Stubborn as a Mule A Sex and Sweet Tea Novel SAWYER BENNETT WRITING AS Juliette Poe All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2017 by Juliette Poe Kindle Editi...
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Stubborn as a Mule A Sex and Sweet Tea Novel SAWYER BENNETT WRITING AS
Juliette Poe
All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2017 by Juliette Poe Kindle Edition Published by Big Dog Books This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review. ISBN: 978-1-940883-84-7 Find Juliette on the web! Twitter: twitter.com/juliette_poe Facebook: facebook.com/AuthorJuliettePoe
Table of Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Page Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 The Gossip Mill at Sweet Cakes Bakery via Mary Margaret Quinn aka Aunty Q Chapter 4 The Gossip Mill at Central Cafe via Floyd Wilkie Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 The Gossip Mill at Crump’s Grocery via Billy Crump Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 The Gossip Mill at Sweet Cakes by Lynette Carnes Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 The Gossip Mill at Floyd’s Hardware Emporium by Floyd Wilkie Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 The Gossip Mill at Central Cafe by Floyd Wilkie
Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 The Gossip Mill at Central Cafe by Floyd Wilkie Chapter 24 Chapter 25 The Gossip Mill at Mainer House by Floyd Wilkie Excerpt from Barking Up the Wrong Tree Connect with Juliette About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Lowe
“N
OW… LET’S SEE what we can do to get you to behave,” Judge Bowe says, and I’m
surprised he doesn’t follow that up with an evil cackling laugh. The Honorable Winston Edward Bowe—Eddie to his friends, which I am not one of, but Pap is—is a decent guy. He looks haughty and commanding from the bench with his snowy-white hair, tanned face lined with wisdom marks, and keen blue eyes that don’t seem to miss a thing. Most people shake in their boots in his presence, but I’m not most people. Jail doesn’t scare me either because what I did to be standing here right now? Well, I’d do it all over again. But with a more fluorescent color. “Your Honor,” my sister, Trixie, says, voice cooler than a cucumber. “I’m really not sure why we’re here. Lowe merely followed your orders to repair the damage he made when he previously boarded up the doors and windows of the Mainer House and—” “Miss Mancinkus,” Judge Bowe interrupts as he leans forward to glare over the rims of his glasses. “I am dying to know how you are going to defend the fact that while yes, your brother repaired the casings around the doors and windows that were riddled with nail holes, he also painted the new casings neon pink. Pray tell, how is that not considered to be damage on a home such as that?” “Well, I’d be glad to tell you,” she drawls impertinently, and I doubt many see the nearly imperceptible tilt of the judge’s lips in amusement at my sister. He acts all blustery and has thrown her in jail a time or two, but he likes her sass. “You see, the original color of the casings and frames was a cranberry color that had paled over the decades to a blush pink. Floyd over at the hardware store wasn’t able to replicate the existing color chip Lowe brought him, but really did the best he could with the pigments available—” “That’s enough.” Judge Bowe cuts Trixie off with a raised palm. “There is no galaxy available where that argument would fly. You cannot claim that painting a historical home neon pink wasn’t done with some sort of malice or ill intent.” That is true enough. I have to clamp down hard with my teeth on the inside of my cheek, because I totally used that pink paint to thumb my nose at the current owner of the home… one stylishly beautiful harridan by the name of Melinda Rothschild who stole my family’s home out from under me. Hell, even her name sounds cold and frosty, just like I suspect her heart is.
“With all due respect,” Trixie says, and Judge Bowe rolls his eyes because he’s got an argument to make that Trixie isn’t all that respectful to anyone. “Nothing in your order specified the details on the repairs. One could argue that the lack of such direction or specificity could infer it was Lowe’s choice on how to make the repairs.” “Ridiculous,” I hear from my right and I turn to see Miss Rothschild, the ice princess herself, sneering up at the judge as she sits beside the prosecuting attorney. She sure wasted no time after I painted the casings to run to him and demand I be forcibly marched to the guillotines this morning. The paint wasn’t even dry before the sheriff showed up to arrest me for my second charge of destruction of property to the Mainer House. Judge Bowe slides his gaze slowly from Trixie to Miss Rothschild, and his eyes turn glacial. Anyone in these parts knows Judge Bowe is tough but fair. Well, fair might be a stretch. He’ll home cook an outsider in a heartbeat, as evidenced by the fact that when I first came before him last week, he threw out the assault charge Miss Rothschild had pressed against me—that would be because I brandished a shotgun toward some workers she’d hired to gut the house—as well as a trespassing charge because I happened to be sitting on the porch with said shotgun. Judge Bowe was in a good mood and only ordered me to pay restitution in the form of actual labor. In other words, I was ordered to fix the shit I’d messed up when I boarded up every door and window of the Mainer House with about a gazillion nails so that no one would be entering the house anytime soon. I mention the fact he went easy on me only to highlight that Miss Rothschild would not be a recipient of his generosity. She’s a blue-blooded New Yorker who had the temerity to question Judge Bowe’s order last week. I could tell then he didn’t like her— same as me—and I can tell now that he likes her even less. Same as me. “Do you have something to say to this court, Miss Rothschild?” Judge Bowe inquires pleasantly, but it’s a trap. I almost want to yell at her, “Don’t fall for it,” but then I decide what do I care if she hangs herself? Even as the prosecutor, Cleveland Dixon, puts his hand on Miss Rothschild’s shoulder to indicate she should remain silent, she pushes out of her chair to face off with the judge. “Actually,” she says as she lifts her chin. “I can’t believe you are even sitting here, engaging in conversation about this matter. It’s clear that man is a criminal, yet you refuse to treat him as such.” Hmmm… that may have been a big mistake, lady. And I’m not a criminal. Just… determined to make a point. It makes me happy to watch the esteemed Judge Bowe put her in her place, which takes the heat off me. “You don’t think I was fair in my ruling last week?” Judge Bowe asks, his voice bland and without emotion as he lures her in.
“I don’t,” she says with a sharp nod of her head. “It’s patently obvious that things aren’t done in a purely unbiased manner in your courtroom.” “You don’t think I’m doing my job effectively?” he asks her. “I don’t think you are taking this matter seriously,” she says neutrally, clearly a smart lady who isn’t willing to go all out in her assault of the judiciary. “I ordered restitution,” he returns with a smile. “And you see where that got us,” she points out. It’s obvious by the slight narrowing of the judge’s eyes that he’s about had enough of her. Give it to her, Judge Bowe. “Your Honor,” Cleveland Dixon, the prosecutor, interrupts as he stands from his chair beside Miss Rothschild and pushes his glasses up his nose. He’s a right peculiar sort of fellow who wears snazzy seersucker suits with bow ties in court, but wife beaters and camo pants in his downtime. He’s a regular at Chesty’s, and we play in the same dart league. “As you said, not a judge in the entire universe would think this was acceptable behavior. Mr. Mancinkus is well aware of the high standards a historical home must meet to stay on the registry. He’s smart enough to know that neon pink wouldn’t cut the grade. My client is not only further inconvenienced, but she’s going to be out more money when she has to remove that God-awful paint.” Well played, Cleveland. He totally took the heat off Miss Rothschild and put it back on me. “I agree,” Judge Bowe says, and I don’t like that at all. “I’m ordering Mr. Mancinkus to take another stab at fixing the mess he created as his restitution.” “That’s preposterous,” Miss Rothschild says with astonished affront. “He should go to jail.” Judge Bowe tilts his head and adds on with a glare, “And a fine of one thousand dollars plus court costs he’ll need to pay before he leaves the courthouse today.” Ouch. Good thing I have a savings account. “Is that what you call justice in the south?” she asks Judge Bowe, her pretty face completely mottled red with anger. “I further order…” Judge Bowe says as he looks at her, not me—even though I’m the perpetrator. “That Mr. Mancinkus make it up to you by assisting in the remodeling of the Mainer House. He’s to provide you fifty hours of labor at your discretion. The work is to be done on the interior or the exterior of the house.” Son of a bitch. “No,” Miss Rothschild proclaims. “Just no. That’s unacceptable.” “I can’t wait to hear why not,” Judge Bowe drawls. “Clearly, the quality of his work leaves everything to be desired,” she huffs.
“His work is top notch,” Judge Bowe replies. “He remodeled my bathroom last year.” “I’m sorry,” she says with an appalling lack of self-preservation. “But sprucing up your outhouse isn’t exactly a good recommendation.” Judge Bowe’s eyes flash with dark mischief, and I can tell that he was just waiting for her to say something truly insulting. My heart sinks, because I have a feeling I’m not going to like what he’s going to do. I have a really bad feeling whatever he doles out to her is going to be more of a punishment to me. “You know,” Judge Bowe says breezily. “Let’s make that one hundred hours of labor that I am hereby ordering you to use. That means you cannot just report to this court he showed up when he didn’t. I want you to prove it with time logs and an account of the work he does.” “Again, preposterous,” Miss Rothschild says through gritted teeth. At this point, Cleveland just sits back down in his chair and slouches, knowing that nothing he says is going to matter. “Let’s make it two hundred hours,” Judge Bowe says as he leans forward and looks at her with a challenging sparkle in his eyes. “I refuse,” she sputters. “I demand an appeal.” “Two hundred and fifty hours,” he counters. “Stop it,” she demands. There’s a snort of laughter behind me. I’m betting it’s Pap. “So, we’re agreed on the two hundred and fifty hours of labor he owes you?” the judge asks sweetly. Miss Rothschild’s jaw locks, and mine mimics hers. There is no way I want to be beholden to that woman for that amount of time. “Your Honor,” Trixie says with a slight cough. “Lowe has a business to operate. He can’t simply ignore his other clients to work for the complainant.” “I’m a victim, not a complainant,” Miss Rothschild mutters, but she’s clearly heard by everyone in the courtroom. She’s also blatantly ignored, as no one thinks a little pink paint makes her a victim. “I agree,” Judge Bowe says as he turns Trixie’s way. “Therefore, I expect his work on the Mainer House to be completed in the morning or evening hours and on weekends. By my calculations, it will take him a good two to three months to learn his lesson.” Damn it all to hell. Trixie must sense I’m getting ready to explode because her hand reaches out and touches my forearm, a silent plea not to irritate the judge further. I lock my jaw harder and bite my tongue. Trixie says, “Thank you, Your Honor. We’ll accept those terms.”
“Well, I won’t,” Miss Rothschild says, as if she literally can’t help herself. It’s like she can’t keep her mouth shut, not even to remove herself from the danger of being homecooked by Judge Bowe. “Miss Rothschild,” Judge Bowe says. “You’ve overstayed your welcome in my courtroom this morning. While your antics were funny to start, I’m out of patience. Now, I’m assuming you’re probably staying in some fancy hotel in Raleigh that probably has 1500-thread-count sheets and foie gras delivered to your room for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If so, I’m also assuming you will not enjoy the accommodations of the Whynot jail. As such, I recommend that the next words out of your mouth be something to the extent of, ‘Why thank you so much, Judge Bowe, for ensuring that Lowe Mancinkus will absolutely hate this punishment. It will probably do far more to deter him from future mischief than spending a weekend in jail’. If those aren’t your next words, then I’ll generously give you time to pack a bag for your stay in the jail, although they will not let you have access to your fancy face creams, sleep masks, and silk pajamas before they tuck you into bed.” Another snort from behind me. Definitely Pap. If I weren’t so appalled to have to work for this woman, I’d be laughing too. The entire room is utterly silent, every pair of eyeballs pinned on Miss Rothschild. She takes in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and then grits out, “Why thank you so much, Judge Bowe, for ensuring that Lowe Mancinkus will absolutely hate this punishment. It will probably do far more to deter him from future mischief than spending a weekend in jail.” Judge Bowe beams. “Now, see… that wasn’t so bad, was it?” The look on her face says she’d happily murder him in his sleep, but she has finally wised up and keeps her mouth shut. Judge Bowe turns to look at me, and he gives me his own warning. “I’m done with this, Mr. Mancinkus. You fulfill the terms of my order, and you do so ensuring that whatever work Miss Rothschild has you do on her home—the key words being ‘her home’—is done with the utmost quality and attention to detail. If you deviate from my desires in that respect in any way, you will serve forty days in jail, which will start the minute Miss Rothschild reports to Mr. Dixon that you’ve done something I will not like. Are we understood?” “We’re understood,” Trixie says. Judge Bowe shakes his head, but doesn’t take his eyes off me. “That wasn’t addressed to you, Miss Mancinkus.” “Understood,” I mutter. “Louder,” Judge Bowe says, and Pap snorts again. “Understood,” I say, loudly and clearly, with a fake smile on my face.
Judge Bowe grins at me, then turns back to Miss Rothschild. “And ma’am, if I see you back in my courtroom again and you speak to me with anything less than the respect you’d bestow upon your own parents, I will also lock you up in jail for an extended period. Are we understood?” He only gets a slight nod from her. “And I don’t want you back here complaining about things that are a waste of my time. Unless Mr. Mancinkus paints your house pink or some other garish color, or doesn’t abide by my order to give you quality work, I don’t want to know anything about what’s going on in your life. Is that also understood?” Her words are clear and loud without any need to push her to do so. She nods, her sleekly styled blonde hair swinging with the movement. “Yes, sir. Understood.” He’s not finished, though. “If I am bothered, Miss Rothschild, I will be happy to have you sitting beside Mr. Mancinkus for a forty-day sentence. That way, I’ll at least have some peace and quiet from the both of you. Is that also clear?” “Yes. Sir,” she grits out. “Lovely,” Judge Bowe says with a decisive rap of the gavel on the wooden top of his desk. He scans the gallery, and then nods at Pap when he sees him. “See you tonight around six. I really need a beer after this horse crap.” “See you then,” Pap calls to him, but I don’t bother looking at the traitor. He thinks this is hilarious, as does everyone else in my family, with perhaps the exception of Trixie, as she has to defend me. I know they love me, and I love them in return. But I have to say, there is nothing more frustrating than having something important to me being treated as trivial by those I count on the most. And, on top of that, I’m now going to have to actually help this woman make my home hers. Even more insulting, the rumors are she’s going to do nothing more than flip it for a profit, which is almost evil in my opinion. But you know what? I’m a man, and I’m manning up. I’m going to serve my time because I don’t want to spend forty days in jail. A weekend I could handle. Not forty days. Like Trixie told the judge, I have my own business to maintain and I have to do so because I have my own bills to pay. I’m just going to have to suck it up and get this done. I’m going to have to let this go… my dream of keeping Mainer House. I’m going to do all of this because my hands are tied.
I am not, however, going to make this a pleasant experience for Miss Rothschild. I’ll give her good work for the allotted time, but I’m not going to make this easy on her.
CHAPTER 2
Melinda
T
HE BOOMING SOUND coming from downstairs causes me to sit straight up on the mattress
that is placed in the middle of the master bedroom floor. I’ve yet to get a good night’s sleep because there’s a damn train that runs parallel to the town. It’s just two blocks over from the Mainer House, and it feels the need to blow its whistle around two AM each morning. This isn’t that big of a deal to most of the residents of the small town of Whynot, but to me… it chafes just a little because, well… I love my sleep. I’ve been assured by the nice lady who runs Sweet Cakes, the bakery right across the street from Mainer House, that I’ll get used to it, but I seriously doubt it. Even the noise of New York City never penetrated my sleep the way a train whistle does, and I get a totally empathetic look from her when I stagger in for some coffee and a cheese Danish each morning. I think I’ve slipped into a pattern at night where I now anticipate being woken up by that stupid train, so I’m not even able to get into good REM sleep. It’s probably why I shot straight up in bed at the banging that’s going on downstairs, although I can’t quite pinpoint from where it’s coming. A glance at the alarm clock sitting on the floor shows it’s 5:30 AM. It’s still dark outside, and I’m slightly—okay, greatly—confused. I struggle to process since it’s been almost two weeks since I came to Whynot and I’ve not had a decent night’s sleep since then. Then it penetrates… someone’s at my front door. Banging. At 5:30 AM. Immediate anger flows through my veins, heating me up from within. Without any further consternation, I know it’s Lowe Mancinkus causing all that noise. It must be him because there’s no one else in the entire world who has ever been such a thorn in my side. Flipping the blanket back, I roll off the mattress and wince as my knees hit the floor. Almost three decades of sleeping on a mattress, box spring, and a frame, and I can’t get used to being only a few inches off the floor. I’ve held off on buying any furniture for the house until the remodeling is complete. Pushing first to my hands and knees, I manage to lurch upright and stagger out of the bedroom. Down the rotund, sweeping staircase to the main floor. I don’t even bother to look out the leaded glass panels on either side of the heavy wooden door—so convinced I am that it’s Lowe on the other side—that I fling it open without an ounce of worry.
“What in the holy hell are you doing?” I snarl as the breeze generated from the doorway swinging open so fast actually blows my hair back. Lowe stands there in mid-bang, fist raised high and a diabolical glitter to his eyes. His eyes lock onto mine for just a moment before they drop and casually run down the length of my frame. I look down at myself and cringe as I realize I’m still in my pajamas, which in the sweltering South consists of a cotton tank top and sleep shorts that are really short. My hand falls from the doorknob, and I cross my arms over my chest as Lowe looks back up at me. And why does he have to be so damned gorgeous? In ordinary circumstances, this man pushes all my girlie buttons. Tall, just enough muscle to be strong but not freakish, and that dark chocolate hair with bright hazel eyes that are every woman’s fantasy. I always have to remind myself he’s a nasty SOB who I wouldn’t give the time of day to… in ordinary circumstances, that is. “I’m here to start work,” he says casually as he pushes past me into the main foyer. “It’s five-freaking-thirty in the morning,” I grit out, not moving from the open doorway. I expect him to be walking right back out again. Instead, he ignores me and moves down a wide hall beside the staircase that goes to the kitchen. With a growl of frustration, I slam the door shut and then stomp off after him. “It’s completely rude to show up here at this hour.” He doesn’t respond and as I turn the corner into the kitchen, I find him rummaging through the cupboards. “Where’s the coffee?” “I don’t have any,” I snap at his backside since he hasn’t bothered to give me a second glance since he barged in. “And I don’t like you ignoring me any more than I like you barging into my house.” “Get some decent clothes on, and I wouldn’t be forced to look through your cupboards for nonexistent coffee,” he replies calmly, moving onto the next cabinet even though I’ve told him I have no coffee. In fact, I have hardly anything at all here. A mattress, pillow, sheets, and blanket in the bedroom, some orange juice in the fridge, and towels in the master bathroom. Those are the only creature comforts at this point, and they’re enough to get me through the remodeling. I’ve been eating out almost every meal and this is not a hardship as that’s pretty much what I do when I’m back home in New York. One, however, can only eat so many grits and collards, although I’ll take them over fatback and pickled pigs feet any day. “I would like to remind you…” I say in a voice that comes off far too rancid and nowhere in control. “That this is my house. I can wear whatever I like to bed, with the assumption I won’t have visitors until a decent hour.” “I’m not a visitor,” he points out, back still to me. “But because you couldn’t take a little joke and had to run crying to Judge Bowe, I now have to work for you. I also have to keep my own business running, which means I have to work early and late. You need to suck it up, buttercup. This is your life for the next few months.”
“I wouldn’t have had to go to the judge if you’d just fixed the damage you did to this house in a normal freaking way. Neon pink is not an acceptable color for a historic home.” “What do you care?” he says as he spins on me. “You’re just in this to make a buck.” I open my mouth to retort he has no clue what my reasons for caring are, but I get sidetracked by the way Lowe’s eyes travel down my body again. “Stop ogling me,” I snap at him and his eyes come back up to mine slowly, taking his sweet time. He gives me a grim smile and rumbles, “I’m a dude. If you dress like that around me, I’m going to look.” My entire body flushes hot from embarrassment, and well… from something else I dare not even give a voice to. He stares at me with challenge, hoping to cow me in my own home. I know if I scurry off, he’ll have won this battle. But there’s no way I’m ever going to let him win. He made this personal. Not when he brandished a shotgun or boarded up the doors and windows. That I could understand and ultimately forgive once I realized it was his family’s home. But the minute that jackass painted a portion of the house neon pink, it became a war. Lifting my chin and dropping my arms I just realized I had involuntarily crossed over my chest again, I stare him down in challenge. “If you come uninvited into my home, you’re going to just have to deal with me the way I am.” I hope he understands I’m not talking about the way I dress but in how much cooperation he’ll get from me going forward. He doesn’t take the bait, though. Nor does he ogle me further. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders as if I’m nothing and leans against the counter. Hooking his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans, he crosses one leg over the other and says, “What project do you want me to work on first?” “Well, I’m glad you asked,” I say sarcastically, then jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “I want you to work on the project entitled ‘get the hell out of my house and don’t come back until at least eight AM’.” “Yeah, that project doesn’t work for me,” he says in a bored voice and I swear… I have a brief moment where I think I could cheerfully strangle him, cut his body up into little pieces, and throw it in the creek that runs behind my house. Of interest, people around here call it a “crick”. I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, but finally figured out they were referencing the small stream that meanders across the back property line of Mainer House. “Well, maybe we should see if Judge Bowe thinks it’s reasonable for you to show up at this ungodly hour to my house,” I retort.
“Putting an emphasis on the word ‘my’ doesn’t make it any more your house, you know,” he says blandly, and I know he’s talking in a metaphorical sense. “It’s definitely not your house,” I taunt him—in a literal sense—and that strikes a chord. His jaw starts ticking, and I want to do a victory dance. We stare at each other, flinging razor blades, grenades, and arrows in our mutually loathing stares. Finally, Lowe says thoughtfully, “Maybe you should bring this before Judge Bowe.” I pull my chin in and look at him with suspicion. “Why?” “Because he’d throw your pretty butt in jail for forty days and I wouldn’t have to deal with you,” he snarls, coming off the counter in one sleek move that makes me think of a panther stalking his prey. I take a step back and come against the wall, but that doesn’t stop his momentum. Lowe Mancinkus—all six-foot of him if I had to take an educated guess—walks right into my personal space and glares down at me as he puts one palm flat on the wall beside my head. He’s not caging me in, but he is demanding my attention. “Now, the way I see it,” he says softly. “You can accept this is the way it’s going to be and direct me on what you want me to do. The sooner you do this, the sooner I can get the work done and we can part ways. Or you can be a brat and go cry to the judge. I’ll be sure to visit you in jail, but I won’t bring you a nail file to escape. Your choice. What’s it going to be?” My breath seems stalled within my lungs, mainly because all I can think about is how great he smells. Freshly showered, woodsy, spicy and… I lick my lips, try to swallow past the sandpaper coating my throat, and manage to say, “I’m not a brat.” His head drops, bringing his face to within inches of mine and is it my imagination, or does he inhale as if he’s trying to smell me? That rough, rumbling voice actually makes me weak in the knees. “All evidence to the contrary, but how about you prove me wrong? Tell me what you want me to do today and I’ll get started.” “Cabinets,” I mutter, resisting the urge to either push him away from me or grab him around the neck and kiss him. “What about the cabinets?” he asks. His own voice has dropped low and has a sexy roll to it. Ugh. He’s doing that on purpose, and I’m still reactive to it. With a burst of adrenaline, I dip below his arm and take three steps away, clearing my voice. “I’m replacing all the cabinets in the kitchen. You can remove them this morning and cart them off. Of course, I’d like you to leave the section in that holds the sink so I can continue to use it until the new cabinetry and counters get here.”
Lowe straightened the minute I escaped, looking almost disappointed that I put distance between us. But his face smooths out as he asks in that frustratingly impassive voice. “Do you care if I keep the cabinets?” I blink at him in surprise even as I’m shaking my head. “No. Why?” “I’ll refurbish them, then donate them to someone who needs them,” he says without a hint of emotion. I don’t like that. I don’t like knowing Lowe Mancinkus has a soft side for people. I don’t like it because it endears him to me, and I’m completely fine with just hating him. So, I just shrug… give him a taste of my own indifference. “I don’t care what you do with them. And please keep it quiet. I’m going to try to get more sleep.” “You want me to demolish cabinets quietly?” he asks with more than enough sarcasm to last me an eternity. “I want you to leave, but if you have to stay, then yes, I want you to be quiet,” I tell him. “I’ll try,” he says with a wink that says he won’t try at all, but also comes off as a little bit charming. “Thank you,” I snap, refusing to get drawn into his mischief. Lowe moves past me into the hallway. I don’t ask what he’s doing, nor do I care. With a sigh, I trudge to the staircase, intent on getting a quick shower in. There’s no way in hell he’s going to be quiet, and besides… I couldn’t go back to sleep now if I tried because he’s got me so annoyed.
CHAPTER 3
Lowe
S
TEPPING SIDEWAYS THROUGH the front door, I carefully maneuver the single cabinet out of
the house, onto the front porch, and down the steps before placing it gently in the back of my pickup truck. Lifting a foot onto the back tire, I pull up and hop into the back. Taking a quilted packing blanket I always carry around in the back toolbox out, I drape it carefully over the cabinet and secure it with some bungee cords. It looks lonely sitting there by itself, the rest of the kitchen cabinets on the small flatbed trailer I ran back to my house to get about an hour ago to haul this stuff away. The cabinets on the trailer will go out to my wood shop to get refurbished and donated. The one in the back of my truck will go as is in my own kitchen. There’s a perfect spot for it on a short wall that sits adjacent to the back door. It will let me keep a tiny bit of history for myself. “Ready for a break?” a sweet voice asks, and I turn toward the street. My sister, Larkin, is crossing toward me from her bakery. She’s carrying a pink box with a clear cellophane window in the top. I only give it a brief glance before I take a good look at her, my jaw dropping. “What in tarnation did you do to your hair?” I ask in astonishment as I take in the very short style she’s now sporting. Her long, gorgeous hair is gone and is maybe only a few inches in length all over, perhaps a little longer around the nape of her neck and at her forehead. Larkin brings up a hand and self-consciously touches her head, her steps faltering before she reaches my truck. The doubt on her face slays me because while she and her sister Laken may be identical in looks, they are very different when it comes to their confidence levels. Laken is the type who came out of the womb knowing she was going to conquer the world, but sweet Larkin only wants to take care of those she loves in a quiet way. She does so with her amazing desserts and baked goods. It translated into a nice little business when she opened Sweet Cakes, which sits across the street from Mainer House. “I mean… it looks absolutely fantastic,” I backtrack quickly as I jump down from the truck bed and meet her at the sidewalk. She gives me an unsure smile. “Really?” Reaching out, I grab her jaw and tilt her head left and right, studying her carefully. As with all of us Mancinkus kids, she has the patented deep brown hair and light hazel eyes, but hers are always filled with a sweetness that mimics her baked goods. She’s just the best person in the entire world and wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Really,” I assure her. “You’ve got the face of an angel and totally rock that look. In fact, you are totally channeling an Audrey-Hepburn-Breakfast-At-Tiffany’s-Pixie-Girl sort of thing.” Larkin snorts in disbelief. “Yeah, maybe if I didn’t own a bakery that has made me about twenty pounds heavier than I should be, I might be considered pixie-ish.” “Don’t,” I tell her somewhat harshly, as I do when she tends to belittle herself. So she’s a few pounds heavier than her twin… who gives a damn? She’s beautiful just the way she is, and I wish she’d see that. And since we’re talking about an issue that’s sensitive to my lovely, adorable sister, she does what she does best and diverts it to something she knows will distract me. Waving the box under my nose, she presents her temptation. “Brought your favorite. Saw you going in and out of the house all morning and figured you could use a pick-meup.” I bend over and peer in the clear top at the four massive chocolate-chocolate-chip cupcakes with cream cheese icing. “You’re the best sister in the entire world.” “I know,” she says. When I meet her eyes, she’s smiling softly at me. It’s a look that says, This must be horrific for you… having to demolish our family’s history that is so personal to you. Out of my entire family, Larkin is the one who has commiserated the most with me over this whole shit storm of losing Mainer House. Like our family, she understands me and the love I have for the history in this home, but she’s the only one who truly appreciates just how important it is to me. The house is sold… I get it. Not an idiot here. But that doesn’t stop me from being upset and pissed and completely devastated to have lost a piece of our history. Larkin doesn’t make me feel like a stupid ass for being pissed at my family for doing what they did. Logically, I get they had to sell the house for financial reasons. It was too expensive to maintain and no one was living in it. I certainly couldn’t afford to keep it going on the modest earnings I make as the town’s handyman. Because of this, my sensitive little sister, who makes the most amazing confectionary concoctions, is standing here with my favorite cupcakes because she knows today is a crappy day for me. The first day I’m forced by court order to help the buyer of my ancestral home systematically take it apart and rebuild it into something I won’t recognize anymore, nor will I ever be able to say, “See that building right there? That is part of me, and I’m a part of it.” Larkin’s gaze moves to something over my shoulder and I turn to see Melinda Rothschild coming down the front steps. She’s kept herself hidden over the last few hours, which is a good thing. She’s damn distracting.
She’s also fully clothed now, which is welcome, because that was the distracting part I didn’t like. It’s hard to despise a gorgeous woman in sexy sleep clothes. Tilting her head, she doesn’t spare me a glance but looks to Larkin as she hits the sidewalk. Her eyes flick to the box Larkin is still holding, then back up again. “I didn’t know you did deliveries.” I turn to glance quizzically at Larkin, as I didn’t know they knew each other. Larkin’s expression says she knows very well who Melinda is, but not vice versa. Larkin gives her a genuine smile. “For my brother.” Melinda jerks her gaze to me, her eyebrows knitted. “Brother?” I nod. “Larkin’s my baby sister. You two know each other?” Melinda gives a slight shake of her head. “Just from seeing her in the mornings for a cup of coffee and something to eat.” Larkin pipes up. “We never did officially introduce ourselves. I’m Larkin, obviously.” Melinda smiles. “Melinda. Well, my friends call me Mely. Nice to officially meet you.” “Mely?” I blurt out, not sure why. Maybe I’m just a little taken aback by how well Larkin is getting along with the devil. Ice-blue eyes cut my way. Melinda’s voice is sweet, but there’s no mistaking the ire. “I said my friends call me Mely. You’re not my friend.” “Damn right,” I mutter as I turn to get in my truck, and I’m surprised to hear Larkin’s amused laugh behind me. She’s my champion in the family and I’m not sure what in the hell she finds funny about any of this, but I’m not sticking around to find out. My dramatic exit is stunted the minute I close my door and see Larkin holding the box of cupcakes out toward me. Our eyes lock through the windshield, and while I want to just drive off so I don’t have to suffer another minute of Melinda’s presence, I want those damn cupcakes. With a grunt of frustration, I hop out of the truck and stalk toward Larkin. I don’t bother looking at anything but the cupcakes. After grabbing them from my sister, I growl a gratitude at her and bristle as she laughs again when I turn back to my truck seeking escape from the true source of my frustration and disdain. ♦ SITTING ON MY porch sipping a beer, I consider the lake and some early evening fishing. It’s a good way to relax, but I’m actually too wound up to even consider trying. The thought of lazily drifting in a boat with my pole dangling over the side sounds confining to me. Even though I’ve just finished up a ten-hour workday, I’m still vibrating with energy and don’t know what to do with it. I’d have thought that a few hours removing cabinets from Mainer House on top of a full day working on the rebuild of Millie’s Bed & Breakfast, the town of Whynot’s only
sleep accommodations, would have worn my butt out, but I’ve apparently still got some juice in me. The question is what to do with it. Millie’s was torn down last year because the entire structure was on the verge of crumbling due to a terrible infestation of termites. It sat one block north of Mainer House, just over Crabtree Creek, and was a lovely historic home in its own right. Only problem was Millie didn’t take care of it over the years, then left it to three idiot sons who ran it further into the ground. One day, a guest was coming down the staircase and his leg punched right through one of the steps, fracturing his tibia. Millie’s sons got sued and when they realized how bad the infestation was, they threw their hands in the air and moved away from town. The building had been foreclosed on, but some corporation bought it a few months ago and decided to build a new bed and breakfast. It struck me as weird given how no one really comes to Whynot and we really don’t need lodging, but whatever. Tim Nichols at Whynot 1st Bank referred me to them and I was hired to do all the custom carpentry work once the frame and drywall went up. I consider just taking a shower and calling it an early night. I consider heading back to Mainer House and annoying Melinda by insisting I work in the evenings too so she’ll be put out. I consider eating the last cupcake Larkin had given me because the three I ate for dinner didn’t satisfy me. Oddly, the only thing that sounds interesting is annoying Melinda, but I refuse to do it. When that woman demands more of my attention than I want to give on a voluntary basis, it’s time shut that crap down and stop thinking about it. Car tires crunching over gravel causes me to look to the left and I see Trixie’s car headed toward my little house. I’d built it four years ago. It sits on the northeast corner of Mainer Farms right near the bank of the lake. I’m secluded from the main house but if I wanted to visit, my Gator could get me there in about five minutes. I don’t move from my perch, merely taking another sip of my beer as Trixie gets out of her car. After she shuts her door, I call out, “Where’s your better half?” Trixie rolls her eyes at me as she walks my way. “Ry’s headed back to Boston for the weekend. Getting the rest of his stuff packed up.” Trixie recently reconnected with her first love—well, her true love—just a few weeks ago. Ryland Powers got his heart stomped and broken by my older sis, and then brought her to her knees when he came down South from his prestigious law firm to help her with a case. They’d dated through most of law school but parted ways when Trixie decided she wanted to practice law in Whynot, North Carolina, and Ry wanted to stay in Boston. He may have brought Trixie to her knees recently, but he’s the one who is uprooting himself so they can be together. He’s going to open a new branch of his Boston law firm in Raleigh, which is about forty-five minutes from Whynot. Trixie and Ryland purchased a home about halfway in between, and they’ve been slowly moving in over the last few weeks. “Want a beer?” I ask as she walks up and sits down beside me on the porch.
