Prodigal Daughter
Copyright© 2025 by DB86
Chapter 17
Elise was furious with Marshall—absolutely eye-pokingly irritated—that he had kissed her with a sweetness and passion she’d never experienced in her entire life ... and then apologized. Apologized! Him!
If Marshall could pretend that kiss had never happened, then so could she.
Yeah, right.
She stood in front of the open refrigerator, willing tuna rolls to magically appear on the shelf. Marshall was out in the fields and clearly wasn’t coming in for lunch. Which meant she was on her own.
There was no freaking food in the house. How could a man as big as Marshall survive on ham, cheese, eggs, and beer?
With a huff, she slammed the door shut. She wouldn’t have the energy to paint Justin’s bedroom this afternoon if she didn’t eat something first.
“What’s for lunch?” Justin came loping into the kitchen.
Elise had half-worried he’d be sulking in the yard, feelings hurt after he’d shown her his hair and she hadn’t shown up for the swings.
“Ehhh, let me see what I can do with what we have.”
She’d already discovered that Pizza Hut didn’t deliver out here. They had a five-mile delivery radius from the town center, and Marshall’s farm was just a fingernail outside of it. She’d even tried bribery, but the teenager on the phone had just said it was against the rules and hung up on her. Rude country kids.
“Hello? Anyone home?” The back door creaked open and Logan Tucker’s booming voice filled the room.
Elise stepped into view and tried not to grimace.
“Hi,” Justin said, shifting to lean against Elise’s leg and clutching his stuffed lion.
“Did you two eat yet?” Logan asked, holding up a large picnic basket.
“No, we haven’t. We were just contemplating calling an Uber into town.”
Marshall’s grandfather stepped inside and set the basket on the table. His wife trailed behind, eyeing Elise like she was the Whore of Babylon.
“My wife made us some chicken and potato salad,” Logan announced, cheerfully.
“Where’s Marshall?” the old witch asked, as if Elise had him stashed in her back pocket.
He was probably hiding in the barn or on his tractor—anywhere he didn’t have to see her. Probably afraid she’d attack him and kiss him again.
“I have no idea,” Elise said sweetly, her voice dipped in venom.
Hunger made her cranky. So did being ignored by a man she’d cried in front of—cried, for God’s sake. For a moment, she’d thought there was something real and honest happening between them.
“I like your hair like that, Elise,” Logan said, lifting the chicken out of the basket with a smile. “We can see your pretty face better.”
She touched her hair self-consciously. She hadn’t put her extensions back in, not wanting Justin to think she was embarrassed about her short, boyish hair. Which she was.
But Logan’s compliment made her feel a little better.
“Thank you.”
She reached for five plates from the cabinet.
Bonnie scowled at her husband. “Logan, why don’t you see if you can find Marshall? And how kind of you to set the table, Elise.”
Elise resisted the urge to stick out her tongue—an impressive feat, considering she was starving and still hadn’t had coffee.
“Well now,” Bonnie said, lifting the lid off the chicken. “What part do you like? Leg, breast, or thigh?”
“I’m a breast man, myself,” Logan called from the doorway, already on his way out.
Bonnie looked scandalized. “Logan Tucker! What’s gotten into you?”
Logan turned with an innocent shrug. “What?” He ruined it by winking at both Elise and Justin.
Justin giggled. Elise smiled, despite herself.
Logan Tucker was just as charming as his grandson.
“Look at that.” Logan stepped aside. “Found him already.”
Marshall filled the doorway, sweaty and flushed, lifting his cap to mop his forehead with a T-shirt sleeve. Justin lit up and darted across the room.
“Hi, kiddo!” Marshall said, his voice bright with enthusiasm—something Elise wouldn’t have imagined from him a few weeks ago.
Marshall’s whole face transformed when he saw his son. He grinned wide, bent down, and scooped Justin up by the waist. He tossed him in the air and then settled him against his chest, legs dangling, arms slung around Marshall’s neck.
“We’re having lunch,” Justin announced.
“Did you save me any?”
“We didn’t even start yet,” Justin giggled.
Marshall kissed the top of his son’s head with a loud smack and set him back down. “Good.”
Elise looked away and busied herself pulling paper napkins from the wooden holder on the counter. She was happy for them—so happy for them. But she was also suddenly, acutely aware of how alone she was.
They were a family. She was an employee. Temporary. Just a small, passing part of one short summer. In ten years, none of them would even remember her. And God ... that hurt. It hurt more than she’d ever imagined.
Marshall was still embarrassed about the kiss. Part of him wanted to take it back. Part of him wanted to do it again—this time, without clothes.
But judging by the way Elise kept shooting him glacial looks across the table, she was not in the mood for a repeat performance.
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