Page 29 of Tasting Fire
8
Before Maggie hada chance to wrap up the interview, Cash spied a pink moving truck pulling up outside. The side panels were neatly painted with the words Kingston Farms. Cash’s family called the thing Wilbur just like they had all the trucks that came before it.
His dad stepped out and Shep emerged from the other side. Puck stayed inside the cab with the windows rolled down, but he moved over to the driver’s side and gave Cash a doggie grin. His dad and Shep disappeared around the back and when they came back in sight, they were lugging two big pieces of plywood.
Emotion made Cash’s heart double in size. Damn, he loved his family. They might all make him crazy from time to time. They might chastise like Maggie, give advice like Way, or terrorize like Riley, but Cash wouldn’t trade one of them for anything. He hustled outside to greet his dad and brother. “News traveled quick.”
“Maggie called,” his dad grunted out. “And I let Grif know we had it taken care of for now.” Cash’s old man was in his late fifties, but all his farm work kept him in good health and amazing shape. Kingston Farms was a local success story, having grown from his dad’s hobby to a major supplier of farm-to-table produce for local restaurants.
Even though his dad was plenty buff, Cash grabbed a corner of the plywood to take some of the weight.
Together, the three of them angled the board against the brick on a patch of sidewalk that was sprinkled with glass.
“Got a nail gun, broom, and dustpan in the truck,” his dad told him. “Need to clean up the sidewalk and inside.”
Smart. They didn’t need to crunch around in the mess and possibly track it around more. Besides, crap like this made Shep twitchy. Right now, he was glowering at the random bits as if they had personally affronted him. If the window had somehow broken into a pattern instead of a chaotic mess, Shep would’ve stood there gazing at it like a lovesick lemur all night long.
Cash retrieved the cleanup stuff and went to town, sweeping up quickly but thoroughly inside before attacking the pieces outside on the sidewalk. God, what would’ve happened if he and Emmy had been a little closer? She might’ve been showered with glass. Cut to pieces.
He imagined her, slices all over her soft skin, blood dripping onto the ground. He’d seen some of the worst the world had to offer, but that freeze frame of a damaged Emmy floating in his mind twisted his stomach in a way he’d never before felt.
“You okay, son?” his dad asked, picking up the nail gun Cash had set aside.
Cash shook his head to clear it. “Just glad no one was hurt.” He grabbed a piece of plywood and slid it toward the shattered window. “If you two will hold this in place, I’ll secure it.”
Shep slipped on heavy-duty ear protection and said, “Dad’s gun holds fifty-five nails.” He had a fascination with all kinds of numbers and patterns, but loud noises weren’t his jam. That was one of the reasons he spent most of his time outside and had established himself as a rock climber and occasional adventure guide.
They braced the wood against the window frame, and Cash nailed it up.Whoomp. Whoomp. Whoomp.The second piece went up, and within five minutes, the hole was covered. Grif probably wasn’t going to be happy with the eyesore they’d created, but he’d have to get over it. Cash’s priority was Emmy’s safety, not that the Murchison building now resembled a crack house.
While he, Shep, and his dad were DIYing, Emmy and Maggie had been huddled together near the staircase, their conversation too low for him to catch.
“Good thing you were here when it happened,” his dad said.
“I guess Mom knows, too.”
“I can’t keep anything from her these days.”
If that wasn’t the truth, Cash didn’t know what was. He loved his mama like no one else on this earth, but she’d been hell on wheels since retiring from her career as an environmental engineer. She was used to being in charge and in full-steam-ahead mode. That hadn’t changed. “Surprised she didn’t demand to ride along with y’all.”
“Ah, well, that reminds me…” His dad’s words trailed off as he walked back to the truck. When he returned, he was carrying a misshapen lump under a hand towel. When Cash was riding the ambulance, a covered package like that was almost always bad news. One time after a chainsaw accident, the patient’s brother had given Cash a towel-wrapped bundle. One peek inside revealed the chainsaw wielder’s left hand. Turned out, it wasn’t a salvage job.
His dad thrust the lump toward him, and Cash backed up a step. “What is it?”
“Food.”
Definitely suspicious. “Something you made?” Like that was possible. If his dad had cooked it, it wouldn’t have been wrapped up like something bound for the backyard in a shoe box.
“Mom’s started a baking phase,” Shep said, his gaze trained on the lump as if it might attack at any second. Smart man. You had to be ever vigilant around Sandy Kingston’s cooking. “She said that if you can make zucchini bread, you should be able to make eggplant bread.”
“Have you tasted it?” Cash asked.
Shep’s head shake was definitive, bordering on violent. “Even Puck wouldn’t eat something like that, and Mom knows I’m not much for purple vegetables.”
“Her feelings will be hurt if I bring it back home.” His dad’s smile was both evil and apologetic as he shoved the bread into Cash’s hands.
“Maybe you could tell her you forgot to give it to me?”
“She’d just bring it to you in person.”
