Allison chuckled and impulsively gave T-Dog a quick squeeze around the waist – as much as she could squeeze, anyway. My goodness, that man is a pile of rock solid muscle, she thought to herself.
"I don't know if he's jealous, but maybe just a bit insecure. I can't fault him, I'm not much different…I have to admit that I'm kinda sorta always watching out the corner of my eye when I see him talking to one of the other women."
"Let me give you a piece of advice, comin' from a man who's dealt with more than one crazy-jealous female – and for no reason, mind you," he added parenthetically. "Give the man some breathin' room and also some credit. Every time a man talks to a woman doesn't mean he's lookin' to get a little something on the side. A man can carry a heavy bag for a woman just because he's being a gentleman, it doesn't have to mean that he's gonna buy her a drink and ask for her phone number later."
"You're right, of course," Allison agreed with a sigh. "And I appreciate the advice – it carries some weight coming from someone speaking from experience. And that example was pretty specific, so I'm guessing it did come from experience…?"
"Darn, I dunno what it is with you women…" T-Dog caught himself and backtracked. "With some of you women; they want you to be polite and considerate, in fact, they'll tell you that that's what attracted them to you in the first place. But go and be polite to some other woman, even some old lady trying to carry her groceries in the rain at the bus stop, and they'll whomp you over the head with their purse and call you …" He stopped abruptly and said "Well, that's not important. Anyway, what I'm sayin' is a woman has got to have some trust. Nothing will make a man run screaming faster than if she starts to smother him and accuse him at every turn."
"Duly noted," Allison acknowledged, smiling to herself. Poor T…she could almost picture the gentle giant fending off blows from some hysterical woman, being attacked for nothing more than being a nice guy. "Um, one more favor," Allison asked the man as they grew closer to the campfire.
"Name it," T-Dog replied.
"I think it best if you don't say anything to Daryl about me going off with Shane, or you seeing Shane arguing with me…. I can't say much more at the moment about what Shane told me - I think about it all some more. Believe me, Shane is the last person I care to protect, but right now I know that both Daryl and Shane have hair-trigger tempers and I want to consider the best way to handle things for the good of the entire camp before the two of them get into a knock-down, drag-out, if you know what I mean."
"I understand," T-Dog said quietly. "I don't know exactly what's going on, but I trust you a heckuva lot more than I trust Shane. And my main concern is maintaining a safe place to live. So don't worry, I won't say a word."
"Say a word about what?" Andrea asked as she arrived at the campfire from the opposite direction at the same time Allison and T-Dog stepped into view. Allison surveyed the scene; Carol and Lori were also hovering nearby and had apparently hear that last part of Dog's statement, based on the sudden fear in their eyes.
"About me beggin' this girl to marry me," T-Dog replied seamlessly. Darn, this man could think quickly on his feet, Allison thought. Maybe he'd learned the fine art of fashioning a quick white lie after being smacked on the head one too many times by a jealous girlfriend. "It's been years since I smelled raccoon with sweet potato stuffing slowly roasting," he continued, his face growing dreamy. "Made me lose my head for a second and propose to Allison so she could cook for me exclusively. But I thought it was best that Daryl didn't hear about it…." Everyone smiled and chuckled in relief.
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Allison unwrapped the top layer of foil and gently poked at the roasting 'coon with the barbecue fork she'd borrowed from Dale's RV kitchen. "Won't be much longer," she announced to no one in particular.
"Never thought I'd say it about a varmint, but that does smell delicious," Dale commented.
They both heard footsteps approach and looked up to see Patricia hesitantly hovering nearby.
"Everything OK, Miz Patricia?" Allison stood up and asked anxiously. She wondered if there was a problem with Hershel, or maybe Randall.
"Yes, everything's fine," the woman quickly assured her. "I just, um.." she seemed to struggle with her words. Finally she blurted in a rush, "I've got some fresh biscuits baking and peas and sweet corn on the stove, and Hershel and I wanted to invite y'all to come up to the house and share your raccoon." She paused and lowered her eyes. "I know it sounds presumptuous as to outright ask you to bring your food up for the rest of us…but it smells so delicious, and Hershel thought it would be good for everyone to sit down to supper together and we've got these side dishes to share…"
"That's very kind of you," Allison responded, "You're more than welcome to take this up to the house when it's ready."