Trixie shakes her head. Even though I’m closest to Larkin out of all my siblings, Trixie’s the oldest, so I usually looked to her for advice and guidance growing up. Of course, our relationship has taken a bit of a hit over the last few weeks because even as she was reconnecting with her former love, I was being a complete thorn in her side by getting in trouble with the law. “Did you do anything at Mainer House today?” she asks as she kicks her legs out. She’s wearing jeans shorts and a Harvard Law t-shirt. Trixie only dresses up if she has to be in court. Even then, she sometimes doesn’t, regardless of the risk of really ticking Judge Bowe off. “Early this morning,” is all I offer. I’m still a little bent out of shape that she’s taken me to task for my antics on more than one occasion. While I logically know she has every right to be frustrated with me, I wish she’d just for once say she understands where I’m coming from. “I totally understand why you did what you did, Lowe,” she says quietly. “Huh?” I say with a jerking motion as my head snaps her way. That was weird. Trixie shrugs. “I know I’m a hard ass when it comes to getting you out of trouble, but honestly… I get why you did it. Boarding up the house. Defending it. You were sending a message not just to the woman who owns it, but also to your family and the entire town that you were mourning the loss of something. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know that.” “You’re freaking me out, Trix,” I mutter as I stare at her in continued astonishment. Trixie rarely apologizes for anything. “I’m just feeling a little nostalgic,” she admits with a sigh as she pats my knee. “I’m going to miss that house.” “Yeah,” I say under my breath. “Me too.” “Well, I just wanted to stop by on my way home,” she says as she turns more on the porch step to face me. “Things cool with you and Miss Rothschild?” “Can’t stand her,” I say caustically. “But it’s cool. I’ll get the work done, then I’m moving on.” “Really?” she asks hopefully, her eyes shimmering with concern. “No, not really,” I tell her with a dramatic roll of my eyes. “I’m still pissed, but I’m done taking it out on you and the family.” “That’s good,” she says with a laugh. “I was starting to worry about you antagonizing that woman. You know Judge Bowe is all out of patience with you.” I nod my head in agreement and give her a docile smile. “I promise to behave.” Which God have mercy on my lying soul, but I am not going to behave in the slightest when it comes to Melinda Rothschild. I learned something important today during our
little early morning meeting. She doesn’t want to go to jail, so she’s not going to cause waves. While I can’t do anything to her that’s overtly damaging to her plans to remodel the house, I can certainly annoy the living crap out of her while I do my work, and that is something that actually gives me some joy when I think of it.
The Gossip Mill at Sweet Cakes Bakery via Mary Margaret Quinn aka Aunty Q
N
OTHING SMELLS FINER than opening the door to Sweet Cakes and getting that first inhaled
scent of sugar, cream, and vanilla. Larkin Mancinkus is an absolute genius when it comes to baked goods, and in my personal opinion, makes the best angel food cake this side of heaven. “Hey, Mary Margaret,” Larkin calls from behind the sleek, curved glass case that showcases fresh baked goods. “Evenin’,” I say back to her. “Need some angel food cake. Going to make some strawberry shortcake later.” “Oh, that sounds good,” I hear from behind me. Turning, I see Trixie, one of Larkin’s sisters, walking in behind me. “Although if you only have one left, I’m okay with arm wrestling Mary Margaret for it.” “I’m feisty,” I warn her, although truth be told, my arthritis has me a bit hobbled in my hands. Otherwise, I’d be baking my own cake. “You’re both lucky,” Larkin says as she slides the door of the case open from the other side and pulls out two cakes. “But I only have squares today. Not rings.” “That’s fine,” I tell her. Trixie adds, “And throw in a few chocolate-chocolate-chip cupcakes. Ry gets all kinds of ‘appreciative’ when I bring them home.” “Things going well then?” I ask Trixie. She and her longtime love, Ryland Powers, have reconnected and he’s moved down South to be with her. “Going swimmingly,” she says with a bright grin, then levels a knowing look at Larkin. “Now if we can just get Lowe’s head out of his butt about Mainer House, my life would be almost perfect.” Oh, this is interesting. “Head out of his butt? I thought Judge Bowe settled all that nonsense about Mainer House. Earl told me so.” Earl Cooke is the courtroom bailiff. Frankly, he should have retired about two decades ago, but it’s not too strenuous a job for him to stand in the courtroom each day while the judge parcels out justice. Trixie leans an elbow on the glass case and tilts her head to me. I lean in closer. “Let’s just say Lowe doesn’t like the woman who bought Mainer House. While he told me just a bit ago he’s let things go, he still had that look in his eye.”
“Look in his eye?” I press. “Like he has something up his sleeve,” she says. “That woman, Melinda Rothschild, has pushed his buttons in a way I’ve never seen him react to before. Lowe’s not the type to be rude or inconsiderate, so I can’t figure it out. But yes… he needs to get his head out of his butt or Judge Bowe is going to throw him in jail.” I nod wisely. This makes sense. “Well, Earl said that Yankee lady is really quite the shrew. Said she’s pretty as all get out, but she was a veritable ‘witch’ in the courtroom.” “I wouldn’t be surprised if under that skirt she’s hiding a pair of big, brass ba—” Trixie cuts off abruptly, her eyes shooting to Larkin, who ducks her head and grins. “Big brass what?” I ask curiously. These kids and their slang these days. “Nothing,” Trixie says as she snags the pink box Larkin packaged her cake in. “Gotta get going. Put this on my tab, Larkin. Bye, Mary Margaret.” “Toodles,” I say before turning to Larkin, waiting for her to box my cake. “She’s not a shrew,” Larkin says. I lean in toward the counter, eager to get her take on the newcomer. “She comes in almost every day, and she’s actually really nice. Not sure why she’s so riled up with Lowe, but I like her.” “I thought all New Yorkers were sort of… what’s the word… aloof?” I inquire with genuine curiosity. “Can’t say as to that,” Larkin says as she works on closing the lid to the cake box and adding some tape at the edges. She then carries it to the register. “But I do wonder what her plans are with the house. She seems to be dropping a lot of money into the renovations, although I guess she’ll save some since the Judge ordered Lowe to do some of the work for free.” “That boy’s impetuous,” I muse with a smile. “Just like his grandpap.” “Well, I’m going to dig around a little when she comes in again,” Larkin says as she rings up my purchase. “See exactly what her motives are when it comes to Mainer House.”
CHAPTER 4
Melinda
I
SQUIRT OUT the last of my exfoliating, detoxifying, purifying, bankrupting, expensively
priced face cream into the palm of my hand and wonder what I’m going to do without this miracle mask over the next few months. I’ve got no business shelling out $375 for a threeounce tube when I’ve planned to sink a buttload of my personal money into this house. Tomorrow, I’ll have to go over to the pharmacy and see what they have available. Maybe I can even take some time to run into Raleigh to purchase something that’s not as expensive as what I normally use but that would be a step above Horace Schumer’s Udderly Fantastic Cleanser I saw in the pharmacy the other day. Apparently, it’s made from the milk taken directly from a cow’s udder and I don’t even want to think about what that really means. I take my time rubbing the mask onto my face, letting the tiny little crystals do their exfoliating gig. This time of the evening is usually relaxing and almost meditative as I go through my nightly beauty routine. Once I hit thirty, I started taking this stuff very seriously. Being a Rothschild meant only the top-of-the-line products would touch my skin. Of course, that’s changed a bit since taking on the Mainer House, but I don’t think I’m going to turn into a hag over the next few weeks if I don’t replenish a few of my products. Letting the mask dry, I wash my hands and then put on my pajamas. Another tank top and a pair of loose cotton shorts, which have become an absolute necessity in the south. Mainer House has a central air system but it’s old and not very powerful. It is definitely on the list to update. I glance at my growing pile of dirty clothes, groaning inwardly as I realize I’m going to have to break down and do laundry. The Mainer House doesn’t have a washer or dryer and so I’ve had to actually use a laundromat. The town of Whynot is so small it doesn’t have one, so I have to drive to Milner, the next biggest town over. It even has a Walmart, which is apparently a big deal around these parts. Turning back to the sink, I turn the water on and let it start to warm up so I can rinse the mask off. Just as I’m cupping a handful of water, someone starts banging on my front door. “Freaking Lowe Mancinkus,” I curse to my reflection in the mirror above the sink before I spin away, stomp through the bedroom, and then down the staircase. Again, there is no need for me to look through the glass windows to know it’s my nemesis standing on my porch step. I truly believe it is Lowe’s quest to annoy the crap out of me as payback for taking his family’s home.
I wish I could be sorry for buying this beautiful house, but I’m not. It sucks Lowe is personally tied to it and it’s part of his history, but it is not my fault his family could not afford to keep it. One hand turns the deadbolt and the other turns the doorknob, then I’m swinging the door open and snarling at him, “What could you possibly want at nine o’clock at night?” Once again, Lowe is standing there looking all hot and manly and pissed off at me, which makes him even hotter for some reason, and his gaze travels down my body. I grit my teeth and just stare at him, waiting for an answer to my question. When his eyes come up to meet mine, his head jerks back and his lips tip downward in a grimace. “What in the hell is on your face?” For a moment, I have no clue what he’s talking about. Bringing my hand up, I touch my cheek. When I feel the dried mask, I mutter, “I was getting ready for bed.” Lowe pushes past me and walks into my home. I swiftly turn to follow him, intent on escorting him right back out again, but I end up slamming into his body when he stops to face me. I bounce backward and he makes no move to steady me, which is good… as I don’t want him to touch me. It could be disastrous. “You really wear that on your face to bed?” he asks curiously. “No, I don’t wear this to bed,” I snap at him. “It’s just to clean my face.” “You should go rinse that off so we can talk. I can’t concentrate with you looking like that.” “Well, gee,” I say sarcastically. “I actually don’t want to talk to you. Therefore, you should just go.” “I think you’ll like what I have to say,” he says slyly, and I must admit… it sounds a little tempting to hear what’s on his mind. But I resist engaging him. I can’t let him think it’s okay to barge into my house whenever he wants. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s doing this strictly to irritate me, so I have to put a stop to it right now. “Listen,” I say with a sigh. “Neither one of us likes this situation very much. But I would very much appreciate it if you would help me out by being a little more considerate of my time.” “Yeah,” he drawls and by his tone, I know I’m not going to like what he says. “You see, I don’t feel like being considerate to you. My time is being wasted by having to work on this place when I’ve actually got a full-time job to attend to.” “Perhaps you should have considered that before you painted my house pink,” I clip out, enunciating my words clearly.
“I’m not the one who got the law involved in our private little squabble,” he points out. I hate how reasonable his voice sounds. Mine sounds nothing like his and borders on shrill when I tell him, “You are one deranged man. You trespassed on private property, ruined said private property, and then threatened my workers with a gun. You then painted my house pink. In what world would I not get the law involved?” “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Lowe says. The condescension in his voice makes me feel murderous. “Get out,” I say as I point toward the door and glare at him. “Not until you hear what I have to say,” Lowe returns as he takes a step toward me. I recognize this tactic because he pulled it on me this morning in the kitchen. He’s using his massive size to try to intimidate me. But Lowe Mancinkus underestimates me. He’s never had to deal with a spunky New Yorker. I don’t back up. Instead, I take a step right up to him, and I have to tip my head way back to maintain eye contact. And damn, he smells so darned good. I force myself to breathe through my mouth, so I don’t get distracted. “I will listen to what you have to say when you show up at my house at a reasonable hour,” I bite out with a tiny poke of my finger into his chest for effect. “Until then, you are trespassing.” To my surprise, this seems to amuse Lowe. His lips curl into a nefarious grin and his voice rumbles low when he asks me, “You going to run and tattle on me to the judge?” “Maybe I will,” I say breathlessly. Oh, dear Lord. Breathlessly! Am I really breathless over this man who is threatening me? With a taunting chuckle, Lowe shakes his head and takes half a step until we are toe to toe. “I don’t think you will.” “Don’t underestimate me,” I warn him. “I know Judge Bowe was not happy with me, but I’m quite confident I have done nothing at this point to land me in jail. You, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so lucky.” “You think?” he asks in a soft voice, which sort of throws me off. I shore up my resolve and tell him the way it is. “I know so. Now you need to leave.” “You know, I came over here with a proposal that we just agree to go our separate ways and Judge Bowe would be none the wiser.”
I’m not sure what it says about me, but I experience a weird pitching sensation over his words. It makes me feel off balance. Before I can even analyze this feeling, Lowe reaches a hand up and takes a lock of my hair between his thumb and forefinger. He slides his gaze over to watch as he rubs my hair in a thoughtful manner. When he looks back to me, my breath hitches over the heated look in his eyes. What in the hell is going on here? “But I’m thinking,” Lowe continues as his hand drops away for my hair. “It’s not a hardship watching you strut around in your little pajama shorts with that blue gunk all over your face. Maybe I’ll stick around.” My jaw drops as I realize the husky tone of his voice makes it clear that Lowe Mancinkus may not actually despise me all that much. Now, I’m not a fool as I know he’s doing this to screw with my head, but I can also see it in his eyes… he’s actually coming on to me. I absolutely hate that this knowledge causes my heart to beat a little faster and my breath to go a little more shallow. Still, I refuse to let him know that he affects me. I stand my ground as I shake my head in denial. “I think you and I both know your behavior is unacceptable. If Judge Bowe knew you were in my home after I asked you repeatedly to leave, I am quite sure you’d be the one sitting in jail and I’d be the one visiting you. And I wouldn’t bring you a nail file either.” Lowe must find that a satisfying response and I know this because he smiles like the cat that just caught the mouse. “You wouldn’t really turn me in, would you?” “In a New-York minute.” “Huh. Let’s test that theory out,” he says and before I can even formulate a good retort, his mouth comes down and presses against mine. I want to kick myself one hundred different ways when the tiny little moan of surprise and pleasure flutters out across my lips because the only thing that accomplishes is to give Lowe permission to take the kiss further. His head tilts to the right, his lips press mine open, and his tongue touches lightly against my own. I’m beyond mortified when an unholy sounding groan wrenches free from me. Lowe lifts his head, breaking the kiss, and then he looks down at me expectantly. “Dare you to call Judge Bowe,” he murmurs, taunting me. Then, for special effect, he adds on, “Mely.” I want to grit my teeth in frustration over the fact he just kissed me, I totally liked it, and I really liked the way my nickname sounded coming from him. I want to slap myself silly as I realize I am most definitely not going to let the judge know this happened. A wave of anger suffuses my entire being over being manipulated by this man, and I straighten my spine in preparation of giving him the biggest butt chewing he’s ever
received in his life. Instead, I yip with fright at the sound of a booming noise coming from the backyard. “What the hell?” Lowe growls as he spins toward the hallway that leads to the kitchen, sprinting from there to the door that leads to the backyard. I scurry after him, my heart beating about a million miles an hour. Lowe stomps across the kitchen and reaches for the back door, preparing to open it. “Wait,” I yell, and he looks over his shoulder at me. “That sounded like a gun. You can’t go out there.” Lowe’s face morphs from put-out curiosity to amusement. “You worried about me, Mely?” I fling my arms dramatically toward the door. “Go. Get yourself killed. It will certainly make my life easier.” Lowe just chuckles and turns away from me to open the door. When he steps through and closes it behind him, I have a moment of panic that he’s going to get himself killed. I really don’t want that. I fly across the worn linoleum floor—which I have confirmed was laid down over beautiful hardwood about three decades ago and is a flooring issue that will soon be rectified—and fling the door open. I come to a screeching halt when I see Lowe talking to a hulking bear of a man who holds a shotgun cradled in his arms. He’s huge. Standing almost as tall as Lowe but three times as wide, he has long, frizzy gray hair and a wiry beard that hangs down over his chest. Both men turn to look at me, their eyebrows raised in question… as if I had interrupted a private conversation they were having. My eyes flick back and forth between the gun and Lowe before I wet my lips and ask, “Is everything okay?” “Coyote,” Lowe says. “Floyd was scaring him off.” “Floyd?” Lowe just jerks his head toward the man. Glancing over, I give a polite nod. “Hello.” Floyd just grunts at me in greeting. “Floyd owns the hardware store,” Lowe explains further. “It’s where I bought the pink paint.” I just nod again, taking in this very strange conversation. Ironically, I’m not bothered to know that’s where Lowe purchased his criminal implements to paint my house. I’m much more interested in why this man is in my backyard with a shotgun.
“We have coyotes?” I ask cautiously, forcing myself not to sound too wigged out by a hulking man in my backyard with a loaded gun that he has apparently discharged against wild animals. “Scavengers,” Floyd grunts again. “And you were in my yard shooting at them because…?” I ask, letting my words trail off in question. “Floyd sort of protects the town,” Lowe says by way of explanation. So… that’s weird. And I feel the need to go in. “Doesn’t Whynot have a police force?” “Of course,” Lowe says in a voice that says my question is absolutely ridiculous. But what’s really ridiculous is the fact that Lowe does nothing else to explain why there is a large man hunting coyotes in my backyard. We engage in another staring war. I refuse to give in, letting my mind wander and my ears soak in the music of night crickets, realizing I probably just don’t want to know the answer as I’m clearly in information overload. Finally, Lowe gives a nod toward my back door. “Let’s plan on talking tomorrow.” It’s my dismissal. And I’m so weirded out by everything that’s happened tonight, which includes Lowe Mancinkus thinking I’m sexy wearing blue gunk on my face, kissing me, and a man hunting coyotes in my backyard, that I decide to take his advice and go back into my house. “See you tomorrow,” I mutter.
The Gossip Mill at Central Cafe via Floyd Wilkie
“O
RDER UP,” MURIEL says as she slides my breakfast in front of me. Two eggs over easy,
hash browns, grits, bacon, and biscuits with sausage gravy. The usual. “Thanks,” I grunt as I pick up the pepper shaker and start to dress my food. Next, I hit it all with some Tabasco while Muriel warms up my coffee. “Heard a shotgun going off last night as I was closing up,” Muriel says as she sets the pot down on the counter and then leans her elbows there as well. She’s a country girl born and bred and loves to go hunting, so it’s only natural guns interest her. More like her daddy than her mama, that’s for sure. “Damn coyotes,” I mutter as I start to mix my hash browns and eggs together. “Two of them.” “Did you get ’em?” “You know I don’t shoot to kill,” I admonish her with a stern voice. “Unless it’s miscreants come to our town for nefarious reasons.” “Those coyotes killed two of my chickens last week,” Muriel says. “That makes them both miscreant and nefarious so they better not cross my path.” I give a grunt of acknowledgment because the coyotes are a problem. Just not mine to stop, although I’ll gladly scare them away from the town proper. “Where were they?” Muriel asks. “Behind Mainer House. Lowe came running out the back door when he heard the first shot.” “He was inside the house?” Muriel asks, leaning in closer. “With her?” “Yup,” I say, not really relishing in the gossip because what happens between a man and a woman should be just that, but I do relish having Muriel’s attention. She’s a pretty gal. “She had her night clothes on and blue stuff all over her face. Came running out right behind him, and get this…” Muriel leans closer. “Lowe had some of that blue stuff on his face, too. Reckon they were kissin’.” “I heard they hated each other,” Muriel says softly, her eyes fixed in a distant way on my plate as she contemplates. When she raises her gaze back up, she says, “Earl said they
really went at it both times in court.” “I’m thinking that’s been resolved,” I say dryly as I cut a bite of buttery biscuit drenched in gravy. “Did he stay all night?” she presses, eyes now sparkling with true, gossipy interest. See, this is the part I don’t really like, but I’ve got nothing to report one way or the other. “No clue,” I say truthfully. “He probably did,” Muriel says confidently. “Lowe’s got a reputation as a wild boy with the ladies, and you know all those northerners are pretty lax with their morals.” “That’s not true,” I say after swallowing my food. “Sure it is,” she says. “You know Della’s family is from Ohio, and they’re all party animals.” Well, that’s kind of true. “And that Pap Mancinkus,” Muriel continues. “When I asked him to visit our church, trying to be neighborly and all, he said, and I quote, ‘Muriel… I wouldn’t go see God if he was sitting in the middle of the town square’. Heathens is what they are.” Chuckling, I cut another piece of biscuit. No sense in responding to that last bit. Pap is a total heathen, but he’s a good man too.
CHAPTER 5
Lowe
I
SIT OUT in my truck, sipping on some coffee and waiting for the clock to turn to seven
AM. I had to seriously talk myself out of setting my alarm for oh-dark-thirty just to tick Mely off again by showing up at an ungodly hour. It was my original plan to get her so mad at the way I was disrupting her life that she’d just throw her hands up and tell me to stay away, so I’d be done with her. Yeah, that was the original plan. Then I thought I’d trying adulting, so showed up to her place last night where I was going to suggest we just part ways amicably. I’m sure she would have been fine with that proposal. But that idea never manifested because my lips got in the way of hers, and well, then Floyd started shooting at coyotes, so I decided to retreat and think on things. And I needed to really think because when she’d showed up at the door wearing pajamas that left very little to the imagination, with blue crap all over her face and fire in her eyes? I was done for. At that moment, I realized I didn’t want to walk away from Melinda Rothschild. She may have pulled the carpet out from underneath me by purchasing Mainer House, giving me plenty of reason to despise her, but I found I was very much enjoying this fight. She got my blood raging and not in a bad way. And that kiss. I shouldn’t have done it, but I don’t regret it at all. It was an amazing kiss made more so by the fact that she was all in. Of course, Floyd had to interrupt by letting loose a warning shot at a coyote. It was probably nothing more than an alley cat, but Floyd does love to shoot that gun. Today, I’m going to try something different. I’m going to show Mely—and yes, I am going to call her Mely because I like that name—that I can be somewhat reasonable. Doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over and bare my throat to her, but I’m not going to intentionally provoke her to the point where she might want to part ways. Truth of the matter is, she’s now got me intrigued. I can’t quite remember a woman doing that to me for a very long time. My eyes cut down to my smart phone sitting on my lap, and I note it’s 6:55 AM. Close enough to seven to suit my purposes.
Getting out of my truck, I pocket my keys and trot up the front porch steps, cursing under my breath as some of my coffee sloshes over the top and onto my hand. I give a solid knock to the door, which is far less intrusive than the banging I had previously done but not so soft she’ll be able to ignore it. Stepping back as I wipe my hand on my jeans, I brace for her to throw the door open and snarl at me. Instead, I hear her taking measured steps with shoes that make a clacking noise on the hardwoods, and then the door is swung gracefully open and Mely Rothschild stands there looking like an angel. I may be a country boy, but I’m not without culture. I spent four years in Chapel Hill attending the University of North Carolina, and I know money when I see it. Mely’s subtle perfume smells extremely expensive and her clothes are tailored to perfection. She’s got on a pair of cream-colored pants with wide legs that hang so low I can only see the pointed tips of her shoes underneath. I’m guessing there’s a spiky heel under there as she seems a few inches taller than normal. The pale lavender blouse she’s wearing gives a light purple tint to her blue eyes and as usual, her hair hangs in a straight, glossy sheet to just above her shoulders. I really, really would love to see that hair all messed up at some point. “Good morning,” she says with a half-smile. The words are polite and genuine, but her tone is not overly effusive with any happiness to see me. It tells me she’s quite unsure of herself. I find this fascinating because she’s proven to be an overly confident woman in almost every way. But if she woke up this morning thinking about that kiss the way I was, I’m going to take a guess and say she’s a little off balance right now. I know I sure as hell am. “Good morning,” I say cordially. “I’m not sure what to make of it… you coming at a reasonable hour,” she says lightly. Inclining my head in acknowledgment, I merely admit, “I decided to be an adult.” “Well, that’s refreshing,” she says with a tinkling laugh, and damn… I’d like to hear that again. Would like to kiss her again too, but that would be awkward right now. Instead, I shove my free hand down in my pocket so it’s not tempted to grab her. I take a sip of my coffee to reorient myself. She watches me carefully, not saying a word, and I wonder if she’s trying to figure out if I was affected by that kiss last night. But that’s a conversation better served for never, so I ask her, “May I come in?” Shaking her head in amusement, Mely opens the door further and motions me to come in. I step past her, but then wait for her to lead the way. I figure the first way I can act like an adult is to respect this as her home. While that chafes a bit, I have to remember that she did not purchase this house in any malicious way to me. This may seem like a drastic turnabout, but it’s me being true to my nature. I may have been acting on pure emotion when I foolishly boarded up the house and waved a shotgun around, and yes, I may have
been acting on a little bit of stupidity when I painted stuff pink, but I’m generally not an idiot. I’m also generally not a jerk. What this simply means is I realize there is no way for me to win. There is no way for me to have Mainer House. So I need to cut my losses, lick my wounds, pay my debts, and I need to move the hell on. This is my grand plan, and I’m not deviating. “I’d offer for us to go sit in the living room,” Mely says with a smile. “But alas, no furniture. I’d also say let’s go sit at the kitchen table so we can talk, but you’ve been in there and you’ve seen there’s no furniture as well.” “And I’m not crass enough to suggest we go sit on your bed,” I quip, then I internally wince that she may not have found that as funny as I did when I tested it out using my inside voice. Thankfully, Mely gives a charming laugh and shrugs. “That would be even more uncomfortable than standing since I only have a mattress on the floor.” One of my eyebrows rises. “You don’t have a bed?” “I have a mattress,” she deadpans. “It’s a bed.” Suddenly, I’m feeling a little bit hot under the collar over the mere thought of this woman and me tangled on that mattress together. While Mely may be one of the most gorgeous and sexy women I’ve ever known, she should really stay off limits. She’s here to destroy my family home. Even though there’s no way I can stop it, it does not make for a good bedfellow. Giving a cough to clear my throat, I change subjects to appropriate conversation. “What would you like for me to do this morning?” Mely twists her wrist and looks down at her watch before looking back up to me. “I actually have to get out of here as I’m catching a flight to New York in a few hours. I’m going to be gone for a couple of days. I was hoping I could have you work on the kitchen while I’m gone.” “Just tell me what you want done,” I say easily, wondering why she’s going to New York. I’ll be darned if I’ll ask her, but I am curious. “I’d really love the paint fixed if the weather is good enough, but the forecast looks like rain over the next few days. You could work indoors for a while. I had some of the linoleum in the kitchen peeled back, and it looks like the hardwood underneath is in decent shape,” Mely says as she turns to grab her purse that’s hooked over the end of the banister. It’s then I notice she has a small rolling suitcase sitting there as well. “If you could pull up all the linoleum, I can get someone in to look at restoring the finish.” “I can have the linoleum up by the end of the day today. Do you want me to work on restoring the hardwood?”
Mely looks at her watch again and then back to me as she shakes her head. “I don’t feel comfortable with that.” Immediately, my hackles rise and I snap, “My work is impeccable. Contrary to what you believe, I don’t just refinish outhouses.” Mely brings up a hand in self-defense and says, “No, that’s not what I meant at all. It’s just that restoring the hardwood is a huge project, and I didn’t want to take advantage of your time. Seeing as how you can only spare a few hours here and there, I thought I would just have you do smaller projects. And of course, once the weather turns dry, I’d really like the paint fixed.” Well, crap. That makes sense. Now I feel guilty for snapping at her. “Listen, I really need to get going,” she says as she picks up her suitcase. I immediately step forward and take it from her; I do this only because I’m a southern boy and my mama raised me right. “Thank you,” she murmurs as she walks to the door. I follow her out and down the front steps where she stops on the sidewalk before turning to me. Reaching into her purse, she pulls out a set of keys and hands them to me. “Here are the keys. You can come and go as you please. Just make sure everything is locked up.” Since I have a cup of coffee in one hand and a suitcase in the other, I can’t take the keys that she’s offering. I make a fumbling move to raise the suitcase up so I could potentially rest the cup in the crook of my arm to free up a hand, but before I know what’s happening, Mely’s reaching forward and tucking the keys into the front pocket of my jeans. And whoa boy… her hand near my pocket is not a good thing because it makes me think of things I ought not be thinking about this woman. I breathe a sigh of relief when she pulls away, but I don’t miss the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. Mely walks past me to the driveway that runs along the side of the house where her rental car is parked. I follow along and put her suitcase in the backseat. “When are you returning?” I ask casually. “Because like I said, that linoleum won’t take long to get up.” “I’ll only be gone a few days,” she says vaguely. “If you want something to do so you can start knocking out the hours that are owed, I intend to take all the wallpaper off the walls from the bedrooms upstairs so you could do that.” “You intend to do what?” My voice is acidic, and Mely blinks at me in surprise. “I’m going to remove the wallpaper,” she says with deliberate purpose and a touch of ice in her voice that lets me know this is her house and she’s going to do as she pleases. “You know that wallpaper represents history,” I grit out. Her eyes narrow at me. “That wallpaper is turning yellow and peeling.”
“Have you no appreciation whatsoever for the historical significance of this dwelling?” I ask her hotly. Mely stares at me hard as if she’s trying to determine the best tact to take, but before she gets the satisfaction of once again reminding me this is her house and no longer represents anything at all to do with my family, I decide to back away from this conversation. “Forget I said anything,” I say gruffly as I spin on my heel and head toward the house. Turning my head slightly, I tell her over my shoulder, “I’ll get the linoleum and wallpaper done before you get back.” “Lowe,” Mely calls out. I don’t stop. As I trot up her porch steps, I call back, “Have a nice trip.” I don’t look at her as I walk into the house that no longer should mean anything to me but still very much does.
CHAPTER 6
Melinda
“O . M . G H
Y
ODDESS,” Morris D—Morri to me—says in a combination of awe and horror
as I drive into Whynot and the courthouse square comes into view. I personally find the tiny town to be utterly charming, which is one of the reasons I just had to have the Mainer House, but Morri is New York down to his bone marrow. I doubt he’s ever been in the “country” a day in his life. “Isn’t it cute?” I ask, knowing he hates the word “cute” and would die before he would ever use it. “Honestly, Mely,” he says, his voice pitched slightly higher than normal, telling me he’s really freaked out. “How do you survive here?” I roll my eyes and turn left on Wilmington Street. “Stop being a drama queen. It’s not like we got dumped in the middle of the Serengeti with no food or water.” “Please, girl.” Morri waves at me in dismissal as he looks out the passenger window. “You told me the restaurants here having nothing but biscuits and fatback. I don’t even want to know what that is, but I’d rather take the Serengeti, I’m sure.” I snort because he might be right. The heavy southern food has not been easy to get used to, but thank God, they’ve heard of salads down here or else I’d be going up a size or two in my pants. Not that I’ve even seen a cop since I’ve been here, but I still dutifully put on my turn signal to turn into the driveway. This gets bestie’s attention, and he turns his head to look up at the three-story structure. When he lets out a noticeable breath of wonder, I know I made a good decision to buy this house. “It’s magnificent,” he murmurs, his hand hovering over his chest while he looks up at my new home through the windshield. “Think you can suffer to stay here a while?” I ask him. His neck twists so he can look at me, and my heart clenches when I see the tears in his chocolate-colored eyes. “Oh, honey,” I coo at him and open my arms. He tries to lean across his seat to me, but he gets caught by his seat belt. This flusters him, which is typical of my best friend in the entire world, and he proceeds to have a meltdown as he struggles to unlatch the belt. “Stupid damn seat belt.
