The Husband Quest Read online

  “It’s on my to-do list.”

  Jilly plopped the fish onto a paper plate and set it on the floor. “I’ll make supper.”

  “Can you? Make supper, I mean?”

  She scowled, but he continued, “There’s no electricity yet. If you take care of the meal, maybe I can get us some lights before dark.”

  “No problem,” she said, as Evan disappeared upstairs.

  Unfortunately, everything he’d bought for supplies required cooking, or at least heating. So Jilly cut up slices of cheese, apples and pears, then arranged crackers and bread on a plate. The presentation was lovely, the color combination perfection, even if she wasn’t very good at slicing and the cheese and fruit had a lopsided appearance.

  Still, she was proud of herself. She’d managed to put together a meal from very little, and she hadn’t required any help.

  Stepping outside, she blinked at the tablecloth spread across the weathered boards of the porch. She’d have thought Evan had beat her here, except for the platter in the center where a roast was surrounded by red potatoes, tiny carrots and baby onions. The scent alone made Jilly’s mouth water. Could ghosts cook?

  Evan opened the door and stopped dead. “What the—?”

  “Evan. Jilly.” Naomi appeared at the bottom of the steps with a basket of fresh bread. “We made too much for dinner, so Ruth and I brought the rest over. Come and eat.”

  Her sister stood right behind her, carrying a chocolate cake. There wasn’t even a slice missing.

  Too much? Right.

  “Oh, you made snacks.” Naomi took the platter from Jilly’s hands. “How fun.”

  Jilly’s cheeks heated. She hoped no one figured out that her snacks were supposed to be the meal.

  Everyone sat down, and within minutes the atmosphere was festive. Jilly had to admit the sisters knew how to cook. From the amount of food Evan consumed, he agreed.

  Naomi and Evan chattered away. Ruth listened, laughing at the appropriate places. Jilly listened, too, and came to the realization that she was a lot older than she looked.

  She was thirty-five, had traveled all over the world and been married four times. Naomi and Ruth had been nowhere but here, yet they spoke of movies she’d never seen, television shows she’d never heard of, bands she thought were a joke and not reality.

  Was this what Henry had felt like whenever he’d tried to talk to her? No, because she’d made certain she knew all about his world, his era, his culture. As a result, she had no ideas of her own.

  Jilly shrugged off a sudden depression. She’d never had a childhood. Too late now. So what if she didn’t fit in here? She wasn’t going to stay.

  But realizing that she was too old for a man was a sobering experience. What would happen when she became too old for all of them?

  Jilly snorted. That wouldn’t happen. Look at her mother. Nearing sixty, she’d made the best marriage of them all.

  “Something funny?” Evan asked.

  Jilly lifted her eyes. Everyone stared at her expectantly. She definitely couldn’t share her thoughts.

  “No.” She got to her feet, planning to clear the dishes, but as soon as she stood she nearly collapsed from the pain in her feet.

  Evan caught Jilly before her knees hit the porch. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she declared. “I just couldn’t find my shoes today.”

  He sat her in a chair and went down on one knee, gently lifting her foot and taking a peek at the sole. His hair swung forward, obscuring his face, but the sight of him next to her in that position made Jilly’s stomach clench. Too bad she’d left all her glass slippers in California.

  “You walked to Addie’s barefoot?” he asked.

  “I didn’t have much choice.”

  “We should have found some shoes to go with the clothes.” Naomi bit her lip.

  Jilly glanced at the girl. “The clothes—”

  “Are great,” Evan interrupted.

  She shot him a glare. “I can speak for myself.”

  He lifted his hands in surrender, and Jilly turned to Ruth and Naomi. She’d planned to return the clothes. Until she’d worn them.

  Jilly rubbed her fingers over the soft denim, hugged herself and felt embraced by gray cotton. These clothes were feel-good clothes, and she wasn’t giving them up.

  “They’re wonderful,” she continued. “I love them, and I appreciate your bringing them by.”

