Authors: Kelli Scott
Hair of the Dog (13 page)
Ivy followed like a cranky child. She slogged through the
mob as if she paved a path through a jungle, only without the helpful machete.
“Mom!” Ivy’s mom was down on the ground straddling Jack Crump, beating him
about the head and chest with her handbag. Ivy’d had the impulse herself a time
or two. The man was a tad exasperating when not saving her life from menacing
bears.
“Jackass!” her mom shouted, punctuating each syllable with a
smack. “I wish I’d never laid eyes on you.”
Smack.
“Mrs. Fontainebleau?” Grant said.
Jack defended himself with his hands and arms blocking her
blows. “Aw, come on, Joanie.”
She stopped striking Jack long enough to say to Grant, “It’s
Ms.” After one more smack, she said, “This stubborn, pig-headed ass wouldn’t
marry me thirty years ago.”
Stubborn. Pig-headed. Jackass. Where have I heard this
before?
Ivy exchanged a glance with Grant. They both said, “Ah ha!” at the
same time.
Pointing at Jack, Grant said, “Conceited know-it-all.”
“Arrogant,” Ivy added. “We should have known.”
“Known what?” Jack asked. “What are the two of you yammering
on about?”
“That you’re my
dad
.” Ivy rolled her eyes, feeling a
little dizzy as her head began to spin with the revelation she wasn’t too sure
how she felt about. He’d saved her from a kidnapping, or worse. He’d also
chased Grant away from the pool, probably for Grant’s own good, she decided.
“Don’t talk to your father that way,” Ivy’s mother snapped.
“I’m…I’m not her father,” Jack protested. He pointed into
the crowd. “Was Dirk Fallon who knocked her up.”
Ew.
“Leave me out of this.” Dirk skulked into the crowd.
“Then why have you been protecting me?” Ivy asked.
“You have?” her mother said, still straddling him, but
thankfully not beating him any longer. If Ivy had her druthers, she’d prefer
there were no straddling, either.
He squinted in Ivy’s direction. “Because…well because…you’re
Joanie’s little girl.”
Her mother struck him once more.
Whack!
And she said,
“She’s your little girl.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jack asked.
Whack!
“I tried.”
“You slept with half the town.” He pointed his finger at
her. “Harlot.”
Whack! Whack! Whack!
“You’re all a bunch of liars.
Animals!” Looking around, she asked, “Who? Who here did I sleep with?” Most of
the men took a step backward. “Anyone? Don’t be shy.”
“Mom, please,” Ivy said. She really didn’t want to be
treated to a parade of potential dads, although it didn’t look like her mom was
getting any takers. At fifty, she was still a looker, put clearly unbalanced.
“Animals, I tell you.” She shook her finger at the crowd.
“You’re nothing but animals.”
“Mom.” Ivy cleared her throat. “I’d like you to meet Grant.
My…my animal.”
Grant slung his arm around Ivy’s shoulder. “It’s nice to
have you back where you belong, Ms. Fontainebleau.”
Pushing up to standing, her mother said, “I don’t belong
here. And neither does Ivy. ’Bout had a heart attack when I got your phone
message. I came to fetch her out of this godforsaken town.”
Ivy folded herself into Grant, laying her hand proprietarily
on his chest. “I’m not leaving. This guy’s going to marry me.”
“I am?” Grant brightened, squaring his shoulders. “I mean,
that’s right, I am.”
“I’m going to have his children,” Ivy said in her
whatcha-gonna-do-about-it tone.
Smiling, Grant said, “You are?”
Her mother made a harrumph sound. “What is he?” She turned
her nose up at him. “Fish or fowl?”
“I’m a dog,” Grant said proudly. Cheers and jeers erupted
from the crowd still gathered around.
“Not another dog,” she objected. “Anything but that.”
Jack picked himself up off the ground and brushed himself
off. He spun Joan Fontainebleau around to face him, swept her up in his arms
and kissed her firmly. A little too firmly for Ivy’s taste. There might have
been tongue. Bile rose up in her throat.
Ick.
When Jack set Ivy’s mom upright, she wobbled a little. He’d
left her dazed and speechless for once. Maybe they were right for each other
after all.
“Once you go wolf, you never go back,” Jack said. There was
some more cheering as well as grumbling from the crowd. “Me and Joan got some
talking to do.”
“We do?” Ivy’s mother mumbled.
“We do.” He grabbed her hand. “Excuse us.”
“Oh…uh…sure,” Ivy said.
Jack Crump dragged her mother away through the crowd that
began to flow again now that the excitement ended. Just another day in Mystic
Springs.
“That was weird,” Ivy said to Grant.
“That was very weird,” he agreed. They let themselves be
swept up in the surge of pedestrians. “So I’m going to marry you.”
“That’s right.” Ivy fought to keep a straight face. “You’re
also going to ask me proper, including a ring. A nice one, befitting the
betrothed of a prominent public official. And don’t forget the romance.”
“Champagne, roses and chocolates,” he listed. “Candlelight
and music. Stop me when I’ve got it all covered.”
“I will,” she promised.
Kelli Scott, a former airline employee, spent her career
globetrotting the world, leaving broken hearts and empty champagne flutes in
every port. Turning over a new leaf, she started her own now-defunct religion,
also revolving around champagne. Currently a recluse living on a mountaintop in
the Appalachians, she enjoys rock gardening, taxidermy and writing her
semi-autobiographical memoirs.
Kelli welcomes comments from readers. You can find her
website and email address on her
author bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.
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