Rhythm And Bluegrass
“beer . . . since my front door seemed to be propped open behind him.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to let yourself into other people’s homes and drink their alcohol?”
Will’s smile tilted as he peered at me over those darned sunglasses. “Well, I seem to recall a story about bears and porridge, but Mama never brought up alcohol in particular.”
“You didn’t eat all my porridge and sleep in my bed, did you?” I asked, eyeing my open door.
“I’ve never been much on porridge,” he told me, shaking his head. “I did, however, bring ya some of my mama’s chicken-and-rice casserole, which I put in your fridge.”
“How did you get inside my trailer, again?”
“Ya didn’t lock your door all the way. The bolt only slid halfway home. You’ll get used to it after a few days. But as it was, anybody with a decent set of tools could just jimmy it open.
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