  Naomi and Ruth beamed at her. Evan gaped. Jilly wanted to lift his chin until his mouth closed. What had he thought she was going to say?

  Naomi nudged Evan aside and took a look at Jilly’s feet. “Tobacco,” she pronounced. “Soaked in hot water. Poultice’ll take the sting away.”

  “How about some Vicodin?” Jilly asked.

  Naomi’s forehead creased. “Can I gather that in the woods?”

  “Never mind.” Evan shot Jilly a scowl. “I don’t have any tobacco.”

  Ruth held out her hand. In the center of her palm was a pouch.

  “You’re not supposed to be chewing, Ruth,” Naomi scolded. “Remember what Pa said? Men don’t cotton to women who chew.”

  Ruth lifted her brows in Evan’s direction. He shrugged. “It isn’t what I’d call an attractive pastime.”

  She tossed the bag into his lap.

  “Hot water?” Naomi pressed.

  Evan stood. “Guess now’s as good a time as any to test the electricity.”

  “I’m fine, really,” Jilly protested.

  Everyone ignored her to tramp inside. Jilly was left alone on the porch. She could have gotten up and tottered after them, but what was the point?

  She listened to the low murmur of voices as she watched the sun slide toward the hills. The cool breeze smelled of grass and water.

  Her kitten scratched at the door, and Jilly reached over, opening it just enough for him to come outside. He jumped into her lap, twirled around twice, stuck his nose beneath his tail and began to purr.

  Lightning was nowhere to be seen. He was probably down at the creek figuring out new ways to push her in.

  “Eureka!” Naomi shouted, and her laughter filled the air. She was so young she made Jilly ache for a life she’d never had.

  A soft glow beamed from the third floor. As Jilly watched, lights snapped on here, there, everywhere. Fifteen minutes later the three came out the door.

  “We have ignition,” Evan said.

  “So I see.”

  Naomi carried what appeared to be a damp dish towel. The scent of tobacco wafted on the wind. She took one look at Jilly and gasped. “No wonder you’re sick.”

  “I’m not sick. I stepped on too many rocks.”

  “The cat—”

  “Don’t tell me the kitten’s bad luck. I already heard all about it from the Seitz brothers, and I’m not buying.”

  Naomi knelt and wrapped Jilly’s feet with warm towels. She kept a wary eye on the kitten the entire time. When she was done she muttered what sounded like a prayer, or a spell. Then she patted Jilly’s knee and stood. “You’ll be right as rain soon.”

  “What did you say just now?”

  “I can’t tell you!”

  “Why not?”

  “Secret words. Hexes and spells passed down in our family. I can only tell ’em to three other women, then their power is gone for me.”

  “You were putting a hex on my feet?”

  Ruth started to laugh; Naomi just smiled. “No, I was taking the hex off your cat.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE GIRLS PACKED up their picnic and went home. Despite her annoyance at their obvious designs on Evan, Jilly liked them. They were generous, fun, genuine. The kind of women Jilly would have wanted as friends, if she’d known how to make any.

  “The hex is off your cat, so you can rest easy.”

  Evan sat on the porch rail. The setting sun cast a crimson halo around his head. His face lay in shadow, but she heard the amusement in his voice.

  “I was worried. What exactly
does bad luck from a black cat entail?”

  “Could be anything. I’m not exactly up on Ozark superstitions.”

  “I can’t believe a place like this still exists in the twenty-first century.”

  “It’s kind of nice, don’t you think?”

  “No electricity, no plumbing, no water. Ten miles to the nearest phone. Nice isn’t the word I’d use.”

  “We’ve got electricity.”

  “Be still my heart.”

  He shifted and gazed out at the steadily descending night. “I like it here. No one knows me.”

  Jilly frowned. “You got something to hide?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  True. She didn’t want anyone to know she’d eaten out of garbage cans and slept on the street. But what was he hiding?

  She opened her mouth to ask as Evan stood, then dropped to his knees again at her side. She forgot everything but the slide of his fingers along the bones of her ankles. No man had ever touched her there. She didn’t want him to stop.

