“Yes, ma’am,” Kylie said meekly, and followed the woman back to the kitchen.
Dag had watched the entire event quietly and with deep apparent fascination. His gaze moved back and forth between the two women like a spectator at a tennis match, even though neither spoke much after the first two or three rooms. At first, Kylie had been grateful to him for not calling Esther’s attention to himself, but gradually she had begun to pray he would do something drastic to save her from the obviously growing disapproval. Heck, if he’d stripped her naked, thrown her to the floor, and proceeded to ravish her in front of God and everyone, at least it might have made Esther think about something other than Kylie’s utter lack of homemaking skills.
At least his manners remained impeccable. When they moved up or down the stairs, he gallantly offered his arm to assist with the older woman’s balance, and as soon as he returned to the kitchen, he pulled out one of the chairs at the small table Kylie never used and helped Esther to her seat. Climbing onto one of the tall counter-height stools at the island would have been awkward for her.
She remained silent, but her sharp gaze watched Kylie’s every move as her granddaughter scrounged through cabinets looking for the cups and saucers and other hostessy items that she would consider necessary to properly receive a guest. By the time Kylie had brewed the coffee and set a tray with cups, saucers, cream, sugar, and the leftover almond cookies she had squirreled away after the Chinese feast (the only cookies she had in the house), she felt like she had just run a marathon.
On one leg. With a stab wound to the kidney.
Very carefully, Kylie poured her grandmother’s coffee, then turned to offer some to Dag. He shook his head, and Esther seemed to take that as some sort of signal.
“Pardon me for being unforgivably rude, Mr. Steinman—”
“Dag,” the Guardian insisted.
“Dag,” Esther conceded. “You’re very gracious. Forgive me, but I was hoping I might have a few minutes alone to talk to my granddaughter.”
“Of course,” Dag said at the same moment that Kylie’s internal voice screamed, “Noooooooooo!!!!!!” like a character in a bad horror movie who had just stumbled on the first mangled body.
She knew she couldn’t say anything, though. Not to the woman who had kept Kylie secure and grounded and seen that she knew what it meant to have a family when her own parents couldn’t have cared less.
“Well, miss,” Esther began, slowly stirring a spoonful of sugar into her black coffee. “I hardly even know what to say to you.”
“Bubbeh, I know the house isn’t finished, and—”
Esther gave her head a sharp shake. “That is not the problem here.”
Kylie felt the dagger in her kidney move up to her stomach and twist. “Dag? Bubbeh, you don’t know him. He’s really the—”
The old woman snorted. “That wonderful young man? I grant you, he’s a little too quiet for my taste, but my Ben was a talker. No, he seems like a fine man, polite, respectful, and the way he can’t take his eyes off of you shows me he at least has good taste. It would be nice if he were Jewish, but I gave up on that idea years ago. That is not what we need to discuss.”
Kylie shook her head, utterly confused. “Then I don’t understand.”
“Kylie.” Esther stretched out her hand and laid her fingers over her granddaughter’s, squeezing with surprising strength. “There is something that is not right with you, bubeleh. I could feel it before I even got here, and now I can see the evidence with my own eyes. So I’m here, and I’m asking you. What is going on with my only baby girl?”
*
Dag had left the room at Esther’s request, but he hadn’t gone far. Just far enough that his keen Guardian hearing could pick up their conversation while remaining concealed himself.
He had scented Kylie’s distress the minute he emerged from the basement and saw her open the door to an elderly woman in a black hat and a pink coat, but when she had turned to face him, he hadn’t needed his nose to discern her state of panic. It was written all over her face.
For a moment, his instincts had urged him to throw himself into the fray and place his body between his mate and the danger that threatened her. His instincts, however, had a hard time reconciling the idea of the small, wizened, and obviously aged woman in the doorway with an assault on Kylie’s physical well-being. He quickly realized that the only weapon Esther Kramer carried was guilt, but she wielded it like an expert swordswoman.