Page 50 of Frankly, My Dear

“Don’t be too hard on him.”

“Blossom, what has he done now?”

“Nothin’. Just you remember he’s only five years old. The poor, motherless, helpless mite!”

“Hah! Helpless doesn’t begin to describe—”

An ungodly squawking noise, followed by shrieks of laughter and loud barking interrupted James’s sentence.

His pale eyes widened with disbelief. “You told me Dreadful died,” he accused Blossom as his eyelids slitted with suspicion.

Dreadful?

Blossom ducked her head sheepishly. “Well, I thought the dog died. He looked dead. Yessirree, he did.”

Oh. Dreadful is the name of a dog.

“That mutt always looks half dead.”

The chicken squawked again as if the hounds of hell were on its heels.

“And I ordered you to kill that damn Bob,” he said angrily.

Bob? He wanted Blossom to kill a man?

“I ain’t killin’ no voodoo chicken. Nosirree. And no one else will, either. You wants that rooster dead, you gonna haf to wring its neck yo’self.”

Bob is a chicken. Criminey! Who ever heard of naming a chicken at all, let alone Bob? Selene giggled.

James shot her a glare and said a foul word under his breath before stomping toward the doorway. Selene and the cook followed after him with Blossom muttering, “Lordy, the feathers ’re gonna fly now.”

James moved swiftly into the midst of the amazing scene in the backyard. A huge mangy dog—half sheepdog, half horse—was galloping around in circles, chasing a mutant three-legged rooster. The clumsy dog—appropriately named Dreadful—kept tripping over its own big feet, but it never broke stride in its relentless pursuit of the chicken with the crippled gait. Suddenly fed up, the rooster turned on the dog, and now it was Bob in hot pursuit of the whimpering dog. Etienne rolled in the dirt, laughing hilariously.

James grabbed both his son and the dog by the scruffs of their equally filthy necks and kicked at the rooster pecking at his ankles. “Somebody get this blasted chicken away from me,” he shouted, and the new slave, Rufus, came forward, shooing it into the trees. Rufus also managed to grab the dog and hold its squirming body as the friendly beast licked his stunned face with slavish affection.

James was left with only Etienne to handle. The child suddenly seemed to realize he was in big trouble. “I was only tryin’ to help, Papa. Blossom told me to tie up Dreadful and hide Bob afore you could see ’em,” he whined, placing the blame on the poor cook.

Blossom exhaled loudly with outrage, putting her hands on her hips, and flashed Etienne one of those ominous “Just you wait, boy!” looks.

Selene started to laugh and couldn’t stop. Tears welled in her eyes and streamed down her face. Even after Etienne had been dispatched to the house to take a bath and get ready for bed, even after all the curious slaves had left and Blossom had returned to her kitchen, muttering dire threats, Selene held her sides and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress, but she couldn’t stop laughing.

“You find me amusing, do you?” James asked, coming closer, putting his hands on his hips.

“Hilarious,” she gasped out.

“I don’t like being laughed at.” An easy, sensual smile playing at the edge of his mouth contradicted his words.

“I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.”

“I could stop you,” he said in a voice thick with double meaning.

Selene hadn’t realized that he had moved so close until he leaned down, his lips descending an infinitesimal notch at a time until they were a hairbreadth from hers. She could feel his body heat radiating toward her, enveloping her.

“How?” she whispered.

“You know,” he said against her mouth.

Her breathing suspended.