Page 16 of A Tempting Seduction (Protectors of Jasper Creek #5)

CHAPTER TEN

“Ruby, dear!” Violet's voice called out before I could knock a second time. “Perfect timing!”

The door swung open to reveal Violet's smiling face, but behind her I caught a glimpse of silver hair and heard Little Grandma's distinctive laugh echoing from the dining room.

“Oh boy,” I breathed. “You have company.”

“The best kind,” Violet said, stepping aside to let me in. “Come see who's here.”

I followed her into the dining room and stopped short.

My great-grandmother and Little Grandma sat around the small dining table with Luther, and scattered across the surface were playing cards, loose change, and a couple of crumpled dollar bills.

Luther held a deck of cards in his weathered hands, shuffling them with the practiced ease of someone who'd been doing it for decades.

“Ruby!” Miss Gladiola's face lit up. “We were hoping you'd show up.”

“Lettie dropped us off about an hour ago,” Little Grandma explained. “We thought it might be nice to visit Luther and Violet. We haven’t played a good game of pinochle in ages.”

Luther looked up from his cards, his blue eyes sharp and focused. Today was one of his clearer days, though I knew better than to expect them to last or come with any predictability.

“You're just in time to sit in with us for some hands,” Violet said, pulling up an extra chair.

“Only if she brought money,” Luther inserted.

My mouth fell open. “I don't know how to play.”

“We'll teach you,” Little Grandma said, and the glint in her eyes made my stomach drop. Miss Gladiola nodded in agreement, wearing the exact same expression.

“Oh no,” I said, backing toward the door. “I've heard stories about card games with you two. I'll just leave the pastries and?—”

“Sit,” Luther said with authority. “Can't be that hard to learn if these old biddies can play.”

“Old biddies!” Miss Gladiola swatted at him with her free hand. “I'll show you an old biddy, Luther Randolph.”

“Promises, promises,” he shot back with a grin that made Violet laugh.

Thirty minutes later, I stared at the meager pile of change in front of me while everyone else's stacks had grown significantly. Especially Little Grandma's.

“How is that possible?” I asked, watching her scoop up another pile of quarters. “I swear you had terrible cards that hand.”

“Experience, dear,” Little Grandma said sweetly. “Lots and lots of experience.”

Luther chuckled and dealt another hand. “Don't feel bad, Ruby. Esperance here has been taking people's money at cards since before you were born.”

“Before your grandmother was born,” Miss Gladiola added. “I still remember the time she cleaned out half the church social playing poker behind the fellowship hall.”

“That was one time!” Little Grandma protested. “And it was for a good cause.”

“What cause was that?” Violet asked, arranging her cards.

“The new church roof fund.”

“Did you donate the money?” I asked.

Little Grandma's pause was telling. “Eventually.”

I lost the next hand too, and the one after that. By the time we finished playing, I was down five dollars, and everyone was calling Little Grandma a card sharp.

“All right, all right,” I said, pushing my remaining change toward the center of the table. “I surrender. You win.”

“Smart girl,” Luther said, gathering up the cards. “You might want to reconsider playing for money next time.”

I looked at Luther's clear eyes and easy smile, at the way he and Violet kept catching each other's gaze across the table. These moments of clarity were precious, even if they came without warning and left just as suddenly.

“How are you both feeling?” I asked. “Is everything working okay here? The air conditioning, all the appliances?”

“Everything's perfect,” Violet assured me. “Remember that refrigerator trouble we had? They fixed that weeks ago, and it's been running beautifully ever since.”

“Any doctor appointments coming up? Do you need me to drive you anywhere?”

“We're fine, dear,” Violet said. “Though I do appreciate you asking.”

Luther cleared his throat and glanced toward Violet with a mischievous expression. “Ruby, you think it would be possible to put a little bit of bourbon in my tea? Just a splash?”

Miss Gladiola's eyes lit up. “Now that sounds like a fine idea, Luther. I wouldn't mind joining you.”

“Gladiola Miller,” Little Grandma shook her head. “It's only two o’clock.”

“It's five o'clock somewhere,” Miss Gladiola said primly. “Besides, we're celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” Violet asked.

“Ruby's love life,” Miss Gladiola announced.

Heat flooded my cheeks. “We are not celebrating my love life.”

“Of course we are,” Little Grandma said. “When was the last time any of us had something this exciting to discuss?”

Luther stood up with more energy than I'd seen from him in a while. “I'm getting that whiskey. Violet, you want some tea too?”

