Page 59 of Nomad

“For dinner?” He nodded. “Well, I make a decent stuffed pork chop. I use my own cornbread dressing, I add pecans, sage, and onions. Top it with a brown gravy.” The men exchanged looks. “I know how to fry chicken with honey in the batter. I make a pretty respectable chicken fried steak. I’m good at spaghetti and lasagna. My daddy would ask for meatloaf once a week. I like it with tomato sauce, but I can do it with brown gravy, too. I make a white cheese macaroni and cheese to go with it. My daddy says I make the best whipped potatoes in Texas. When I can get ‘em, I like to do fresh black-eyed peas. We could do a fried catfish night. I have a recipe for hushpuppies that I found in an old cookbook. Hushpuppies are hard to get just right. Takes some practice.”

She took another bite of chicken enchiladas and realized that everyone had stopped eating and was staring at her like she was telling tales from theArabian Nights.

“Um. Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

Brenda laughed. “No. You just sent these guys into food fantasy stupor.”

Arnold cleared his throat. “That all sounds really good.”

The others nodded.

Bud smiled and glanced at Brash. It only took ten minutes for the novelty that was Bud to wear off and the room was once again alive with conversation and laughter.

Bud got up to help clear dishes.

“Now you know I told you that you don’t need to start till tomorrow mornin’.”

“I know,” Bud said, “but I’m not busy. And you can tell me how to make gooey chicken enchiladas while we’re cleaning up?”

Brenda smiled. “Get an apron over there.” She jerked her head toward the tall cabinets. “I can tell you’re gonna work out fine, which’ll make it easier for me to leave. I don’t know what Brant told you about the work, but the job title should behouse mother.”

When Bud saw that Brash was leaving the room, she hurried after him and touched his shoulder. When he turned around, she said, “Any news?”

His eyes flicked back and forth between hers like he was reading her. “You know what an arraignment is?”

“Not really.”

“It’s when somebody accused of a crime goes in front of a judge and says whether they’re guilty or not guilty.”

Brash saw concern jump into the girl’s facial features. “When is it?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“He’s not guilty.”

Brash smiled. “I know that. Matter of fact the whole world knows it. Lot of people on TV sayin’ it’s your pop who ought to be under arrest. Course that’s not gonna happen. But he has been persuaded to tell the judge that it was all a misunderstanding and not a kidnapping, as he’d originally said.”

Bud blinked twice while trying to process that. “My daddy’s gonna say he didn’t mean it?”

“Yep.”

“That doesn’t sound like him.”

“Well, with a little pressure applied just right, motives can almost always be manipulated into a better attitude.”

She stared at Brash. “Wow.”

“Yep.”

“Is this a safe place to be?”

“The safest. Why would you ask that question?”

She debated whether or not to answer directly, but concluded that Brash was the kind of man who would know if she was lying. “I know what happened to Johns’ family.”

Brash’s face went dead serious. After a brief pause, he said, “That was tragic. First off, it’s been a long time since this club was into income production of a dubious nature. And I hope this doesn’t sound callous because that’s not what’s in my heart. But second, what you’re talkin’ about didn’t happen here.”

Bud nodded. “I’m not asking for me. I…”

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