Alan Taylor had stepped outside the barn to lean on a fence and look at an old tractor when the man walked up beside him. The other man was shorter and more solid than Alan, dressed in carefully pressed blue jeans, a fitted sport coat, and a silverbelly Stetson. An impressive mustache cascaded down from his upper lip.
He held out a hand. The handshake was firm; the hands were a working man’s hands, “You must be Ellie’s pa.”
“I am,” Alan said. “Alan Taylor. And you are?”
“Hello, Alan Taylor. I’m Seth Monroe.” He tilted the hat back with one finger. “My Bobbi Sue was your girl’s roommate all through college.”
Alan nodded, not quite sure how to answer that.
“Bobbi Sue figured out real quick that your Ellie wasn’t going home when school closed, so she brought her out to our place.”
“Thank you, Seth. That was kind of you and your wife.”
Seth snorted, fond, “My Rachel gave me five kids -- three boys and two girls. Then your Ellie showed up, and Rachel … well, she just figured Santa Claus had snuck a sixth kid into her stocking when she wasn’t looking.”
Alan blinked. “Mr. Monroe --”
“Personally,” Seth went on as if Alan hadn’t spoken, “I didn’t even realize there was a sixth kid around the farm the first couple of times, your girl is so quiet. Regular little house mouse.”
He spat accurately, knocking a juvenile skink ass-over-teakettle off the bottom fence rail, “Then I heard her talking to my Rachel and the girls a few times, and I figured out that your little girl is damaged.” He looked at Alan directly. “The sort of damage it takes a mother to do.”
Alan felt his jaw tighten, “I thank you for the care of my daughter, but I don’t think her relationship with her mother is any of your business.”
Seth sighed, gentle and rueful, “You’d think so.” He straightened the Stetson on his head. “But if your wife throws a monkey wrench into Ellie’s wedding, my Rachel is going to drag your wife out into the parking lot and beat her ass.”
He smiled at Alan, easy and completely serious, “And then it’ll be my business.”
He patted Alan on the shoulder, “Better go get ready, Alan. You’re walking Ellie down the aisle in that barn in twenty minutes.”
Sigh. I keep writing secondary characters who are more interesting than my protagonists. Bloody Muse.
Ian
EDIT: It’s completely illogical, but I feel bad for the skink.
Ian
Yay for the muse not going quiet! May it keep talking the whole way to the end!
Also, I see where Bobbie Sue got her excess of spunk.
I enjoy reading about good people trying to do good things. Or at least people trying to be good people. It is always tough when to people trying to be good end up at cross purposes because of the different goods they are supporting. I hope Seth and Alan don't end up on opposite sides of a problem, that would be sad.