“Leave her alone, Mrs. Garrison,” April said firmly. “She’s not turning into an anorexic. She’s just paying attention to what she eats.”

Nita harrumphed, but when it came to April, she picked her arguments.

Blue returned to the dining room with the distinct feeling that today wouldn’t be the only day Nita elected to camp out here.

Later that afternoon, Dean came inside, grimy and sweaty from working on the porch. Blue decided there was a big difference between a sweaty male who didn’t bathe regularly and a sweaty one who’d had a shower just that morning. The former was repulsive, the second…wasn’t. While she didn’t exactly want to curl up to his damp chest, she didn’t exactly not want to either.

“Your shadow’s taking a nap in the living room,” he said, unaware of the effect he and his damp T-shirt were having on her. “That woman has more balls than you do.”

“It’s why she and I get along so gosh-darned well.”

He examined the sketches she’d taped to the door and window frames, then turned his attention to the long wall, where she’d begun working in the sky. “This is a big project. How do you know where to start?”

“Top to bottom, light to dark, background to foreground, soft edges to hard.” She came down off the stepladder. “The fact that I understand technique doesn’t mean you’re not going to regret pushing me into this. My landscapes are—”

“Cutesy crap. I know. I wish you’d stop worrying so much.” He handed her the roll of masking tape she’d dropped and studied the cans arranged on her metal cart. “Some of this is regular latex paint.”

“I also work with enamel and oil paints—alkyds because they dry faster, right out of the tube if I want more intense color.”

“That bag of kitty litter I carried in from the car…”

“It’s the best way to get rid of the turpentine I clean my brushes in. It clumps, and then I can—”

Riley shot into the room with her guitar. “Mrs. Garrison told me her birthday is in two weeks! And she’s never in her whole life had a birthday party. Marshall only gave her jewelry. Can we like have a surprise party for her here, Dean? Please, Blue. You could bake a cake and make some hot dogs and stuff.”

“No!”

“No!”

Her forehead wrinkled in censure. “Don’t you think you’re both being kind of mean?”

“Yes,” Dean said, “and I don’t care. I’m not having a party for her.”

“Then you do it, Blue,” Riley said. “At her house.”

“She wouldn’t appreciate it. Appreciation isn’t part of her vocabulary.” Blue picked up the paint she’d poured into a plastic cup and mounted the stepladder.