Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(22)
Maybe Hank will let me get cakes for birthdays and help arrange staff parties.
I smiled at the thought, and then I frowned.
The main issue—other than Hank being a surly butt—was time. After my kiddos went to bed was the only time to clean my house uninterrupted, follow up on and arrange for doctor and dentist visits, fix leaky faucets, do laundry, make appointments, sew torn clothes, prepare meals for the next day, patch and paint holes in the wall, mow the lawn, weed the garden, and so forth. As much as I enjoyed bookkeeping and accounting, I only had twenty-four hours in a day.
“You look tired,” Sienna said, yanking me out of my musings. “And I’ve never seen you look tired before. You’re the most spirited, energetic person I know and I don’t like seeing you so low energy.”
I shrugged again, giving her a half smile. “I think I need to adjust to the change in my schedule. I’m sure all will resolve itself in a week or so.” That twinge of guilt returned. I breathed through it.
Don’t feel guilty, Charlotte. You want to stay after Heather is located, but you don’t have the time. You’re not an octopus, you can’t do everything.
“Stay for dinner.” Sienna lifted her chin toward the house. “Jethro is making ribs. I think Beau and Shelly will be here, too. And Cletus and Jenn are bringing over their dog. The kids will love him.”
I studied my lengthening shadow. I should get the kids home and to bed on time. My mother and aunt had been too indulgent while I’d been doing reconnaissance at the club, letting them stay up too late. “I don’t know—”
“Jenn is bringing three desserts.”
“Okay, fine. Twist my arm.” I had things to do at home, but I always had things to do at home. Jennifer Winston was the best pastry chef in Tennessee—if not the whole world—and I’d be off my rocker to turn down sampling one of her desserts, let alone three.
Sienna laughed, pushing her shiny curtain of long dark hair over a shoulder and giving me a heart-stopping grin. Really, the woman was too gorgeous for words. And she always looked so fashionable. Today she had on a pink tank-top tunic and brown leggings with beaded brown sandals to match. Her toenails and fingernails were painted the same color as her top and she wore pink quartz earrings.
I glanced down at myself in my yoga pants, sneakers, and tie-dye T-shirt from my volleyball days in high school. It was faded, and other than being a little tight around the chest, it still fit okay. It also happened to be the only clean item in my closet since my mother and aunt had neglected to do any laundry over the weekend. My hair was currently in a bun of doubtful stability using two pencils and a paperclip. I rarely chose waking up early to do my hair. Sleep was precious.
Note to self: order some more hair ties. I used to have hair ties, but then my oldest daughter was born and now I had no hair ties or hairbrushes or scissors or tape. And as much as I admired Sienna’s earrings, it had been so long since I’d worn a pair, I wasn’t sure I knew where any of my earrings were. Likewise, I reckoned the last time I’d had my nails painted was on the day I’d signed my divorce papers.
“Yay! I’m glad you’re staying.” Sienna nudged my shoulder again, her eyes sparkling. “I think it’ll be fun. And productive.”
Her tone and odd word choice had me studying her. “Productive? What do you mean?”
“What’s wrong with productive?” She avoided my gaze.
Wait a minute. She sounded suspicious. “Why do you sound like that?”
Her smile stretched. “Like what?”
“Like you’re tricking me somehow.”
Sienna gasped, but the lingering smile ruined her attempt at acting offended. “I would never.”
“Hmm.” I peered at her, not liking something about her expression.
Before I could question her further, Kimmy materialized next to me, asking me to help her and Sonya keep a frog alive. They’d caught it and sealed it in a jar, and I forgot what I was supposed to be suspicious about. I was too busy trying to rescue a frog from the suffocation of my daughters’ love.
I have good instincts about the ripeness of fruit, when to check on the kids if they’re too quiet, whether or not I’m going to enjoy a movie by looking at the poster, and now—apparently—about having cause to be suspicious of Sienna Diaz.
Hank walked into the Winston homestead right behind Beau and Shelly. He wore jeans, a dark gray T-shirt, and a neutral expression. In one hand he held a basket of fresh biscuits; in the other was a twelve-pack of beer. He greeted all the Winstons and their significant others with mild friendliness, their children with tepid tolerance, and then he caught sight of me. His expression immediately frosted, and not the sugary, delicious kind of frosted.
Great.
Making no attempt to wipe his features of displeasure, Hank handed over his biscuits to Jethro, shook Drew Runous’s hand, grabbed an appetizer off the tray on the sideboard, and accepted a cold beer from Beau. Jaw working, he then made a beeline for me.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded quietly, standing at my shoulder.
Sigh. Why must he be so ornery with me all the time? I was already exhausted and feeling angsty about my kids’ well-being, and my aunt and uncle’s well-being, and Heather’s well-being, and my lack of clean laundry, and pining for a job I didn’t know how to juggle, given all my other commitments, without his attitude heaping a wet blanket on top of my rained-out parade.