The Husband Quest Read online

  Jilly turned. Yep, there was an alligator eyeing her toes as if they were his next meal. She jumped onto the nearest chair as if she’d seen a mouse. Addie and the elderly couple stared at her with puzzled expressions.

  “What is wrong with you, girl?”

  “I don’t care for alligators near my bare feet.”

  “Fergus can’t hurt you. His teeth are gone.”

  As if to illustrate, Fergus opened wide. He was as toothless as Barry Seitz.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “He used to be the star attraction at Hugenot’s Alligator Wrestling Emporium.”

  “I’d think a toothless alligator would be a big plus in wrestling.”

  “Nah. No one’s scared of ’im then. What fun is that?” Addie shook her head. “Hugie was gonna have ’im stuffed, put on display out front. But I convinced ’im Fergus would be better off here with me. Much easier to get alligator dung this way than tracking ’em through a swamp.”

  Jilly knew she’d be sorry, but she was too curious not to ask anyway. “Why do you need alligator dung?”

  “Gets rid of freckles.”

  Jilly wrinkled her freckled nose, which suddenly itched quite terribly. Addie’s eyes narrowed. “Want some?”

  “Uh, no. I kind of like them.”

  Addie shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  The day was a revelation. After an hour or so, Jilly got used to the sight of Fergus walking slowly about the place. She learned to step over Peter. She ignored Zorro hanging off the edge of her skirt, and she discovered something.

  She was good with sick people.

  That might have something to do with four marriages to men on the far side of sixty, but still, she liked helping. She was fascinated with the natural cures Addie prescribed, and riveted by the secretly whispered spells.

  How could a woman who believed in nothing but what she could sell be intrigued by Ozark mountain magic?

  Jilly had no idea, but she was.

  Old and young thronged to Addie’s cabin. Jilly learned things she’d never thought to know. They used ragwood tea for the flux, which turned out to be nothing worse than diarrhea, thank goodness.

  The bold hives were just hives, which Addie treated with plain calamine lotion. Common sense appeared to play a large part in doctoring.

  Skunk oil for croup, horehound for colds, onion tea for pneumonia—Jilly hoped she never got sick.

  She worked and she learned; she soothed and she dosed; she conversed with everyone. But her favorite patients were the children. All shapes and sizes, sexes and ages, they were fun, and they liked her for no other reason than that she was there.

  As the afternoon wore on, the crowd thinned out until only Addie, Jilly and the critters remained.

  Jilly collapsed in the rocker. She’d gotten her wish. The day was over and she was exhausted—because she’d actually done something and not been bored out of her skull.

  Her white T-shirt was a mess. Her skirt wasn’t much better. Her feet were filthy. She wasn’t sure, but she thought there was baby barf in her hair. Life was good.

  “You’d best head on home.” Addie dropped the sack with the dead chicken into her lap. “If you get that on the stove right away, you can eat afore dark.”

  Jilly hoisted herself to her feet. “Where’s Fergus?”

  She hadn’t seen the alligator for a while, and she didn’t relish running into him on the way home. No matter how friendly he was.

  “Must have gone for a dip in the pond.”

  “The cement pond?” Jilly snickered.

  “I don’t know what yer talkin’ about, girl. Ain’t no cement in my pond. Just good old-fashioned dirt.”

  “It was a joke. The Beverly Hillbillies. From television?”

  Jilly hadn’t watched the show very often. However, she seemed to remember it all too well. Probably because she’d been dropped into one of the lost episodes.

  “Don’t hold with the idiot box ’round here. It’ll rot your mind.”

  Addie was probably right. Jilly hadn’t missed television yet, and it had been her main occupation during many a long, lonely day. What was happening on Days of Our Lives? She no longer cared, because her own day was suddenly full of life.

  Jilly studied Addie’s cabin. She thought of the stove—wood—and the lamps—kerosene. “You don’t have electricity.”

  “Don’t hold with that, either.”

  “Plumbing?”

  Addie jerked a thumb toward what appeared to be a wooden port-a-potty partially concealed by trees.