Why won’t it open? I know why; it won’t open because I’m a failure and I’m ugly and fat and stupid, and it’s no wonder why Stephan left me. I mean, look at me… I’m an absolute mess. Totally unlovable, and I’m going to die alone. A pitiful hag with forty cats that all hate me, and I’ll know this because they’ll cough up hairballs in my bed, and—” “Okay, dial it down, Albert,” I say dryly as I reach over and unhook the seat belt. The “Albert” being a nod to our favorite movie The Birdcage. The scene reference is where Nathan Lane’s character, Albert, has a complete meltdown before he goes on stage and is given “Pirin” tablets to calm him down, which are nothing but Aspirin with the A and S scratched off. It’s adorable, but I’d never tell him that, particularly not now when he’s got a broken heart. It’s why I dropped everything and went back to New York when he called me three days ago, completely crushed that his partner of the last eleven months, Stephan, had left him. Now, personally, I wasn’t all that sad about it because Stephan was a pig and a narcissist. He was far too dominant a personality for my sweet Morris D, the most sensitive gay man in the entire world. Besides, he was just downright mean to my Morri. And because I was lonely down here and missing my bestie, I suggested he take a break from the city and come relax with me in my new southern historical home. I haven’t told him yet that I don’t have any furniture, but I’ll worry about that in a few minutes. Morri collapses into my arms, and I hug him hard while he boo-hoos on my shoulder. “Let it out, D. Just let it out.” We remain locked together for a while until his sobs end in tiny hiccups. I pull a tissue out of my bag and let him mop up his face. When he lets out a watery sigh and nods at me, I pull at my door handle and step out. Morri gets out on the other side and looks at Mainer House, giving it a closer perusal. It’s really one of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever seen. It’s second empire frame dwelling is two and a half stories with a concave mansard roof done in charcoal gray slate. The thin tongue-and-groove wood siding is cream colored and the dormered windows are done in cranberry. Well, neon pink, but that will soon be fixed. I’d prepared Morris D for that little temporary color alteration. Ornamental lattice frames the outside of the window in a slate blue color, with matching balustrades along the front porch that runs the entire width of the house. Finally, and the most beautiful part in my opinion, is the rectangular tower that sits center atop the mansard roof with blue and cranberry colored lattice work and balustrades. It has a large, round window trimmed in cranberry that was apparently too high and risky for Lowe to paint pink, so Morri can get an idea of how good the color scheme works when it’s done properly. “Okay,” he says with a nod of his head as he turns to walk to the rear of the car. When I meet him there, he admits, “I can totally see why you went nuts over this house.”
“It’s not just the house,” I remind him as I open the trunk. “It’s the town, the love story, and—” Morri laughs. “I know, I know. It’s everything to you.” “It really is,” I say with a responding chuckle as I reach for a suitcase. Because this house and all it represents, along with this tiny town, has become my anchor. I’m stopped when Morri puts his hand on my shoulder. I straighten and turn to look at him with curiosity. His voice is tender when he says, “I don’t even need to go inside to know you made the right decision in coming here.” “Really?” I ask hopefully, because Morri has done nothing but give me hell for doing it. In a teasing way of course, and not in the coldly disapproving way my mother has, but still… I know he didn’t get it. Until now. Reaching back in, I grab one of the three—yes, three full-size suitcases—that Morri insisted on bringing even though he said he was only going to stay through the weekend. “Honestly,” I chastise him as I pull the first one out and let it hit the driveway with a thud. “Why did you bring three suitcases?” “I brought all my drag gear,” he says simply as he pulls another piece of luggage out. Morris may be gay, sensitive, highly effeminate, and have prettier eyelashes than I do, but the man is strong. He’s nearly as tall as Lowe and while not as muscular, he’s extremely fit. Oh, and he’s a drag queen. “You do understand that you cannot wear this around town?” I tell him as he pulls the next piece of luggage out. Morri stands and shoots me an admonishing glare. “Do I wear my stuff around New York just for the hell of it?” I shake my head, duly chastised, and reach in the trunk for my little rolling case. Morris D is an entertainer. A drag entertainer. He’s quite successful at it. But when he’s not on stage in the evening, he dresses like a normal person. Okay, let me qualify that. He dresses like a normal gay man in New York, which means he’s stylish and outlandish at the same time. For example, his travel wear today includes a pair of dark designer jeans, an electric blue button-up shirt, and an orange-and-charcoal gray plaid suit jacket. To complement the attire, he’s sporting a cream fedora with an electric-blue band and cream suede loafers. He looks utterly fantastic, but I know that outfit alone will cause Floyd to probably think we’ve been invaded by something more insidious than coyotes.
“Maybe you should just wear your most casual wear while you’re here,” I suggest hesitantly as I sit my case down and shut my trunk. “Casual wear?” he repeats, not understanding my suggestion at all. “This is about as casual as I get.” True enough, so I expound. “Maybe concentrate on more sedate colors.” One of Morri’s perfectly waxed brows arches up. “I’m just saying,” I tell him quietly as I try to explain Whynot. “This is the South.” “Yes, it’s infernally hot,” he agrees, yet he’s not even sweating. That’s how into fashion and looking good he is… he’s trained his body not to even sweat. “I’m not talking about the temperature,” I tell him evenly. His eyes round with mock surprise. “Oh, you’re talking about the fact I’m a gay man in the conservative, rural South, otherwise known as the Bible Belt, where they possibly might mean to stone me to death if they figure out what I really am?” I roll my eyes. “You’re being an Albert again. And there are plenty in the South who are just fine with you the way you are.” “But?” “But there may be some who aren’t, and I don’t want to see you get hurt,” I say quietly. “This isn’t New York.” “Thanks, love,” Morri says with an appreciative but exasperated smile. “I know you got my back always, but I can fight my own battles.” “I know,” I admit reluctantly. “I just don’t want you to have to fight any battles at all.” “Understood. But to put your mind at ease, I only brought this stuff in case we wanted to go out this weekend in Raleigh. I actually did some research, and they have a pretty good drag club there.” “Really?” I ask in shock. Raleigh is the capital city, but I still figured drag was outlawed in the state or something. “Really,” he says with a sharp nod and a smile as he picks up two of the suitcases. “Now, we can talk about that later. I’m ready for the grand tour.” ♦ “I CANNOT BELIEVE you don’t have any furniture,” Morri complains in a slightly slurred voice as he takes an uncouth glug from his glass of wine. “I have a mattress,” I point out as I pat it. I’m sitting cross-legged on it across from Morris. We’re in our pajamas and doing what we do best… drinking wine and gossiping. “You know I wouldn’t have come if I knew this was the only thing to sit on,” he says haughtily. “You can lay on it, too,” I tell him, hoping to endear him to the situation.
“Tomorrow, we’re going out and getting me some furniture,” he demands. “Nope,” I say resolutely, waving my wineglass in a circle. “This is all I need.” “Oh, my goddess,” Morri says with a laugh. “You’ve actually turned into a country bumpkin.” “No,” I disagree with a long drawl to the word. “If I was a country bumpkin, I’d only have a sleeping bag. And you’ve got to give me credit—these are excellent sheets and I have high-quality towels in the bathroom.” “That is indeed a good point,” he admits, then finishes off his glass before handing it over to me. “More please.” “Sorry,” I say glumly as I take it from him and set the glass carefully on the floor. “That was the last of it.” “Then let’s go get more,” he says as he attempts to gracefully roll off the mattress, but falls the six inches to the wooden floor. I laugh at him, and he glares back at me. “No more wine for you,” I say still chuckling. “We have an early day tomorrow.” “Why?” he asks as he crawls back onto the mattress, looking very dapper in his bronze-colored satin pajamas. “Because my worker will here by seven if I’m estimating correctly,” I say, thinking of Lowe for not the first time in the past few days I’ve been gone. I’ve been thinking about him quite a lot actually, and how could I not? Not after he kissed me, the jerk. Morri rolls onto his back, but tips his head to look at me. “I know I’ve been mired in my own pain and misery and we haven’t talked much about you, but how’s that going? Has this feud settled down since your last foray into court?” I shrug as I look down at my glass, considering perhaps a run to Miller’s Gas Station and Wine Shop. While I can tell Morri anything about my life, with or without wine, it’s definitely more fun with wine. But I decide against it because I don’t feel like explaining to him why a gas station carries such a good selection of wine, nor do I feel like the headache that would come from imbibing too much. Not when Lowe texted me that he’d see me bright and early tomorrow. And how in the hell did he even get my phone number? I was beyond surprised to get a message from him over the weekend inquiring as to when I might return—his polite words, not mine—as he’d finished the linoleum and wallpaper, and wanted to start the next indoor project since it was still raining. The only problem was that I didn’t know what to have him do next. My plan had been to contract most of this stuff out. I wasn’t sure how to fit Lowe in and what I should have him do with the limited time he could give me each day. I merely suggested he meet me when I got back to discuss it all.
“Girlfriend, that silence is very telling,” Morri says and I cut my eyes from my wineglass to him. “You’ve got some serious broody face going.” “Broody face?” I ask before draining my glass and setting it on the floor beside his. “Buffy throwback, but yes… you’re brooding,” he explains. “About what?” “About Lowe Mancinkus,” I tell him as I fall back onto my bed beside him and stare at the ceiling. “That ain’t no southern name,” Morri drawls in an exaggerated hick accent. “No, it isn’t,” I mutter as I contemplate all the things I don’t know or understand about the infuriatingly sexy but frustrating man. “So, what’s the deal?” Morri asks. I shrug and roll my head to look at my bestie. “We’ve seriously butted heads and pissed off the judge so much that he’s ordered Lowe to work off his sentence here in this house. And he’s not a complete pig or jerk the way I thought he was, but he’s still a thorn in my side, and well… he kissed me.” “He what?” Morri gasps as he sits up and then pulls me up by the arm. “Tell me everything.” Laughing at my bestie… the only man in my life I’d ever take a bullet for—which is something to consider with Floyd patrolling town with a shotgun—I cross my legs Indianstyle and fill Morri in on everything that’s happened in the last few days.
CHAPTER 7
Pap
T
HE DOOR TO Chesty’s opens, and I blink in surprise to see Lowe walk through. It’s true
my second oldest grandchild is still in the prime of his life at thirty-three, but he normally doesn’t hang out with me on a work night. This being a Monday and all, it’s odd him being here. He walks past the row of three pool tables that separate the entrance from the actual bar that runs the length of the back wall of my humble establishment, getting a few back slaps from friends, one handshake from another, and flirty winks from a few of the ladies. Lowe takes it all in stride with an easy smile to everyone because that’s normally his nature. This snarling, riled-up man who has been showing his ass of late isn’t like my Lowe, so I know the loss of the Mainer House really hit him a lot harder than the family gave him credit for. Trixie told me she saw him last Friday and that he seemed to be taking things in better stride. She felt he was going to finish out the work ordered by Judge Bowe and then move on from it all, and that relieves me. No one likes to see their grandkids in pain. “What’s up, Pap?” Lowe says with a squeeze of his large hand to my shoulder. He sits down in the chair that’s adjacent to mine at the corner. I always sit on the end, and that adjacent chair is usually reserved for Trixie, who was known to walk over from her law firm just next door to have a beer with me after work each day. Now that Ry’s taking up most of her heart, that chair’s been empty a lot, so I’m quite happy to see Lowe taking it. My gaze cuts to the bartender. When I have his attention, I give a jerk of my head toward my grandson to indicate he needs a beer and I’ll be paying for it. The bartender— new boy named Sam-Pete who dropped out of college and returned to Whynot—lifts his head back in acknowledgment, so I turn my attention to Lowe. “How’s life been treating you, boy?” I ask him. He shrugs. “Can’t complain.” “And yet, you’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” I say, pointing out the obvious. Lowe snorts and then looks briefly to Sam-Pete, who sets his draft beer down before him. I’ve got the kid well trained as he unobtrusively takes a five-dollar bill from a small pile sitting in front of me to pay for Lowe’s beer and heads back to the register. “Thanks, Pap,” Lowe says as he holds up his beer to me in a toast before taking a long slug. “What’s the deal with that pretty little Yankee over there?” I push at him. Lowe sets his beer down and mutters. “Pretty? You think so?”
I cackle in response. Can’t help it… when you get past the age of seventy, some of your laughs come out as cackles, and I’ve got ten years past seventy to perfect it, but it’s effective in this scenario. Lowe swings his head, shoots a hard glare at me, then goes back to his beer. “Boy, you know damn well that girl is beyond pretty,” I tell him knowingly with a light punch to his shoulder that I’m proud to say rocks him slightly in his seat. Then I really go in for the kill. “Of course, no surprise she had some fella with her this afternoon when she got back into town.” Lowe snaps his head back to me so fast I’m surprised his head doesn’t fly off his shoulders. “She brought a man back from New York?” “I was heading into Chesty’s when she pulled up in her driveway,” I say as I lean toward him and lower my voice, like it’s the juiciest gossip ever heard around these parts. “Guy got out of the front seat. Had three suitcases, so I’m thinking he’s here to stay.” Lowe just blinks once at me, acts like he might say something, then shrugs his shoulders again before changing subjects. “You going to the Lantern Festival this weekend?” Well, that just won’t do. He’s usually easier to needle. “When have I not gone to the Lantern Festival?” I ask in return. “It’s like the best party this town throws. I bet that Miss Rothschild will love it, and it’s the perfect place for her and her fella to get all romantic under the stars.” “I guess,” he says vaguely, his eyes flicking up to the TV that has a baseball game on right now. My beloved Pittsburgh Pirates aren’t playing today, so I have the next best thing on. Any sport that’s in season. “Tall, dark, and handsome,” I toss out as Lowe watches the game. He hears me. I know he’s bothered because a tiny muscle in his cheek starts jumping, and that confirms what I suspected. He’s got a little something for the new owner of the Mainer House. “Like almost as tall as you.” Lowe’s head swings my way. He’s not stupid. He knows what I’m doing, so he merely asks, “What’s your point?” “Just curious as to the nature of your relationship with her.” I watch him carefully trying to read every nuance from his expression. I’m not an expert or anything on body language, but I’ve learned a few tricks over the years I’ve owned this bar. “There is no relationship,” he says curtly. “Judge ordered me to do work on her house, so I am. We’re supposed to meet tomorrow morning to figure out what I need to do for her going forward.” “And nothing more?” I push at him. “Why would you think there would be something more?”
And that’s way too defensive. There’s something there. “I don’t know,” I say vaguely. “You seemed to be bothered by the man she’s got shacking up in her house.” Yup. There goes that muscle ticking in his face again. “How tall is he?” Lowe asks, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t cackle in victory. “Pretty tall,” I hedge. “Maybe even an inch or two taller than you now that I think about it.” This isn’t true, of course, but Lowe is my grandson and he’s comprised of roughly twenty-percent caveman DNA. Size totally matters. “And he had three suitcases?” he presses carefully. I nod. Lowe turns to his beer and downs it in about four powerful swallows. When he sets it down, I ask, “Want another?” “Nah,” he answers as he pushes off the barstool. “I have to get up before the roosters tomorrow.” “Why so early?” I ask with a grin. He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need to. It was all over town about his 5:30 AM wakeup call to Miss Rothschild last week, as well as the fact that yelling could be heard coming from the house when she answered the door. This came from Andy, one of the deputies on early morning patrol who was getting coffee at Wilson’s that morning while he was gassing up his car. As Lowe turns for the door, he shoots me a warning look. “Quit meddling, you ol’ coot.” I can’t help it. I cackle and then cackle harder when Lowe glares at me once again before stomping toward the door.
CHAPTER 8
Lowe
I’
M GRUMPY BECAUSE not only do I hate getting up at the butt crack of dawn, but I’m put
out by the fact that Melinda has a man at her house. It’s not because I’m proprietary, because she’s not my girl, but it’s more to do with the fact that after I kissed her, I didn’t get a hard slap that said, “I’m involved with someone, you jerk.” I didn’t even get an affronted glare. Or a wipe across the mouth with the back of her hand. No, I got a punch-drunk, wide stare from her that said she’d been as affected as I was, and so I’m a little put out that I’m that easily forgotten. That makes me grumpy because I’ve thought quite a bit about that kiss since she’s been gone, and now I feel ten times the fool for even considering being nice to her about this stuff. At 5:30 AM, I am indeed banging on her door and my story is that I’ve got to be over at Millie’s by eight AM, which is partially true. I have to be there today; it’s just I can get there when I want since I’m the only one on site today putting in some custom balustrades on the staircase. The house is dark, but within seconds of me knocking, the interior foyer light comes on. This surprises me because I didn’t hear any footsteps stomping down the staircase to give me the satisfaction of dealing with a riled-up Mely Rothschild. My hand falls to my side. And then the door is swinging open by none other than tall, dark, and… gay? Totally gay. He’s absolutely tall, and dark since he’s black, and I’ll admit he’s handsome if that were my thing, but it’s not so I won’t, but there’s no way he’s not gay. Not with the pair of bronze satin pajamas with matching slippers adorned with black fur across the top band. I also think the matching bronze satin turban-like thing sitting on his obviously bald head, so has to be merely for decoration, is telling. The man’s eyes travel down my body and up again appraisingly, and then he says in a voice that confirms he is indeed gay, “Mmm. You must be Lowe Mancinkus.” “And I’m thinking I’m going to kill my grandfather,” I mutter under my breath before giving a forced smile through pressed lips. “Well, come in, come in,” the man says as he opens the door wider. I step in and see the glow of the kitchen light visible from the hall that runs beside the staircase. “Mely is
still sleeping, but I’ve been having trouble so I’ve been up for a while. I’ve got coffee going.” “Coffee?” I ask with sincere interest. “It was the only way I’d agree to leave the city and venture into the country.” The man sniffs. “She told me there wasn’t any decent coffee shops around so I insisted she get a pot.” Now that pisses me off. “My sister owns Sweet Cakes right across the street and makes amazing coffee.” “Is she open right now?” he asks with a raised eyebrow more perfectly arched than any woman’s I’ve ever seen, in the height of skepticism. “No,” I admit. “Then it’s not decent,” he says with a snap of his fingers by his shoulder that dares me to argue. I don’t because he sort of has a valid point. “I’m Morris D,” he says, holding his hand out to me. “Morrisdee?” I ask as I accept a hard but fast shake from him. It’s not too hard to indicate he might harbor ill feelings toward me if Mely filled him in on our past, but not too soft, which would be stereotypical, and I try hard never to stereotype people. I went to college in one of the most culturally diverse cities on the East Coast, so I know better. “Not Morrisdee,” he corrects as he heads to the kitchen and I follow. “Two words. Well, a word and an initial. Morris. And then the letter “D”.” I’m a little blunt at times, but I don’t think will offend. “What kind of name is that?” “My stage name,” he responds. “My real name is Morris Dwight, but that doesn’t sound very flashy.” “Broadway?” I hazard a guess, because although he’s tall, he’s a graceful sort of dude so I can see him as a dancer. “Off-Broadway,” he says vaguely and then offers, “How do you like your coffee?” “Black,” I tell him, and then offer a secondary, “Sorry if I disturbed you.” “Interesting you apologize to me,” Morris D says as he takes a Styrofoam cup from a stack sitting next to what looks like a brand-new coffee pot. “But you seem to enjoy disturbing Mely in the early morning hours.” His voice is aloof and challenging, and I realize I mistook his initial politeness as being nothing more than a means to size me up. “I have to start work at my regular job at eight so prior to that is the only way I can get the work done here,” I tell him casually. “If you say so,” he says dismissively, but those are kind of fighting words.
“You doubt me?” I ask him. Morris D—which is sort of a stupid name now that I think about it—turns to me and purses his lips, causing him to look the way Laken does sometimes when she gets catty with other women. “Oh, I totally doubt you. You kissed my girl, so I know you’re sniffing around here like an alley cat.” “An alley cat?” I ask mockingly. “Seriously, dude.” “Oh, girlfriend, you have no clue how serious I am about this,” he says as he slaps the Styrofoam cup down on the counter. I know my invitation to coffee was just revoked. Lip curled and eyes narrowed, Morris D sort of sashays aggressively up to me and pokes a finger into the middle of my chest. Yet, it’s not done in a way that comes at the end of a sashay. It’s quite hard and it’s done to convey a message. “Do not let the delicate beauty of Morris D fool you. I am protective of my Mely.” “You did not just talk about yourself in the third person, did you?” I sneer back at him. “Because, dude… that’s a bit arrogant.” “No, arrogant is vandalizing something that doesn’t belong to you,” he snarls like a big overgrown kitten at me. “It was just some pink paint,” I say with a huff of frustration. “I’m going to fix it.” “I’m not talking about her house,” he hisses at me. “I’m talking about her lips.” And that right there shuts me up. I just stare at him without any clue as to what to say. Luckily, I’m saved from the trouble when I hear Mely say in a hoarse voice. “What in the heck are you two talking about at freaking 5:30 in the morning?” I turn around. Any pretense that I’m not actually interested in Mely Rothschild evaporates as I take in the gut punch that happens when I see her standing there with her hair all messed up from sleeping and her voice croaking like a frog, and I think she might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Crap. Just… crap. “Driving by to the other job and saw the light on,” I say in a bald-face lie. “Thought you were up, but had the pleasure of meeting your friend here instead.” Morris D lets out a huff of indignation at the lie, but Mely just gives me a sleepy smile. “I just woke up. Heard the noise down here.” “So I see,” I say pointedly and let my gaze take in her cute little PJs that are sexy as all get out. She doesn’t glare at me in return, although Morris D harrumphs again. For some weird reason, I find perverse pleasure in irritating him. Ignoring the man in bronze satin, I walk over to the coffee pot and help myself to the discarded cup. When I turn, I offer it out to Mely, but she shakes her head. “I’m a tea kind of girl.”
Morris D reaches out for it, but I ignore him pointedly, bringing the cup to my lips for a small sip as I stare at him over the cup’s edge. He glares back at me. When I pull the cup away, I tell Mely, “I was thinking I’d start on the exterior paint today. I’ve got to put a primer over it.” “Because neon pink will bleed through?” Mely asks sarcastically, but also with a little bit of amusement. That’s nice that she can look past the anger. “Exactly,” I admit with a grin and absolutely no shame. “Probably take me a few days, but then I can work you in a few hours each day at your convenience to do whatever else you want to serve my sentence.” “That’s awfully nice of you,” she says hesitantly. “What can I say?” I offer her a charming smile. “I’m a nice guy.” “No more 5:30 AM wakeup calls?” “Not unless you specifically request it,” I tell her with a slight suggestion in my tone. She laughs and waves a dismissive hand at me. “You’re bad, Lowe Mancinkus. But I’m good any time after seven AM, so I’ll let you pick the time.” “Let’s make it seven,” I say genially and level her with a smile I’ve been told can make a woman fall into a dead faint if they’re not quite ready for it. “Looking forward to it,” she says back with a slight grin and twinkling eyes. That’s total flirtation right there, but she does not faint as expected. “Ugh, I think I’m going to vomit,” Morris D says dramatically and then proceeds to flounce out of the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. “I’m going back to bed.” I watch him exit the room, my gaze slowly coming back to Mely, who’s watching me pensively. “That’s Morris D, huh?” I ask deadpan. She laughs and nods. “My bestie.” “It took all of two hours to make it around town that you’d dragged back a tall, dark, and handsome man from New York to move in with you,” I say, leaning a hip against her counter. “All true except the moving-in part,” she replies, and her expression morphs into one of sudden enlightenment. “Is that why you showed up so early this morning? Because you thought I’d moved a man in?” This catches me so off guard I almost drop my coffee as I come flying off my perch against the counter. “What? No! I just happened to be getting an early start today, and like I said, I saw the light on here, and well—” “Morris D is gay,” Mely says mischievously as she crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to pee around me or something to establish your territory.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, it was one kiss, Mely,” I snap at her irritably as I put the cup down on the counter so hard it sloshes over the edge. Her laugh is melodious and completely taunting. “If you say so.” “I’m out of here,” I grumble as I feel my ears starting to burn from embarrassment because it’s so obvious why I showed up here so early. Damn, damn, damn. “Coming back at seven?” she asks with a chuckle as she follows me to the door. “No,” I return curtly without even looking back at her as I stomp past the staircase. “I can’t get the paint until Floyd opens at nine, so it will have to be—” Mely’s hand on my forearm stops me in my tracks, not because she has any physical power that dominates me, but she does have something that’s intangibly strong. I turn and look at her. “I’m just teasing you.” Her eyes are sparkling with mischief. “I know,” I grit out. “Then loosen up, country boy,” she says with a smile that brings out dimples I never realized she had. Never realized it because this is her first genuine smile, so I’m just noticing how freaking cute those dimples are. Letting out a gust of air, I give her a forced smile back because I don’t feel like smiling. I feel like kissing. Lots and lots of kissing. “I can’t start the paint until after five this afternoon, or I can wait until tomorrow at seven,” I tell her with an attempted air of professionalism. But frankly, it’s hard with her hand still resting on my forearm. “Whatever is easiest for you,” she says sweetly. Ugh… nice Mely with dimples is very hard to resist. With great effort, I take a step back and dislodge her touch. I casually stuff my hands down into my jeans. “Have you thought about what else you want me to do to fulfill my hours?” She nods. “I have, and I actually have a list of all the renovations I want to do. Some of it’s specialized, so it will be things that can’t be accomplished in a few hours here and there. And contrary to how we started out, I really don’t want to make your business suffer. I’m thinking maybe you fix the pink paint and we’ll call it even. I’ll write to Judge Bowe to let him know I’m satisfied. Maybe even your sister can tell us if that will appease him.” Now in ordinary circumstances, this would be an awesome offer. It’s more than I ever expected given the tumultuous nature of our relationship and far better than I deserve. And yet, I’m not quite ready for her to cut me loose yet. Damn kiss.
As much as I enjoyed terrorizing Mely for a little bit, it’s honestly done in my mind. She’s the owner, and nothing’s going to change that. Mainer House is gone and I need to move on. I need to do it quickly so my own life isn’t further disrupted. I need to snap up this offer to part ways. But I actually can’t believe myself when I say, “I’ll ask Trixie what she thinks, but I’m thinking it will be fine. But I feel like I should do more than just the paint. I put you out, caused you some major trouble and angst. Let me help do some of the work.” Mely’s head tilts and she looks at me speculatively, eyes narrowing not in a hostile way but like she’s sizing up my offer. “That seems out of character for you.” “Let’s be honest,” I tell her with a quirk in my lips. “You really don’t know me that well. You’ve only seen my ornery side.” I get a beautiful laugh as she tilts her head back, and then a flash of dimples when it lifts again. “You are so ornery when you’re mad.” “So, let me help with some of it,” I push at her, and it’s not lost on me I’m only doing this because now I’m interested in more than just her association with the house. “Okay,” she finally says as she inclines her head almost regally at me. “Can you come by after you get off work? I’ll show you what my plans are, and then let you decide what you want to help out with?” “Six o’clock okay?” I ask. “Sure. Plan on eating dinner here if you want.” Her reply is breezy and polite. “Alright,” I say with a smile and a nod of my head. “I accept.” “It’s a date,” she says automatically. When I grin at her knowingly, she suddenly gets flustered, which is beyond adorable. “Well, it’s not a date. You get that, right? Just a figure of speech.” “I get it, Mely,” I say with a chuckle and open the door. “I’ll um… see you later then.” Her face is even prettier with the little pink on her cheeks from embarrassment. I nod and turn to step out, but then think of something else that strikes me. Turning back, I say, “I don’t think your bestie likes me very much.” “He doesn’t know you,” she says with a smile. “Neither do you,” I point out. “But I’m trying,” she tosses back smoothly. Hamm… that’s interesting. I like it. “Okay, then,” I say with a nod. “Count me in for dinner.”
The Gossip Mill at Crump’s Grocery via Billy Crump
T
HE DINGING OF the counter bell startles me, and I almost slice into my finger. I’m a little
shaky this morning as I had to “taste test” a new batch of peach moonshine that came out of the distillery last night. Setting my knife down, I wipe my hands off on a towel sitting nearby and then take off my blood-coated apron. The life of a butcher is not a glamorous one by any form of the imagination. “Hey, Billy,” Della Padgett says from the other side of the meat counter. “Saw your daddy up at the front. He looks good.” “Sure does,” I agree with a smile. My daddy kicked cancer’s butt in a big way, and I am happy to have him back at the store. I’m a damn good butcher, not a great businessperson. My daddy, Louis, owns and manages Crump’s Grocery just like his daddy did before him. I run the meat department. For the eight weeks he did chemo, I had to take it all on and let me tell you… it pure-tee sucked. But all is right with the world now. Daddy’s doing great, and he’s back at work. I’m cutting meat again and doing my moonshine business on the side. “I need two filet mignons,” Della says as she lays her purse on the counter. “Grilling out with Jason tonight.” I smile at her, happy to see Della happy. She’s a widow and has been sad a long time. Jason Miller’s put some light back in those pretty eyes, and I expect the next big wedding in these parts will be between these two. Or Trixie and Ry. That’s a possibility. “Sorry, Della,” I tell her with a shake of her head. “Don’t have any. But got some good New York strips if you want.” Della frowns. “How can you not have any? It’s like the most popular steak ever.” I pull off my hat, scratch my head, and then put it back on. “Well, that new lady in town who bought Mainer House was just in not long ago and bought the last tenderloin I had.” “The entire thing?” Della asks. “What… is she having a big party or something?” I shrug. “No clue, but it was a nice piece of beef. Eighty bucks.” Della whistles and says, “I suwannee. She must have something fancy going on.”
“I heard her talking with her friend who came in with her. Weird sort of fella. Dresses like no one in these parts. Apparently, Lowe Mancinkus is going to dinner over there tonight.” “I thought they hated each other,” Della says with interest as she leans on the counter with one elbow. I shrug again. Not heard that, but I tell her, “She was looking for goat cheese, too. I told her Farrington Farms produces some but she’d be better off going to Walmart, as they also have prosciutto, which she needed and well… you know we don’t carry that type of stuff.” Della nods. “She’s got a guy staying at her house and Lowe sniffing around? Busy lady.” “Well, I don’t think that guy at her house is nothin’ more than a friend. I mean,” I say, lowering my voice to a whisper. “He talks like he’s a little light in his loafers if you know what I mean.” “You mean he’s gay?” Della asks, not whispering. I turn my head left and right, but no one’s around. She waves an impatient hand. “I don’t pay that stuff no mind. To each his own is how I see it.” “I agree,” I say, although I’m not quite sure if I really do. Never gave it a lot of thought before and if that lady’s friend is indeed gay, he would have been the first one I ever met. Seemed nice enough, if not a little flighty. “If it gets out there’s a gay man in town, the bible thumpers will get all riled up and Sunday’s sermon will be on that topic, mark my word.” “Probably,” I agree again, but also not sure about that either. I ain’t been to church since I was a kid. I’d be considered a heathen by most standards around here just for that. “Well, how about getting me two of those New York strips then?” Della says. The gossip mill has been closed for the day.
CHAPTER 9
Melinda
“M
ELY. DEAREST, DEAREST Mely,” Morri says in an obnoxiously knowing tone of voice.
