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“I hope you’re right, but think about it. This Scarface is evil, just look what he did to Becky. What if—”
“He’s the Seventh Spirit,” Mikayla interrupted. “You’re scaring me.”
“Just saying.”
“Holy shit,” Makayla mumbled. “He is powerful. Gage said he tossed him and Torin like they were nothing.”
Donja turned her head and they shared a chilling look.
“Let’s hope you’re wrong,” Makayla whispered, “else we’re all dead.”
Don’t Make Me
Lisa lifted the lid off the Dutch oven. She twisted her head to one side and with her hand fanned the vapors. She leaned closer, inspecting the spiked thermometer rising atop a juicy prime rib.
Disappointed, though the smell was enticing, she replaced the lid and returned it the oven. She removed the oven mitts, a wedding gift from Carson’s secretary at the accounting firm. She tossed them to the wooden counter, contemplating.
Formica would be cheaper than granite, my goodness, we’re already well past sixty thousand on the renovations and Frankie needs braces.
At the sink, she began to husk corn just as a tap, tap, tap, from the lion’s head knocker sounded on the front door.
Who in the world would that be?
She turned her head toward the door. “Carson?” She knew he was in the study where he was writing yet another check to cover the completion of the drywall. “Someone’s at the door!” She listened, head cocked and then she heard the floor boards creaking in the hallway followed by Carson’s voice. “You guys did a great job.”
“Thanks”, a male voice replied which she recognized as Jake, the owner of Meachum Construction. She turned on the water, washing the corn, but she didn’t fail to notice Carson as he and Jake passed by the door headed for the foyer.
She finished the corn, then grabbed a wooden spoon, stirring a thick vanilla concoction which bubbled like lava. She turned off the flame and it occurred to her that Frankie and Maestro had been gone for quite a while, exploring the estate. She smiled, he was so happy here, acres of freedom with abundant wildlife, a boy and his dog gone wild.
“Whew!” she wiped her brow with the back of her hand, heat from the oven radiating. With one of the gold hot pads, she transferred the pot of bubbling pudding to the island, the sound of footsteps in the foyer.
“Honey,” Carson said, walking toward her with a stern look. “Torin’s here.”
Lisa wiped her hands on her apron and her gut tightened. “Donja’s gone,” she said with a bit more bite in her voice than she intended.
“Yes, Mrs. Hampton, I’m aware but I felt it best that I speak to you without Donja present,” Torin said as he emerged from behind Carson.
For a moment, Lisa just stared at the steam rising over the pudding. Finally, she said, “Very well, take a seat.” She picked up the knife, slicing a banana, avoiding eye contact.
Torin took a bar stool. “Hmm, what is that? It smells wonderful.”
Lisa raised her eyes and scanned his white shirt which was partially open, his dark slacks and then his expensive leather shoes so polished she could see herself.
Typical rich playboy, she thought.
“It’s banana pudding,” she said, “Frankie’s favorite, but Donja likes chocolate. She’s loved it since the day she could walk but I doubt that you know that about her.”
“No, I can’t say that I do,” Torin replied with coruscating eyes.
“What can I do for you, Torin?” she asked bluntly.
“First and foremost, I wanted to let you know that I respect you as Donja’s mother. With that said, I wanted you to be the first to know, you as well Mr. Hampton,” he said before he returned his gaze to Lisa, “that I’ll be asking Donja to marry me.”
Lisa dropped the knife which bounced on the counter top, staring, speechless. Carson moved to her side. “Excuse me, Torin, but isn’t that a little fast,” Carson questioned.
“No, not really,” he sighed with a scintillating stare. “I love her, and she loves me.”
“She’s too young,” Lisa blurted, “she has another year of school and then college to think of and—”