  “Running water?”

  “Runs just fine. From the pump out back.”

  “How old are you?” Jilly asked.

  “How old are you?”

  Jilly had been offended when Evan asked her the same thing. However, this time she’d started it, so she answered. “Thirty-five.”

  “Huh. Better get movin’ if you want any kids. Time’s a-wastin’.”

  Jilly hadn’t given much thought to children. How would she take care of them, when she had enough trouble taking care of herself? But today she’d taken care of a lot more than herself. She’d taken care of everyone else.

  “I’m ninety this Christmas,” Addie said.

  “And you don’t look a day over seventy-five.”

  “Funny. You’re a regular Jack Benny. Now get on home. I should be fine tomorrow. I won’t need you to come.”

  Jilly’s happy mood deflated. “But…I want to.”

  Addie peered into her face, then patted her on the arm. “Well, then, that’s different. See you at seven. Sharp.”

  EVAN HAD JUST GOTTEN RID of the brothers and finished washing in the creek when he heard a vehicle stop in front of the inn. He tossed his clothes on and hurried up the hill. Old Man Hillburn’s son, Ustis, climbed out of his delivery truck.

  “Hello!” Evan called.

  The man just raised a hand and didn’t answer. By the time Evan crossed the yard, Ustis, a contender for heavyweight champion of Arkansas, had hoisted a dog crate out of the back end.

  “I would have come into town,” Evan said.

  “You don’t got no phone.” Ustis spoke in a slow bass tone reminiscent of Barry White. “’Sides, Dad couldn’t stand the yapping any longer. What in tarnation is that?”

  As if he’d understood, the animal began to yip in an annoying falsetto.

  “That…” Evan sprang the lock on the cage. The door slammed open, whapping Ustis in the shin. A fluffy, spotted dog shot out. “…is a doodle.”

  He raced in circles, then proceeded to jump on Evan. Ustis stopped hopping on one foot and settled into rubbing his injured leg. The doodle took the opportunity to slurp at his face.

  Ustis straightened abruptly. “Remind me never to get one.” He climbed back into his truck and sped away.

  Evan snagged the dog, which was no longer a puppy, but over a year old, and lifted him into his arms. “Settle,” he snapped in a no-nonsense voice he’d learned from his mother.

  The animal froze, blinked, then started squirming again. “That went well,” Evan muttered.

  Suddenly the doodle’s head went up, his ears perked and he growled.

  Evan looked around just as Jilly stepped out of the woods. Loose skirt, bare feet, filthy white shirt, her hair snarled around her face. A baby raccoon chased her skirt. Why did he find that attractive?

  Something trailed a few feet behind her in the grass. It appeared to be an…opossum?

  Evan was so amazed he forgot about the doodle. Big mistake. The dog made a mighty lunge. Evan tried to grab him, afraid he’d break a leg. The animal wasn’t a cat, but tell him that. He hit the ground running, yapping, and headed straight for Jilly and her friends.

  “Watch out!” Evan shouted. He doubted the dog would hurt her, but who knew what the wild animals might do when confronted with a psychotic doodle?

  The opossum ran. Except he wasn’t very fast. The dog would have caught the critter if Jilly hadn’t stuck out her fo
ot. The doodle tumbled head over tail in the grass and came up barking. By then the opossum had disappeared into the brush.

  The raccoon clambered up Jilly’s skirt, reaching her waist before she snatched him up and placed him on her shoulder, where, from the safety of the greater height, he scolded everyone in the vicinity.

  When the doodle realized the opossum was gone, he came back to Jilly and proceeded to dazzle her with thigh-high leaps, barking all the while.

  She ignored him and continued toward Evan. He couldn’t help it; the sight of Jillian Hart with a chittering raccoon on her shoulder cracked him up. Evan started laughing, and he couldn’t stop.

  “What’s so darn funny?”

  He glanced at her, pointed at the raccoon and snickered some more.

  “This is Zorro,” she said. “I think he’s going to be living with us.”