“You are giving your entire hand away.” “Oh, shut up,” I say as I dab a tiny bit of goat cheese on a thin slice of prosciutto before wrapping it around a stalk of lightly blanched asparagus. “Beef tenderloin, scalloped potatoes, and whatever the hell that is you’re making right now,” he continues—with an airy wave of his hand toward my side dish I’m slaving over —not shutting up. “You are totally obvious. Not to mention the fact you’re cooking this extravagant meal without any countertops. You had to go out and buy a table and cookware just to prepare this one dinner. Obvious, obvious, obvious.” “This meal has absolutely nothing to do with Lowe coming over for dinner,” I assert staunchly, and I hope it sounds genuine. “It so happens I’m craving a decent meal. I simply can’t do chicken fried one more time.” “Whatever,” he says with his head swiveling side to side as he tosses a hand up. “Don’t give me any ‘necktitude’,” I snap at him. “It doesn’t make your words any more powerful.” “Clearly it does if you’re pointing it out,” he retorts with a snap of his fingers punctuated with a snap of his wrist at shoulder level. I slam my mouth shut. I can never win a catty girl-battle with Morri. Instead, I tell him, “I consider this to be nothing more than a peace offering. He’s going to be doing work on this house, and I want him to do it well. I can’t afford for him to take out his anger over this whole situation on the renovation.” And well, that sounded slightly legit even to my own ears. I can almost believe inviting him to dinner has nothing to do with the fact I kind of like Lowe Mancinkus now that he’s not being a jerk. Oh, and after that kiss. I mean, what’s not to like about the kind of man who shuts a woman up with his lips? “What’s the real deal behind his totally boorish behavior?” Morri asks, and I’m just thankful he’s not making fun of me and the very non-southern, elegant, and expensive meal I’m making. I shrug as I wrap another asparagus stalk and lay it out on a paper plate because I don’t have much in the way of dishes. As a matter of fact, I had to drive over to Milner to find goat cheese and prosciutto, which was not a staple Crump’s Grocery carried. Because the
kitchen was an absolute disaster with no cabinets and no countertops, since Lowe had removed both, I stopped into the Walmart to purchase a few necessities. Cookware for the meal, a card table with four folding chairs, and various paper plates, utensils, and cups. I didn’t bother with real plates—plastic, ceramic, or otherwise—as I don’t particularly like cooking just for myself so it would have been a wasted expense until I was ready to buy my forever plates for this house. Until that time, most of my meals will continue to be at either Clementine’s or Central Cafe. Or Sweet Cakes, but I hate to admit I’d eat an entire meal of cupcakes or cookies. Or pastries. Or any other variety of heavenly little morsels Larkin has just calling out to me from across the street. “Well, clearly this house means something to him,” Morri pushes at me, and that interrupts my thoughts of Larkin’s buttercream frosting and starts me thinking of someone who’s equally as mouthwatering. “The house has been in his family since it was built by a branch of the Mainers in 1912.” I tell him what little I know of the history. “I kind of get the idea he wasn’t happy it was bought by someone outside of the family.” “That’s not even that old of a house,” Morri says thoughtfully. “A little over a hundred years old,” I return. “It’s not exactly modern.” “But it’s not ancient either.” “I don’t think age in this instance has to do with “historical” significance to Lowe,” I muse. “I just kind of get that his family is very important to him and letting this house go to someone not related is hard for him.” “Guess it’s got to be hard watching it slip away,” Morri grudgingly admits. “Watching you make changes to this place.” “Well, changes are needed for this place to be habitable. It’s been empty for decades. But I’m not going to deviate from the style of this place. It’s too amazing to do that.” “Ironic,” Morri says as I finish up the last asparagus stalk, laying it prettily on a disposable plate with the word “Chinette” etched into the cardboard center. “What’s that?” I ask as I peek into the gas oven, which surprisingly worked once I had it serviced and cleaned when I first moved in. “That this house means something personal to both of you,” he explains. “He’s losing a family connection, but you’re gaining one.” All true. And also sad that his loss is my gain. The knock on the front door causes me to jolt, followed by a strong ripple of excitement that moves up my spine. I feel slightly giddy, and I’m more than a little bothered that one annoying, obnoxious man can make me feel that way. I think I liked Lowe better when I didn’t like him at all, because he’s now throwing me off balance a bit.
“I’ll get it,” Morri says, then strolls quite elegantly out of my kitchen as I wash my hands at the sink. Within moments, Morri is walking back in with Lowe following casually behind, looking loose and relaxed and oh, man… he can rock a pair of jeans. He obviously went home and got showered as he’s dressed in dark jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, and a well fit navy-blue t-shirt that he most definitely wasn’t wearing this morning. His hair is slightly wet and he shaved, which I’m not sure if I like better than the stubble, but I like a heck of a lot how strong his jawline is. “I brought beer and wine,” he says, holding up a bottle of wine in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other. “We’re having an eighty-dollar cut of beef,” Morri says dryly as he snags the wine bottle. “It calls for wine.” Lowe just shrugs and walks to the refrigerator, which also thankfully works but it does so with a loud chugging noise. I watch as he makes himself at home by pulling a bottle out of the cardboard carrier before putting the rest inside to chill. With a practiced twist of his hand, he takes the cap off and tosses it in the garbage can, which was also a purchase I’d made today. Previously, I’d just had a plastic bag to collect my throwaway stuff. After taking a swallow, he leans back against the fridge and gives me a smile. “Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.” I get flustered, smile back, and can’t think of anything witty to say. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Morri rolling his eyes before he turns to Lowe. “She’s making beef tenderloin, scalloped potatoes, and asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. It’s a very refined meal.” Dipping my chin, I raise an eyebrow, giving Morri a warning look. He refuses to return any type of look toward me, instead pinning his gaze on Lowe. “Refined?” Lowe asks curiously as he tilts his head. Morri actually lifts his nose slightly in the air and says snootily, “Well… let’s just say a little more civilized than what you’re probably used to. You’d not drink beer with this quality of food.” If I expect Lowe to be offended by Morri’s haughty city biases, I’d be wrong. Lowe just shakes his head in amusement and tips his bottle toward Morri in a friendly manner. “Well, guess this country boy has a few things to learn. I’ll stick with beer, though.” Morri just sniffs before turning to me. “Where’s your corkscrew, Mely? I’ll open the wine and let it breathe.” “I don’t have one,” I tell him over my shoulder as I start setting out the plates and disposable flatware. I do feel slightly odd having this expensive and “refined” meal, as Morri called it, being served so crudely, but it’s actually more fun this way.
“What?” Morri gasps dramatically. I look back to find his darkened skin paled a little that such a tragedy could occur, and I have to bite down hard not to laugh. My eyes cut to Lowe, who’s equally amused, and he couldn’t look any more gorgeous as he smiles over the top of his bottle at Morri’s antics. With eyes sliding hopefully to Lowe, Morri asks hesitantly. “I suppose you wouldn’t be carrying around a corkscrew?” Lowe shakes his head. “Sorry. Not a wine kind of dude. Besides, if I need to shank someone, I prefer to carry a pocketknife.” Morri wrinkles his nose even as his expression turns more morose that he may have to go without. With a last bit of desperation, he asks me, “Mely… we had wine last night. You have to have a corkscrew.” I shake my head with a laugh, pulling the tinfoil off the tenderloin. “Sorry, babe. Those bottles were twist caps.” Morri gasps again, his hand going to his heart like this might be the “big one”. “You let me drink wine from a bottle with a twist-off cap?” “Oh, good God,” I say with a laugh as I turn away from my bestie with such dramatic stage presence as part of his regular job that it always carries over into real conversation. “You’re still alive, you know.” “I’m not sure how,” Morri mutters, and Lowe laughs. A resonant, deep tone that’s one-hundred percent man and it gives me pure shivers. I try to shake off the feeling as I rummage through the Walmart bags for a knife to cut the tenderloin. Pushing away some other smaller purchases I hadn’t put away yet—headache medication, sunscreen, and toothpaste—I realize I didn’t get a knife. My head hangs. “Lowe… um… can we borrow your pocketknife to cut the roast?” That laugh again. I turn to face him and his eyes are sparkling as he reaches into his pocket, confidently palming his beer in his other hand. “Sure thing, Mely.” Shivers again. Just from the way he says my name. I’m in so much trouble. ♦ “YOU’RE KIDDING ME?” I ask with rounded eyes after I take another sip of beer straight from the bottle. It’s a local brew Lowe had brought. While I wasn’t much of a beer drinker, and I definitely hadn’t drank it with a beef tenderloin, I was finding it not so bad. Especially not when dinner conversation had been so much fun, despite Morri being cranky and reserved as he eyed the bottle of red wine that couldn’t be opened.
Lowe shakes his head, the tiny motion causing his dark hair to ripple all around. “Threw her in jail twice.” He’s talking about his sister, Trixie, the lawyer who defended him last week over the pink paint debacle, and the wily Judge Bowe. “Why would she provoke him like that?” I ask in awe. Lowe shrugs. “It’s in the DNA, I guess. I mean… why would I paint your house neon pink?” Laughing, I tip my beer bottle to him. “In fairness, it was only the window and door casings.” Lowe’s eyes sparkle with humor, but Morri gives a disgusted groan as he stands up from the table. “I can’t stand how chummy you two have become. It’s enough to drive this tired but well fed and under-imbibed black man to bed.” I glance at my watch. It’s almost 9:30, and I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. We’re still sitting at the card table, the meal long over with empty paper plates sitting before each of us. “Good night, Morri,” I say affectionately, even though he’s been a complete boob to Lowe tonight. I can’t quite decide where his ire is coming from, but I’ll talk to him tomorrow. “G’night, sweet Mely,” he coos back at me as he bends over to kiss me on the top of my head. When he stands, he gives me a fierce look. “And try to stay on your side of the bed tonight. It’s too hot to have you snuggling all up to me.” Chuckling, I give a nod of my head. “I’ll try.” “Good girl,” he says sweetly, and then turns to Lowe. Morri looks down at him imperiously. “Good night, Lowe.” “Night,” Lowe says in that deep voice that’s still laced with mischievous humor because Morri clearly doesn’t like him. After Morri’s gone, Lowe slides his eyes to me. He’s leaning back in his chair, which he pushed away from the table long ago. His long legs stretched out in front of him, disappearing under the table. “Gotta say,” he drawls as he rests his empty beer bottle on his stomach. “A little weird you going to bed with one man after having invited another over to dinner.” My eyebrows draw inward, and I point out seriously. “You do realize he’s gay, right?” Lowe laughs again, and it’s loose and relaxed. “Yeah… got that, Mely.” “Not so weird then,” I return with a grin. “Right?” “Still a little weird. This is the South. The Bible Belt. People will think you’re loose to be sleeping with a man when not married.”
I snort, because I can tell he’s totally teasing me. I’d learned one thing tonight… Lowe Mancinkus is quite worldly despite the fact he lives in a tiny, backwoods town. He has a degree from UNC, a liberal, artsy southern state school located in a very eclectic and diverse town, and he’s well-traveled. He did a semester in Italy and visited many of the European countries while there. But here he is… a very intelligent man working with his hands in a very small town. I find it fascinating. “So, what exactly do you do in your um… carpentry business?” I ask in a stumbling manner because I realize I’m not sure what Lowe does. I know he removed cabinets, linoleum, and wallpaper. “Mostly custom type of work,” he says. “Although I can build a house from the ground up.” “Really?” I ask, because how many people can say that in this world? Lowe nods. “Built my own house. Well, it’s a two-bedroom cabin on the north end of my parents’ farm, but yeah… did one-hundred percent of it.” “That’s amazing,” I tell him truthfully. Based on the nature of my work, remodeling and interior design, this is something I can appreciate. “But again, remodeling work like I’m doing here on Mainer House is probably eighty percent of my business,” he says, and then his face immediately gets troubled. “I mean… well, guess it’s not Mainer House anymore.” “Oh, I fully intend to keep that name,” I reassure him. It’s the Mainer association, after all, that led me to this beautiful piece of my own history. Lowe’s eyes soften, and he nods his head. “That’s nice.” “I’m sorry this was so hard on you,” I blurt out, feeling the need to make sure he knows this was never a personal thing. Lowe shrugs. “It is what it is.” “How come this house set empty for so long?” I ask, wondering about that little tidbit of history that I was never able to quite figure out from my dealings with the real estate company who had the property listed. “No one to really live in it,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Everyone in the family has their own homes, and it really needed a lot of work as you well know since it sat empty for so long.” “The realtor said no one’s lived here since the mid-sixties.” “My great aunt, Angela Mainer, got the house in a divorce, but she moved to Raleigh to live with her sister when her kids were gone and moved away. It was left to my mom, Catherine, when Angela died in 1981. My parents did some basic upkeep on it and paid taxes, but it was kind of a financial burden so they decided to sell it.”
“I really am sorry,” I say again. “Not your fault, Mely,” he says kindly. Even through the sadness that this piece of his family’s history is gone, I can tell his grudge isn’t with me anymore. “Well, I better get going,” Lowe says as he pushes from the table and it startles me. My immediate thought is to call him back, tell him to stay, but that’s stupid. I barely know this guy, and this was just a friendly dinner. I scramble out of my seat. After he puts his empty beer bottle in the garbage, he heads out of the kitchen and into the foyer as I follow him. When he reaches the door, his hand grabs the knob but he turns to look at me. “Dinner was really great. Thanks again.” “I really am sorry about all of this drama between us,” I tell him sheepishly. Lowe laughs and releases the door. Turning more fully to me, he admits, “It’s been kind of fun… butting heads, right?” “Little,” I admit. His eyes move over my face, focus on my lips, and my pulse runs away wildly. Every single, thrilling memory of his kiss last week slams into me, and my knees go absolutely weak. I’ve never had a man make that happen before. Lowe’s lips curl upward as if he knows exactly the affect he has on me. I want to punch him for knowing that about me, but I’d rather kiss him, darn it. Unwittingly, I shuffle forward a few inches. His eyes lock onto mine, and he leans toward me with his mouth slightly parted. Oh, shit… I hadn’t really planned on another kiss and I’ve got asparagus breath. “I forgot to tell you, Mely…” Morri’s voice comes down the staircase, deliberately loud and intrusive. So intrusive that Lowe and I both jerk backward, and I don’t miss the frustration on Lowe’s face before turning to face Morri. He saunters down the stairs, wearing a black and red silk kimono-type robe with flowing sleeves and a grayish-blue facial mud mask covering his dark skin. “Forgot to tell me what?” I ask with a sigh. “I’ve got FedEx scheduled for a delivery tomorrow,” he says as he comes to stand right beside me, completely throwing icy water on the mood that had been bubbling nicely between Lowe and me. “I bought this fabulous red sequined gown online. There’s a drag club in Raleigh a friend suggested, and they have a credible drag show. Thought I’d stay and check it out. Besides, I’ve been drooling over that dress for weeks. There are only a few left in stock, so I decided to go for it.” “Drag show?” Lowe asks curiously.
“Morri’s an entertainer,” I explain, then turn to back to Morri. “So, you figured you’d go all glammed up to see the show?” “Well, sweetie,” Morri purrs with a dramatic pull of his arm across his chest so the long sleeve of his robe arcs gracefully. He turns to the staircase, but looks over his shoulder at me. “When in Rome, right? Besides, red is my signature color.” “Right,” I say with a nod of my head as Morri prances back up the stairs. “Speaking of Rome,” Lowe says, and I turn back to him with my head tilted. “The Lantern Festival is being held this weekend. You and Morri should come to it.” “Larkin was telling me about it. It sounds like fun.” “It is,” he agrees and then grabs the knob again. “You know, we didn’t even get a chance to talk about what you want me to do on the house after I fix the paint.” “Coffee will be ready at seven AM tomorrow if you want to stop by,” I tell him, throwing out another invitation for him to come socialize with me. I guess at this point I better decide exactly what I’d like him to help me with now. “Seven AM,” Lowe says with a nod and tip of his head. “Good night, Mely.” “Night,” I return and then he’s gone.
CHAPTER 10
Lowe
“L
OOKING GOOD, LOWE Mancinkus,” I hear a woman call out as I stretch upward to paint
the top of the frame around the window. Turning my head to look over my shoulder, I see Lynette Carnes getting ready to walk into Sweet Cakes across the street. She’s our town’s very own Daisy Duke. By that, I mean she struts around in miniscule jean shorts, high heels, and a sleeveless blouse tied off just underneath her very ample chest. She’s definitely nice to look at, although she doesn’t have much going on above the cleavage. “Morning, Lynette,” I call back. “Lookin’ good yourself.” She grins and blows a kiss at me before walking into Larkin’s shop. The front door opens and Mely steps out onto the porch, carrying a cup of coffee. There’s no doubt in my mind she witnessed that exchange from the other side of the doorway. It’s obvious by the pinched expression she has on her face. Still, she brings the coffee over to me and sets it on the porch rail. “Thanks, darlin’,” I tell her as I go back to brushing paint over the layer of primer I’d put on a few hours ago. I’d decided to work half a day here at Mainer House, not because I was anxious to get the work done, but because I wanted to be around Melinda Rothschild. She may not be strutting around in little shorts and a low-cut blouse, but she is most definitely a prettier picture than I’ve ever seen around these parts. She’s wearing a white sundress with a halter top, and her shoulders are lightly tanned with tiny freckles. Her legs are long, bare, and perfectly adorned with nothing more than a pair of simple white sandals. Her silky blonde hair is pulled away from her face at the top of her head and she looks like a breath of fresh air. Mely leans against the porch rail, crosses her arms low under her breasts, and watches me work for a minute. I wonder if she likes what she sees. I think so. There was going to be another kiss last night if Morri hadn’t managed to ruin that little moment. And while I’d never stoop to mention this to Mely, I’m pretty sure he’d been hovering at the top of the stairs, just waiting to ruin it. “Much better than hot pink,” Mely says as I continue to apply paint to the casing. I have no clue what the hell I was thinking when I painted her house pink. It was an attention getter and since the two people whose attention it got were Mely and Judge Bowe, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out I might have been pulling on her metaphorical pigtails a bit.
“I should have this finished by tomorrow,” I tell her. “Then all will be right again.” “Odd since it took you a single night to do the damage,” she quips. I don’t look back at her, but I hear the laughter in her voice. “Well, neon pink isn’t all that easy to cover up,” I tell her with a laugh. She snickers and I can’t believe she was trying to get me thrown in jail last week. My how the mighty have fallen. “When in Rome and all that,” Mely says and I turn to look at her from my perch on the ladder. She jerks her chin over her shoulder in the direction of Sweet Cakes. “Is that the standard southern girl uniform?” Chuckling, I cut my eyes over to Sweet Cakes where sexy Lynette just disappeared into. I’m not about to tell Mely that I have actual carnal knowledge about that southern girl, even if it was back in my younger years. Looking back to Mely, I take in her stylishly sweet dress that doesn’t reveal much but is still sexy at the same time. Giving her a wink, I say, “There’s nothing standard about you, Melinda Rothschild, so I’m advising you to stay away from that look. I think you’re mighty fine just the way you are.” And yeah… that little blush staining her cheeks is mighty fine, too. My attention is caught by a rumbling engine and I see the FedEx truck pull up. Mely pushes off the porch rail and turns to the steps just as Kelvin is trotting up with a large box. He looks at Mely, glances to me, and mutters, “What’s up, Lowe?” “Not much,” I say as I set my brush down over the edge of the paint can, using the moment to wipe my hands clean on the rag tucked in my back pocket. Mely signs a digital pad from Kelvin, who looks at Mely with open interest. People have been talking a lot about the pretty New Yorker come south, and some of the men in Chesty’s haven’t been all that polite about their interest in her. He glances at me. I glare back at him, and he takes the hint, accepting the digital pad from her as he hands over the box without another word. As Mely turns, I ask her, “Morri’s dress?” Her head lifts and her blue eyes sparkle in the rays from the morning sun cutting west across the edge of the front porch. “You really aren’t too wigged out about a black gay drag queen staying in town and having formal gowns delivered by FedEx, are you?” “I’m a bit more liberal than most,” I tell her, and this is not a joke. There are many in this town who wouldn’t understand a damn thing about Morris D. And a few more than that who would be downright threatened by his “strangeness”. “It will take a little getting used to that,” she says quietly… and a bit sadly that prejudice is something she’ll have to deal with while here. I hate it’s a part of my home
state, but despite a broader acceptance of gays, there’s much about North Carolina that’s still quite backward. I don’t like seeing that look on her face. Worry for Morri, and maybe for herself as she tries to acclimate, and it makes me want her to see that there are some people like me who don’t give a damn about the color of your skin or how ridiculous you look in a silk kimono robe while sporting a pair of testicles. “Let me have that box,” I say as I jump off the ladder, coming to land right beside Mely. She looks at me with skeptical eyes, pulling the box a little closer to herself. “Why?” “Because I have an idea,” I say as I hold my hand out. “What idea?” she presses. “A joke,” I admit to her, opening and closing my hand with impatience. “A practical one. Make Morri see that I’m all about the fun.” “The fun?” “Okay, I want to punish him for ruining our near kiss last night,” I tell her with an impish grin, and her cheeks go pink again. Damn, I like that. “This is Morri’s dream dress,” she says hesitantly, but I can tell she’s intrigued. I also admire her sass when she adds on, “And I wasn’t going to kiss you again last night.” “I won’t harm a pretty, sparkling sequin on it,” I promise in return, and then also declare. “And you were so going to kiss me again.” “Was not,” she maintains, even as she tries to hand the box over to me. That challenge in her eyes is what causes me to act so rashly. My hand shoots out, ignoring the box and taking her by the back of her neck. I pull her into me and bend my face down, so my mouth is hovering right over hers. I don’t say a word and I hold perfectly still, giving her the option to pull away or push forward. The smile is knocked right off my face when she goes to her tiptoes with a tiny sigh of capitulation and kisses me. It’s sweet, brief, and intimate. Mouths slightly open to start, closed by the end of the kiss, and then she’s pulling back from me. “I hate that you were right about that,” she mutters. Laughing, I grab her hand and pull her down the porch steps. “Come on. I don’t want Morri to catch us.” “I’m not complicit in this,” she says as she trots to keep up with me.
“You’re so complicit,” I say as I take the box from her and tuck it under my arm. I throw a quick glance over my shoulder, and snicker as I think of Morri back in the house completely unaware that his beloved drag dress has arrived. Putting my hand to Mely’s lower back, I push her gently along the sidewalk as we head east along Wilmington Street. Past Crump’s Grocery and Aunty Q’s, across Walker Street. In front of the rebuild of Millie’s and into the glass door of Lady Marmalade’s, which tinkles from the tiny bell that sits above. “Well, if it ain’t Lowe Mancinkus and the pretty city slicker from New York,” I hear from the back of the darkened shop. Lady Marmalade—aka Sissy Givens—likes to be mysterious. Her shop is always gloomy as the bright overhead lights are turned off, and the only illumination is from a handful of lamps scattered about her vintage clothing store covered in ornate, beaded shawls. Sissy is a transplant herself into Whynot, but she’s still southern bred straight from the state of Mississippi. She followed her husband to the area for work, and they settled here almost thirty years ago. He’s a lineman with the phone company, and Sissy opened Lady Marmalade’s to keep up on local gossip. Her vintage clothing shop doesn’t get much in the way of business, but it’s always fun to hang out with the woman. “Hey, Sissy,” I say as I wind my way through racks of clothing and mannequins dressed in garish outfits. Mely follows along behind me. When we reach the counter, I turn to take in Mely’s reaction so far. I can tell by the look on her face that she’s not been in here exploring yet. She looks at Sissy in odd fascination, although she’s smiling sweetly. Sissy Givens is probably just an inch or so over six feet and she’s just as big everywhere else, probably close to three hundred pounds if I had to guess. She’s like an Amazon woman. A tall, black, thick Amazonian with a bald head. I’m not kidding. And yet, she’s also pretty. She’s in her late fifties I’d guess, but her skin is smoother than a baby’s butt. Despite her girth, which she hides with big, flowing caftan dresses, she somehow projects an almost ethereal quality when she moves. Her eyes are done up in silvery blue shadow and her lips are always covered in cherry-red lipstick. And now that I think about it… she actually looks like a drag queen, and the irony of us being here with Morri’s dress is now freaking hilarious. “Sissy,” I say by way of introduction as I place the box on the wooden counter behind which Sissy is sitting. “This is Melinda Rothschild.” “Mely,” she says as she holds her hand out to Sissy. “Welcome to Lady Marmalade’s,” she returns as she shakes Mely’s hand. Her eyes then go to the box. “What have you brought me?”
“This…” I say, patting the box with relish, “is going to be an epic joke.” “I’m listenin’,” she says with a smile so bright against her dark skin that my eyes hurt. “Inside this box,” I drawl as I lean my elbows on the counter and hover over said box, “is a beautiful, expensive, and treasured formal gown that just got delivered to Mely’s good friend, Morris D.” “What kind a name is Morris D?” Sissy asks. “The kind that would wear the dress in this box,” I explain. “On stage. As a drag queen.” As expected, this news doesn’t faze Sissy. She loves all people. “Go on.” “He’s waiting for this right now, over in Mainer House. He’d be completely wigged out if something happened to it.” “And by wigged out, you mean?” she presses. “He’d have a complete drama-queen meltdown,” Mely supplies for me. I turn to find her grinning at Sissy, but then her gaze slides to me. “So, what are we going to do?” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my knife that we’d used just last night to carve beef tenderloin. Flipping it open, I nod over my shoulder at the racks of clothes. “You and Sissy find the most godawful dress in the entire world. I mean… make it ugly, ugly, ugly.” Both women watch me for just a few moments as I carefully stick the tip of the knife into a taped seam on the box, and delicately slice through it. This must be done carefully, as the box cannot look tampered with, and I know this because this isn’t the first time I’ve done this little switcharoo joke. Let’s just say my brother Colt expecting a limited-edition Pamela Anderson swimsuit poster from eBay and getting Weird Al Yankovic instead was not as funny to him as it was to me. As I stealthily break into the box to remove Morri’s dress, Sissy and Mely rummage through the clothing racks. I risk a glance at them, and it’s not lost on me that my heart beats harder when I take Mely in. Hand over her mouth in earnest consideration as Sissy holds a hideous olive-green dress with orange feathers up for perusal. The playful light in her eyes showing me she’s got a sense of humor to match my own, which makes her even more intriguing to me. I don’t know how long Mely plans on being around Whynot. As far as I know, she’s here to just flip the property and will be out of here soon thereafter. But I know she’s not going to be leaving anytime soon as there’s plenty of work to do on Mainer House. Based on the fact I’ve kissed that woman twice and it’s been amazing both times, I plan on making the most of her stay here.
CHAPTER 11
Melinda
I’
T S HARD NOT to let my eyes lift from over the edge of my iPad to watch Lowe from time
to time. He’s priming the casing around the front door. I’d plopped down on the porch with my back resting up against the balustrades, flipping through some sample fabrics online for the drapery panels for the living room. I want this house to be true to its nature, but I also want it to represent me as well, and I’m thinking light blues and creams with maybe some touches of yellow to soften up the dark hardwood floors and wainscot paneled walls. That totally fabulous kiss seemingly forgotten, Lowe works diligently on correcting the damage he’d done. We’d been back from Lady Marmalades for almost half an hour, and I wonder if I’m bordering on creepy sitting out here on the porch while he works. It’s not that he runs hot and cold, but rather he seems to be a more impetuous, in-themoment sort of guy. After we’d switched out the contents of Morri’s delivery box, we snuck back onto the porch without Morri being any the wiser. He was always a late sleeper so I figured we were safe, but I’m glad he’s not come down yet. It’s given me a chance to think about things, and I find myself brooding about what life would be like if I lived here permanently. So far, I’m not sure I can handle the lack of what I consider to be necessities at my fingertips. Like goat cheese and prosciutto. Neiman Marcus. Real New York pizza. But it doesn’t have to be my forever, permanent home. It can be just a getaway. A place to visit. A sanctuary where I can get my breath back from my hectic career and a house where I can feel closest to my grandmother since I miss her so much. I watch Lowe for just a moment. He’s been quite the surprise to me. A man who was nothing more than a common hoodlum just a few short weeks ago, who then became even thornier when he repaired the initial damage to the house with neon pink paint. But the more I’ve come to know him, the more I realize he wasn’t doing those things to be malicious toward me. Not to anyone, really. He was just making a statement. Lowe is just one of those guys who feels deeply and passionately about things, and when he does, he’s going to let you know about it. I think the message was to his family and this town that a piece of history was let go and it wasn’t going to be in vain.
At least not on his part. The front door flies open so suddenly Lowe startles and scrambles backward. Morri sort of stumbles out, shielding his hand over his eyes to protect against the bright midmorning sunlight. “Good morning, sunshine,” Lowe says amiably as he steps back up to the paint can resting on top of the ladder. He casually goes back to priming the side casing as Morri pulls the door shut, then steps fully out onto the porch. He’s clearly just woken up as he holds a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand and blows on it with a grumpy look on his face. He’s got his kimono robe belted tight around his waist and his black satin sleep mask pushed up onto his forehead. “I slept terribly because of you,” Morri grouses before taking a tiny sip. He looks at me over the edge of the cup as I sit on the porch. “Total bed hog.” “Sorry,” I tell him with a smile that’s not sorry at all. I’m a natural cuddler and I gravitate to body heat for some reason, even if it’s in the middle of the summer. Morri grunts an acceptance of my apology, his eyes dropping to the box sitting beside me on the porch. They go wide for just a moment, and then look back to me. “Is that…?” “Arrived a bit ago,” I tell him blandly, trying to act natural. “Didn’t want to wake you up.” I want to start cackling with laughter over the contents inside, but I manage to play it cool. To Lowe’s credit, he doesn’t even turn to acknowledge our conversation, seeming to ignore us both, but I know darn well he’s listening hard right now. Morri scrambles all at once, hot coffee sloshing over the edge of his cup as he slams it down on the porch railing. His flowy sleeves billow behind him like a spectacle—not that a tall black man wearing silk pajamas with matching robe isn’t one—as he lurches for the box. I grab it from where it’s sitting next to him and hand it up. The minute he yanks it from me, I lower my face to my iPad, pretending to be thoroughly engrossed in the fabric samples. When he rests the box on the railing just over my shoulder, I press my lips together and just listen as Morri rips the tape off. Lowe really did an excellent job of sealing it back up. I couldn’t tell it had been hacked. Cardboard rips, meaning Morri’s not willing to work the tape gently, and then the box falls to the porch to land beside me. “What the hell is this?” Morri shrieks, and there’s no ignoring that. I smooth my face and look up to see Morri holding out the perfect dress Sissy found. His face is coated in horror and disgust as he holds it as far away from him as possible. The lace and chiffon dress in a beigey-pink sort of color has ruffles from hip to toe. It’s
hideous. Sissy thought it was probably circa the late seventies and was clearly a bridesmaid dress gone horribly wrong with full puffy sleeves and a huge bow on the butt. From the corner of my eye, I see Lowe has turned to watch the spectacle, and I dare not look at him. I’ll lose it. “I thought you said it was red sequined,” I ask Morri in a concerned tone as I push myself up to stand. After putting my iPad on the railing next to his coffee, I reach a hand out and pull the dress out by a ruffled hem to look at it in “faux” consternation. “Does this look like red sequins to you?” he screeches as he starts to shake the dress. “Check the box, Mely. Is there anything else in there?” I bend over to grab the box just in time, my lips betraying me in a goofy smile that I refuse to let break free into a laugh. I make a show of looking inside with my head bowed over it, managing to wipe my face blank again before looking back to Morri. And he is a sight to behold in his rage. I swear, I didn’t know his face could turn red under that mocha skin and his eyes are blazing with fury. “Incompetent baboons,” he exclaims as he stomps his bare foot on the porch. “It’s a heterosexual conspiracy.” “What’s the problem?” Lowe asks and Morri spins on him, clutching the vile pile of material. Shaking it in Lowe’s face, he asks with indignation, “Does this look like a red sequined gown that screams sophisticated glamor?” “Not sure I’d really know what sophisticated glamor is,” Lowe says in a serious voice as he scratches his head and looks at the dress. “But I don’t see any red sequins.” “You’re damn right you don’t,” Morri hisses like a snake before whipping back around on me to beseech my help, “Mely!” Except it comes out like, “Mel-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!” I can’t open my mouth to even respond to him, because I know I’ll lose it. “Mel-eeeee,” Morri cries out again in distress, taking me by the shoulders so quickly that the chiffon and lace dress smacks me in the face. “What am I going to do? I’ve got nothing appropriate to wear Saturday night. This screw-up will have tremendous implications to my emotional well-being.” I drop my head, the urge to laugh so strong I’m afraid I’m going to pee. “Everything okay?” I turn to look out to the sidewalk. The postman is standing there with his mailbag slung over his shoulder and a pile of mail in his hands, looking up at us. “Does this look okay?” Morri calls out to the man in indignation as he flaps the dress all around, hitting me again in the face so I take a step back from him. “Do I look like a pink lace kind of man?”
