Free Bring on the Blessings by Beverly Jenkins

broken by the sounds and sights of a truck pulling up to the house. Out of it stepped Malachi July. He left the engine running and the headlights lit the night.
    “Tamar gone to bed?” he asked, looking up at her from where he stood on the bottom step.
    “I think so.” A look over her shoulder showed the lights out in the back of the house. “You’d know better about whether to wake her up or not.”
    “I’ll talk to her in the morning. So how are things?”
    “Just fine.”
    “Enjoying the night?”
    “I am.”
    “Have dinner with me?”
    Even though he was fine as the night itself, she said, “No.”
    “Because?”
    “Because your mama says you’re full of snake oil.”
    He dropped his head. Even he had to smile on that one. “Look—”
    “No,” she said softly, and she hoped kindly. “The only reason I’m here is to help this town. I know you have a reputation with the women, but I think a man in his sixties still trying to be a player is pitiful.”
    He stared and stammered. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know there are twenty-year-olds who can’t get enough of this funky stuff.”
    Unimpressed by him or his sampling of Kool & the Gang’s lyrics, she stood and warned in a humorous voice. “You need to cut back on that Viagra. Good night, Mr. July.”
    “Hey, you’re just going to walk away?”
    “Yes, I am. Good night.”
    “You’re a cold sister, Bernadine Brown.”
    Amused, she tossed back, “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” and went into the house, closing the door.
    Malachi smiled and shook his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so dismissed. By anyone’s standards she was a fine woman and not one of those skinny model types usually associated with money. Ms. Bernadine Edwards Brown was a big girl, and he liked size on his women. Classy too, with her well-done hair and makeup and thin gold bracelets on her wrist. The fact that she claimed to be disinterested didn’t matter. Big girls needed love just like everybody else, and so, brightened by the notion, he whistled as he got back into the truck and drove home.
    He lived in the small apartment behind the Dog and Cow, and had since buying the place back in the eighties. The one-room efficiency was smaller than a gopher’s hole, but he didn’t need anything more than that.
    The D&C was dark when he drove up. Usually the last person to leave for the night knew to turn off the coffee pot and the lights. He still hadn’t had time to get a replacement for Rocky, what with him driving all over the county dealing with sick stock and the like. If Trent had married Rocky like he was supposed to, he wouldn’t need a new cook.
    As if on cue, Trent drove up, and Malachi got out of his truck and walked over to greet him. “Hey son.”
    Trent powered down his window. “Dad. What’s up? Came by earlier and you weren’t here.”
    “Checking on me?”
    Their eyes met.
    When Trent didn’t respond. Malachi said, “I’ve been sober eight years, son.”
    “I know and we’re all real proud, but—habit, I guess.”
    Malachi mulled that over for a minute. “I suppose I should be grateful anybody’s looking after my ass.”
    “That too, so in the future how about I check on you just because you’re my father and you’re old?”
    Malachi shot him a look. “Did you get Lily’s car fixed?”
    “Yeah. Called over to Marie’s and told her she could pick it up in the morning. How’d your day go?” he asked changing the subject.
    “I think I’m in love.”
    “What?”
    “You heard me. I think I’m in love.”
    “You’d be in love with a Greyhound bus if it had on a halter top.”
    “I’m serious.”
    “So am I. Who is it this time?”
    “Bernadine Brown.”
    Trent shook his head. “Dad, leave that lady alone. She’s not here for that.”
    “That’s what she said.”
    “Then problem solved.”
    “Called me pitiful.”
    Trent hid his laughter with a faked cough.
    “Said she thought a sixty-year-old man