“Only tea for me,” Violet said. “But I'll keep you company.”

“Same here,” I said quickly. “Just tea.”

Little Grandma waved her hand. “Tea's fine for me, too. Someone needs to stay sober enough to monitor y’all.”

Twenty minutes later, Luther sat back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, his teacup empty except for the lingering scent of good bourbon. His cheeks had a healthy flush, and his eyes sparkled with contentment.

“That hit the spot,” he said. “Haven't had a proper drink in months.”

“Don't tell the doctors,” Violet warned, but she was smiling.

“What they don't know won't hurt them,” Miss Gladiola said, finishing her own spiked tea. “Sometimes a little medicinal alcohol is exactly what the body needs.”

When it was time to leave, Luther gave me a warm hug and thanked me for the pastries. I could see the afternoon was beginning to take its toll on him, but he was still present and smiling.

“I can drive you ladies home,” I offered. “Save Lettie another trip.”

“That would be wonderful,” Little Grandma said, gathering her purse. “Lettie drives like an old woman, and these old bones aren’t fond of long car rides.”

I hugged Violet goodbye and promised to visit next week. The drive back to the yellow house on Elm Street was filled with chatter about how well Luther had been doing.

“He's like a different person when his mind is clear,” Miss Gladiola said from the passenger seat. “Sharp as a tack and twice as charming.”

“Those clear moments are precious,” Little Grandma agreed. “Makes all the difficult times more bearable.”

“Violet handles it so well,” I said, turning onto their street. “I don't know how she stays so positive.”

“Love,” Miss Gladiola said simply. “When you've loved someone for fifty-plus years, you don't give up when things get hard. You find ways to celebrate the good moments and endure the rest.”

I parked in their driveway and helped both women out of the car. Miss Gladiola moved slowly but steadily, while Little Grandma practically bounced up the front steps despite being over a hundred years old.

“Come in for a minute,” Little Grandma called over her shoulder. “I want to show you my herb garden, get your advice.”

Their living room smelled like lavender and vanilla, just like always. Miss Gladiola settled into her favorite armchair while I followed Little Grandma into the kitchen and looked at her little pots of herbs growing at her window over her sink.

“These are doing really well,” I praised.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Did you have breakfast?” Little Grandma asked with a keen eye.

I glanced at the clock over her stove just as my stomach growled. “I had tea and half a croissant while we were playing cards…”

“That's not filling! You go sit in the living room while I make you a proper meal.”

“You don't have to?—”

“Hush. I'm making chicken salad sandwiches, and you're going to eat one whether you like it or not.”

Miss Gladiola chuckled from the other room. “Don't bother arguing with her, dear. You'll lose,” she called out.

Fifteen minutes later, I bit into what might have been the best chicken salad sandwich of my life. The chicken was tender and perfectly seasoned, mixed with crisp celery, sweet grapes, and just enough mayonnaise to hold everything together.

“This is incredible,” I said around a bite. “What's your secret?”

“Fresh herbs and a little bit of lemon zest,” Little Grandma said, settling back into her chair with her own sandwich. “Plus, I always toast the bread. Makes all the difference.”

“I need this recipe,” I said. “Thank you again for all those letters, by the way. Along with my mother's journals, I feel like I almost have her with me when I read them.”

Miss Gladiola's sandwich paused halfway to her mouth. “Journals? What journals?”

“My mother kept journals for years,” I explained. “She wrote about everything. Her thoughts, her feelings, recipes she wanted to try. I brought them with me when I moved to Jasper Creek.”

“Recipes?” Miss Gladiola's eyes sharpened with interest. “I'd love to read them. Your mother always was creative in the kitchen, even as a young girl.”

“Really? The letters mentioned that she loved to cook, but I didn't realize it went back that far.”

“Oh yes,” Little Grandma said. “Edith was always experimenting with new dishes. She'd stay over with Gladdie during the summer months and spend hours in the kitchen, learning family recipes and inventing new ones.”

Miss Gladiola leaned forward in her chair. “Would you mind if I took a look at those journals? I'd love to see what recipes she collected over the years.”

“Of course,” I said. “I'll bring them over tomorrow. You might recognize some of the dishes she wrote about.”

“I'd like that very much,” Miss Gladiola said softly. “It would be like having a little piece of her back.”

I finished my sandwich and was reaching for my purse when Little Grandma fixed me with that look that meant serious business was about to be discussed.

“Now then,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “Tell us about Ford Larson.”

The heat that had been threatening my cheeks all afternoon finally made its grand entrance. “What about Ford?”