“No, sir,” the mailman calls out even as his head lowers and he bustles away quickly from the crazy man in the silk kimono having a meltdown. My eyes cut across the street to Sweet Cakes. Larkin stands in her open doorway watching the drama play out. The woman in the daisy duke shorts who flirted with Lowe earlier along with another woman about her age but more sedately dressed are sitting at one of the outdoor cafe tables watching. Behind them, Trixie has come out of her law office and watches as well, and I note several people over on the courthouse square looking this way. Well, town of Whynot, I think with an inward snicker. This is Morris D. He’s very pleased to meet you. “That’s abominable,” Lowe says quietly, and Morri and I turn to face him. He’s serious as the day is long, his eyes dropping to the dress with a nod. “I’d be ticked off, for sure.” “Finally, I see you have some sense,” Morri admits with a sniff. “I wouldn’t stand for it,” Lowe says with an edge to his voice. “I’m listening,” Morri says as he leans in with a serious but eager look. “I’d get on the phone to wherever you made your purchase, and I’d be raising some holy hell,” Lowe tells him earnestly. “You’re absolutely right,” Morri says as he grabs the box from my hand and stuffs the dress inside. He sweeps regally past Lowe to the front door. “In fact,” I add on as Morri starts to step inside, adding fuel to his raging fire. “I’d demand a high-up manager as soon as you get someone on the phone. Don’t waste your time with some lowly customer service representative.” “You know it,” Morri snips back with a whole lot of necktitude before the door shuts tight behind him. It’s silent a moment as we stare at the closed door, but when Lowe turns back to face me, I can’t hold it in anymore. I start laughing so hard that I double over. The sound of Lowe’s rumbling laughter hits me hard, making me snort and tears start to leak out of my eyes. “What’s going on over here?” I straighten up to see Larkin standing there with an amused expression on her face as she looks back and forth between Lowe and me. I reach a hand out, put it on Lowe’s arm, and tell his sister, “Your brother just pulled a stupendous prank on my friend.” “That would be the one flapping around in the kimono and yelling?” she guesses. Lowe’s eyes are sparkling as he pulls back from me, turning to his paint can as he chuckles. “I pulled the famous missing Pamela Anderson poster-trick on him.” “Aha,” Larkin says with a laugh. “It’s a classic.”
Letting my gaze skim around the town’s square interior, I still see several people standing around, watching us. I’m thinking this was the highlight of the day around here, and I’m wondering if maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I mean, outing a gay drag queen on my front porch to the people of Whynot doesn’t bother me in the slightest, but Morri is a guest here. And Lowe lives here. “Don’t even let that thought take hold in that pretty little head of yours,” Lowe says in a deep voice and my eyes snap to his. I can tell by the look on his face that he can read the look on my face loud and clear. “You and Morri are welcome in this town and if anyone says otherwise, I’ll have words with them.” “Me too,” Larkin asserts with a firm nod of her head. Warm flutters of appreciation tickle at my belly as I realize that these two mean that sincerely. I didn’t think it would be easy at all to acclimate to a slower, more closed-off way of life down South, but it sure helps to know that there are good people around. “Mely… Lowe… I’m going to kill one or both of you,” I hear Morri shriek from inside the house, and I know we’ve been busted in our joke. Lowe winks at me as we hear Morri stomping down the stairs, and he whispers to me, “I’ll take this one for the team.” And that’s sweet, and it makes me like Lowe Mancinkus even more. I could seriously kiss him right now for the fun morning he’s given me, the gallant way he’s getting ready to handle a pissed-off hot mess of a gay man right now, and the fact he’s made me feel positively welcome despite the fact I’ve robbed him of an important piece of family history.
The Gossip Mill at Sweet Cakes by Lynette Carnes
“G
OD, HE’S SO fine,” Stacie says as she turns to look over her shoulder at Lowe doing
some painting on the front porch of Mainer House. That I would agree with, which is why I made sure to yell out at him a little bit ago when I came to meet Stacie for an iced coffee at Sweet Cakes. I had on my sassiest shorts with my shirt tied off, my flat stomach with the jeweled piercing in my belly button looking beyond hot. He even said so back. I suggested we sit out here so we could surreptitiously watch him from one of the outdoor tables, because there is nothing like watching a fine-as-hell man doing a manly job like painting. Of course, he’s not looked our way once, and I’m just a little too proud to call out to him again, what with the woman who owns the house sitting out there in her prissy little white dress. If she’s a virgin, then I am too, and I know that ain’t true. Lowe knows that ain’t true too, and I’d give anything to get that man back in my bed. “I don’t get what he sees in her,” I mutter to Stacie, who turns to look at me. “What makes you think he sees anything in her at all?” Stacie asks as she circles her straw around her beverage. “I’ve been watching,” I say a little bitterly, as I’d heard all about the pretty northerner who bought Mainer House. “He keeps looking at her while she’s not even giving him the time of day.” And, oh wait… this is new. The front door opens and a very tall black man stumbles out wearing a red and black kimono-looking thing. I can’t hear the discussion, but within moments, he’s tearing into a box that woman handed to him. There’s something wrong as he looks totally distressed. “Mel-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!” the man shrieks, and then a whole lot of what looks to be delicious drama starts to unfold. As I watch, the door to Sweet Cakes opens and Larkin comes out. Never really liked her all that much, but she makes some mighty fine sweets as evidenced by the fact her hips have grown a little wider over the last few years.
“What’s going on?” she asks curiously, putting a hand to her eyes and looking across the street to the man who is now raising some type of hell, but for the life of me, I have no clue what’s happening. “Is he gay or something?” Stacie asks. “I believe so,” Larkin says distractedly as she steps all the way out. “Your brother got something going on with that woman?” I ask, because I couldn’t care less about the gay man having a conniption fit. Larkin’s eyes narrow on me, and I can see them close off tight. She’d never tell me anything to help me with her brother. “Not sure.” I just bet. Everyone knows how close she and Lowe are. “How long is she staying in town?” I ask Larkin, just to see if she’ll give me anything. “Not sure,” she says again, her lips curving into a soft smile at the Mainer House. I turn back to look and see the black guy is gone, but Lowe and that woman are sharing an intimate laugh as they stand near each other. There may be twenty yards separating us, but I see interest on Lowe’s face that he can’t hide. Damn it. He’s a fine catch for sure, and I ain’t getting any younger. Most of my friends have either up and moved away, or they’re married and squirting out young’uns. And I’m just stuck in between. Lowe and I “dated” for a while back in our mid-twenties. We were both partying like you can only do at that age, and when I say dating, we’d basically get drunk and have sex. But I really thought it would lead to something more. Sadly, it didn’t and he started dating one of our old classmates from school for a while. That lasted a good bit of time, and I’m the first to admit it may have been because she didn’t put out when she got drunk, but whatever. I know I can get Lowe interested in me again if I just put some effort into it. Maybe at the Lantern Festival. I’ll see if I can talk him into a private stroll around the back of the barn and maybe we can fool around. I’ll bring along a mason jar of some of Crump’s moonshine to loosen him up.
CHAPTER 12
Lowe
C
OLT’S EYES MEET mine as soon as I walk into Chesty’s. I didn’t realize he’d be bartending
this evening, but not surprised either. While Colt is the foreman for Mainer Farms and makes a decent living, he squirrels away money like we’re on the verge of a stock market crash or something. He picks up as many shifts here as he can from Pap, who is all too happy to have one of his brood in the bar business with him. But Pap ain’t no fool. He knows this isn’t the life Colt wants, and that he’s a farmer down to his core. By the time I make it to up to the bar, Colt’s got a draft waiting. “Where’s the old man?” I ask as I sit down and take a sip. It’s just past five o’clock, and he’s usually always here at this time. “He’s not always around now that Trixie’s got herself a man,” Colt says by way of explanation, and that makes sense. Every day at quittin’ time, Trixie would always walk next door from her law firm and hang out with Pap. Those two are thicker than thieves, and I expect it’s probably been a little hard on him now that Ry is back in the picture with her. Still, that ol’ coot would never begrudge one of his grandkids happiness so he’ll never make an issue out of it. I make a note to swing by his apartment upstairs to check on him, but for now, I enjoy my beer. Over the next twenty minutes, Floyd comes by and takes a seat to my right, choosing to nurse one whiskey, which is his max. He has to patrol town, after all, for miscreants and coyotes. Yeah, Floyd’s got his own level of mental issues, but he’s a good guy and he did help me with my early schemes to defend Mainer House from the cursed New York gal who bought it. Now, I kind of like that New York gal, and today proved it even more. Mely and me united against her bestie, Morris D, in a great prank that had him spitting fire at me once I let him in on what I’d done. I never gave Mely up as being in on the plan though, effectively preserving their friendship. Even after I’d retrieved the red gown from Sissy and gave it to him, he was still cursing me up one side and down the other. It was epic. “Saw you got all the primer finished,” Floyd says, making general conversation. “And part of the paint,” I say in agreement. “Will have it all knocked out tomorrow.” “Then what?” he asks.
Then a whole lot of work on the house. I did a walk-through with Mely after Morri had his meltdown, and she went over all her ideas. I was pleasantly surprised to see she was only updating those things that were in complete disrepair, but keeping much of the original style of the house. The floors were all in decent shape but needed to be refinished, and most of the changes were cosmetic—like new paint and fixtures. She did want to install new cabinetry and appliances in the kitchen, as well as upgrade the bathrooms from top to bottom, but honestly, the variation in style wasn’t all that different from the original. By the time she’d gone over everything, I’d already made my decision and told her, “I don’t know your time frame on this, but I can do all of this for you in the hours Judge Bowe ordered me to do.” “No way,” she’d exclaimed. “I cannot have you doing all this work for me for free and under duress.” She was cute, but she didn’t know that I’d had a bit of an ulterior motive in my offer. The longer it took to get the work done, the longer Mely would be staying around town. She’d told me during dinner last night that her next big design project wasn’t starting for three months so I knew she had a lot of time to spare. By letting me do the work, she’d have to accept my timetable, which meant it wasn’t going to get done as quickly if she contracted it out. In the end, she’d reluctantly agreed we could discuss it more tomorrow over coffee, as I had to get over to Millie’s and get some work done on site. “Need me to allow an extra patrol on her house at night?” Floyd asks, breaking into my thoughts. “What?” “You’re sweet on her, right?” he asks, but it’s not a question. It’s a foregone conclusion in his mind. “I’ll watch over your girl for ya, if you want when I’m patrolling.” “This isn’t the fifties,” I mutter to Floyd. “And you do know it’s not really a job to walk around the town at night with a shotgun.” “It is to me,” he says with a fist thump to his chest as he drains the rest of his whiskey. “And I need to get on duty.” “Then you should ask the mayor to add you to the payroll,” Colt quips from the other side of the bar as Floyd walks out. He gives a wave of his hand before the door shuts behind him. I snicker and take another sip of beer. The interior of the dim bar lightens considerably, which means the door just opened agained, and everyone turns to look to see who’s entering. I relax when I see it’s Larkin, not sure why I’d been tense. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the casual invite I’d given Mely earlier today before I left her house to come by and join everyone for a beer. She was noncommittal and I
didn’t expect she’d come, but still… it would be nice to see her face again. I’d like to learn more about her. “That was quite the show y’all put on today,” Larkin says as she slips into Pap’s chair that sits adjacent to my left side. “What show?” Colt asks as he puts a draft beer down in front of Larkin and leans his elbows on the countertop as he looks at her. “Mely’s friend is in town visiting and Lowe pulled the Pamela Anderson poster trick on him,” Larkin tells him with a laugh. Colt still has never quite forgiven me for that, adamantly claiming he had weird dreams about Weird Al for months after, and his face pinches at the mention of it. Chuckling, I admit, “He was fit to be tied.” “What did you switch out?” Colt asks curiously. “A red formal gown for a pink lacy gown,” I tell him. His brows pinch in confusion. “You said ‘he’ was fit to be tied.” “He’s a drag queen,” Larkin explains. “Huh,” Colt muses as he straightens up. “Right here in Whynot?” “Seen stranger things,” I point out to my brother. “Like the Caliente’s ghost that haunts Mercer Cemetery.” “There’s no such thing,” Larkin says, but I can hear a little fear in her voice. She’s always been afraid of scary stuff like ghost stories. “Regardless,” I say to change the subject just slightly. “It was epic. He freaked out even more than you did when you got your first gander at the Weird Al “Eat It” poster.” Larkin giggles, and Colt rolls his eyes. “Yeah… that was hilarious.” “You talking about that fruitcake over at Mainer House?” I look over my shoulder to see Travis Robbins and Gill Ellis playing pool. Both are the epitome of backwoods rednecks and can be trouble when they get drinking. They’re both sporting their wife beaters, and the glaze in their eyes says they’ve been here at Chesty’s drinking for a while. Neither one of them have ever been able to hold a steady job and have wives at home who don’t seem to care either. “Yeah… heard there’s a real live fag come to town,” Gill says as he leans on his pool cue and leers. “Shut up,” Larkin says fiercely from beside me. She didn’t get the pleasure of meeting Morri so she doesn’t know him from Adam, but she has the softest heart of anyone I know. She doesn’t need to know a person to defend them. “Yeah,” Gill continues, ignoring my sister. “We don’t get many of those tooty-fruity sorts here.”
“I think my sister said shut up,” I say as I turn around fully on my stool before standing. “Aww, come on, Lowe,” Travis says. He’s definitely the smarter of the two and knows when I’m riled up. “We was just having some fun.” “Then have your fun with your mouths shut,” I say through gritted teeth. “No one here wants to hear that crap.” Gill, the more stupid of the pair, doesn’t like this and takes a step toward me. My hands tighten into fists, waiting for him to make a move. But Travis lays a hand on his shoulder and mutters, “Leave it alone, man. Not worth ruining my buzz over.” Gill and I have a stare down, and he blinks first. Well, he turns away first and I watch a moment more as they go back to playing pool. When I sit back down at the bar, Larkin says, “I don’t get that. Makin’ fun of people for the way they talk or what they wear.” Dear sweet Larkin. Life in a small town isn’t always that simple and laid back. Assured that a fight’s not going to break out, Colt goes back to waiting on other patrons and I turn slightly to face Larkin. Her face is still pinched with stress. “Don’t mind them,” I tell her with a nudge of my shoulder against hers. “They’re idiots.” “I know,” she huffs out as she leans into me for a return bump before straightening. “It’s just mean. If Pap were here, he’d have whooped their butts.” My head bobs with silent laughter. He’d totally have laid into those boys. As a bar owner, he’s of the firm belief that politics should stay on the sidewalk outside. That includes arguing hot-button social issues too. It’s not that he minds any particular stance, he just knows that alcohol and riled-up tempers don’t belong together. Given the fact that Gill and Travis are sort of known troublemakers, he would have showed them the door had he heard that crap. “What’s the deal with you and Mely?” Larkin asks and my head snaps her way. “What do you mean?” I ask her vaguely. “Don’t play stupid, Lowe,” she chastises me. “There’s a connection there between you two. Saw it clear as day when you two were on the porch this morning while her friend Morris D had his meltdown. Little stolen looks at each other. So cute.” I roll my eyes at my sister’s romantic nature. I’ve never really kept secrets from Larkin because I’m not generally a secretive guy and she’s my favorite sibling, so I lean toward her and admit, “I kissed her.” “What?” she gasps, and then her eyes go soft. “Oh, wait… that’s awesome. She’s so sweet, and I’ve enjoyed talking to her when she comes by the shop. You two would make
such a cute couple.” I groan and roll my eyes. “I’m not asking her to go steady with me or anything, Larkin. Cut that crap out.” “But you kissed her,” she points out. “And I’m regretting even telling you that,” I mutter as I pick up my beer. Because Larkin is a girl, I could never admit to her I’d like to do a heck of a lot more kissing with Melinda Rothschild and see what else comes after that, but that’s totally a dude thought that I’m not sharing with her. Maybe with Colt over a few or a hundred beers. Maybe not with anyone. The feelings I’ve been having for Mely are all kinds of conflicting. I’ve gone from purely despising her to outright lusting after her. “Well, she’s a really sweet girl,” Larkin says, and that says a lot. My sis is a good judge of character. Despite the ice princess attitude that Mely first displayed in court during our “disagreement” in front of Judge Bowe, I’d have to say that her impression is spot on. “What do you know of her?” I prod quietly. Larkin jolts slightly in surprise. “What do you mean? Don’t you know anything about her?” “Not really,” I admit. “Hasn’t been much time for deep conversation?” “But you kissed her?” she points out. “Well, the first time was to shut her up,” I say casually and can’t help but chuckle at the way Larkin’s mouth falls open. I tap her chin with my knuckles so she shuts it and say, “Second kiss… that was all her.” “You’re rotten,” Larkin says as she shakes her head, having no clue I’m being more serious than not with her at this moment. “What have you learned?” I push at her again. Girls talk and I want to know. “Hmm,” Larkin says as her fingertip circles the glass mug in front of her. “Well, she’s from New York… Manhattan, and her family is really wealthy from what I can tell.” Figures… name like Rothschild, and all. “She’s an interior designer who started flipping property about five years ago,” Larkin continues. “Found she was good at it, but only does it on the side. Her real business is in high-end interior design for residential homes. Like she travels all over the country doing it.” I can see that. Mely is probably the most put together and stylish woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve got no clue what goes into interior design, but she exudes an extravagant sort of air. It’s obvious she’s from money and probably knows what to do with it at the same time.
“Does she normally flip historic properties?” I ask, now sort of curious about the type of money that could be involved. It is by no means a cheap endeavor to make the upgrades she’s got planned, even if some of the labor I’m providing is free. Bringing a home several decades into the future isn’t inexpensive. Larkin shakes her head. “She’s not flipping Mainer House.” “She’s not?” I ask, jerking backward in surprise. “I’d heard she was flipping it. Bought it cheap and planned to turn it for a profit.” “Who told you that?” she asks instead. “What does it matter?” I ask, even though for the life of me, I can’t remember where I heard that. Of course, in a small town. I could have heard it at Wilson’s Gas Station and Wine Shop, or over at Central Cafe over breakfast, or even sitting here in Chesty’s having a beer. I heard it somewhere though. “Her grandma was from around this area,” Larkin says. “I think she said Milner. But she had some sort of connection to Mainer House, so it’s a sentimental purchase for her. She plans on living there at least part time.” A confluence of emotions rush through me all at once. A jolt of happiness to know Mely won’t necessarily be leaving permanently at some point, as well as an immense curiosity as to what her family’s connection to the house is, as well as a tiny stab of residual anger that she bought that house for clearly a personal reason, which sort of adds a finality to my family’s history there. A new history is going to be established when she moves in. “Does that bother you?” Larkin asks, and I blink at her. “No, why would it?” I say with a casual shrug. “You just looked funny for a minute.” “Well, not really any of my business, right?” I ask before raising my glass to drain it. “I mean… it’s her house. She owns it. Doesn’t really matter the why of it, right?” “It does bother you,” she exclaims as she jabs a finger into my chest. “Why, Lowe?” “It’s just…” I blurt out and then lower my voice along with my mug to the counter. Leaning in closer to my sister, I say, “It’s just… you know how important that house was to me. To keep it in the family. It was almost easier to let it go to a stranger. To someone who would start a fresh history with it, so I guess ours would be preserved and be more cherished. But knowing Mely has a connection to our family’s house, and she gets to stay there and foster that connection while it’s gone for us? Well… it’s just a little awkward now that I know her.” “I’m sorry, Lowe,” Larkin says sympathetically as she puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s fine,” I say brusquely as I stand up from my stool. “I’m going to head home and get some dinner.” “We could go over to Central Cafe,” she suggests. “Tonight’s meatloaf special night.”
“Nah,” I say as I lean in and plant a kiss on my sister’s cheek. “Maybe some other time.” I’d rather be alone tonight to brood. I’m feeling all kinds of funky about Melinda Rothschild again, and I hate that this house has caused so many conflicting emotions within me. Why I’m the one in the family that got hit with this kind of sentimentality deep down is beyond me, but I can tell you it freaking sucks.
CHAPTER 13
Melinda
I
TAKE A last look in the bathroom mirror, tilting my head left and right to make sure my
makeup looks good. Rubbing my lips together, I distribute my gloss a bit more evenly and then think, You are one pathetic woman. Lowe doesn’t care if my mascara is on thick enough or if my cheekbones are perfectly highlighted. I’m pretty confident he doesn’t care that I used an insanely expensive hair product so that this damn humidity doesn’t frizz up my hair, nor that I’m wearing a sixhundred-dollar dress. While these are all silly things that might make my narrow world sometimes go ’round, I can tell they have nothing at all to do with Lowe’s simple world. And I don’t mean simple in a bad way. No, I mean it in an appreciative, highly respectable way that says I like that he’s just a damn good guy, or so it seems, and he gets joy from the small things in life. Giving myself a last look, I decide to take the lip gloss off. After, I head back into my room and change into a pair of running shorts along with a Nike t-shirt. Plopping down on my mattress, I put on a pair of ankle socks and tennis shoes before going back into the bathroom to scrub the makeup off my face. Lastly, I pull my hair back in a short ponytail although some pieces at my temple fall free to frame my face. I decide to leave it because I firmly tell myself I’m not trying to impress anyone with my new casual, laid-back look. Truth be told, I’d probably be in a pair of denim shorty shorts if I owned a pair, particularly after the way Lowe’s voice was so appreciative when he called out to that woman yesterday morning before she walked into Sweet Cakes. But that would be overt, and I’m not that obvious. Instead, I try for uber casual so he can see I can be all kinds of small-town casual. At least, I hope my running gear says that. It’s not that I plan on running this morning, but I want to be as un-made up as possible to try to gauge Lowe’s reaction to that. It’s a stupid little game I’m playing, but I suspect Lowe doesn’t necessarily appreciate namebrand labels and expensive makeup. Before I can talk myself out of my plain-Jane look today, I trot down the staircase and into the kitchen where I find a tempting pink box with a clear cellophane window sitting on the counter. There’s a handwritten note on a Sweet Cakes napkin from Morri. Got donuts for you and Lowe this morning. Out for a walk. Enjoy.
I start to reach for the box, then I note the post script. P.S. Larkin said each donut was 320 calories in case you were counting today. Well, that just sucks. Morri knows me well, too. He knows I’ll weigh that information against the calories in a protein shake, especially since I’ve been trying to eat a little cleaner lately. It’s a sweet gesture, but if he really wanted to help, he wouldn’t bring freaking donuts to me. “Oooh, donuts.” I yelp as I jump about two feet in the air. Turning, I find Lowe standing there in his usual jeans and t-shirt that makes my mouth go dry. He doesn’t spare me much of a glance, so maybe he just doesn’t care at all what a girl wears, be it skimpy country clothes or high-end fashion. Certainly, running shorts and a t-shirt don’t make a noticeable impression. “Good morning,” I manage to croak as I step back from the donuts somewhat guiltily, as if considering eating one would give me calories. Lowe doesn’t have such problems with sugary, empty calories as he steps right up to the box and peers in. Without looking at me, he opens the top and says, “I saw Morri out for a walk, heading down Wright Street.” “Mmm, hmm,” I say noncommittally, because I’m just having an enjoyable time watching this man before me. Lowe snags a chocolate-covered donut with what looks like a white cream filling. “These are my favorite.” Larkin must have thrown a few of those in when Morri went over this morning to get the donuts, but I wonder why he’d do Lowe any favors. He’s still mad at him for the prank. At least, I think he is. My eyes go down to the note he left. Got donuts for you and Lowe. Now why would he get something for Lowe when he’s so mad at him right now? And why would he give me a pointed statement about the calories, knowing it would cause me to turn my nose up at them in guilt? Unless… My mouth opens and I start to warn Lowe, but it’s too late. He opens his mouth and takes a huge bite, at least half the donut at once. White cream that looks slightly yellowish oozes out along the side, then I watch in fascination as Lowe’s eyes practically bug out of his head. He looks at me in horror for about a nanosecond, then he’s rushing over to the sink where he hacks the donut out of his mouth, and then starts gagging.
I’m rooted to the spot, watching Lowe make awful noises as he tries to spit out whatever was in his mouth before turning the faucet on and letting the water run into his mouth as he tilts his head to the side. He gathers a mouthful, swishes, and spits it out. Then he repeats that four separate times. On the fifth time, I feel someone come up behind me and turn a stunned face to see Morri standing there, looking smug and satisfied as he watches Lowe. Leaning to the side, he murmurs under his breath, “Glad you didn’t eat one, Mely.” My hand flies to my face, my palm clamping tightly over my mouth so Lowe can’t hear me laugh as he continues to rinse his mouth out. Morri walks further into the kitchen and gives a little pat to Lowe’s butt as he’s bent over the sink. He’s so engaged in getting out the taste of whatever’s in his mouth, he doesn’t even react to Morri, who just leans a hip against the counter and waits. Finally, Lowe straightens up and drags the back of his hand over his mouth, his eyes still a little wild looking as they come to rest on Morri. “We’re even now,” Morri says tartly. Lowe takes a deep breath in through his nose, nostrils flaring wide, and says, “We are in no way even. This is war.” “Bring it.” Morri sneers as he leans into Lowe. “But I am the most vicious gay man on the planet, and you are opening yourself up to a world of hurt if you don’t concede right now. I will make your life a living hell.” I press down harder on my mouth with my hand, trying not to let loose with the gutbusting laughs that are brewing inside of me. For a moment, I think Lowe may consider putting Morri in a headlock and wrestling him for superiority. Instead, he looks my way. “Were you in on this?” My laughter falls flat and my hand falls away from my mouth as I shake my head. “Good,” he says before shooting a glare at Morri, who just smirks back at him. “I’ll make sure to keep you safe from the crossfire.” And… that was nice. Gallant, protective, and swoony. Spinning away from both of us, Lowe stomps out of the kitchen. I send an admonishing look to Morri, who doesn’t look to be shamed at all, before turning to run after Lowe. I catch him just as he’s pulling the door open. “Where are you going?” He turns back to me, still looking a little green around the gills. “I’ve got to go brush my teeth or something. That was freaking disgusting.” “What was it?” I ask hesitantly. “Mayonnaise,” Lowe says, and then visibly shudders. “I hate mayonnaise. Like as in it will make me vomit and I want to vomit right now just talking about mayonnaise.” “But how would Morri know that?” I muse out loud.
“I’m going to guess my sister Larkin may have helped him out with this little prank,” Lowe sneers, and I have a moment of pity for Larkin that she’s been caught up in this. “I’ll be back later,” he mutters and turns for the door again. “Wait,” I call out and he stops in his tracks, turning to look at me curiously. “You’re not mad at me, are you?” A shiver skitters up my spine as Lowe’s eyes brighten slightly from the darkness that was promising retribution of epic proportions. He smiles at me. It’s a soft, languid smile and he murmurs, “I’d be kissing you right now if I didn’t have mayonnaise breath, which I have no clue about your thoughts on the foul substance, but I don’t want to ever, ever in my life think about it being on your tongue so I’m dissuaded from kissing you in the future.” “Oh,” I say softly, then I smile back at him. “Got it.” “Let me brush my teeth and I’ll be back,” he says with a wink. “And we’ll come up with a game plan on how I can help with the house.” “Lowe… I really don’t want you to work on this house for free, or take up your free time. I’m past all that, and Judge Bowe’s order is really silly.” “Hey,” he says, his hand coming up so he catches my chin in it. Peering into my eyes, he says, “That’s what we do around here. We help people out. Let me help you with this house. Let me because this house means something to me too, okay?” “Okay,” I say breathlessly, because this man robs me of oxygen with his words. Lowe starts out the door but then stops, turning back to me. His eyes cut to the hall that leads to the kitchen, then back to me as he leans in a bit closer to me to whisper, “And Mely… word of advice. Don’t be the first one to take a shower tomorrow, okay?” I can’t help the giggle that comes out as I nod, and I am already bracing for the meltdown that’s going to come when Lowe gets one up on Morri tomorrow. Lowe turns for the door again, but stops one more time to look back at me. He doesn’t do anything but hold my eyes with his own, but it’s clear he looked at some point when he says, “And you look way sexier than Lynette Carnes in her Daisy Dukes right now.” My smile curves up slowly. “Why Lowe Mancinkus… that may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” “There’s more where that came from,” he promises me, then he’s gone and the door is shutting. I stare at it a moment longer before I turn to head into the kitchen. I find Morri with his butt against the counter, eating a donut that is obviously not cream filled. “Larkin helped you, huh?” I ask as I walk over to the box and look in. “Yup,” he says, licking a smidge of chocolate from his finger as he glances down at the box. “I’d stay away from all the ones with white filling if I were you.”
Laughing, I pick up a powdered cake donut. “How did you get his sister to stoop down to that level with you?” “She didn’t actually do the stooping,” Morri admits as he polishes off the donut and then heads to the sink to wash his hands. “When I was telling her this morning how her brother was on my bad side in a big way, she suggested the donut trick. While she refused to help, she merely pointed out the cream filled were his favorite and were irresistible. I was going to fill them with toothpaste, which she agreed was a clever idea but the smell would give it away. She also then suggested the mayonnaise. I had no clue he hated it that much though, which was totally a bonus. I’m going to have to do something nice for Larkin.” “You are rotten,” I say with another laugh and take a delicate bite of the powdered donut. Morri doesn’t respond but helps himself to a cup of coffee. “This is all in fun, right?” I ask Morri hesitantly. I mean, I know he wasn’t all that keen on Lowe when they first met, especially since he’d vandalized my house twice and Morri didn’t see any humor in it. And then with Lowe messing with a drag queen’s wardrobe… well, that could have serious repercussions and all. But I need to make sure that Morri isn’t going overboard in his retribution. Lowe sees this as all good fun, but Morri can sometimes be a little too serious about things. “Of course, it is, girlfriend,” Morri assures me. I cock an eyebrow at him. He just stares back at me, and I can’t tell for sure. Finally, I blink first and he holds steady, so I’m going to trust that this is just good, pranky fun. I decide to change the subject and say, “Are you interested in the Lantern Festival they’re having this weekend?” Morri waves a hand at me. “Girl… told you I’m going to Raleigh for that drag show. Besides, you know I don’t do sweltering heat or bugs, and it sounds like both of those will be in copious amounts.” “Where’s your sense of adventure?” I ask him with a grin. “Oh, I’ve got adventure,” he maintains. “In fact, I’m really going out on a limb wearing that red dress, as I have no clue if that’s too in your face for the South.” “I’m pretty sure any drag outfit is too ‘in your face’ for the south,” I quip dryly. “Yes, well… I still expect it to be a bit more understated below the Mason-Dixon Line, so we’ll see. The point is, I’m a rebel and will glam the hell out of myself in red sequins and be damned the consequences. And maybe I’ll find me a studly young man to dance with, and then let’s say that photos of me and said studly young man make it onto my Facebook page, and Stephan gets a taste of his own medicine, well… that’s just icing on the cake, right?”
Laughing, I give Morri a squeeze on his arm as I walk past him to the refrigerator for a bottled water. “That’s right, sweetie.” “You’re coming with me,” Morri proclaims. “No, I think I’m going to go to that festival,” I tell him. “It sounds fun.” “It sounds ghastly,” he maintains. “It’s going to be a bunch of yokels square dancing to banjos while bare foot and just a hair’s breadth away from being inbred.” “That’s an awful thing to say,” I scold Morri, but I know he doesn’t mean it. He just does everything with a flair for the dramatic, including his condescension. “Well, you know what I mean,” he continues. “You’ll hate it.” “We’ll see,” I say softly, wondering if I will or not. I’m not an overly outdoorsy person. Much like Morri, I don’t like the heat or bugs. But I do like Lowe, and I know he’ll be there. I’ve seen a bazillion drag shows in my life, but I’ve never been to a Lantern Festival. I’m not going to miss the opportunity. And I swear it has nothing to do with the fact that Lowe will be there.
CHAPTER 14
Pap
“L
ITTLE MORE TO the left,” Lowe tells Floyd through gritted teeth as they try to pull my
old dishwasher out. It’s finally bitten the dust and I hate to do dishes, so I bought a new one. “I’ve got no more left,” Floyd grumbles, but then pulls harder and it sort of pops free. “There we go,” Lowe murmurs, and both men easily slide it out into the middle of my kitchen floor. Tagging a flashlight off the counter, Lowe flicks it on and shines the light into the space. “Pap… there’s water damage on the floor. That might need to come out.” “Just tell me what I need to do to fix it, and I’ll pay you to do it,” I tell him as I peer in at the stained subflooring. Lowe hands the flashlight to Floyd, who without a word squats down and starts evaluating the damage. As the owner of Floyd’s Hardware Emporium, I’ll be buying all the materials from him and he knows his stuff. “Pap,” Lowe says, and the tone of his voice makes my eyes take extra long to slide to him. “What?” “This is an apartment,” he says pointedly. “You don’t own it. It’s not your responsibility to make these repairs.” “Mary Margaret doesn’t have time to be bothered with that—” “She’s your landlord,” Lowe cuts in. “That’s her job.” “I’ll pay to fix it and buy the new dishwasher,” I maintain adamantly. “I really hope she appreciates this,” Lowe mutters as he squats down beside Floyd. “If you’d just get off your butt and ask her out on a date, you wouldn’t have to do stuff like this to get her attention.” I don’t respond to that, mainly because my grandson thinks he has it all figured out so I let him believe that. It’s true… I’m a little sweet on Mary Margaret Quinn. She’s my landlord as she owns a lot of the property here in town, but I’m not doing this to prove anything to her. I’m taking care of the dishwasher and any accompanying problems because Mary Margaret took a big risk in renting this building to me more than twentyfive years ago when I came to town.