  Evan managed to stop snickering. “Who are you? Snow White? Next thing I know you’ll be singing birds from the trees.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath. Hey, stop that!”

  The doodle was yanking on the burlap sack in her hand.

  “What’s in there? More cats?”

  “Dinner.”

  Evan frowned. “Fried chicken?”

  “Raw chicken. I’d better get it on the stove.”

  “Where’d you get a chicken?”

  “Payment. I helped Addie today.”

  “Helped her what?”

  She shrugged. “Help.”

  “Addie’s a healer.” Evan hurried after Jilly when she headed for the house. “What did you do?”

  “Little bit of this, little bit of that. It was interesting.”

  Evan was confused. “Healing is mostly about…magic.”

  She snorted. “No such thing.”

  “Did you tell Addie that?”

  “Of course not. Her cures work, though I doubt it’s because of the spells she mumbles.”

  “Then what?”

  “The herbs. The potions. Her family has been perfecting them for generations. Like a backwoods pharmaceutical company. I have no doubt that some of her cures work better than anything you’d get at the drugstore.”

  “And the spells?”

  “People believe. The placebo effect is well documented.”

  She still denied the existence of anything supernatural. Jilly was going to learn more from Addie than the ingredients to a tonic for warts.

  She opened the door of the inn, and something streaked out. Something black.

  “Wait!” Evan shouted, but it was too late. Henry ran smack into the dog.

  The kitten arched like a Halloween cat. His hiss was very impressive. The doodle tilted his head, and this time his growl was more like a snarl. He learned fast. Jilly reached for Henry.

  “No,” Evan murmured. “Let them go.”

  She glanced at him, concern creasing her features. “Are you sure?”

  Having spent his life on a farm, Evan knew a little bit about dogs and cats. “Positive.”

  The two humans held their breath. The kitten and the overgrown puppy stared into each other’s eyes. The cat grumbled, low and serious. The dog made a fast move, and Henry slashed him across the nose with unsheathed claws.

  The doodle yelped, then turned tail and ran. The kitten started cleaning his butt. Jilly set the raccoon on the floor, then turned to Evan.

  “You have to let them set their own rules,” he said. “Interfering only makes the transition take longer.”

  She gazed past him. “You think he’ll ever come back?”

  Evan spun around. “Which way did he go?”

  “Toward Ecuador. You might catch him around Mexico, if you hurry.”

  Evan cursed, which made Jilly laugh. “Supper in a few hours. Don’t be late.”

  The screen door banged shut behind her. Evan headed for the most likely places to find a frightened farm dog. But he wasn’t in the bushes or the grove of trees on the hill. He hadn’t gone down to the creek or scooted under the porch.

  Whistling and calling only brought Lightning from wherever it was he’d been all day. “Seen a doodle?” Evan asked.

  The horse snorted and nudged him toward the hill.

  “I already looked there.”

  Lightning was insistent, so Evan preceded him to the edge of the yard. There the animal shoved him so hard Evan stumbled several steps down the slope.

  “You think Addie’s seen him?”

  Evan didn’t wait for Lightning’s opinion. He hustled down the hill and across another field. Fergus was in the yard. He appeared happy—and full.

  “Hell,” Evan muttered. “Addie!”

  She appeared at the door. “What’s all the bellering?”

  “You seen an overgrown puppy around here?’

  Her gaze went immediately to the alligator. “No. But that doesn’t mean one wasn’t around.”

  Evan’s heart started pounding too fast. If he had to tell Dean one of his doodles had been eaten by an alligator, he wouldn’t put it past his brother to come down here and beat the crap out of him. Dean might be ornery, but he loved his animals. He never would have given Evan one if he hadn’t trusted him to take care of the thing. One hour in Evan’s company and the doodle was alligator bait.

  “What’s it look like?” Addie asked.

  “Fluffy. Black-and-white. Hyper.”

  “Come inside. I’ll see what I can see.”

  Evan wasn’t sure what that meant. He was itchy. Antsy. He needed to keep moving. But first… He eyed the ancient alligator.

  “Evan?” Addie stood in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to figure out how to get Fergus to open wide.”

