Cherry Pie by Samantha Kane Page B

attack, but Miss Priss just laughed.
    When she reached him, they just stood there looking at each other for a while. She looked him over from head to toe.
    “Connor Meecham,” she finally said in that old-fashioned, formal way of hers. “You look well.”
    He nodded politely. “Miss Priscilla.”
    She looked pointedly at the gate. Conn looked at it too but didn’t move. She gave him a stern look, and he belatedly opened the gate.
    “Thank you,” she said politely. He was worried about her with her cane on the gravel path, so he stepped up beside her and offered his arm. She took it, and they walked to the house and up the stairs. She settled herself on John’s bench. Conn stood there, not sure what to do.
    “It is good to have you home, Connor,” she said with a sigh as she settled back in the seat. “Tell me where you have been and why you have not come to see me.”
    “This isn’t my house, Miss Priscilla,” he said quietly. “Someone else bought it after Mama died.”
    “I am well aware of that, Connor,” she said calmly. “I have not gone soft in the head. A gentleman from California is living here now, or so I’m told. He has not come by to meet me.”
    Conn bit his lip to keep from smiling at the disapproval in her tone. “They do things a little differently in California, Miss Priss. I don’t think anyone told him he should go and see you.”
    She smiled at the use of the old nickname. “You should have told him,” she chastised him.
    Conn nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I should have.”
    “You are living here now.” It was a statement, not a question.
    “I’m helping John fix up the house. It had fallen into a bit of disrepair.”
    “That is an understatement, Connor. It was a shameful sight that deserved better. I am glad to see the new owner agrees.” She glanced around the porch. “Your mother always wanted to paint the house a stately gray, with white and yellow accents.” She shook her head. “That woman had an unnatural affinity for yellow.”
    Conn was taken aback. He hadn’t known that, about painting the house. “Then why didn’t she?”
    “White was cheaper,” Miss Priss said matter-of-factly. “Which should not be a factor for the new owner, I’m told.”
    “I like yellow too,” Conn said with a smile.
    “Of course, you do,” Miss Priss said with a sniff. “As I told you, Barbara had an unnatural attraction to the color.” She looked at Conn and raised an imperious eyebrow. “Are you not going to offer me refreshments, Connor?” she asked. “I have walked all this way.”
    “May I get you something to drink?” he asked politely, racking his brain to try to remember if they had any lemonade.
    “I would like a lemonade, please,” she answered politely. “And please send your Mr. Ford out to see me.”
    “So you know his name,” Conn teased.
    Miss Priss gave him an indecipherable look. “I know more than most give me credit for, Connor. I know everything that goes on in my town. Now, if you please, may I have my lemonade? I am parched.” She looked up at the ceiling fan on the porch. “Could you also turn that on, please?”
    “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back.” He walked quickly over to the front door and went in, turning the fan on first thing. He hustled back through the kitchen to the back door. “John,” he called. John’s head popped up from behind the fence. He was holding a paintbrush covered in paint. “Someone on the front porch wants to meet you,” Conn told him. “Come on over here. Don’t keep her waiting.”
    John put the brush down, walked around the side of the yard, and came in the gate. “Who?” he asked curiously as Conn waved him over. When he got to the steps, Conn grabbed his upper arm and dragged him into the house. “What the hell?” John exclaimed. “Where’s the fire?”
    “She walked all the way over here,” Conn said. He was suddenly nervous, worried that John might offend Miss Priscilla. “Have we got any