This was the South and the Bible Belt moreover. Putting a bar right in the middle of town was an eyebrow-raising prospect back then. Mary Margaret was the only one who let me have my chance, and so if I can make life easier on her by keeping the little apartment over Chesty’s off her plate, then I’ll do it. “Where were you last night?” Lowe asks as he watches Floyd push down on the subflooring to determine how bad the water damage is. “Just tired,” I answer, hoping that’s enough. I was really, really tired, which has been happening more and more lately, and I was napping at damn five o’clock in the afternoon. Lowe doesn’t accept this fully, turning to me slowly as he stands straight. “You okay?” “Yup,” is all I say. There’s enough finality in my tone and challenge in my eye that he knows I don’t want to talk about it anymore. But that doesn’t stop him. His eyes harden and he opens his mouth to pry into my business, so I shut it down quickly by saying, “Heard Gill and Travis gave you some trouble.” Lowe blinks, then gives a sigh, knowing that’s the only thing I’m willing to talk about regarding my absence at the bar yesterday. “It was nothing,” he says casually. “Just running their ignorant mouths.” “Well, glad it didn’t blow up. You know I don’t like fights starting in my bar.” “Says the man who just about ten years ago put one of your customers in a headlock, dragged him down the length of the bar, and threw him out the door,” Lowe says dryly as he turns to look over Floyd’s shoulder. That was true. Some drunk redneck doing some seasonal farm work started throwing around a very colorful word that I’m personally opposed to. After I asked him to stop using it twice, and he refused… well, I just helped him out the door. Which reminds me… “If those boys start running their traps again making objectionable comments and they don’t stop it, you do have my permission to make them stop. Got me?” “I know,” Lowe says without even looking at me. He knows what to do when the boundary is pushed too far. “I’ll handle it.” “When you going to bring your girl by for a drink with me?” I ask Lowe, and he narrows his eyes at me. “Not my girl,” he says blandly. “But soon, right? Lantern Festival this weekend. Nice and romantic.” Lowe rolls his eyes at me, and I grin as I watch him and Floyd decide the flooring feels a might mushy and needs replaced. This will involve cutting out the old floor and putting in new.
“I know you don’t have a lot of free time to do this,” I tell Lowe. “I can get someone else. I’m sure Floyd can recommend someone.” “Not really,” Floyd says, scratching his stomach. “Lowe’s the best. He’s the only one I’d recommend.” “I’ll make the time, Pap,” Lowe admonishes me. “Well, I know you’re working on Mainer House. Plus, you got your own job and then you’ve got a personal life, and—” “Zip it,” Lowe growls at me with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll hit it tomorrow midmorning after I take care of something at Mely’s house.” “Ooooh, Mely,” Floyd says in a grade-school-girl kind of way as he nudges Lowe. “I knew there was something there. Can hear it in the way you say her little nickname.” “Oh, grow the hell up,” Lowe snaps as he shoves Floyd on the shoulder. Floyd shoots me a grin. I decide to join in the fun. “I’m thinking she’s totally your girl. You definitely need to bring her by to meet me so I can welcome her to the family.” “It’s not like that,” Lowe maintains. “Pretty sure they’ve already been kissin’,” Floyd says with a nod toward our target. “You’d be totally guessin’,” Lowe growls. “Something’s there,” I remark thoughtfully. “He went from vandalizing her house to calling her ‘Mel-e-e-e-e’.” Lowe’s face turns red. “Seriously, don’t you two have anything better—” “You know,” Floyd says, now really getting into it. “You should just get that girl to fall in love with you, then you’d get Mainer House back.” “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Lowe tells Floyd. “No, seriously,” Floyd continues, and now I don’t think he’s teasing anymore. “You want Mainer House to stay in the family. You’re marryin’ age and single as they come. That northern lady is right pretty, and I know you like kissin’ her. Court her, get her to fall in love with you, marry her, then you get Mainer House back. And want to know what the best part of it is?” “I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Lowe responds dryly. “The best part,” Floyd says with relish as he lightly punches Lowe in the shoulder for effect, “is that if it turns out you don’t really like her, you can divorce her and you’d probably get the house in the divorce settlement. I know Judge Bowe would give it to you.” Definitely a stupid idea, but that’s the way Floyd’s brain works. I mean, we are talking about a man who thinks it’s his divine duty to protect the town with his shotgun.
But Floyd’s right about one thing. Judge Bowe would keep that house in the Mainer family for sure. He’s a man who respects tradition so if Lowe were to ever get that house by marriage, he’d probably get to keep it if things went south. “Okay, I can’t even deal with you,” Lowe says, throwing his hands up with a glare at Floyd. He turns to look at me. “I’ve got to run over to Walmart to grab a few things I need for tomorrow.” “Oh, hell no. You are not going to Wally World to buy stuff you can buy at my store,” Floyd snarls, and while he’s normally a huggable bear of a weird guy, he looks genuinely pissed. “You need stuff to work on Mainer House, you buy it at Floyd’s. You need to fix your Pap’s floor, you buy it at Floyd’s.” “You got Kool-Aid?” Lowe snaps at him. Floyd blinks slowly in return. “Huh?” “Didn’t think so. You got gelatin capsules?” “Um… no?” Floyd answers like he’s not sure if he carries that stuff. “Red food dye?” Floyd shakes his head. “Then you don’t carry what I need,” Lowe says, and I chuckle at how deftly Lowe’s managed to get Floyd to stop talking about marriage, divorce, and property settlement. “Why you need that stuff?” Floyd asks suspiciously. “Got a practical joke to play,” Lowe says, and his eyes start twinkling with wickedness. Now that’s definitely my grandson right there.
CHAPTER 15
Lowe
M
ORRI IS COMING down the staircase so I quickly get on my back and slide under the
kitchen sink, pretending to fiddle around with it. Truth be told, I don’t have anything to do here today because Mely wants me to work on the hardwood next, and I’ve got to take a ride to Raleigh to rent a commercial-grade sander. I would normally sand flooring by hand, but there’s just too much square footage here to do on my own. But Morri doesn’t know that. Mely does. She knows I’m just hanging out here to enjoy and bask in the fruits of my early morning labors. Mely is completely complicit in this prank, as she’s the one who gave me tacit permission to sneak in at about six o’clock this morning. It made for a long day having to get up that early and make my “adjustments” to the bathroom shower, but it will be so worth it. She tried to wait around for Morri to wake up, but the call of Larkins’ sticky buns called out to her. She said she’d run over, get us some, and be right back, but that was fifteen minutes ago. I suspect those girls are gabbing. “What’s broken now?” Morri says with a drawled sigh as he walks into the kitchen. Today’s morning outfit is a peach-colored velour robe that he’s got belted tightly. “Leaking flux capacitor,” I say without looking at him. When he merely mutters, “Figures,” I grin. I fake my work on the sink, remaining silent as Morri pours himself a cup of coffee. We’ve not talked at all since the donut thing yesterday, and I have no idea if he’s expecting turnabout or not. He’s going to get it though. “I’m going to go take a shower,” Morri says. I angle my head to look at him impassively. “Well, enjoy,” I say blandly. “I assume the water’s working upstairs?” he asks churlishly. “Yup,” I tell him. “It’s just a faulty flux capacitor down here. Easy fix.” He doesn’t respond but makes some sort of aloof grunt of acknowledgment, then he’s walking out of the kitchen. I wait until I hear him hit the top step of the staircase before I scramble out from under the sink. As I make my way into the foyer, Mely’s opening the door holding a Sweet Cakes box. I jerk my chin up the stairs. “Not long now.”
Mely grins at me, shuts the door, and leans against it as she whispers, “I feel like we should have buttered popcorn for the show.” I vaguely hear Morri in the bedroom, puttering around… perhaps gathering his clothing or something. And while I woke up this morning wanting nothing more than to get back at him for making me eat mayonnaise, as I look at Mely right now, I start to lose interest in Morri getting his comeuppance. That’s because Melinda Rothschild is looking beyond amazing today. She’s wearing nothing flashy or sexy or painfully out of place. In fact, she’s wearing a simple pair of jeans that are cuffed above her ankles, a pink and white checked halter top that hangs loose and low over her hips and a pair of simple white sandals. She looks every bit of a casual country girl, yet she carries herself in almost a regal way. Regardless of any of that, it’s her eyes right now that have me utterly captivated. Still that beautiful, Artic-ice blue, but they are filled with humor and excitement of what’s to come. She looks young and carefree as she leans against the door holding her box of Sweet Cakes and waiting for me to get my glory. And I can’t freaking help myself. I take two steps, come toe to toe with her, and my hands go to her face. She lets out a slight gasp as I pull her away from the door and the sound of the Sweet Cakes box hitting the floor doesn’t even bother me. Her either, as she’s ready when my mouth hits hers in a sweepingly, electrifying kiss that causes my pulse to shoot through the roof. Mely’s hands fist into the front of my tshirt, and she steps in closer as her head angles opposite of mine. With a low groan, I open my mouth and hold her face still so I can kiss the ever-loving hell out of it. “Aaagh,” Morri shrieks from upstairs, and the sound is so horrifying it’s like an electrical zap knocks me and Mely apart. We stare at each other, and another scream pierces the air, followed by a “Mel-e-e-e-e. Lo-o-o-o-w-e. Someone. Help me. Please for the love of waterproof mascara, please someone help me.” “Oh my God.” Mely lets out a little surprised gasp, her eyes going round. When Morri shrieks again, she snickers and starts running toward the staircase. I follow behind her, and yes, I look at her very nice backside as I chase her up the stairs. She turns right at the top landing, heading toward the master bath, and I follow along. By the time we get there, Morri is now piteously crying out that he’s dying and a tiny twinge of guilt hits me. But then I recall the mayonnaise yesterday. A rush of queasiness hits me, then I’m over the guilt. Mely runs into the bathroom and comes to a complete stop as she looks in. I come up right behind her, and while I wish I was back downstairs kissing her because a naked
Morri in the shower is not my thing, the sight that greets me is so damn funny I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Luckily, Morri’s got the shower curtain pulled across his body as he stands there with a look of horror and tears pouring down his face. “Mel-e-e-e-e,” Morri cries out. “Make it stop.” Mely lets out a snicker and rushes to the shower where she turns the faucet off. The rush of water—which is dark blood red by the way—stops, but the damage is done. Morri’s coated in what looks like blood, the white tiled walls look like a slaughterhouse, and the tub has a few inches of runoff in deep, dark red. It looks like someone murdered poor Morri, who is now staring daggers at me across the bathroom. “Gotcha,” I say with relish in between bouts of laughter. “I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You,” he says each word out slowly and with malice. “That was not funny.” “So funny,” I disagree as I laugh even harder. “I thought the house had been possessed or something,” Morri mutters as he takes a towel that Mely hands him. “I thought it was real blood, you vile, awful man.” “Nah, just a little food coloring in gelatin capsules,” I say nonchalantly. Silently, I add on, And Kool-Aid, which will leave you nice and sticky too. Morri mutters as he wipes his face, but he must feel the sticky effects because he sniffs the air and then asks me, “What else was in there?” “Kool-Aid,” I say simply. Mely giggles and Morri turns a seething look her way. “You’re now involved, Miss Thing. My retribution will be vast and magnificent.” “This was all me,” I say in Mely’s defense. I mean, she did let me in the door, she did know what I was going to do, and she didn’t once try to talk me out of it, but still… I’m going to protect her from his wrath. “Whatever,” Morri says as he wraps the towel around his waist and lets the curtain go. Mely and I back up as he steps out of the tub, leaving bright red footprints on the bath mat. Lifting his chin in the air, trying to muster some dignity despite the fact he looks like someone dumped a bucket of pig’s blood over him, he says, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get rinsed off in the spare bathroom.” “Oh, don’t be so mad,” Mely says to try to appease her friend, but he’s having none of it. He stomps out of the bathroom—slips slightly as he rounds the corner—and then disappears. Mely laughs and says, “That was epic.”
I agree but I’d rather kiss her again, so I do. That was way more epic than me getting even with Morri. Slipping my fingers into her hair at the back of her head, I close my fist and hold her tight as I bring my lips down to hers. My eyes are open just before our mouths touch, and I see the welcoming curve of a smile from her. My lips are curved as well, and so we’re both smiling as we kiss. I sure as hell hadn’t planned on this happening this morning, but it’s perfect in its spontaneity. Mely’s just perfect, so the kiss is perfect, once again. It’s also deep and hot. We start to get swept away with it. Her hands go around my neck and my free arm wraps around her waist to pull her in close to me. When her body touches mine, I groan slightly and my head swims. “Mel-e-e-e-e-e,” Morri shrieks, louder than before, causing us to once again spring apart from the shocking sound. “You didn’t?” she asks with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Put the capsules in the other shower?” I ask innocently. “’Fraid I did.” “You are so bad,” she murmurs, but her hands grip into my hair and she pulls me back down to her mouth to kiss me. While Morri screams bloody murder for the second round of red dye and Kool-Aid that’s being rained down on top of him, I kiss a woman who I am pretty sure was brought into my life for a reason other than taking something away from me. I think I’m actually getting a lot more than I lost.
The Gossip Mill at Floyd’s Hardware Emporium by Floyd Wilkie
T
HE FRONT DOOR, which I’d recently rigged up a recording of the General Lee’s Dixie car
horn to play, opens, but I don’t bother looking up. “I need a four-letter word that means ‘pledge’ and it starts with an ‘O’,” I say as I stare at the crossword puzzle in the paper that I have spread out on the counter. “Oath,” the slightly feminine, Yankee-accented voice says. I look up, seeing that feller who has been staying at Mainer House with Miss Rothschild. My eyes go back down to the puzzle. I see it will fit nicely. “Thanks,” I say as I fill the word in, and then push the puzzle away. Straightening up, I place my palms flat on the counter and give him a smile. “What can I do ya for?” The man looks puzzled for a moment and doesn’t respond. This gives me a moment to take in his outfit, which defines weird for these parts. He’s wearing a button-up white shirt with black polka dots and a bright pink blazer—as bright as the pink Lowe painted the Mainer House trim—along with a pair of white Bermuda shorts and white loafers. Wearing a pair of black frame glasses, he looks highly intelligent but—weird. Still, he’s good at crossword puzzles, so I’ll give him some deference in the smarts department. “I was wondering if you could help me with something,” the man says as he walks up to the counter with a definite sway to his hips. Not in an overt “look at me” way, but I think that’s the way he just naturally walks. “Sure,” I say with a smile. “Well, I notice this town doesn’t have a mechanic,” the man says as he reaches the counter and leans in to talk a bit more softly. “Used to be one over at Miller’s Gas Station, but he didn’t get enough business so went over to open up in Milner. Need a ride there or something?” “No, no,” the man insists, and then leans in a little closer. “It’s just… I want to cut the brake lines on Lowe Mancinkus’s truck so he runs off the road and into a ditch. Is that something you can help me with?” I blink slowly at this guy, who now not only looks weird, but is also now bordering on being really weird, and stutter, “Um… well… are you sure you really want to do that?” “No, I don’t want to do that,” the man snaps at me while swiveling his head side to side. “But I want to do something really good to get back at him for putting red dye and
Kool-Aid into my shower this morning. Just look at my skin.” My gaze drops down to his hands that he’s holding out in front of me, but well… they look like hands. I look back up to him. “Not sure what I’m supposed to be seeing.” “My skin is tinted red,” he practically wails. My eyes drop, I take a second look, and then raise them again. “Not seeing it.” “You can’t see this red tint?” His hands now flap wildly in front of my face. “Looks black to me,” I say honestly. “Well, regardless,” he huffs out impatiently. “I need something really, really good. Figured a hardware guy like you could help me build something good. Maybe a trap door under his porch step that drops him down into a vat of cow manure or something.” I blink again, soaking in the seriousness of his expression, and then blurt out, “You’re serious about this?” “Of course, I am,” he says with great indignation. “I don’t ever let anyone get one up on me.” “Why don’t you just sneak into his house and cover his toilet with saran wrap?” “And this does what?” he asks curiously, leaning on the counter with great interest. “Well… he um… answers the call of nature and well… the call of nature doesn’t go very far as it sort of, um, well… rebounds off the plastic.” There’s silence as he digests this, and then his eyes sparkle brightly. “That, dear man, is genius. I could kiss you.” “I’ll pass,” I say quickly, but then hold my hand out for him to shake. “I’m Floyd, by the way.” He gives me a sharp nod and takes my hand. “Morris D. But you can call me Morri.” “Guess what?” I say to Morri as we end the shake. “What?” “I’ve got a spare key to Lowe’s place.” “You do?” I nod with a wicked smile. “Yup. I’m the only place in town who makes spare keys. I always keep one for myself.” “Always?” he asks, and I can see he’s horrified and intrigued. “I am the town protector after all,” I tell him as I lift my chin. It’s not exactly legal, I know, but it’s for the greater good. “Never know when I might need to get in for an emergency or something.” “Right,” Morri drawls as he nods his head in understanding. “That makes sense.”
I like this guy. He gets me. “Know something that don’t make sense though?” I keep on, because this is an enjoyable conversation. Good for the soul and all that. “What?” “Lowe and your lady friend, Miss Rothschild.” “Oh, please,” Morri says with a wave of his hand. “She’d want you to call her Mely.” “Okay, Mely then.” I readily accept the new friendship he bestows on me in her absence. “I heard Larkin telling Lowe the other day at Chesty’s that Mely wasn’t flipping that property. That she had a personal connection to it.” “That’s right,” Morri says with a smile. “Sweet love story behind it all.” Yeah, that backstory stuff doesn’t interest me so I disregard it. “Well, I know Lowe has taken a shine to her. Think she’s taken a shine to him?” “You mean do they like each other? In a girl/boy kind of way?” he asks for clarification. “Yup.” Morri’s nose wrinkles up in distaste, but I see something deep in his eyes. He may be madder than a hornet at Lowe for putting red dye in his shower, but I can see way down that he thinks it’s kind of cool them two being together. “I suppose they like each other. They’ve had some… intimate moments.” I hold a hand up. “Too much information. Don’t want to know about their sex life.” “Eww,” Morri says in disgust. “I don’t either. I meant they’ve kissed. Swapped spit as you locals say. Whatever.” I nod, because that’s info I can handle. “Okay. That’s good. I guess my point is… Lowe loves that house. History is important to him. Clearly Mely has a connection to it, too. I’m just sayin’, how great would it be if they fell in love, got married, and then they got to live in a house that was special to them both?” Morri sighs almost romantically, and that’s weird too, but I take it with a grain of salt. “That would be quite a story, wouldn’t it?” Morri murmurs. Yes, it would. And I can’t see a downside to it. Lowe and that girl fall in love and create pretty babies in that house. Worst-case scenario, things go bad and Lowe will get the house from Judge Bowe. That’s a win-win for my boy. “So, the Lantern Festival tomorrow is the perfect time for them to take this further,” I tell Morri. “I assume they’re both going?” Morri nods. “Mely’s excited about it.” “Well, you make sure she gets there, and I know Lowe will be there.”
“No can do on the making sure she gets there,” Morri says holding a hand up. “I’m attending a drag show in Raleigh.” “Drag show?” I ask curiously. I love drag racing. We used to have a good drag strip about twenty miles away that put on pulse-pounding races at night but it closed. Hadn’t heard there was one around these parts again. “Yeah,” Morri says with enthusiasm. “Interested in going?” “Well, yeah,” I say with a smile. “That actually sounds fun. I can even drive. But I need to make sure who’s on duty tomorrow night with the police department. If it’s Andy, then the town’s in safe hands and I can go. If not, I’ll have to pass. Those duties come first, you know?”
CHAPTER 16
Melinda
I
LOOK DOWN at my dress and second guess my choice. It’s designer, but it’s also pretty
and feminine. Ultimately, my lack of time to go buy something else was the deciding factor in what to wear to the Lantern Festival. It really is kind of perfect for a southern, outdoor festival. Mint green with embroidered watermelon slices around the hem. It’s got a halter top and sweetheart neckline, fitted down through my waist where it then has sort of a 50’s flare to the skirt part. I’ve only worn it once before to a garden party in the Hamptons, and that worked well there too, but it totally works tonight. I’ve got a small, white cardigan to put on if it gets chilly but this is North Carolina in the summer and chilly would be high seventies. It’s only eight PM and it still feels like we’re on the front doors of hell, so I have it folded over the edge of my purse. I’m also glad I chose to go light on makeup, as otherwise it would have melted off by now. I’ve resolved myself to a dewy-looking complexion—or otherwise known as sweat —and I’m thankful I pay a lot of money for an expensive deodorant that works. The Lantern Festival is a town sponsored event that’s been held the second to last week of July every year since 1841 to celebrate the tobacco harvest and the curing process of the bright leaf brand. The lanterns were released as a means of requesting good fortune on the harvest and was just a big old party of sorts. Oddly, the biggest farmers of tobacco in this area used to be Lowe’s family, but they’ve cut that back significantly as much of it’s now produced overseas. Regardless, the Lantern Festival was too much fun to ever give up. With the waning of tobacco production in this area, the modern Lantern Festival is more about celebrating continued good success of the town of Whynot. It’s held out on Mainer Farms because it can accommodate the hundreds upon hundreds of people that will show up, and while the city provides the funding for a good chunk of it, the use of the land for the festival is donated by Lowe’s family as is one of their big barns for a dance. I consider leaving my purse in my rental car but decide against it as the dress doesn’t have pockets. I’d feel naked without my cell phone and lip gloss. I may not have put on makeup, but I need my lip gloss. Lowe had offered to come get me for the festival, but I declined for only one reason. Because the festival was being held on his family’s farm, he was working out there all day today helping with the setup. I just didn’t want him to have to be bothered with working out in the hot sun all day, rushing home to get a shower, then rushing to get me and back again.
Lowe was not happy about my reasoning. His exact words were, “When a man takes a woman out on a date, he picks her up.” “Then this isn’t a date,” I’d replied. He kissed me hard, and I almost gave in. Of course, this was all within just minutes after we got Morri calmed down again, so I wasn’t thinking at my best. It’s not even a date, but it really kind of is even if I drove out to the farm myself. I’m only here because Lowe is here, and I want to see him. End of story. Or beginning. I follow the crowds of people who had all been directed by event volunteers that had us park in a field off the main road into the farm. It’s still light outside, and the air is heavy with the sounds of crickets and bullfrogs. I’m not sure if it was coordinated with Mother Nature or not, but there are a huge abundance of fireflies winking in and out across the fields as we are corralled toward a large, gray barn where I can hear country music. Several people smile and nod their heads at me, some in recognition, some just being polite. I learned soon enough that everyone always says hello in the South. Even driving on a country road into Milner, every car you pass they hold up their hand in a wave of greeting to you. I’ve never encountered such general friendliness for no other reason than to be friendly. It’s kind of amazing but my grandmother, Glory, had told me this about her beloved South long before she ever died. It was one of the things that was hard to understand until you see it, and then you just get it. Southerners are just friendly people. The festival setup is utterly amazing. There’s the big barn with the wide doors propped open and the interior lit with dozens of strung lanterns of any type and variety. Paper lanterns, brass ones, those made from glass and hurricane lanterns. I even see some with Chinese silk patterns. None of it’s cohesive. Yet, because it’s a Lantern Festival and they are all lanterns, it works. Outside the bar, a perimeter of stalls has been set up hawking various foods, drinks, games, local and handmade items, as well as a kissing booth and a dunking booth. There’s even a batting cage set up where some kids who look to be in high school are taking swings with the bat. I step into the barn, seeing a band up on a stage at one end playing country music. I don’t really follow country, so I have no clue if they’re even any good or not. There are hay bales stacked all over the place for both decoration and seating, as well as a raised wooden platform where people are dancing. A tap on my shoulder has me looking over my shoulder, and my breath catches when I see Lowe there. He’s holding a single peach-colored rose out to me, but I can barely even look at it because the smile he’s giving me is so captivating.
“You’re gorgeous, Mely,” he says as he presents the flower. I’m pretty sure my ovaries explode in realization that this might be the most romantic gesture anyone’s ever done for me. A heartfelt compliment and a uniquely colored rose. “You look great yourself,” I tell him softly, and he looks so darn great. He’s wearing nothing more than a pair of khaki shorts, a light blue t-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. He’s more than casual. He’s relaxed in his being and that’s more attractive than a designer suit in my opinion. His hazel eyes scan me in appreciation, and then lock onto mine for a moment before he grins. “Wanna go make out in the woods now or later?” I laugh. “Whenever you want.” “Later,” he says with a chuckle as he takes my hand and tucks it into the crook of his elbow. “Right now, I want to introduce you around to everyone. We also need to get some pig before all the good parts are taken.” “Pig?” I ask hesitantly. “Never been to a pig pickin’ I take it,” he says as he leads me out of the barn and around the side of it where I see several large, black smokers on wheels. A few of the tops are open, and laying on the metal grates are half carcasses of cooked pig. Gross. “Surely you don’t—” I start to say. Lowe finishes. “—pick the meat right off the pig? Yup. That’s a pig pickin’, although some of it’s already been pulled and sauced up.” “Sauced?” “Eastern North Carolina style,” he continues to explain. “Vinegar based. The best.” I don’t make any comment because I’m always willing to try new foods. I merely observe as Lowe takes me over to a table filled with paper plates, utensils, buns, and jugs of what looks like vinegar with red pepper flakes in it. Lowe carries on chitchat with the men manning the smokers, and I watch as he reaches over one of the pigs. With his fingers, he pulls off long pieces of tender-looking meat. He makes us sandwiches, layering the pork on soft, white buns, crowning only mine with coleslaw since it clearly has mayonnaise in it, and pours some of the vinegar sauce over to finish. He then carries the two plates over to an area that has about two dozen picnic tables, most all filled, but he manages to find us a seat. Several tiki torches line the area, and I smell a lemony scent coming from them that I’m assuming helps to keep the infernal mosquitos at bay. So far, I haven’t been bitten once tonight.
After we sit, Lowe picks up his sandwich and takes a huge bite. As he chews, he nods down at mine, so I follow suit. And the taste explosion. The texture… the most tender cut of pork I’ve ever had before. The bland but soft white roll only letting me focus in on the seasoning of the vinegar sauce, and the delicate taste of the coleslaw. I chew heartily to make room in my mouth so I can answer without swallowing, “Wow. Just… wow.” “Right?” He takes another big bite, and I mimic. For several minutes, we just eat in silence. I mean, food this good should be the most important thing between a couple on their first date. ♦ SADLY, THERE ARE no restroom facilities out on Mainer Farms so the only thing so far I am not enjoying is the need to use one of the dozen Porta Potties the town rented. There are easily over a thousand people here, and that means by the time we finish dinner, have a few drinks, and listen to the band, there are lines formed in front of each one. I left my purse back in the barn with Lowe at a table we sat at with his mom, dad, Larkin, and their brother, Colt. I’d met Larkin’s twin, Laken, but she came with a date and spent more time with him making out on the dance floor than socializing. I met Trixie and Ry as well. They stayed away from the barn, stating the music was too loud, but I suspect she just wanted to hang out with Pap, who was totally vocal that the music was too loud and was hanging out with some people near the beer kegs that he’d supplied for the festival. I wish I’d brought my phone out with me, as I can’t stand being idle as I wait for the two people in front of me to use the Porta Potty. Eyes drifting and ears opening, I peruse my surroundings. The minute I hear Lowe’s name, I go on hyper alert. Turning my head slightly to the left, I see two women standing in line at the Porta Potty just three over from where I am and slightly behind me. I immediately recognize one as the pretty woman named Lynette who yelled to Lowe that he was looking good and he said she was too. And damn… she’s so pretty and sexy and I don’t like her, and oh my God… I’m freaking jealous. “I could get Kirk to come fix it,” Lynette tells her friend. “I do believe he’d go kill someone if I asked him since he’s so desperate to get back in my pants, but I’d rather watch Lowe bent over my bathroom drain to fix it any day of the week.” My blood pressure starts to rise, and I try to force myself to disengage from listening to this woman, but I can’t. Not only am I too nosy, but she’s talking too loud. The woman who is standing next to her—a pretty girl with a brunette bob—says, “Lynette… I think Lowe’s attention is elsewhere. Maybe you should give Kirk a chance.”
“Kirk’s okay,” Lynette tells her friend, oblivious that pretty much everyone in line can hear her, and I’m thinking alcohol may be at play here. Billy Crump from the grocery store was handing out mini mason jars of peach moonshine. “But Lowe is the real catch. Best-looking guy in these parts, plus an heir to Mainer Farms. Plus…” And here, she lowers her voice but sadly, just not enough. “He’s dynamite in the sack.” I wince at that news because that makes me more jealous. She has bigger boobs and a jeweled belly piercing. Far more exciting than me with my mint-green dress with watermelons. “Lynette Carnes,” a woman says. I glance over to two ladies standing in the next line over, both probably in their mid-fifties. One I recognize as Muriel who owns Central Café, but the other I don’t, although she’s pretty and she looks very nice. I make this judgment on the mere fact she’s glaring at Lynette along with Muriel. “That is completely unladylike to talk like that in public. What would your mama say?” “She’s probably too drunk to care,” Lynette retorts hotly. That freaking makes me sad for her, and now I empathize a little. And I don’t want to empathize. But then Lynette’s eyes travel past Muriel and the other lady, and lock right onto me. I know she knew I’d been standing there and listening. Without even looking at the other women, and keeping her gaze pinned right on me, she tells them, “Besides… Lowe likes my package. Said so himself just the other day.” My teeth grit, and I think I might actually hate her. Okay, I don’t hate anyone, but I definitely have no empathy for her anymore. “Miss… bathroom’s open,” a man says behind me with a tiny tap on my shoulder. I startle, then look over my shoulder to give him an apologetic smile. Turning to the Porta Potty, I go in and do my business. When I’ve finished and doused my hands in the sanitizer provided, I make my way out without looking anywhere but the ground. I hurry back toward the barn where I left Lowe. He snatches me by the elbow just as I enter, and my head pops up in surprise. “Heard you got a taste of Lynette Carne’s tongue,” he says sympathetically, and my mouth drops open. “How could you have heard that already?” I ask in absolute astonishment as I look from him, to the barn door, then back to him again. “I wasn’t in that toilet for more than five minutes.” Lowe shrugs as he pulls me away from the barn. “Small-town gossip travels fast.” I guess. When we’re thirty yards away from the noise and bustle of the festival, I think to ask, “Where are we going?”
“They’re going to be launching the lanterns soon, and I wanted to take you to the best seat in the house,” he says mysteriously as we reach a patch of trees. It’s full-on night and the moon is hidden by clouds, so Lowe pulls his cell phone out and turns on a flashlight app to light a path that’s just become visible. “But aren’t they launching all the lanterns back at the barn?” I ask curiously. “Yup,” he says. “But that’s not the best place to see them.” I accept his word as his hand drops from my elbow but only to grab my hand. He squeezes and then leads me into what I’d take for a forest, but as soon as we start walking the path, I can see a clearing coming into view not far ahead. The sounds of the music and people start to fade away, and I notice the crickets and bullfrogs getting louder. “I hope you didn’t take Lynette seriously?” Lowe says out of the blue. “Not any of my business what you did with her in the past,” I mutter. Lowe laughs and squeezes my hand again. “It was a long, long time ago. I’m not interested in her.” This is simply said, but it’s done with feeling, I can tell. It makes me smile, and I feel comfortable in teasing, “Then what are you interested in?” “Not what,” he says without pausing in his stride or looking back at me. Yet, his words are meant only for me as he adds on, “Who.” “Then who?” “Come on, Mely” he says teasingly as he pulls me along the path. “You know the answer to that already.”