  Addie made an annoyed sound and marched into the yard. She leaned down and grabbed the alligator’s mouth, then pulled. The huge beak gaped.

  “Fergus doesn’t have any teeth, remember? You think I’d let him sleep under my bed if he had a mouthful of pearly whites?”

  In his panic, Evan had forgotten that important piece of information. “He didn’t eat the doodle.”

  “Not unless he gummed ’im to death. Fergus doesn’t eat anything but mush anymore.” She let the alligator’s mouth slide closed. “What’s a doodle?”

  “Dalmatian and poodle mix.”

  Addie snickered. “Doodle. I like it.”

  “Want one?”

  “Not me. I’m parcelin’ off my critters.”

  “I did notice Jilly came home with more than she had when she left.”

  Addie smiled fondly. “I been waitin’ years for her to show up.”

  “Years? I don’t understand.”

  “I got no one to take over when I die. But my ma told me someone always shows up to receive the knowledge. You just have to wait.”

  “The knowledge? You mean your spells and your cures?”

  “What else?”

  “And you think Jilly…?” He shook his head, remembering her comments about placebos and magic. “Addie, I wouldn’t count on her.”

  She frowned. “Whadda ya mean?”

  He hesitated, uncertain how to tell a woman who’d spent her entire life healing that Jilly thought her cures were little more than sugar pills and mumbo jumbo. He opted for another truth instead.

  “Jilly plans to fix up the inn and sell it. She isn’t going to stay.”

  “That’s what you think. I know better.”

  Evan was about to argue further when he heard a faint yip from the top of the hill. Dog-and horse-shaped shadows frolicked in the grass.

  “You’d better get home,” Addie said.

  He nodded and headed for high ground. It wasn’t until he scooped up the doodle and patted Lightning’s head that he realized Addie had called the inn his home.

  Evan stared at the warm glow of electric lights in the windows, listened to the rustle of wind through the grass and the tumble of water in the creek. He’d lived nearly thirty years in Illinois, but the place had never called to him as this one did.

&nbs
p; He liked the hills, the trees, the critters—in the woods and in the yard. He liked the people, the town. He liked the way the sun set and the way it came up in the morning.

  But most of all he liked the inn. The dwelling had stood for over a hundred years and would no doubt stand for a hundred more. Evan wanted Luchettis to be here even then.

  He walked toward the porch with his dog in his arms, and he understood what it felt like to belong somewhere.

  Jilly appeared at the screen door and lifted her hand. How was he going to convince her the inn should be his?

  With the only thing she seemed to want. Cold hard cash.

  Too bad he didn’t have any more of that than he had of true love.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JILLY PEERED AT THE FIRST chicken she’d ever made, which didn’t resemble anything the Colonel would serve.

  The outside was brown, the inside still red. She’d cut off enough meat for them to start with, then shoved the bird back on the stove.

  “I’m sure the chicken will be wonderful.” Evan smiled and took a bite. His smile froze.

  “What?”

  Jilly took a bite, too. She chewed, then grabbed her napkin and got rid of the mouthful. “Why is there hair in my chicken?”

  “Did you singe it?”

  “If I knew what that was, I could answer you.”

  “You need to stick the chicken in a pot of hot water and remove the skin—”

  “Ew.”

  “Or use a match, maybe a lighter, to burn off the hair.”

  “Chickens have hair? Under their feathers?”

  Evan shrugged and moved on to his mashed potatoes from a box.

  Jilly was disappointed. She’d enjoyed cooking dinner. She’d felt like she was accomplishing something, only to find out that chickens have hair. It just wasn’t fair.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve never cooked before.”

  “You made eggs this morning. They were good.”

  She was unreasonably pleased, even if you had to be a moron to screw up scrambled eggs—or so Barry had told her.

  “Your mom must be a very good cook,” she said.

  Evan glanced up, mouth full of canned green beans. Jilly didn’t think she’d ruined those. Though she had forgotten and left them on the stove until they resembled green beans in a baby food jar rather than the picture on the can.