A Warmth in Winter by Lori Copeland Read Free Book Online

up?”
    â€œWe do, that’s all.” Bobby picked up his quilt and spread it from arm to arm as he’d seen his grandfather do. “He’s not feeling good, so we have to let him get over it.”
    But even as he pretended to have the answers, something didn’t make sense. The grandfather wasn’t drunk. He didn’t smell like beer and smoke, and Bobby hadn’t seen him take a drink of anything but milk. Of course, he might have drunk something when he left yesterday morning, but last night he’d read Black Beauty without any trouble. Daddy couldn’t even sign his name when he was drunk— well, not so Bobby could read it.
    But he knew what to do. Long ago he’d learned that when adults stopped leading, kids should keep quiet, keep clean, and wait.
    After he’d folded his blankets and stacked them against the wall, he helped Brittany with her bedroll. When the space before the fireplace was picked up and empty, Bobby led the way to the cabinet that served as a pantry.
    â€œHe bought Froot Loops, remember?” He opened the door. “And milk. So sit down and let me get us something to eat.”
    Britt glanced over at the sleeping man on the bed. “Should we fix him something, too?”
    Bobby shook his head. “Don’t seem like he’s much interested in eating now. He’ll eat when he’s ready.”
    Bobby pulled two bowls from the dish drainer, then set them on the table with two spoons. He gave Brittany the cereal box to open while he walked to the refrigerator and pulled down the cardboard container of milk.
    A sound like spattering raindrops made him turn.
    â€œUh-oh.” Britt stood on the chair with the open box in her hand. An assortment of rainbow colored cereal circles decorated the table.
    Bobby cast a quick glance at his grandfather. The man hadn’t moved.
    â€œJust pick them up and eat them,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Don’t worry about it. You can toss some of them in my bowl.”
    Brittany nodded, but her eyes widened as she looked toward the refrigerator. “Is that orange juice in there?”
    Bobby looked. “Ayuh.”
    â€œI love orange juice, Bobby. I had a Florida sunshine tree in my yard when I was a little girl—”
    â€œStop fibbing; you had no such thing.”
    Bobby glanced back toward the man on the bed. The grandfather hadn’t said they could have the orange juice, but he hadn’t said they couldn’t have any, either.
    â€œI reckon a little won’t hurt,” he whispered, setting the milk on the table. “Get the cups, will you? The plastic ones.”
    While Britt climbed down from her chair, he stood on tiptoe to reach deep inside the old refrigerator. The orange juice was in a big jug, and it was lots heavier than the nearly empty carton of milk. Holding his breath, Bobby hoisted it from the shelf, then heaved it onto the table.
    Brittany set two yellow cups before him. “I love orange juice,” she repeated, a smile deepening the dimples in her cheeks. “A day without orange juice is like a day without sunshine.”
    Bobby didn’t answer but carefully peeled away the plastic ring on the top of the orange juice jug. Once he’d removed it, he tossed it into the garbage can, then gripped the slick container with both hands.
    â€œStand back, Britt.” His eyes centered on the first cup. “This is heavy.”
    Brittany took a step back and he lifted, tipping the bottle slightly forward—
    The liquid gushed out, splashing the plastic cup with such force that it tipped over, knocking the second cup to the floor. Bobby struggled to catch the slippery container, but it fell against the table. Brittany squealed as juice chugged out of the jug, then Bobby finally gripped it.
    By the time he got the gallon jug upright and capped, the tabletop and floor were streaked with rivers of bright orange juice.
    Placing her hands