Page 11 of The Girl from Devil's Lake
Butch carried the remaining two cups over to the table and sat down. “How’s school?” he asked.
“It’s a lot harder than I expected,” Nick answered, “but it’s going well. Another year and a half to go.”
“That’ll go by in a blink,” Butch assured him.
“I’m sure it will,” Nick replied, “but school’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. Dixon.”
“Call me Butch, please, but if this is about bringing Dexter and Maggie down here, not to worry. Joanna and I have already talked that over. We’re both completely on board.”
“It wasn’t about Maggie and Dex,” Nick said uneasily. “It’s about Jen and me.”
Butch shifted in his own seat. “You’re not breaking up, are you?”
“Just the opposite,” Nick answered nervously. “I know you’re not her biological father, but you’ve been Jen’s dad for more than half her life, so I’m asking for her hand in marriage—if it’s all right with you, that is.”
Butch sputtered momentarily on half a mouthful of coffee, which morphed into a coughing fit.
“You love her, don’t you?” he asked once he could speak again.
“Absolutely!” Nick declared.
“Have you asked her yet?”
“Not really, but I have a ring in my pocket, and I’m planning on asking her at dinner today, if you don’t mind.”
“Bended knee and everything?” Butch asked with a grin.
“That’s the idea.”
“You’ve got my approval, but good luck with the bended knee bit,” Butch added. “In my experience, these Brady women aren’t big on grand gestures.”
“What grand gestures?” Joanna asked, returning to the kitchen.
“Nothing much,” Butch said quickly. “We were just shooting the breeze, but you look worried. What’s up?”
“One of the rain cells parked itself right over San Jose Peak and the headwaters of the San Pedro. The river was already running bank to bank, and we’re afraid it’s about to get worse. The bridges on Highways 90 and 92 should be fine, but if the water gets too high, on Highway 80 it could damage not only the old bridge in St. David, but also threaten the one that’s under construction.”
The San Pedro, the only north-flowing river in Arizona, starts at the base of San Jose, just across the border in Mexico, and travels north until it drains into the Gila. Flash floods on the river have been known to come complete with walls of muddy water twelve feet high.
“Are you going to have to go in?” Butch asked.
“Not so far,” Joanna replied. “The highway department has observers on the scene. They’ll make the call and let us know if we need to post detours.”
“Detours,” Nick repeated. “Does that mean we won’t be able to get back to Tucson the same way we came?”
Joanna nodded. “You may have to go back by way of Sierra Vista. It’s a little longer, but, because the roads are better, it takes about the same amount of time.”
Dennis shot into the kitchen. “I’m about to turn onTrains, Planes, and Automobiles,” he announced. “Anybody interested?”
“I’m for that,” Nick said, scrambling out of the breakfast nook. “That’s one of my faves.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Joanna asked. “He looked like I’d caught him with one hand in the cookie jar.”
“Maybe you did,” Butch mumbled under his breath. “But in case you have to go out, I’m going to turn up the heat on that bird and start the potatoes. If I know you, we’re better off eating earlier than later.”
“Good thinking,” Joanna said. “I’ll call Jim Bob and Eva Lou and let them know the timeline is changing.”
In actual fact, dinner was on the table by three fifteen, a good forty-five minutes early. When it was time for dessert, Nick jumped up and offered to help serve. Jenny’s was the last plate he brought to the table, and an engagement ring was front and center, resting in a bed of whipped cream at the very tip of her piece of pumpkin pie.
