. That's all it was. I ignored my trembling hand and scratchy throat when I opened the door. "Brady! Breakfast!"

His eyes snapped to mine. I felt my heart pound—it was suddenly so loud that I almost couldn't hear Brady when he called back, "Sweet! I call baby chair."

I rolled my eyes.

The baby chair wasn't a baby chair. It was a wooden chair that had been carved by someone to look like an actual baby. Viola swears that she found it at an auction, but I knew there was a reason why Grandpa constantly tried to burn the thing. And yet, it always stayed where it had been placed and kept over the years, right at the table. The chair had a head where ours was supposed to rest against. A bib had even been carved into the chair, but Brady only said it warmed his back. The entire thing was wood, but it still looked like a baby.

I had taken the chair against the wall when Brady swooped in and dropped into it. The screen door squeaked again, and then Viola rushed into the living room. Just as my grandfather lifted his foot to step inside, Viola shook her head and closed the door on his face. Neil didn't look shocked as he stared at his wife of forty-three years. He just readjusted his John Deere hat and pushed one of the overall straps back in its rightful place on his shoulder.

Viola placed her hands on her hips. "Oh no. You said you had things to do outside. You do those things outside, I got the inside today."

Neil didn't blink. He turned around and went back outside. It wasn't long before he heard his truck go past.

Brady chuckled. "He didn't want to peel the potatoes, huh?" Then he reached over the table and helped himself to five pancakes.

My grandmother cleared her throat and took her chair. "Now, you two—what happened, Brady?" She looked at him sharply and pointedly.

I would've choked in his place, but Brady finished swallowing his bite of pancakes and smiled. "What do you mean, Viola?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You had my granddaughter scurrying out of here at some ungodly hour this morning. You better tell me why I had a heart attack when I went and found her gone this morning. It had better been worth it."

Brady raised his fork for another mouthful.

Viola cleared her throat and leaned closer. "You come clean with me or don't you think I won't call Deputy Dog. He'll tell me."

He lowered the pancakes and frowned.

"I think we should pray before we eat."

"Brady. Talk."

"About what?" Brady asked, but Viola had him in her sights and she wouldn't let him out. Slowly, she got up and reached for the phone on the wall.

"Fine. Fine. I got into a fight." He sent me a furtive look that was noticed by all of us.

My grandmother slid her eyes to me, but slowly replaced the phone back in its receiver.

I coughed and raised my linked hands. "Can we please pray before Brady eats some more? We're supposed to pray at meals."

"Fine." Viola folded her hands and resumed her seat.