“Mizz Leenie?” a rasping, deep voice sounded behind her.
“Yes, Jefferson?” She spun around, smiling at her butler and trusted friend. Jefferson Booker had worked for her father since his youth. Old and wizened, his tightly curled hair was a froth of white, but his dark brown eyes danced with humor.
“Your guests just pulled up, Missus. Shall I give them the treatment?”
“Why yes, Mr. Booker. Please, show them in.” She tossed sassy, platinum curls coquettishly.
“You best watch that, Missus. You’ll give yourself a crick.” Chuckling, he walked to the door. Though nearly eighty, he moved with a smooth, even gait, much like the race horses he’d trained for her father, in his youth. Dressed in his butler togs, he looked every bit the Old Retainer.
© 2017 Dellani Oakes