lunch."
How would she know that? Why would she even think it? He didn't normally miss a meal, and how in hell would she know if he looked hungry or not, when she had never seen him before today? For all she knew, ill-tempered was his normal expression.
Witch
. The word whispered in his mind, even though he knew it was nonsense. Even if he believed in witchcraft, which he didn't, from what he'd read it had nothing to do with telling whether or not a man had missed lunch. She had noticed he was grouchy, and attributed it to an empty stomach. He didn't quite follow the reasoning, but he'd often seen his mother ply his father with food to gentle him out of a bad mood. It was a woman thing, not a witch thing.
"Meow."
He almost jumped a foot in the air. Now was
not
the time to find out she had a cat.
"There you are," she crooned, looking down at his feet He looked down too, and saw a huge, fluffy white cat with black ears and a black tail, rubbing against his right boot
"Poor kitty," she said, still crooning, and leaned down to pick up the creature, holding it in her arms as if it were a baby. It lay perfectly relaxed, belly up, eyes half-dosed in a beatific expression as she rubbed its chest. "Did the noise scare you? The bad man's gone, and he won't bother us again, I promise." She looked up at Jackson. "Eleanor's pregnant. The kittens are due any time now, I think. She showed up about a week ago, but she's obviously tame and has had good care, so I guess someone just drove into the country and put her out, rather than take care of a litter."
The cat looked like a feline Buddha, fat and content. Familiars were supposed to be black, weren't they, or would any cat do, even fat white pregnant ones?
He couldn't resist reaching out and stroking that fat, round belly. The cat's eyes completely closed and she began purring so loudly she sounded like a motor idling.
Delilah smiled. "Careful, or you'll have a slave for life. Maybe you'd like to take her with you?"
"No, thanks," he said drily. "My mother might like a kitten, though. Her old tom died last year and she doesn't have a pet now."
"Check back in six or seven weeks, then."
That wasn't exactly an invitation to come calling any time soon, he thought. He picked up the shotgun and vest. "I'll be on my way, Miss Jones. Thanks again for the sandwiches."
"Lilah."
"What?"
"Please call me Lilah. All my friends do." She gave him a distinctly warning look. "
Not
Delilah, please."
He chuckled. "Message received. I guess you got teased about it in school?"
"You have no idea," she said feelingly.
"My name's Jackson."
"I know." She smiled. "I voted for you. Jackson's a nice Texas-sounding name."
"I'm a nice Texas guy."
She made a noncommital sound, as if she didn't agree with him but didn't want to come right out and say so. He grinned as he turned to the door. Meeting Delilah Jones had been interesting. He didn't know if it was good, but it was definitely interesting. The blue moon mojo was at full strength today. When things settled down and he had time to think things over, when he could be entirely rational about the weirdness and come up with a logical explanation, maybe he'd come back to visit—and not in any official capacity.
"Use the front door," she said. "It's closer."
He followed her through the small house. From what he could tell there were only four rooms: the kitchen and living room on one side, and each of those had another room opening off it. He figured the other two rooms were bedrooms. The living room was simply furnished with a couch and a rocking chair, arranged around a rag rug spread in front of the stone fireplace. Oil lamps sat on the mantle and on the pair of small tables set beside the couch and chair. In one corner was a treadle sewing machine. A handmade quilt hung on one of the walls, a brightly colored scene of trees and water that must have taken forever to do. On another wall a bookcase, also handmade from the looks of it, stretched from