"Y'all come up and eat with us when it's ready?" Patricia addressed the small crowd. She received an enthusiastic affirmative reply. From most of them.
"You'll come, too, Allison?" she aksed.
"Um, I might." She fidgeted uncomfortably. "I'll have to let you know." She was used to eating dinner alone with Daryl each evening around their private campfire, and she didn't know how he'd feel about having a big ol' sit-down supper with the entire camp.
"You did all this work preparing it, you have to come eat with us," Carol said, stepping forward and grasping Allison's hand. "I don't mind taking Daryl a plate if he doesn't want to join us," she added.
Allison's chest involuntarily tightened up. She took a deep breath and then smiled sweetly before responding. "Thanks very much. I'll extend the invitation to him and let you know if he declines." Then to the assemblage she announced "The roast should be ready in about 20 minutes, if anyone cares to help Miz Patricia help set the table and such."
There was a smattering of overlapping voices as everyone dispersed. Allison headed toward her tent, her mind variously recalling T-Dog's advice and then replying that she had only thus far talked to Carol, and that she would present the invitation to Daryl in the most neutral manner possible. And, by the way, brain – please shut up.
When she arrived at their shared tent, she found Daryl sitting on "his" log (they'd already silently claimed their own sitting places around the campfire, as if the two perpendicular logs formed an L-shaped sofa) gutting some squirrels and tossing the usable meat into a Tupperware container that Patricia had loaned her.
"Hey," he greeted her, "Where ya been?"
"Checking on dinner, should be ready directly," she replied. She kissed the top of his head as she passed by him to sit on "her" log.
"Seen your 'coon hide tacked up by the barn," he commented as he continued his work. "You want to save any these skins?" he nodded to the squirrel carcasses by his feet.
"Sure," she assented. "And by the way, I tacked that hide up all the way over by the barn so it could be a surprise for you." She looked at him accusingly out the corner of her eyes. "I brain-tanned the hide and tail…was gonna sew you a pouch for your Buck knife and give you the tail to hang from your handlebars or saddle bag or wherever…" her voice drifted off.
He gave her his traditional half-grin. "Thought you knew by now you can't slip anything past me."
"Well, I guess I suspected as much, but somehow I thought hiding something on the far side of the barn would be safe. Lord knows how I'll hide your birthday present, whenever the heck your birthday is, for that matter."
"It's the heck in November. November 12, to be exact. Now what?" he asked when he saw her surprised facial expression.
"Really? Holy cow, mine is November 14!"
"Guess we'll be bumpin' into each other hiding presents then," he semi-grunted. But once again Allison's heart did a tiny jump when he said that…not only was he seeing them together in the future, he was also discussing something so mundane, something so un-Daryl as a getting birthday present for her! She sighed happily to herself.
"…and I saved the brains so I can tan these squirrel hides to make some rawhide strings for you to sew with…So anyway exactly how soon is that raccoon I got for you gonna be ready?" his voice interrupted her warm, happy thoughts.
"Um, about 20 minutes or so…"
"What's wrong?" he asked suspiciously, realizing she hadn't been paying strict attention to what he'd been saying.
"Nothing – why would you ask?" she said in such a rush that it confirmed she was hiding something.
He didn't reply and simply looked her in the eyes. He knew her well enough by now that she could not hold up under his glare if she was concealing something. He was right; after a moment of silence Allison stood up and started pacing.
"OK, it's just that Patricia invited all of us to eat the roast in the house – she's made biscuits and vegetables and said that Hershel thought it would be nice for everyone to eat together….and I know that you prefer for us to dine alone, and I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable…and…I want you to know that I'm good either way. I can eat here with you or at the house…"
Daryl stood up wordlessly and put the lid on the squirrel meat container. He told Allison "I'll be back in a bit…."
"Where are you going?" she asked, confused.
"Gonna wash up at the pump. Can't go to a fancy dinner all filthy like this," he replied tersely.
