Bright Eyes by Catherine Anderson Read Free Book Online

long. You can practice on the ends.”
    Chad donned the goggles and proved to be a fast study. Lending assistance when needed, Zeke stood over him, intoning all the warnings and safety precautions that his father had once given him.
    “Set your blade on the long side of the line, or you’ll cut the board short.”
    “Which side is the long side?” Chad asked.
    Zeke explained and then touched the penciled line. “You need a board exactly this long. If you cut right here or slightly on the inside, you’ll be a fraction off in length. It’s always better to cut on the long side. Most times you’ll end up with a board just the right length. If you do cut it long, it’s a whole lot easier to shave off a little more than to buy more wood.”
    Chad lined up the blade as Zeke had shown him. The saw screamed, and halfway across the board, the teeth got stuck. Zeke quickly grasped the saw handle. “No problem. You just slacked off on the power a little.”
    “It tried to buck back at me,” Chad said shakily.
    “That’s because the teeth grabbed. You did fine. You had control of the tool and didn’t let it get away from you.” Zeke helped jerk the blade free. “Just start over. Don’t slack off on the power this time. You can do it.”
    The saw screamed again as it bit back into the wood. Chad clenched his teeth, gripping the tool with all his strength. When he had cut the width of the board, he flashed a huge grin. “I did it!”
    “You sure as hell did.”
    “That’s another ten dollars.”
    Zeke laughed. “I’ve created a monster.”
    Chad nodded. “A rich monster.”
    “We didn’t bet,” Zeke reminded him, “and we aren’t going to until I break this habit.”
    “That’s positive thinking—that you can break yourself of it, I mean.”
    “I do have it bad, don’t I? I can keep a clean mouth around ladies and children, no problem, but around other men, I forget myself.”
    “I’m not a man.”
    “You’re doing a man’s work. Way I see it, that makes you a man.”
    Chad straightened his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess.”
    “Just don’t pick up my bad habits. Your mom’ll scalp me with a dull knife.”
    “She thinks I’m still a baby.”
    “That’s typical. May as well get used to it.”
    “Does your mom still think you’re a baby?”
    “Absolutely, and I like it that way. Whenever I visit her, she makes my favorite pie. Can’t beat that with a stick.”
    Chad grimaced. “If my mom baked a pie, I’d run.”
    “Ah, well. When you grow older, she’ll think of something special to do when you go see her.”
    “She makes really good oatmeal treats. They’re chocolate, and you just cook them on the stove. I really like them, and they only take three minutes. Even Mom can pay attention that long.”
    Zeke chuckled. “Better not let her hear you talking that way. Women are funny about their cooking.”
    Chad shrugged. “Not my mom. She knows she’s an awful cook. She’s a good mom, and she’s a good singer. That’s all she really cares about. She says that’s why they invented TV dinners, fish sticks, and stew in a can, for moms like her.”
    A good mom and a good singer? From a purely practical standpoint, the lady had to be good at something else in order to earn a living. “What’s her profession?” Zeke asked.
    Chad looked mildly exasperated. “One guess, and she isn’t a cook.”
    “She sings for a living?”
    The boy nodded. “At the Blue Parrot. It’s a supper club.”
    Zeke had never patronized the place, but he’d heard good things about it. “Ah. That explains why she pretends the spatula is a mike. She’s practicing.”
    “Nah. Trust me, Mom doesn’t need to practice. She just loves to sing.” Chad shrugged. “That’s why she bought a supper club, so she could sing to a real audience.”
    “She owns the place?”
    The boy nodded.
    “If she can’t cook, why in the hell did she buy a supper club?”
    “You just cussed again.”
    Zeke thought back over what