Page 137 of Huckleberry Hill
“No, we won’t,” Declan drawled. He pulled my chair closer to him.
“Atta boy,” Muddy said, raising her cup of coffee to him.
Dad’s gaze narrowed at Declan but softened when he looked at me. “You don’t seem mad,” Dad said to me.
“I’m not mad. She’s the reason you didn’t want me going to the livestock auction with you, wasn’t she?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “I wasn’t ready to—anyway, we’re done now.”
“Done?” Muddy asked. “Really?”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because she wants to get married and I don’t,” he stated. “So, there you have it.”
“Dad,” I said softly. “Mom would want you to be happy again.”
“I’m not having this conversation.” He pushed his chair back from the table and stood. Without another word, he strode from the house, the front door slamming shut.
I looked from Muddy to Declan. “Who is she? Let me guess. The veterinarian. Dr. Swanson.”
Declan nodded. “Yep.”
“What do you make of all this?” I asked Muddy.
“If I had to guess, I would say Dr. Swanson does make him happy. And that’s why he ended it.”
“Oh,” I said softly.
“Let him be, sugar. It’s for your father to figure out.” Muddy rose. “You kids mind cleaning up?”
“Not at all,” Declan said.
“You’re a good boy,” Muddy said, coming to him and patting his cheek. “Treat her well, or I’ll use the shotgun myself.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Declan said formerly.
Muddy left, grabbing her jacket on the way out.
I stood up and began gathering the dishes.
“You’re mad at me,” Declan said. “For not telling you.”
“No.”
“Annoyed?”
A smile flickered across my lips. “Annoyed is a better word for it, and I am annoyed—just not for the reason you think.”
“Tell me then.” He went to the sink and grabbed the scrub brush.
“You know how to clean cast iron, right?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Okay, because that pan has been seasoned for sixty years. My grandmother will kill you if you ruin it.”
“I know how to clean cast iron,” he assured me. “Back to what we were talking about.”