CHAPTER 17
Lowe
I
KEEP MY tone light and teasing as I lead Mely to Mainer Lake, but I’m beyond ticked off
at Lynette for saying those things. Della said she did it full well knowing Mely was standing there listening, so it was done for spite and because she’s always been a mean girl. Pisses me off I ever went sniffing around her all those years ago, but I was young, dumb, and drunk. Not a good combo. But Lynette’s left behind, along with the rest of the town of Whynot as they get ready to launch hundreds of lanterns into the sky. They are beyond beautiful to behold as they rise into the sky, but the real magnificence is taken in from a bit of distance. “What is this place?” Mely asks as we step out of the small crop of trees that separate the barn from the water. “Mainer Lake,” I tell her as we walk toward the dock. I point across the water. “That’s my house over there.” “It’s so pretty,” she says, and I grunt at that proclamation. “It’s a cabin. A man’s cabin. Nothing pretty about it.” “But it is,” she coos as we continue to walk. “All the lights on, looking so warm and inviting.” “Are you trying to talk your way into my bed, woman?” I tease her. She snickers and doesn’t respond. When I look down at her, I see her lower lip tucked into her teeth as she looks at the ground, trying not to laugh. God, she’s freaking gorgeous and adorable and so not the woman I couldn’t stand just shy of two weeks ago. I have no clue what the hell has happened to me or between me and Mely, but I like where it’s going. We step onto the small dock that extends from the land about fifteen feet out into the water. My boat with a small trawling motor is docked there, as I’d driven it across earlier today from the dock at my little cabin. I have this lantern viewing thing planned well. When we reach the edge, I step down into the boat and then hold my hand out to Mely. She takes it and lets me help her step down. The boat rocks slightly, but I’ve been standing in boats like this since I was a kid and can hold my balance. Mely immediately plops down on the seat and grabs the edge to steady herself.
With a flick of my wrist, the rope is pulled off from its mooring and I start the tiny motor. We’re silent as I guide us out into the middle of the lake. Once there, I cut the motor, drop anchor, and then stand to open the bench seat I’d been sitting on. It’s too dark out for me to see much of Mely’s expression, but I can feel the weight of her stare as I take out a wool blanket to arrange on the floor of the boat in between us. I then take out two life vests, and throw them down to act as pillows. Mely doesn’t say a word as I look to the tree line from where we’d come, and then use one of the oars to turn the boat with a few strokes in the water. Once that’s stowed, I adjust the anchor to hold us in place and then maneuver into the middle portion to sit down on the blanket. Holding my hand out to her, I say, “Come here.” She arches an eyebrow at me, but her hand slides into mine. I hold her steady as she carefully moves from her seat down onto the blanket with me. I lay back, taking her with me so we can prop our heads on the life vests. We lay side by side, looking at the copse of trees that separates us from the lanterns. I glance at my watch. Almost ten PM. Once it hits, then the prettiest lightshow you can ever imagine will start. Mely settles in beside me and her hand finds mine in the dark. She’s quiet a moment, then she asks, “So, not really interested in Lynette, huh?” “Interested in you,” I confirm as I get lulled by the slight rocking of the boat. “That’s nice,” she says. “Interested in me?” I ask. “Maybe.” I smile up at the dark, velvet sky. “Did I ever apologize for boarding up your house?” “Nope.” “For painting it pink?” “Nope.” “Well, I’m sorry.” “You’re forgiven.” “Gonna kiss you later,” I promise her. “Perfect,” she replies. My smile gets bigger, and I figure it’s high time I asked. “Why did you buy Mainer House? I thought you were going to flip it, but Larkin said you were going to stay.” I hope that didn’t come across as pathetically self-interested.
“Was wondering when you were going to get around to asking that,” she murmurs into the darkness, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Well, we have been busy with fighting in court, sneaking in kisses, and pulling pranks on Morri,” I explain as my head rolls to look at her. “Hasn’t been much time—” “Ooh, Lowe,” she says with absolute wonder in her voice as she stares off at the trees. Tilting my head back, I see the first lanterns start to rise above the tree line. They look like enormous fireflies from this distance. Big, bright orbs of light. Hundreds and hundreds of them rising into the air. “It’s amazing,” Mely whispers. “Doesn’t seem real, does it?” This night always seemed so magical to me as the lights ascend, representing good fortune for a prosperous harvest, but I always felt a personal connection to the hope that was manifested on this night. “I wonder if my grandmother, Glory, ever came to this festival,” Mely says, and I turn to look at her again. “She was from here?” I ask. “Milner,” she provides. “We were very close, but she didn’t talk much about her childhood. I mean… I knew in passing she was from North Carolina, but she’d been living in New York since she was eighteen and she was never very nostalgic about her past.” “But there came a time when she was?” I hazard a guess. “She had dementia,” she tells me, her voice tinged with sadness and perhaps regret. “She deteriorated pretty fast. But she started talking about growing up here, and I learned a lot about this area from her. She never mentioned the Lantern Festival though.” “What’s her connection to Mainer House?” “My grandmother was born Glory Wheeler, but she married into the Rothschild family when she was twenty-one. Had met my grandfather at Columbia and they married after they graduated college. The Rothschilds are rich from a lot of diversified interests so long standing, I’m not even sure where the original money was made. They had a good marriage, and he died just over seven years ago. But when she started getting dementia about a year ago, she started talking about her past. I came to find out that she’d lost her first true love in World War II.” “He was a Mainer?” “Miles Mainer,” Mely continues. “At first, I didn’t know if she was making this stuff up because of her disease, but then she showed me some pictures in her lucid moments, and I did some of my own research.” I lean up onto one elbow to look down at Mely, the lanterns completely forgotten for the moment. “What did you learn?”
“That my grandmother and Miles had been high school sweethearts. In those days, there was only one school that covered several of the small towns.” This was true. I also knew the name Miles Mainer. “Let’s just say, Grandma shared with me maybe more information than I needed to know, but they were seriously in love. Like the type you lose your virginity to kind of love in his bedroom at Mainer House. Magical love the way she told it. Her stories about her love affair were always so inspiring. They just gave me a different side to the grandmother that I loved so much, but realized I loved her even more after learning about her growing up in this area. I mean, she told me more than just about Miles. She talked about swimming in Crabtree Creek. About going to the big city of Raleigh for Sunday brunch once every few months and what a treat that was. Lazy summer days and apple pie, and Lowe… I just wanted to experience that. It was something she shared only with me in her last months, and I wanted to see it for myself.” “And why wouldn’t you?” I say with sincerity, my hand coming up to cover the one she has laying across her stomach. She’s still staring up at the lanterns when she says, “She and Miles wanted to get married, but he had joined the Navy. They had planned on getting married on his first leave back home, but he never made it. Died at Pearl Harbor.” “Jeez,” I hiss out under my breath. Now that’s damn tragic. “My grandma told me her heart was so broken that she left the south. She had thought one day she’d marry her love and they’d live in Mainer House making pretty babies, so when he died, she just couldn’t bear it.” “I’m sorry, Mely,” I say, squeezing her hand. She squeezes back. “It’s fine. She loved my grandfather. Maybe a different kind of love. Maybe it was even better, I don’t know. I just know her last months and then weeks were spent talking about Miles Mainer and her beloved North Carolina.” “When did she die?” “Five months ago,” she says and her voice is watery. I do a quick math compilation in my head. “She would have been what… ninety-one years old?” Mely nods. “Ninety-one but she was in great shape until the dementia, and then she just went downhill fast. She had six kids over an eleven-year period, the last being my dad in 1956. And then he didn’t have me until he was twenty-eight, so my grandmother was a bit older than some of my friends’ grandparents. But she was just one of those women who wanted to be a mother, then a grandmother, so that was her thing. It’s why I was closer to her than my actual parents, because she was just sort of more parental. You know what I mean?” “Not really, but I can imagine,” I tell her truthfully.
“I came down on a spur-of-the-moment trip about a week after her funeral. Wanted to see the places she talked about. When I came to Whynot and saw that Mainer House was empty, I made some casual inquiries. It wasn’t for sale, but I had a realtor approach your parents about it.” “Miles’ sister, Angela, had inherited the house and lived there until the last of her kids left in the mid-sixties. She’d been divorced by then and went to live in Raleigh with her sister. She’d kept the house but it sat empty. When she died in, I think it was 1981, she left it to my maternal grandfather, who then left it to my mother.” “Yeah, the realtor said they hadn’t really considered selling it, but I made them an offer I don’t think they could refuse.” That’s news, I think as my eyes drift out over the water. I just thought my parents worked hard to unload our history. I hadn’t realized they’d been approached. “Does that bother you?” Mely asks. I look back to her and answer her truthfully. “No. It doesn’t. In fact, I’m beginning to think that the house is owned right now by the right person. I couldn’t really afford to live there. I wanted it but didn’t have the means, so it was never going to be anything but a piece of my history.” “You’re sweet to say that,” Mely says. “I know how important your family history is to you.” “It is,” I agree. “And I’m not going to say it still doesn’t get me a little, but it’s part of your history too.” Mely’s head turns and she lets the lanterns go to peer at me through the darkness. She turns to her side to face me, and I roll toward her. Bringing a hand up to my chest, she says, “I think you should kiss me now.” “You’re kind of bossy,” I tell her with a smile, but then I kiss her before she can respond. And it’s way better than all the prior kisses put together. Because now I understand her on a level I hadn’t even thought was possible, and the fact she bought a house to be close to her grandmother—and that it was the story of her grandmother’s first love that brought her here—well, that’s just a kind of special you can’t buy at Walmart. It’s something that, for some reason, I’ve been made a part of, and I won’t treat that lightly. Besides, the way Mely feels in my arms and against my mouth, I’d be a fool to ever take this serendipitous gift for granted.
CHAPTER 18
Melinda
“M
ELY, DARLING,” MORRI says as I trot down the staircase to meet him at the front door.
“You have some pep in your step, girl. Did you get some last night?” Sadly, I didn’t. Lowe was the perfect gentleman. No, wait… I love that he was the perfect gentleman actually. I’ve never had that before. In this world of instant gratification and the looser morals of my generation, onenight stands are more normal than not. Hookups are done without a second thought. But last night, laying in that boat and getting chewed to pieces by mosquitos—which I didn’t notice as they were chewing, but sure as heck did a few hours later—Lowe and I just made out in a slow, leisurely way. Very soft kisses, soft murmurs in between, hands wandering no further than perhaps a few stray touches on my butt. God, it was fantastic. After the lanterns had drifted out of sight, we spent all night back in the barn with Lowe teaching me how to two-step and watching some of the older people square dance. Lowe’s mom and dad were awesome and sweet and welcoming, keeping up a genial conversation all night. Catherine told me more about her aunt Angela, who was Miles’ sister, but best of all, I had heard stories about my grandmother. They’d never met because she’d left the area in 1942, not long after Miles died. Catherine hadn’t been born yet. But Catherine and Angela visited each other often, and Angela had talked about Miles’ sweetheart who had been heartbroken when he’d died. I felt like a complete fool when the tears spilled out over hearing that, but Lowe helped me to play it off by pulling me out onto the dance floor so I didn’t start sobbing like a hysterical woman. It was just a perfect night, as I hope tonight will be. Pap made Lowe promise to bring me by for a few drinks this evening so he could officially welcome me to Chesty’s. Lowe just texted me to let me know he was there, and I’m actually giddy to see him. He’d spent all day out on the farm with his parents and some volunteers cleaning everything up from the festival last night, and then he said he had some things he had to handle, which would take the remainder of his day. But then, he was so mysterious when he had texted not long ago. After a few drinks at Chesty’s, you’re mine. Don’t make any other plans. The Lantern Festival is going to continue.
I wrote back and begged for details, even threatening I wouldn’t come out at all tonight, but he just kept texting back, See you at Chesty’s.
“You actually look like you might be ready to squeal from excitement,” Morri says in critical observation as he takes me in with his fingertip tapping against his chin. “And since you didn’t readily admit to getting it on with Mr. STD, I’m going to think you didn’t get lucky.” I come to a sliding halt in front of Morri, my lips curling up in disgust. “Mr. STD? Really, Morri… that’s so childish.” He cocks at eyebrow at me. “STD. Studly, tall, and devious. That’s my new nickname for him.” “Oh,” I say brightly at that explanation. “I like it. Just… don’t say it in public where others can hear.” Morri doesn’t affirm or decline my request to do so, so I’m guessing Lowe is going to get stuck with that name tonight. I decide to let it go. Lowe can handle his own battles. “You are looking very fetching,” I tell Morri. He’s gone urban casual with a pair of dark jeans expertly faded slightly at the thighs, a gray V-neck t-shirt, and the coolest pair of leather Oxfords done in gray and taupe. He looks fiendishly stylish but then again, Morri’s always been so, regardless if he was in drag or not. This outfit he’s sporting, however, has got to be the most sedate thing in his wardrobe. I expect he doesn’t want to be too ostentatious going into Chesty’s tonight. I hate that he even has to consider that as a factor. Neither Lowe nor I would care what he wore, but the fact of the matter is, more people than not would never understand Morri or even try to understand him. Forget he’s black. He’s a gay black man in the South, and he’s exercising some restraint on his creativity and healthy ego by toning it down just a bit tonight. “Shall we?” Morri asks as he offers his arm to me and opens the door with this free hand. “I think we shall,” I say as I tuck my hand in the crook of his elbow. We step out onto the porch. Morri gives me a moment to lock the door before we make our way onto the sidewalk. We look both ways but it’s a lazy Sunday afternoon. The town square was bustling today for church, and Sunday brunch at some of the local dining establishments, but it was pretty dead now. After we cross over Wilmington Street, I squeeze Morri’s bicep with my hand and bring my other arm to rest in the crook as well, which makes me step in closer to him. “I’m going to miss you when you go back.” He’d told me this morning that he was considering going back the day after tomorrow. Apparently, Morri had posted photos of his night at the drag show and Stephan has been calling him continuously. Not quite sure that Morri’s going to give him another chance, but at this point, he is going to soak up every bit of Stephan’s begging. If I had my way, he would just ignore Stephan, but Morri should do what will make him feel best. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time,” Morri promises me.
“You’re just saying that,” I tell him. “You can admit you hate it down here.” “It is a little backward,” Mori admits sheepishly. “You should have seen the people in the drag club last night. It’s like they never even heard of a red sequin before.” “Yes, well, there is absolutely a lag time between New York drag fashion and Bible Belt drag fashion,” I say dryly. “Truer words, girl. But all that matters is that Floyd and I had a blast last night.” I laugh and squeeze his arm harder. Only my best friend Morri could get a grizzled redneck who owns the hardware store to go to a drag show with him. We head down the sidewalk past Sweet Cakes, Trixie’s law firm, and finally to Chesty’s where I can hear the subtle strains of the Steve Miller band coming through the door. Morri and I disconnect and he holds the door open for me, which I think is some proof that a few southern manners have been rubbing off on him. It’s been the hardest thing for me to get use to here, but it’s also been one of the things I have loved. In the South, a woman doesn’t dare go through a door if there’s a man nearby to open it first. The interior of Chesty’s is dimly lit mostly by what sunlight can come through the dark tinted windows and glass door, the lights over the pool tables, and the myriad of neon signs all over the walls. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but the first person I can see is Lowe. He’s standing up at the bar, casually resting his elbow on the countertop. Next to Lowe, Larkin’s sitting on a barstool adjacent to Pap, and they are discussing something with their heads bent toward each other. A quick look around shows me that while the town square may be slow on a Sunday afternoon, Chesty’s does a brisk business. There are games going on at all three pool tables and pretty much every stool at the bar is occupied, as well as the half-dozen tables around the perimeter of the place. I walk in between two of the pool tables with Morri following behind, my eyes locked on Lowe. It’s not my imagination, and it’s quite a heady feeling, that the burning heat in his look is just for me. While things didn’t get overly hot and heavy between us last night, I can tell that a slight change in circumstances and it could have been an entirely different ending to the evening. To say I am wildly attracted to this man is an understatement. It’s not going to be long before we move this to the next level. Pap’s head rises as we get closer, and he gives a nod our way so that Larkin turns to look at us. She gives me a bright smile, but before I can even say a word, Lowe’s got his hand to the back of my neck and pulling me in for a quick but possessive kiss. I’m so shocked I can do nothing but blink repetitively at him when he releases me. While we made out like young teenagers last night, he hadn’t kissed me when we got back to the barn. I just assumed that perhaps PDA was frowned upon. Guess I assumed wrong. I sheepishly smile at Larkin, and she grins at me more brightly, and then to Pap, who gives me a wink.
I make introductions first, turning to pull Morri closer by his arm. “Pap, this is my best friend, Morri. And Morri… this is Lowe’s grandfather, Pap.” Morri reaches a hand out, and Pap grabs it for a hearty shake. “Welcome to Chesty’s. Heard a lot about you.” “Oh, you mean you’ve heard all about how your grandson and I love to torture each other with pranks?” Morri asks with his necktitude going full steam. Pap gives sort of a half chuckle/half snort, his eyes sparkling when he tells Morri, “I personally think the mayonnaise in the doughnuts was the best.” “It sure was, wasn’t it?” Morri says as he slides in between Lowe and Larkin, leaning a little around Larkin to continue talking to Pap. This effectively pushes Lowe away from the bar, which is fine by me because it pushes him closer my way. “I tried to talk Floyd into teaching me how to cut Lowe’s brake line, but I was told that that might be a little too much.” This time, Pap throws his head back and laughs hysterically at the thought. I just roll my eyes and figure Morri is in good company so I can give some attention to the hot man who’s standing right beside me. “Long day?” I ask Lowe. He was working outdoors for most of the day, and it was brutally hot. Because he spends a lot of days outdoors, his skin is naturally a dark golden brown, but I can see some red across his nose and cheeks indicating he probably had an overdose of sun today. “I’m a little tired,” he admits but then adds on to say, “But the Lantern Festival is always worth the hard work. Especially this year.” “Why this year?” “Well, this year was especially fun because I got to watch the lanterns in a boat on the lake with the prettiest, sweetest girl I’ve ever known.” I’m utterly charmed by his words because they are sincere even though he has a hint of amusement in his tone. I can’t help but tease, “Am I really the first girl you had on that lake during the Lantern Festival? You told me it was the best seat in the house, so you clearly have some experience out there.” I get a hearty laugh in return from Lowe. “Trust me, you’re the first girl. But Pap used to take us kids out on a boat when we were younger, and we thought that was pretty darn cool. Like we were special or something.” “Well, I think your entire family is pretty special,” I tell him truthfully. Last night was one of the most fun, relaxing evenings I’ve had since I can even remember. Well, the kissing wasn’t relaxing, but I sure was liking the way it felt. “What do you and Morri want to drink?” Lowe asks. “Does Pap serve wine?” I inquire.
“He serves red or white,” Lowe says. “What types of red?” Lowe laughs at me. “Only one kind of those. Red.” Now it’s me who laughs because I can see Pap only carrying one kind of red and one kind of white. This doesn’t seem like the type of bar that would serve wine at all. “I’ll actually take whatever beer you’re having, but I know Morri will want wine so get him the red.” Lowe turns away from me for a moment to order the drinks. When he turns back to me, he explains, “Chesty’s is where you go to get beer and liquor. If you want wine, you go to Miller’s gas station. He and Pap have sort of an informal agreement not to infringe on each other’s territory. But Pap will carry a basic selection of wine and Jason will carry a basic selection of beer. If you want something out of the ordinary, you have to go to their respective businesses.” “Makes sense to me.” The bartender quickly has our drinks, and Lowe passes them out. Morri is still a little miffed at Lowe for the red-dye prank, but he mutters a “thank you”. “You up for a game of pool?” Lowe asks me. “We can play teams. You and Morri against me and Larkin?” I give Lowe an admonishing look and slap the back of my hand against his stomach. “You and Larkin probably grew up in this bar playing pool. Morri and I are from Manhattan. The only thing we know how to do in a bar is drink a fifteen-dollar martini. I don’t think that seems fair.” “Even better,” Lowe says as he leans in and whispers in my ear. “You and me against Morri and Larkin. That way, I can get up close to you to teach you how to shoot.” Oh, wow. That sounds nice, especially that sexy little rumble to his voice. I turn toward Morri, who is in a deep discussion with Pap and Larkin, and call out, “Morri… get your booty over here. We’re going to play some pool.” Morri looks at me and says, “I have no clue how to play pool.” Larkin jumps off her stool and takes Morri by the elbow. “No worries. We’ll teach you.” It takes about fifteen minutes for one of the pool tables to open after Lowe had claimed interest in it by placing two quarters on the edge. After explaining the rules to Morri and me, he and Larkin took their time to teach us the mechanics and the angles of how to shoot. Because Morri and I were equally dreadful, it was a close game, but Lowe and I managed to win by one shot. We start our second game, and I’m surprised that it gets a little easier to play. This might have something to do with the fact that Lowe reminds me to take my time with my
shots as well as to imagine a line coming from the back of the pocket I’m aiming at and extending directly through the ball, which helped my aim. But the best piece of advice he gave me, and where I really started to make my shots, was when he told me not to look at the cue ball but to focus on the ball I’m aiming for. That made a complete world of difference to me. In the second game, he and I sort of kicked Larkin and Morri’s butt. In fairness to Larkin though, Morri wasn’t really all that into playing. He did it to be part of the crowd, but he’s never been into sports or games of any sort. “It true you wear women’s clothing?” a very twangy, male voice asks from behind our group. Every muscle in my body immediately tenses as I turn to face the bar. Two men are standing there holding mugs of beer with huge smirks on their face. They’re nondescript other than they look like ordinary joe’s. They’re both staring straight at Morri. Morri may not visit the deep South very often, but it’s not the first time someone has made fun of him and what they do not understand. He holds himself almost regally as he replies in a calm voice, “I wear gowns and other fancy female clothing when I’m on stage.” Both men snicker. The one guy asks, “You wear frilly panties underneath?” It’s clear these guys are drunk. It’s also clear they are intent on humiliating Morri. While I know Morri can hold his own, I don’t want him to have to. He’s here in my new town where I intend to live at least part of the year, and I’m not about to have these jackasses run my friend off. I open my mouth even as I take a menacing step toward the two brutes, but I snap it shut because just as quickly, Lowe beats me to them. He’s suddenly in their faces and backing them up into the barstools they’re standing in front of. “I’m telling you right now, Gill,” Lowe says in a deep, rumbling voice filled with the promise of retribution. “You say one more inappropriate word to my friend… and I’m not even going to bother to drag you out of here to beat your ass. I’m going to do it right here in front of everybody.” My mouth drops open and my eyes slide over to Morri, who is looking at Lowe with a funny expression on his face. My gaze swings back though when the guy named Gill narrows his eyes at Lowe and taunts, “He your boyfriend or something?” The other guy thinks this is hilarious and snickers raunchily. I expected that would have been a fighting challenge, but Lowe merely gets a lazy smile on his face and leans in toward Gil. “Why? You jealous?” “I ain’t no damn fag—” That’s as much as he gets out of his mouth, because Lowe’s fist is slamming into it. The guy’s head snaps backward, before popping forward where Lowe hits him again, harder this time. Gill’s head snaps back again and his knees start to wobble.
Gill’s friend manages to catch him around the waist to help hold him up as blood starts to trickle out of his mouth from what looks like a split lip. I’m terrified these two guys are now going to go after Lowe, but Pap is suddenly standing there. He merely points to the door while talking to the men in a measured, nononsense voice. “You two get the hell out of here and don’t ever come back unless you decide to learn some manners. This bar is open to all, and everyone is welcome to drink here in peace.” I really want to go hug Pap right now, but he’s not finished. Looking around the bar, he raises his voice and calls out, “If anyone else here has a problem with my friend Morri, finish your beer up and get the hell out. Don’t bother coming back either.” No one moves and no one says a word, the only sound coming from Tom Petty playing on the jukebox. Gill and his friend slink out of the bar. The minute the door is closed, everybody resumes talking again. Not one other person leaves. Pap looks at Morri a long moment, and Morri gives him a nod of thanks as well as a smile to indicate he’s okay. Pap nods back and heads to his stool as cool as a cucumber. Then Morri turns to Lowe as he inclines his head like the Queen of England giving notice to one of her subjects. “I’ve decided not to cut your brake lines. We’re even.” “Obliged,” Lowe says with a grin, and then he moves on as if nothing significant happened. “Let’s play another game of pool.”
CHAPTER 19
Lowe
“Y
OU’RE TAKING ME to your house, huh?” Mely says as she lowers her voice an octave.
When I look over at her sitting in the passenger seat of my truck, she waggles her eyebrows at me knowingly. Laughing, I just shake my head. “Not taking you to my house.” “But you’re heading down the dirt drive that leads to the lake. Your house is on the other side,” she points out. “Pretty sure I know my way around here better than you,” I say as I do indeed drive down the dirt road that leads to the lake, and then on around to my house. “Let me get this straight,” she says slowly. “We’re on a dirt road that as far as I can remember, leads directly to Mainer Lake, and there’s nothing around Mainer Lake but your house.” “Correct.” “But we’re not going to your house, so I’m going to assume we’re going to be on the boat in the lake again,” she says confidently. “Wrong,” I tell her more confidently. “Wrong?” “Wrong,” I affirm. Mely lets out a mock sigh of frustration. Her voice is dry when she says, “Well, if you’re not taking me to your house—which is disappointing slightly—and we’re not getting in the boat, I can only then surmise you’re going to take me out into the woods and kill me.” “That’s a pretty big leap,” I say with a grin as we bump along the road. From the corner of my eye, I can see her dramatically throw her hands up in defeat. “I can’t figure out what the heck we’re doing.” “Which is why it’s a surprise,” I say smugly. “Just cool your heels and have a bit of patience.” “I’m a New Yorker. I move at the speed of light. I don’t have patience.” “We’re going to change that about you,” I tell her with surety. I’ve learned enough about Mely to know she’d take to slow country living quite well.
I follow the road that runs on the outside of the trees that surround Mainer Lake, then turn into the path that’s big enough just for one vehicle and goes back about fifty yards to my cabin. “Aha,” Mely says with superiority coating her voice thickly. “You did bring me to your house. You’ve got ulterior motives, don’t you?” I drive past my house, cutting through my rough-cut front yard that borders the lake. “You want me to have ulterior movies?” “Maybe,” she says coyly, and I don’t dare to look over at her. If the look in her eyes matches her tone of voice, I will indeed stop my truck and drag her into my house. But that was not on the agenda, so I drive past my house, cut my wheel right, and pull up a few feet, before putting the truck deftly into reverse to back it up to the edge of the lake that’s bordered by a patch of cattails. After I shift it into park, I turn the truck off and turn to look at Mely. Her eyes are bright, probably because she had a few beers more than she should have. I stopped after two because she and Morri were having fun after Gill and Travis were booted out. My hand throbs slightly, but I ignore it. It was so worth it to effectively shut his trap for him. “I’m sad to say, sweet Mely, that I’ve got no ulterior motives tonight with you. We’re just camping.” She blinks at me three times, slowly. “Camping?” “With lanterns,” I add on. “With lanterns?” “In the back of my pickup.” “Am I in the Twilight Zone?” she asks but her lips are curled at the ends so I know she’s amused. I don’t respond. Instead, I jump out of the truck where I jog to her door and open it. I reach a hand out. She places hers in mine, and I help her with the slight hop down. “You wait right there.” Opening the door to the rear cab where I stowed some gear earlier, I start unloading. Mely watches me silently as I set everything up. It takes me seven trips into the rear cab to get everything. It takes about ten minutes to get it all up, and then I’m ready. I turn to look at her reaction as she takes it in. I had transformed the back of my pickup into a little outdoor bed complete with a thick layer of blankets on the bottom for softness, followed by two sleeping bags on top. I even had two of the pillows from my bed in deference to this being what I’m betting is Mely’s first camping trip. I don’t want her to have to totally rough it. On the ledge of my truck bed, I’d placed various lanterns and candles. Every lantern was filled with citronella to help keep the bugs away, but it was a
continuation of the mood the Lantern Festival had evoked last night when we were out on the lake. Finally, I’d put my battery operated, wireless speaker on the hood of the truck and had some Tim McGraw playing softly. It was romantic as hell. Would have gotten me laid with any other woman. But tonight… we’re seriously just camping. “What do you think?” I ask her with a self-assured smile. “I think it’s amazing,” she murmurs as she takes it all in. Then she lifts her face to the night sky, and adds on. “Even more perfect than last night because the stars are all out tonight.” “I ordered those up special,” I tell her. “You could totally get lucky tonight, you know?” she says thoughtfully as we stand about three feet apart, just sizing each other up. “But I won’t,” I reply simply. “No, you won’t,” she says with a soft, grateful smile. “Because I’m buzzed, and you’re a gentleman, and tonight isn’t about that for you. You want to show me some of the southern charm my grandmother experienced when she lived here.” “Got me,” I tell her, and then hold my hand out. She steps forward and takes it. Takes another two steps and comes toe to toe with me, her eyes shining with feeling over my gesture. I lift her hand up and place a kiss on her knuckles. “Hope you like it, Mely.” She sighs and her eyes flutter closed briefly before she pins me with a soft gaze filled with happiness. “You are kind of amazing.” “Bet you’re glad I defaced your property, aren’t you?” She laughs. “Yes, I am. It let me get to know you, and that’s become just as special as me purchasing Mainer House.” I wait for a scant second to see if any bitterness is still left over the fact that Mely is now the owner of my family’s history. And… there’s nothing. Not a single negative feeling. Only excitement to share tonight with this woman. “Ready to crawl into the sleeping bags with me, so we can stare at the stars and talk all night?” I ask her. “Yes,” she says with excitement. “No, wait. I need to pee. In fact, given the beer I had, probably not going to be the only time tonight.”
God, she’s adorable as she turns expectant eyes to my cabin that sits within a stone’s throw. I put my hands on her shoulders and turn her toward the tree line. “Bathroom’s right there.” Her head whips so hard to look over her shoulder, I get slapped in the face by her hair. “No way.” “Way,” I tell her as I turn from her to dig in the back of my truck cab. I emerge with a flashlight, a roll of toilet paper, and a plastic baggy. I hold them out to her. “Be glad you don’t have to use leaves. It sucks to get poison ivy on your butt.” She looks down at them with her nose wrinkled, placing a hand on top of mine and pushing the stuff back toward me. “No thanks. I’ll hold it.” “You can’t hold it all night,” I scold her with a serious look, but inside, I’m dying laughing. “I can,” she says primly. I let out a bark of a laugh and reach out to grab Mely’s hand. Turning to the house, I start walking her that way. “I’ll make an exception this time. But future camping trips, you’re learning to pee in the woods.” “I will,” she says gratefully. “Promise.” “And just because I’m letting you in to pee doesn’t mean you can stay in there all night,” I tell her sternly. “Pee and get out. We’re camping, okay?” “Okay, Lowe,” she says with exasperation. “It’s not like I’m a princess or anything.” “You are if you’re camping and refuse to pee in the woods,” I tell her in a matter-offact tone. Mely jerks her hand away from me. Before I can even stop my stride, she’s marching toward the trees. “I am not a princess.” Snickering, I jog after her. When I reach her side, she snatches the implements of the peeing-in-the-woods trade. I think she might just stomp right into the darkness, but she hesitantly asks, “Is there anything dangerous in there?” “No, way,” I assure her. “But I’ll come with you.” She doesn’t refuse my offer, and I think it’s hilarious that outside of kissing, the next most intimate thing we’ll be doing together is peeing in the woods. But that’s alright by me. There’s nothing normal about how Mely and I have come together. ♦ “I THINK I’M done,” Mely says softly, and then yawns.