"Hold on, I'll come with you," Allison replied, barely able to contain her excitement at his acceptance of the dinner invitation. "I could stand to be hosed down a bit, too." As they walked to the pump, Allison silently chastised herself. Why couldn't she find the perfect words to tell this man how much it meant to her that he was going to this dinner just because he knew it would please her? How he never had to buy her a birthday present because doing things like this was "present" enough? The words formed in her brain but somehow got caught in her throat. She didn't want to sound smothering, or possessive, or frighten him away. Instead she simply accompanied Daryl silently to the pump and splashed cold water on her face, neck, arms and hands and then handed the hotel-sized bar of soap she'd grabbed from one of her bags to him. As she dried herself with the ragged towel she'd brought, she finally found the presence of mind to tell him quietly, "Thanks going with me to this. I know large crowds aren't your favorite thing."
He took the towel from her and rubbed it vigorously over his head and hair. "I mainly don't want to embarrass you, Angel," he said without opening his eyes.
"Huh? What? How?" She was completely confused.
He finished with his head and began drying his torso. He opened his eyes and looked at her. The pain she saw there almost broke her heart.
"I never had anyone smack me on the knuckles or upside the head like you did to teach me proper table manners," he confessed. "I do my best to not eat like I was raised in a barn, but I've watched you while we eat and I know that I ain't exactly elegant and I…." his voice drifted off as he looked down at the ground, "I don't want you to be ashamed of me."
"Oh, Sweetie," she exclaimed, calling him by a nickname out loud for the first time as she wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled his head under her chin, "I could never, ever be ashamed of you." She kissed the top of his sweet puppy-smelling head. "I just wish I could tell you how proud I am of you, every waking minute…" She pulled his head out from under her chin and apologized, "And I'm sorry for calling you 'Sweetie'…"
He sat up in order to be eye-level with her. "S'OK," he mumbled, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. "I know how women like to be mushy…" She smiled at his reference to the conversation they'd had with Carl a few days ago. "Just so long as you don't do it in front of everybody," he admonished her.
"I'll try to restrain myself," she told him, returning his kiss.
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"Where's Shane?" Carl asked as the basket of biscuits was passed around the table.
"He said he'd keep watch," Andrea replied. "I told him I'd bring him out a doggy-bag later."
"These peas are so sweet, are they out of your garden?" Dale asked Hershel.
"Yep, just like the corn," the old man replied.
"And the carrots, onions, and sweet potatoes in the stuffing, too" Allison added. "We all owe Mr. Hershel a big 'thank you' for sharing his garden with us."
"Hear, hear!" Rick said, raising his glass of punch. Everyone else joined in the toast; some were drinking the same powdered punch, some water, some sweet tea – Lori's glass was filled with milk at Allison's directive.
"So, Lori, do you and Rick have any names picked out yet?" Maggie asked. "My name was going to be Matthew if I'd been a boy," she added."
"Carl would have been Judith if he'd been a girl," Rick commented.
"So far I've been thinking of boy names…I don't know why," Lori said. "I'm remembering some of them from a book I had when I was expecting Carl…"
"What boy names are you considering?" Dale asked. "Maybe we can give you a group consensus."
"Well, I was thinking of Cooper, or Tanner. Or maybe Fletcher."
"'Fletcher Grimes'?" Rick asked with a bemused smile. "That's the first I've heard of that possibility."
"What book did you get these suggestions from, the Big Baby Book of Medieval Profession Names?" Allison asked before she could stop herself.
Even though Daryl chuckled along with most of the others at the table, he gave Allison a quick glance that humorously said "…and here I was afraid of embarrassing you?!"
"Um, sorry," Allison added, realizing she'd spoken out of turn. Especially to a hormonally-fused expectant mother. "That just sorta slipped out."
"Like I said, they were just some names I had penciled in," Lori said in an even voice. "Perhaps I'll think more clearly after my … surgery." She looked pointedly at Allison. "You know, my Stick-Removal."
The entire table save for Carl, Hershel and Allison burst into laughter at Lori's remark. Two of the sober-faced folks in the crowd remained so because they didn't understand the remark; the third person who hadn't joined in the hilarity just prayed for instant invisibility. "I'm sorry," she finally managed to whisper to Lori.
Lori didn't respond, but Rick, sensing the tension and needing to keep on the good sides of both his wife and the doctor that would see her through her pregnancy, quickly changed the subject.
"Hey, Glenn, have you made any progress in learning how to play that guitar?"