  She imagined him running those rough, clever fingers up her calves, over her knees, then continuing along the quivering flesh of her inner thighs. The thought had her shifting in her chair, and the kitten awoke with a sound halfway between a purr and a growl. He put his nose in the air and jumped to the ground, stalking into the night with his tail poker-straight.

  “We’ll have to bring him inside.” Evan unwrapped the poultice from her feet. “He’ll be coyote food if we leave him out here.”

  Jilly frowned. “What about Lightning?”

  “What about him?”

  “Coyotes won’t bother him?”

  “Coyotes aren’t as dumb as they look. They pick on things more their size—or a lot smaller. One kick from Lightning and a coyote would be toast.”

  “He’s old and slow.”

  “But mean.” Evan cast her a quick glance. “Since when do you worry about the horse you wanted to send to a glue factory?”

  Jilly shrugged. Since this afternoon when he’d been the only company she had. “He kind of grows on you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Like fungus.”

  He patted the arch of her foot, and she resisted the urge to rub her sole all over his chest.

  “You wanna try walking on these again?” Evan stood and held out his hand.

  Putting her palm against his made her neck tingle. His hands were hard, hers too soft. Still, they fit together just right.

  He tugged; she put weight on her feet and drew in a sharp breath.

  “Does that hurt? Sit down.” He gently shoved against her shoulder.

  “No. I’m fine. They don’t hurt at all.”

  Puzzled, she sat anyway, pulled one foot onto her knee and peered at the bottom. The scrapes and cuts were still there, but they were no longer red. If she didn’t know better she’d swear they were fading.

  “What did she put in that towel?” Jilly asked.

  “Hot water and tobacco.”

  “You saw her?”

  “Yeah. What do you think she put in there?”

  “Bat’s wings and rat’s eyes.”

  Evan snickered. “Naomi isn’t a witch. She’s a hill girl. They know all sorts of cures. Some of them even work.”

  “I’ll say.” Jilly got to her feet once more.

  Evan touched her elbow, and she froze, then lifted her gaze to his face. “We’d better call in the cat.”

  The homey chore caused warmth to return to her belly. Call in the cat. Lock up the house. Go upstairs and…retire to their separate rooms. Damn.

  Jilly inched away. Why torture herself? Evan didn’t want anything she had to give.

  “I don’t understand why Addie couldn’t un-hex the kitten,” she blurted.

  “The way I understand it, each family knows certain spells to ward off specific things. Un-hexing black cats must not be in Addie’s domain.”

  “She couldn’t ask Naomi to do it?”

  “You can’t ask—they have to offer. Like I said, most of the spells are secret. One family doesn’t know what another is capable of.”

  “Sounds like trouble to me.”

  “Could be.”

  Silence settled between them. Jilly peered into the night, but since the kitten was black, she wouldn’t be able to see him even if he stood three feet away.

  “What’s his name?” Evan asked.

  “Kitty-kitty?”

  “You can do better than that. If you’re going to keep him—”

  “I am.”

  “Then he needs a name.”

  Jilly walked to the end of the porch. The stars were coming out; the moon hovered at the edge of the horizon. All was quiet. Peaceful. Haunted.

  “Hobgoblin?” she blurted.

  “Too long.” Evan stood at her side.

  “Purr puss.”

  “No self-respecting male cat would answer to that.”

  “Midnight.”

  “Original.”

  “If you’re so smart, you name him.”

  “Can’t. Your cat.”

  She sighed. “I’m out of ideas.”

  “Any words you like? Names that make you happy?”

  She doubted Evan would approve of naming the kitten Cash, Villa or Diamond. Somehow Rockefeller, Gates and Sheik didn’t fit either.

  “Henry,” she muttered.

  “Your husband?”

  “I miss him.”

  She did. He’d been a nice man. If he were alive, she wouldn’t be here. Although here didn’t seem quite so awful anymore.

