“Look, Ted. It snowed during the night.” Meredith was in the kitchen putting together breakfast—it wasn’t eggs and waffles, but so far they were still doing okay on food. Ted kept an eye on their food supplies. He wasn’t a hunter, so he couldn’t provide for Meredith that way. He’d thought about trying his hand at fishing, but he didn’t know a lot about that, either. One of the reasons he’d joined the community patrol was because the members got a portion of food to pay them for their time. She’d stopped her food preparations, opened the curtains, and was looking out the kitchen window.
He looked out the living room window, then stepped out on the porch to get a better look. It was cold, but nothing like winter could be in Ohio. There looked to be two or three inches on the ground here, less down in the valley. He and Meredith had come here fairly often during the winters and overall found them mild—but that was when they’d had electricity, a warm cabin, and could go to Sevierville, Pigeon Forge, or Gatlinburg to any of the thousand and one restaurants that served the tourist trade, when they could stop at any of the grocery stores, when they could fill their gas tank and go home if they wanted. This winter would be a different experience.
He’d brooded until he was tired of brooding, but he couldn’t put yesterday out of his mind. He was torn in opposite directions—no, not torn, because he knew what he had to do. That wasn’t up in the air. What bothered him as much as Lawrence and his gang of thugs was how the valley people obviously thought of him. He could deal with not being liked; that wasn’t important to him. But being disrespected, shut out, taunted—
Sela Gordon—he still burned over what she’d done, in front of everyone. She’d embarrassed him, but even worse, the rude gesture had belittled him.
“It’s ready,” Meredith called, making him realize he’d spent more than a few minutes on the porch. And though Tennessee’s winters were nothing like Ohio’s, he was cold, because he’d come out without a coat.
She made a soft, exasperated, wifely sound when she saw him shivering, and handed him a cup of steaming hot tea, which both of them liked okay. They had some coffee left, but she alternated what she prepared, so they wouldn’t get bored. Some days she heated apple cider; that wasn’t his favorite, but he never said that to her. Today she’d made some flatbread and toasted it, and there was peanut butter and jelly to spread on it.
He patted her hand as he sat down at the table. “Looks good,” he said, as he always did. Meredith was a darn good cook, but even if she hadn’t been he’d still have complimented what she worked to prepare for him. She smiled at him, and the first thing he thought was how pretty she looked, then he suddenly noticed that she had on some makeup, and she’d put her hair up. She looked as if she was going to work.
After her heart attack years ago she’d necessarily cut back on the hours she worked as a physical therapy assistant, then over Ted’s objections gradually increased them again. A couple of years ago, though, she’d begun lightening the load again. They were getting older, closer to retirement age, and they liked to travel, liked their vacation time spent here. He’d been looking forward to spending some leisurely time with her, then that damn CME happened and here they were. He said, “You look pretty,” and wiggled his finger at his head and eyes to indicate both the hairdo and makeup. “What’s the occasion?”
“It’s been a few days now since Carol Allen broke her leg, so it’s time she started some gentle therapy. You know where she lives, don’t you?”
He did, because of the community patrols, but that didn’t mean he wanted Meredith associating with those ill-tempered, ungrateful bitches. “She has plenty of people to take care of her,” he said, not answering Meredith’s question and trying to deflect her.
“Are any of them a trained PTA?”
Frustration began rising in him, because he could see in Meredith’s clear gaze that she’d made up her mind and likely nothing he could say would change it. He hadn’t told her about Sela Gordon giving him the finger in front of the whole community, because he didn’t want Meredith to know how embarrassed he’d been, how the community at large seemed to think so little of him.
“I don’t know,” he finally muttered.
“Well, we know that I am,” Meredith said, patting his hand and leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Would you like another cup of tea? The water’s still hot.”
The change of subject told him that he might as well save his breath. Meredith wanted to contribute, not just to their neighbors but to their own welfare. She knew that her expertise could be traded for food and goods, that she’d return from Carol Allen’s house with something for them to eat, whether it was a few fresh eggs or some milk, maybe a can of soup. Who knew? But barter was the way things in the valley were working now.
Like it or not, he was taking Meredith with him and dropping her off at the Allen house when he went down to see Mike Kilgore.
From a seated position in the bed she was so damn tired of living in, Carol glared at her leg, the damn traitorous lump under the covers. She needed to stop cussing so much, Olivia was getting way too much enjoyment from it, but . . . damn!
She was bored out of her skull. The pain had faded quite a bit in the last three days, thank goodness, but she was still stuck in the bed. Part of it was her own fault—okay, most of it was her own fault—because she was the one who’d come up with that idea of acting worse than she was so Sela would stay in charge of the community. Sela not only had settled in, she seemed to have forgotten how hard she’d fought not to be in charge. Maybe having Hottie McHotHot involved made a difference to her; if not, then something was seriously wrong with the girl’s hormones, which she didn’t think was the case.
The good news was Carol didn’t feel bad, all things considered, as long as she didn’t move. Her ribs were still sore, and if it hadn’t been for them she’d likely have already been up trying out those crutches, at least when Sela was nowhere around. But they were, and she hadn’t. Unless Hottie carried her to the living room, she was pretty much stuck. Though . . . honestly, having him carry her back and forth wasn’t a hardship. She was old, not dead.
Sela hadn’t come for breakfast this morning; she usually did, but not always. Carol smiled at the thought. She wasn’t blind; she’d seen the way the big guy had been looking at her niece—and he’d brought bacon. These days, that was practically a marriage proposal, and she couldn’t be happier for Sela, who had never said anything but anyone with half a brain could tell that the divorce from Adam had devastated her to the point she simply hadn’t tried again. Having someone like Ben Jernigan so focused on her could only be a good thing. Ben left Adam in the dust.
Carol sighed. She was happy to leave the community leadership to Sela, but her own home needed tending. There were preparations to be made for the coming winter. Food would be a consideration until things returned to normal, if they ever did. She’d been thinking about setting up a cold frame in the backyard. Maybe she could grow lettuce and broccoli there, long before spring arrived. She wanted to help with gathering herbs and learn what each plant was and what it was good for—besides a salad of wild plants. There was wood to . . . well, she wasn’t going to chop wood, but she could stack the logs where she wanted them, nearby but not too near because she didn’t want the bugs in the wood getting into the house. The simple fact was, she couldn’t afford to lie here and let the people she was supposed to be taking care of take care of her instead. It was just wrong.