Deadly Patterns Read Online Free PDF Page B

stepped over the threshold.
    Long before I ever set foot back in Bliss, Meemaw did a fancy behind-the-scenes two-step with Will Flores. The deal they agreed on was that if he did handyman work for her, I’d give sewing lessons to Gracie whenever I returned home.
    The handyman work continued, and Gracie’s sewing lessons had turned into an apprenticeship. The girl had talent. She was interested in draping, pattern design, and the intricacies of the fashion world, and having her around after her school day and on weekends made my days feel pretty complete. She could read fabric as if the cross grains were words on a page. The result was that the Floreses spent nearly as much time in my farmhouse as they did in their own house out on Hickory Creek Road.
    All Meemaw’s doing.
    Will stopped in the doorway, his gaze quickly landing on me, an unspoken thread of concern passing between us. A burst of emotion welled up in me at the expression on his swarthy face. His lips pulled into a frown above his goatee, and he pushed back the Longhorns cap he wore. It seemed as if he was ready to say something, but then he looked at the others in the room and closed his mouth, stifling whatever it was he’d wanted to say.
    But the second Gracie laid eyes on me, she rushed forward, her brown-flecked green eyes puffy and red-rimmed. “I’m sorry we didn’t come to the hospital,” she blurted, swiping her fingers under her eyes and brushing her dark hair back from her face.
    I fluttered my hands, waving away her concern. In all my years away from Bliss, I’d only ever been close friends with Orphie Cates. My jobs in fashion had kept me so busy that I didn’t have any time to form a real social circle in Manhattan. Now I looked around my kitchen with the distressed pale yellow cabinets, the butter-colored replica appliances, the deep white farmhouse sink, and the large red-and-white-checkerboard-patterned curtain on a pressure rod below the sink—and the people who were part of my family, both by blood and by choice.
    Sandra was plating more biscuits and eggs. Southern hospitality meant feeding whoever crossed our threshold. Libby made another cup of coffee in one of my black and gold Maximilian mugs.
    “I’m fine,” I said once I knew my voice wouldn’t tremble. “Truly.”
    “Did you really fall off a roof?” Gracie blurted. In true teenage fashion, the girl cut to the chase.
    “I sure did. Guess I can check that off my scuttle list.” I laughed.
    Gracie’s brows pulled together. “What’s that?”
    “You know, a scuttle. A bucket. Like a bucket list. Things to do before I die. Falling off a roof—” Holding an imaginary pencil, I made an invisible mark in the air. “Check.”
    Sandra glided across the kitchen, sliding the two plates of biscuits and gravy onto the table. I breathed in the ribbon of scent from the food until a calmness settled over me. Her gift. Her cooking accentuated a person’s emotions. Thankfully, right now all I wanted was to feel calm, and Sandra’s food filled me with a sense of ease I hadn’t felt since the fall. I knew that with each bite of the biscuits and gravy, I’d find more and more tranquillity. As long as nothing else happened to stir the pot.
    Will, on the other hand, looked like he was getting more agitated. This was the thing about the Cassidy charms. They weren’t always a blessing. Just the aroma of the food Sandra had made heightened Will’s emotions, and right now he seemed to be pretty worked up over my fall. His hands clenched and he finally stepped inside, sucking in a deep breath before he said, “You could have died.”
    “Right,” Sandra said. “She’s lucky she lived to tell the tale.”
    “Yes, she is,” Will said. He still hung back, shoving his hands in his pockets. I got the feeling he wanted to move closer, to inspect my injuries, make sure I was okay, but he stopped himself, letting his shoulders hunch in as he leaned against the molding at the