  “Henry,” Evan repeated.

  The kitten jumped onto the porch rail and mewed.

  Evan laughed. “Henry it is.”

  Jilly picked up the cat and set him inside. Before she could follow, Evan snagged her elbow again. She glanced at him and the screen door slammed shut. They both started.

  “Now that we have electricity, things will move faster,” Evan said. “With the Seitz brothers helping I may be done in…three years.”

  Jilly gaped.

  “Kidding. Ha-ha.”

  “Oh.” She put her hand on her chest. “Don’t give me heart failure. I don’t have that much money.”

  He tilted his head, and his hair sifted against his jaw. She wanted to sample the texture of the strands, then trace her finger along his chin.

  “I lost your rubber band,” she whispered.

  “I’ll try and find you another one.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re the kind of woman who ties back her hair.”

  She stiffened. “I am?”

  He was right, so why did his words bother her?

  Evan’s hand lifted, and he tugged one red curl. “Or maybe you were.” He drew her closer, until the heat of his body washed over hers. “You’re different today. The clothes, the hair, the feet.”

  “You like me like this?” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

  “I like you like that,” he whispered.

  She couldn’t ever recall a man saying he liked her. Desire, need, devotion? No problem. But simple affection? Never.

  His fingers still held her hair. Her hip still pressed against his thigh. Her breath came in short, fast bursts. Their noses were a mere inch apart.

  “I want to be your friend,” he said.

  The lights went off with an audible click. Darkness descended like a cool velvet fog. The moon wasn’t up yet. The stars spread little light. Jilly could barely make out Evan’s shape in the night.

  And then he kissed her.

  He tasted of chocolate cake and sweet, fresh bread. His hair brushed her cheek, making her shiver. She lifted her arms and ran her fingers through the long, soft strands.

  He smelled like soap and rainwater. His palms at her waist were hard, insistent, tugging her close, making her forget that they weren’t supposed to be doing this. However, he was the one who’d said no, not her.

  With that in mind, she shifted closer, pressed her belly against his erect
ion and rubbed her breasts, barely covered in the ancient gray shirt, against his chest. Her nipples hardened at the friction, sending a delicious tingle from her head down to her bare, naked toes. So she did it again.

  His hands slid lower, and he lifted her onto the porch railing. She clutched his shoulders, and he murmured her name. Lowering his head, he nuzzled her neck, then nudged her thighs apart and stepped inside.

  He’d just settled in, hard to her soft, the pulsing heated part of him pressed to the aching empty part of her, when a thud on the second floor made them both freeze, then look up.

  The lights came back on with a sudden flare that had Jilly flinching, and a shadow drifted past the window directly above them. Evan frowned and moved away.

  She wanted to scream and yank him back, but figured that might wreck the mood. He glanced at her, and she saw the mood was already wrecked. He lifted her from the railing and set her on her feet. “I’m sorry. I said we’d be friends.”

  “I’m feeling pretty friendly.”

  His lips twitched, but the sadness in his eyes reached out to her. “I can’t, Jilly.”

  “No sex without love. I remember. I should be the one saying I’m sorry, but when you touch me—” She broke off.

  When he touched her she wasn’t sorry.

  She really didn’t want to articulate how out of control he made her feel. How out of control she wanted to be just once in her life. With him.

  Several thuds sounded, one after the other, as if a heavy object had been thrown down the stairs.

  “Matthew again?” Evan murmured.

  “More likely Henry than a ghost.”

  “The cat and not the dead husband, right?”

  “What do you think?”

  The lights went off again. Into the sudden silence a coyote howled. The sound made Jilly shiver, even though the night was anything but cold.

  “Still don’t believe in ghosts?”

  “Your electricity failed.”

  “Someone, or something, had to hit the main switch, and I don’t think it was Henry.”

  “Another intruder?”

  “There wasn’t anyone here the last time.”

  “But we saw…something in the window. Don’t tell me you think Matthew Tolliver still lives—or rather doesn’t live—here.”