Lynn doesn't work on my story? Fine. Then I'm going to show you my first action scene. I keep telling Lynn she should beef up the action stuff on this story, but she says no. Hell, I could be Catwoman, wear one of them leather suits. I've still got a body. Besides, the leather'll hide the wrinkles. And who says Catwoman can't use a walker?
Rather than responding, he leaned in to capture her lips——give her that reward.
“Shit!” Chad’s hand flew to the back of his head, checking for blood. At the same time, he turned to see who’d hit him.
“Ain’t you got a lick of sense, boy?” Mrs. Jericho stood behind him, one hand on her hip, the other brandishing her weapon of choice. A large, lime green umbrella.
Ignoring Dakota’s snicker, he looked the old lady in the eye. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Mrs. Jericho harrumphed and turned to the lady standing next to her. “Thanks for the loan, Rose,” she said, handing the umbrella over.
Bracing her arms on the sides of her walker, she leaned in toward him and looked as menacing as a little old lady in thong underwear could. “Just trying to beat some sense into you.”
Dakota’s elbow caught him in the back, and he lurched a step toward Mrs. Jericho before he caught himself. He threw a quick, stern look over his shoulder before addressing the old lady again. “I need sense beat into me?”
“You do.” She nodded. “Where’s your brain, swappin’ spit with that poor young lady of yours in the middle of the street? That’ll get her a bad reputation in this town right quick, and you don’t want her getting no bad reputation.”
Then she leaned to the left to look around him at Dakota, who still stood behind him. The old lady’s eyes twinkled as she winked at his fiancée. “I’ll take care of you, lamb chop. You just leave it to Millie.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Dakota said.
“Millie, dear. Millie.”
“Well, Millie-” Chad said. The old lady cut him off.
“That’s Mrs. Jericho to you, stud muffin.”
Dakota burst out laughing behind him while Mrs. Jericho’s eyes continued to twinkle. Chad had to get them away from the old lady soon, or she’d probably start waxing poetic about knowing somebody who’d changed Chad’s diapers when he was a baby.
“Well, Mrs. Jericho,” he said, “we need to get going.”
“Fine, fine. You kids run along,” she said. “But you,” she pointed a long finger at Dakota, “come by my house tomorrow. I’ll put some meat on that scrawny little body of yours.” She turned her attention back to Chad. “Don’t you feed this poor little thing?”
He reached back and grabbed Dakota’s hand. “We were about to head over to the funnel cake booth now.” Pulling Dakota to stand next to him, he flashed Mrs. Jericho a smile that was sure to charm her.
It didn’t work.
“Funnel cakes?” she screeched. “That won’t do. That won’t do at all. Didn’t your momma teach you nothing?” She shook her head. “Your girl there needs real food. Good, Southern food. Both of you come by for lunch tomorrow. I’ll feed you both.”
“We’ll be there, Millie,” Dakota said, smiling. “And together, you and I will teach this young buck,” she punched Chad in the shoulder, “all about proper Southern manners.”
Mrs. Jericho studied them a moment, then gave a quick nod of her head. “That’ll do. Yup, that’ll do just fine. Now, you two run along. I thought I saw that old biddy Edie Smalls heading this way. I’ll keep her busy while you two hide.”
She dismissed them with a wave of her hand then turned and headed down the street, her walker scraping along the sidewalk as she moved.