She’d just gotten back into the truck after her third trip into nature to pee, this one on her own even though I offered to come with her. She’s gone ahead and proved to me she’s completely game when it comes to camping. This is good because the truck bed is kind of like staying in a hotel in my opinion, so we’ll graduate her to a tent next time. “Proud of you,” I murmur as she snuggles in closer to me. This was made possible after the first time we hopped into the truck, Mely grumbled that the separate sleeping bags didn’t allow for cuddling, and she wanted to cuddle. I sure as hell wanted that too and wasn’t about to say no. In fact, if she hadn’t of drank more than a beer tonight and wanted to get frisky with me, I wouldn’t have said no to that either. But I don’t mind taking this a bit slow. Mely and I have a slow burn going, but I can tell when it ignites, it’s going to become hotter than an inferno. That kind of connection is special. I can wait a bit more for that, so tonight it’s just about cuddling. So, I unzipped the sleeping bags and zipped them back together into one large one, and she’s got her head on my shoulder and her front pressed to my side. It’s gorgeous out tonight, and the stars seem to be within plucking distance. The bullfrogs have gone to bed for the most part, but the crickets are still making a bit of music. The citronella sweetens the air even more and the lanterns lend a romantic glow. I find it soothing. Apparently, Mely does as well as she yawns again. Her arm comes across my stomach and I think that she fits against me nicely. Her squeeze tells me something, but her words tell me more. “Thank you for what you did for Morri tonight.” “No thanks needed,” I tell her. “Well, that’s because you’re Lowe Mancinkus and you’re like the best guy ever,” she says dryly. I laugh in return, loving how she and I just get each other in the humor department. “But seriously… thank you.” “Wish I would have knocked some teeth out,” I mutter. “That would have been awesome.” “Just know that’s not what the South is all about, Mely,” I tell her earnestly. “Someone like Morri may not be understood. May be feared, even. But there are plenty who don’t care, and they are the ones who will quietly have his back. The ones who are ignorant are also usually loud and stupid, so they always seem to be heard. Don’t let it get you too down. I’ve always got your back and Morri’s when he visits.” Mely lifts her head to look at me. “How are you even real?” My hand comes up to the side of her face, and my thumb strokes her cheek. This is no joke when I tell her, “You make it easy to be this way.” She gives a slight shake of her head, like she can’t believe what I’m saying. “No, Lowe… you are just genuinely a good human being. Your family is that way, as a matter of fact.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t self-deprecate because I know it’s important for Mely for some reason to say these things to me. So, I just look at her. “I feel like I’m living a part of my grandmother’s life,” she whispers. “The one where you live in a magical place, surrounded by good people, better food, and there’s a good man waiting there for you who doesn’t seem quite real.” “I’m real,” I assure her. “And Mely, I think you’re freaking amazing too. I don’t question what we got, only what we’re going to do with it. And I’m here to tell you, we’re going to do something with it.” “Yeah, we are,” she says softly, and then lays her head back down on my shoulder again. She’s the first to fall asleep, but I don’t go long after her.
The Gossip Mill at Central Cafe by Floyd Wilkie
“W
ANT A CUP of coffee to go?” Muriel asks me as she tops off my mug. I’m almost
finished with my breakfast, but she knows I love my coffee. “Sure, darlin’,” I tell her as I scoop the last spoonful of grits in my mouth. I’d asked her to add some cheddar cheese to them today because I was in the mood for something a little different. Someone comes in the diner door, and I only know this because Muriel’s eyes lift to look over my head. She gives a warm smile and says, “Booths are all full, but there’s some space up here at the counter.” When a body plops down next to me, I swivel my head to see Lynette Carnes on the stool to my right. “Hey, Floyd,” she says and then turns to Muriel. “Can I get a coffee to go, Muriel?” Without waiting for me to even offer a greeting back, she turns to me and says, “You hear about Gill’s teeth?” “What?” I ask in confusion. Know who Gill is—a real jackass in my opinion—but no clue what she’s yammering about. Lynette’s nothing but a whirlwind of gossip. Some days, I’m interested. Others, I’m not. I definitely don’t care about Gill’s teeth. “Apparently, Lowe punched him a few times in the mouth,” Lynette says. Why she ain’t telling this to Kiki Shepard, who is sitting on her other side, is beyond me as they’re about the same age and have the same shallow dispositions. “Huh,” is all I say as I pick up my last slice of bacon. “Anyway, Gill told his wife, who told Sissy, who told Sarah, that Gill said he was going to sue Lowe for his dental bill,” she says in one breath and then sucks some oxygen back in. Gill had it coming to him, and I’m about to tell her that, when she rolls right over me by saying, “Say… you know that tooty-fruity guy who Lowe was defending that night, right? The one who’s friends with that New York bitty who has come to town and is hanging all over Lowe? I mean, please… like she’d ever be able to keep someone like him. I hope she enjoys it because everyone knows that Lowe—” “He’s not a tooty-fruity,” I interrupt with a calm voice that gets her to stop her yammering.
“Excuse me?” she says as she pulls her chin in and looks at me with affront. “He’s a nice guy. A human being. Have a little respect.” “He dresses up in women’s clothing,” she says with distaste. “And wears it well,” I say with a firm nod of my head. “He took me to a drag show a few days ago in Raleigh. He put all those other men to shame in their formal wear.” Lynette’s jaw drops in shock. I can see her trying to figure out if I’m kidding or not. I most definitely am not. I truly did think we were going to a drag race, but when I went to pick up Morri at Mainer House and he came out with a red sequin gown, makeup so expertly applied and changing the angles of his face so much I couldn’t recognize him, and a blonde wig with flowing curls down to his waist, well, I just had to see what it was all about. I pride myself in learning about new stuff, and let’s just say I got educated that night. But Morri was cool. We had an enjoyable time sharing a few drinks and watching other men dressed similarly singing up on a stage. It was entertaining to say the least. “Want to know my take?” I ask Lynette as I lean in toward her. “What’s that?” she says quietly, as if she’s unsure she wants to know where this conversation is going. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I’m telling everyone else in this town,” I tell her slowly. “I think Lowe and Mely—that would be the New York bitty you were talking about—are getting pretty serious with each other.” “Why do you say that?” she asks. “Because that house has a special connection to them both,” I say with a careless shrug, but my words are calculated to get a rise out of Lynette. She needs to let go of her little Lowe-crush. “Mark my words… those two are falling hard for each other, and I’m betting they’ll be courting, then marrying, then bringing babies into that house.” Lynette wrinkles her nose, and I just smile blandly at her. Her eyes turn calculating. “Seems Lowe ain’t ready to give up that house after all.” “I suppose.” “Fortuitous the woman he’s courtin’ owns the house he wants,” she muses. “It could be a way in for him.” “On the surface, yes,” I also have to admit. “Pap was in here the other day. He said you and he were discussing this very thing,” Muriel adds in as she sets the to-go cups of coffee before me and Muriel. “Talked about he could marry her and then divorce her to get it.” “Well, I just made mention in passing that it could potentially be a way to get the Mainer House back—”
“Don’t you think maybe there’s a chance Lowe’s playing her to get what he wants?” Lynette asks Muriel hopefully. “He’s not playing her,” I say staunchly. This I know. “And I was joking when I said that to Pap.” “But think about it,” Lynette says as she leans an elbow on the counter, tipping her head closer to Muriel. “It would be a really slick way for Lowe to get what he wants.” My immediate desire to deny her accusation sits there like a dead weight in the bottom of my stomach, but damn if I wasn’t thinking the same exact thing. Just a few days ago, that seemed legit. But now, there’s no way Lowe would ever be in this for any gain, and besides… if she comes to any future marriage owning Mainer House, Lowe’s an upstanding guy. She’d leave with that same house if they divorced. That’s just the way he is. Lynette pushes two dollars across the counter to Muriel and grabs her cup. Nudging her shoulder against mine as she hops off the stool, Lynette whispers near my ear. “Nice to know I’m not the only one in this town who thinks that way. You should totally talk to Lowe about this again.” “I didn’t—” I start to say. But Lynette’s already trotting out the door, yelling, “Toodles.” “That girl ain’t right in the head,” Muriel murmurs as she watches her walk out the door. “She’s a troublemaker is what she is,” I growl in disgust. “But still,” Muriel says thoughtfully. “You have to admit that’s a definite way for Lowe to get Mainer House back. Judge Bowe would never let it go to a Yankee.” Yes, yes, yes… this is true. It’s true people are talking about Lowe’s future when I bet he ain’t even got half as much figured out yet. It’s not like he’s going to elope or anything. And while Morri told me he thought Mely was falling hard for Lowe at the drag show, and I can see the same going on with that boy, it doesn’t mean anyone needs to be talking about marriage and divorce. That’s just not how things are done in the slow South.
CHAPTER 20
Melinda
I
TAKE A moment to look around the long dining room table that has twelve seats. Only
seven are in use. Lowe, Morri, Pap, Gerry, Catherine, Colt, and me. The table is a dark heavy wood that’s scarred by years of use. Catherine and Gerry Mancinkus had five kids plus Pap at most dinners, so a big table was needed. I can’t really describe the feelings inside of me when Lowe asked me and Morri to dinner at his parents’ house tonight. In just three weeks, we’ve gone from enemies to friends to probably lovers at some point, and the inclusiveness of this entire family has touched me greatly. It’s one thing to invite into your home the woman who is killing a part of your family’s history, but to welcome in her gay, drag queen bestie takes hospitality to a new realm. Right now, conversation is abundant. It’s been that way since Catherine said “grace” at the start of the meal. There was some general chitchat while platter after platter of food was passed around. Tonight, we feasted on fried chicken livers—which I loved but Morri turned green at the thought—rice, fresh tomatoes, corn on the cob, jalapeno cornbread, and a strawberry pie for dessert. I thought I was going to die at the end of the meal and was thankful I’d worn a loose-fitting bohemian dress to dinner so I didn’t have to have my waistband cut into my stomach. Lowe leans back in his chair and casually drapes his arm around the back of mine. He doesn’t touch me, but the gesture is possessive. God help me, but I love it. I notice his mom gets all soft-eyed as she notices. Her gaze moves along to her husband, Gerry, who is talking to Morri. Both Pap and Gerry were in the Marine Corps and they’re both a little gruff around the edges, but Pap has taken a liking to Morri. It seems Gerry has been openly tolerant, genuinely curious, and throughout the meal, the more he’s learned about Morri, the more involved he’s become. Catherine stands up from the table and asks, “Anyone want another slice of pie?” “I do,” Colt says and my gaze turns to him. He’s Lowe’s younger brother by five years and is the baby of the family at twenty-seven. He’s relatively quiet compared to the others, but he must have an outgoing nature as he bartends at Chesty’s sometimes. Everyone else groans out a decline, but Colt is a big, big boy. He’s got Lowe by a few inches and maybe he’s still growing. He waits patiently as his mom cuts and serves him another slice. “Thanks, Mama.”
“My pleasure,” Catherine quips in that sweet, sugary voice that’s so nice to listen to. She picks up the pie dish and turns toward the kitchen. “I’ll help you clear the table, Mama,” Lowe says as he pushes up from the table. I just stare at him dumbfounded as he gathers up several empty plates. Yes, I grew up in a wealthy environment. We had a full-time housekeeper and a cook, but we also did a lot for ourselves, particularly on the weekends when the staff was off. In my entire existence, I don’t think I’ve ever been around a family meal where a man has jumped up to help his mother clear the table. I realize with horror that I’ve lived a stereotyped life of privilege, but also one of perhaps unrealized misogyny in my own household. I have two brothers, but they would never think to help my mom clear the dishes. Granted, we often had help do it, but on those family meals we had without staff being present—and let’s face it, we weren’t helpless people as we did know how to cook and clean up—I think my mother would have had a stroke if my dad or brothers got up to help. And all I can think is that’s just plain wrong as I watch Lowe and Catherine grab mostly empty plates, bowls, and platters to carry into the kitchen. It takes only a second to collect myself before I’m jumping up to help too. Morri glances inquiringly at me, but he’s in deep talk with Gerry so I give him a slight shake of my head that he should relax and continue. I pick up my plate, Pap’s, who is sitting to my right, and both of our empty glasses, before following Lowe and Catherine into the kitchen. Mom and son stand hip to hip at the counter, rinsing plates and laughing about something. “Here you go,” I say, hating to intrude, but also wanting to at the same time. I want to be up close and personal to see how a close mother-child relationship works. I never had it with my mother. Not that she was cold or unable. It’s just that our family wasn’t overly into each other due to timing issues. We loved each other… yes. But we were always doing our own things. Even as a child, I had music lessons and dance while my brothers played lacrosse and soccer. My parents had their thing with the country club, charity boards, and traveling. That’s not to say Lowe’s family didn’t have those same types of things going on, but I expect Lowe’s parents would have gone to all his football games, whereas my parents did not because they had their own things. Hell, my father traveled probably ninety percent of the time for his career and my mother went with him. We had nannies, au pairs, and housekeepers to look after us. And I had my grandmother, Glory. She lived in our house, the regal matriarch of the Rothschild family, but she was always there for us kids. Me especially because we were both female and just shared a love of certain things more than she did with my brothers. I love my parents. I love my brothers. But I thought the sun rose and set on my grandmother, and her loss still hasn’t quite been fully absorbed by me yet. In some ways, coming here and buying Mainer House has helped to heal the hole in my heart, but in
others, it hurts in a different way because I didn’t get to share any of this stuff with her except for her dementia-induced ramblings about her childhood growing up here. Catherine turns to me with a warm smile, taking the dishes from my hands. “You don’t have to do that, honey.” “And you didn’t have to cook such an amazing and delicious meal, opening your home to me and Morri, but you did,” I tell her with a grin. “Touché,” she with an incline of her head, before jerking it back toward the swingthrough door that separates the kitchen from the dining room. “When you go back in, ask if anyone wants a refill of coffee, please.” “Got it,” I say, then I’m off to see to coffee and cleaning the rest of the plates from the table. ♦ “WELL, GOT MY belly full of another marvelous meal,” Pap says to his daughter-in-law as he pats his stomach. Catherine beams back at him, and it’s obvious they share a tight bond. “Better head to Chesty’s for my nightly beer.” Lowe, Colt, and Gerry snicker and I suspect it’s because he used the word “beer” in the singular rather than plural. We’d all gathered on the front porch after the kitchen was cleaned, Gerry sipping on a whiskey, the rest of us on sweet iced tea. The house had a long, wide porch that spanned the width of the structure, and was filled with rocking chairs, wicker loveseats, and a massive swing that could seat four at one end. “Can I catch a ride back to town with you?” Morri asks Pap. “Sure thing,” Pap replies as he stands. “What’s wrong with riding with me?” I ask Morri with a cocked eyebrow. “I brought you here.” “You’re coming to my house tonight,” Lowe announces, and there’s more snickering by all the men at the table except for Morri. Okay, that’s awkward. I shoot a glare across the porch at Lowe, who has been casually leaning up against the porch rail with his long legs crossed at the ankle. He shoots me an innocent look. “What?” I glare at him harder. “Not cool.” “Relax, Mely,” he says casually with a wink. “I just want you to come over for a bit and let me show you some old family photos I’ve got. Thought maybe your grandmother might possibly be in there.” My face flames hotter than I’ve ever felt it before, and I’m struck with a moment of relief that he didn’t just tell his family that we’d be having sex, but then, I’m immediately filled with disappointment that it didn’t look like hot sex was on the agenda tonight.
God, Lowe is such a gentleman. It might actually be killing me with anticipation. Pushing off the porch rail, Lowe walks up to me and extends a hand. “Ready to go?” I smile up at him but I’m sure he can sense the retribution in my gaze for pulling my leg like that. Turning to look at his mom and dad sitting side by side on one of the white wicker loveseats, I say, “Thank you again for having me over for an amazing dinner.” “Our pleasure,” Gerry says with a nod. Catherine adds, “Door’s always open.” Morri pops up from his chair and then walks to Catherine, extending his hand. “I’m flying out of here tomorrow so not sure when I’ll see you again.” “Oh,” Catherine says in astonishment as she stands up, ignores Morri’s hand, and wraps him in a hug. “Well, we have so enjoyed meeting you and can’t wait for you to come back to visit.” Gah… this family. They are amazing. Gerry and Colt also stand up from their chairs. While I doubt they’re the huggy type with anyone, they each give Morri a sincere handshake, Gerry clapping Morri on the shoulder a few times. Morri, Pap, Lowe, and I proceed down the porch. When we reach the bottom, I yelp as Lowe’s hand drops and smacks my ass. He leans down and whispers, “I’m serious about the looking at old pictures tonight. That’s all I have planned, then I want to get you home so you can spend the rest of the evening with Morri. But that doesn’t mean we won’t make out and maybe fool around a little.” All the men are snickering again as they witness this, although I know they couldn’t hear what Lowe said. “You’re rotten,” I mutter back out of the side of my mouth. “And you love it,” he says confidently, his arm coming around my shoulder to pull me in close as we walk side by side. And I do love it. I really do.
CHAPTER 21
Lowe
I
PULL THE 1970’s orange Dodge Charger up to the front of Mainer House and lay on the
horn. The first twelve notes of the song “Dixie” blare loudly. In ten seconds, Morri and Mely are out on the front porch, staring down at the car with mouths wide open. A few people come out of Sweet Cakes but once they see me and the General Lee replica car I’d borrowed from Floyd this morning, they turn back inside without a second glace. Turning the car off, I push into the seat, twist my body, and reach my hands outside the window to latch onto the roof so I can pull myself out of the car. The doors were welded shut to mimic the original car. Morri and Mely walk down the porch steps as I step onto the sidewalk. We all meet at the passenger side of the orange beast. “Your chariot has arrived,” I say as I sweep my hand toward the car. “Thought you might want to ride to the airport in style today.” Morri’s flight leaves late afternoon, but I decided to take the day off. We’re all going to do lunch in Raleigh first. Mely’s eyes are sparkling with humor but Morri just looks at me blankly, his eyes shifting once to the car, and then back to me. “What in God’s name is that thing?” “It’s the General Lee,” I say as I lean my butt back against the passenger door and cross my arms over my chest. “You know… from the Dukes of Hazzard.” Morri wrinkles his nose and says blandly, “I’ve never seen the show, but I do know what it is.” I pat the hood lovingly. “This right here was one of my favorite childhood shows. It was in syndication, but still… Catherine Bach in those tiny little shorts was every kids’ wet—um, well… I liked the show and all.” Mely’s hand comes up to her mouth where she’s stifling a laugh. Morri just raises one of those perfectly arched brows at me, crossing his arms over his chest. “You do realize that it bears the Confederate Flag.” “Yup,” I say in confident affirmation. “Plays Dixie on the horn, too.” “Got that part,” he says dryly, then asks, “And in what universe do you think it’s cool for a black man to ride in a car that has a Confederate Flag on the top and Dixie blaring
from its horn?” “Well, I’m glad you asked that,” I say as I push off the car and take a step toward Morri. “Did you know that the Confederate Flag wasn’t even the official flag of the Confederacy? In fact, the Confederacy went through three different flags during the Civil War, but the Confederate Battle Flag wasn’t one of them.” “Didn’t know that,” Morri says. “Now, this flag is divisive, make no doubt about it,” I continue as I slap my hand on the roof where the flag is painted. “But after the Civil War, it was mostly used to commemorate confederate veterans. True… white supremacist jackasses used it as sort of their symbol, which sadly, I think tainted its historical purpose, but there’s more behind it than slavery and racism.” Morri doesn’t say anything, and Mely watches with interest. “As for the song Dixie,” I say. “Its history is rooted in color for sure, made popular by blackface minstrelsy in the 19th century, but… it was also a favorite of Abraham Lincoln and was played at his rallies. It was also played at General Lee’s announcement when he surrendered.” “Really?” Morri asks with interest. “Really,” I say, and then I finish up by saying, “It may come as no surprise to you, but I was a history major in college. And I figure you’re a man who likes to make statements. And what better statement could be made than a black gay man driving the General Lee to Raleigh? Kind of thumbs your nose up at those who use the flag with prejudice, doesn’t it?” “You want me to drive?” he asks with surprise. “Well, that was Floyd’s idea,” I say with a grin. “This is his car. He thought you might enjoy the irony of it. He said he had a blast with you showing him your world, and thought he’d offer up a little more local flavor for you.” “Can I honk the horn as much as I like?” he asks with genuine interest. “Duh,” I say drolly. “I mean, why wouldn’t you?” “This is going to be fabulous,” Morri says, and just like that, we’re going to be making a splash today. He then turns serious as he starts to round the car, looking at it in more detail. “Now, be a love, Lowe, and get my luggage. It’s all in the foyer.” Mely snickers, but I don’t even bat an eye. I start toward the house, stopping by Mely only to lean down and plaster a quick kiss to her mouth before I trot up the steps of the house. ♦ TURNS OUT, MORRI couldn’t drive the General Lee as it was a stick shift, and he didn’t know how. But he proudly sat in the front seat as we drove to Raleigh, the windows down and his right forearm hanging out pure redneck style as we cruised I-40 to the airport. The
looks people gave us were priceless, especially because Morri chose sort of a silky, frilly blouse to wear with a pair of white, skinny pants. Frankly, he looked more out of place because of his clothes than he did because of the color of his skin. Regardless, he had a good time and is smiling brightly when we pull up to the front of the airport, whereby he leans over and lays on the horn one last time. It only serves to guarantee that everyone is looking at us as Morri and I pull ourselves out through the window. I then help Mely out, which is a bonus since doing so plasters her up against my front for a few seconds before I lower her to the ground. “I’ll get a cart,” Mely announces quickly when her feet hit the ground. “Be right back.” Mely darts into the sliding doors opening to the Delta counters, and I go to the back of the car with Morri to pull out his luggage. “Listen,” Morri says as he leans against the car while I do all the work. “You’ll be careful with Mely, won’t you?” I stop what I’m doing and stand up straight to look at him. “Careful?” “She’s falling for you,” Morri says. “Hard.” This news stuns me because while there is no doubt we are growing closer and closer, and it won’t be long in my opinion before we move this thing to a more intimate nature, I honestly didn’t really know how Mely felt about me. It’s not something we’ve talked about in detail, but we have a connection for sure. I guess what stuns me is that Morri feels the need to worry about this. “You know I wouldn’t hurt her, right?” I ask him. Morri rolls his eyes at me. “I’ll admit I didn’t like you at first, but any man who has enough confidence in himself—as well as knows me enough to know I wouldn’t be offended by the idea of riding in the General Lee—has to appreciate the fact that Melinda is just a really special person. Mainer House is special to her. This gorgeous state is precious to her, and I’m pretty damn sure that you might be sitting at the top of her priority list right now. I know you’d not intentionally hurt her, but I know my Mely. What she has with you is a lot deeper than anything I’ve seen before, and I’ve seen it all. If you are not feeling the same, or you aren’t ready for something serious… don’t let this go on too much longer.” “She’s in this for the long haul is what you’re saying?” I ask him point blank. “With you, yes,” Morri says unequivocally. “The way she talks about you, looks at you… she may not even know it yet, but I think you’re it for her.” I slide my gaze over to Mely working to feed money into the machine that holds the luggage carts. The quickening of my pulse in just looking at her tells me something. Looking back to Morri, I say, “I think she might be it for me as well.”
A look of utter relief flashes in his eyes as his entire body seems to relax. He’s really worried about her, and that makes me like the dude even more. Mely approaches with the cart. While I load the bags, they hug it out hard. When they break apart, Morri surprises me with a hug as well, and I give it right back to him. I got more than Mely when she decided to buy Mainer House. Looks like I got a new friend too. Stepping into my side, Mely’s arm goes around my waist, and I bring mine around her shoulder. I squeeze her tighter when I hear her first sniffle as Morri pushes the luggage cart into the airport, looking back over his shoulder to blow her a kiss. When the sliding doors close behind him, tears are streaming down her face. Without thought, I turn her into my chest and let her cry for a few minutes as I rock her. She and Morri have such an easygoing relationship full of banter, and even squabbling, that I’m not sure I understood how close they are until this moment based on Morri’s worry and the reaction of Mely right now. Finally, she pats her hands against my back to indicate she’s done and pulls back. Rubbing her fingers under her eyes to smooth away any tears, she looks up at me. “Ready to go?” “Yup,” I tell her as I take her hand and lead her to the passenger window. Scooping her up, I turn to put her legs through the window. She gracefully pulls herself the rest of the way into the seat. I lean down, put my elbows on the edge of the window and look at her. “You okay?” She nods. “Yeah, sure. Going to miss that man.” “He’ll come back to visit,” I assure her. “And you’ll go up there.” “I know,” she says with a brave smile. “And I got you to distract me.” My lips curve deeply, and I lean in the window to give her a kiss. When I pull back, I murmur, “I’ll distract you in any way you want.” And damn… she shivers over my words. Shivers. Over just words. “Actually,” she says as she leans back just a bit so she can look better into my eyes as I’m hovering all in her space. “I have to go to Vegas day after tomorrow.” “What?” I say in surprise, pulling out of the window but still leaning down so I’m eye level. “I got a text this morning from a friend of the family who has a winter home out there, and she wants to do a complete renovation. Wants me to come out and do a bid on it. I’ll only be gone for two days.” “Oh,” I say dumbly, not sure why I’m feeling a little funky about this. Then I realize.
I don’t want to be without Mely. Not even for a day or two. “I’ll come with you,” I say casually, just pretty much inviting myself whether she likes it or not. But in a casual way. “You will?” she asks. And that’s a definite acceptance of my invitation in my mind. “Sure,” I say with a smile and lean in a little closer again. “Besides… you. Me. Sin city. Why wouldn’t I want to go there with you?” “I like the way you think, Mr. Mancinkus,” she breathes out softly and then presses her mouth to mine. Okay, I know it’s bad that a million dirty thoughts run through my head all at once, but mostly I’m just looking forward to a few days with this amazing woman and having her all to myself.
CHAPTER 22
Melinda
“I’
M PRETTY SURE this is a bad idea,” I tell Lowe as the ride attendant pulls on my harness
first, then Lowe’s. “It’s a great idea,” he assures me as he reaches a hand out to pat me on the top of my leg. Our seats are a foot apart on the circular base. My hand flies out and latches onto his, my fingers curling so hard he curses under his breath. Leaning forward so he can see past the thickly padded harness, Lowe looks at me. “You okay?” “I have a tiny fear of heights,” I admit to him. His eyebrows furrow inward. “Why didn’t you tell me that when I suggested this ride?” Well, probably because I was drunk and honestly, the Sling Shot didn’t look that intimidating when I was feeling all warm and fuzzy and we were just walking around all night. We’d stop into a casino and play a few games, have a few cocktails. We’d peoplesee. Have a few cocktails. We’d kiss. Have a few more cocktails. I wasn’t thinking straight when Lowe looked at me with those mesmerizing eyes and suggested we go on a thrill ride. I would have done anything he asked. I shrug. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.” “Oh God, Mely,” he says with a nervous laugh and squeezes my hand. “Let me see if I can get you off this thing.” Then he turns and calls over his shoulder in the direction the attendant went. Lowe was ignored, or the guy didn’t hear us, but then loud music starts blasting and my blood pressure skyrockets. My nails dig down into the back of Lowe’s hand with pure fear guiding my actions. He’s a gentleman and doesn’t pull away, but calls out, “Close your eyes. It will be over fast.” Yes, that’s exactly what I want to hear because “fast” is the speed by which I want to be launched one hundred feet into the air. “Oh, this was stupid,” I call out in a quavering voice, my gut tightening hard. “So, so stupid.” “We could have done something more stupid,” Lowe calls back and gives me a reassuring squeeze, which I know is hard with my nails embedded in his skin.
“Nothing more stupid than this,” I call back, pressing the back of my head into the cushioned headrest and slamming my eyes shut. Lowe squeezes my hand again and laughs. “We could have gone to one of those gaudy wedding chapels and got married by Elvis. Or to that sex club we walked past… what was it called? The Wicked Horse or something like that.” This makes me laugh. For a brief, glorious moment, I forget my fear. I open my eyes and lean forward to look at Lowe. He grins back at me and says, “See… forgot all about —” I shriek as the cylinder shoots into the air. A string of curses flies out of my normally clean and fairly wholesome mouth, as I find vulgarity to be tedious. Lowe bellows out a laugh as we fly to the top, pause for a few seconds, and then I shriek again as we free fall back to earth. Please, sweet baby Jesus. Let me live and I’ll never do anything stupid again. ♦ LOWE PRESSES ME into the door of his hotel room and kisses me hard. Pulling back only slightly so he can speak against my lips, he asks, “Can I carry you over the threshold?” Yup… appears we could do something stupider. But I don’t care. I laugh because I’m drunk, I’ve fallen for a beautiful man, and it appears I now have him as a husband. My hands slide into his hair and I pull his mouth back to mine. He pushes against me, his mouth opening, and the kiss goes a million degrees hotter than it’s ever been. “Let’s consummate this marriage, Mr. Mancinkus,” I say into his mouth, and then give his lip a bite, which causes him to groan. Lowe’s head pulls back but he doesn’t go far, looking hard into my eyes. “Regrets tomorrow?” “You mean, am I going to question the fact that we got drunk, somehow decided it would be ‘fun’ to get married by Elvis, and now I’m shackled with a hot, gorgeous husband?” “Something like that,” he mutters. I laugh and slide one hand from his hair to his cheek. “You and I are so going to be ashamed of ourselves tomorrow morning, and we can worry about it then. But right now, you and I don’t have one thing holding us back from getting one hundred percent acquainted with each other on a carnal level.” Lowe gives a mock groan of passion and leers at me in dramatic fashion. “I love it when you talk dirty, Mely.” Giggling, I pull him back down for another kiss. Within moments, it ignites so hot we’re grinding against each other. It’s then I realize I’m unbuttoning the front of his shirt and reaching inside.
“Okay, let’s slow this down just long enough to get inside,” he says as he grabs my hands and pushes them away. “Don’t want everyone seeing my wife like this.” I don’t laugh as Lowe reaches into his back pocket. I think we were both willing to do something utterly stupid by getting married, assuming we could easily get an annulment, but hearing Lowe say, “my wife” slams into me so hard that my knees start to buckle. I put my hand on Lowe’s shoulder to steady myself as he pulls out his room key and slides it into the electronic slot. He pushes it open and props a hip against it. “Mely?” Lowe asks, and I find myself blinking my eyes to focus in on him. “You okay?” I worry at my lip a moment and then ask him hesitantly, “Is there a chance this wasn’t a stupid idea?” “What?” he asks with a stunned look on his face. Oh, crap. Crap. He wasn’t feeling that same thing I was. If I called him my husband, he wouldn’t get all fluttery or have that feeling of rightness with the world that I experienced just for a moment. “Never mind,” I say quickly as I turn away from the door to go to my room next door. “We’re drunk and this was just silly. We can rectify it in the—” “Oh no you don’t,” Lowe says as he grabs me by the elbow and pulls me into him. “You do not get to start with the regrets yet.” I pull my arm out of his grasp, and I’m mortified that perhaps I thought this was more than just drunken foolery, so it makes me grumpy. “Oh, so sorry, Lowe. I shouldn’t have regrets yet until you consummate the marriage. Wouldn’t want you to get blue balls or anything?” Lowe just stares at me a moment, his face blank, and I think he might laugh at me, which would totally ease the tension, and then he’d forgive me for being such a bitch in this moment. Instead, his eyes harden and he grits out. “I think being your husband gives me the right to spank your butt for that assumption about why we’re standing here right in this moment, but instead, I’m just going to chalk this up to you being unsure of what’s going on here. My eyes narrow at him because he’s managed to make me feel foolish, and this is confusing since I have no clue how I should be feeling. “Then please enlighten me, Lowe. What the hell is going on here?” Rather than answer me, his face softens and then I’m swept up in his arms. My own lock around him tight as he turns sideways and we step into his hotel room.
“First,” he says as the door swings shut behind us. “I’m carrying you over the threshold as promised and as a southern gentleman, it’s something I’m bound to do or else my mama will box my ears when I get home.” I giggle and lay my head on his shoulder, because as confused as I am and as mad as he just was, Lowe at his core lets humor lead the way. My belly starts to flutter as he strides into the room and lays me down on the bed. I go dizzy when he crawls on top of me, but just hovers on his hands and knees to look down at me seriously. “Mely,” he says softly. “You and I just did something goofy fueled by alcohol. I can’t speak for your family, but mine will roll their eyes and go with the flow of it. Or… we did something that maybe was going to happen one day down the road anyway. If that’s the case, then this is going to make a hell of a story for our children.” More fluttering in my belly at the thought of Lowe and me sitting in our house one day, surrounded by little kids. “I know this is fast,” he continues, and I bring my focus back. “You and I have operated at one speed only since the day we met in the courtroom that first time. And that’s fast. Passionately fast.” “But we haven’t even—” I start to say. “No, you and I haven’t been intimate yet, but everything else we’ve done to get where we are right now has been done with passion. You get we have that between us, right?” I nod. It’s so clear we have that. “So, let’s stop worrying about it tonight, and when the alcohol clears tomorrow, we can decide what to do. But I say whatever we decide, we do it without regret, because I like you a lot, and I think you like me. Nothing we’ve done has been so stupid that we can’t still be friends after it’s all said and done.” I let out a huge sigh of relief over his words, knowing that come tomorrow morning, Lowe won’t hate me and I won’t hate myself for our rash actions, or vice versa. “One more thing we need to discuss,” he says seriously. “Okay.” “I want you, Mely,” he says in a deep voice. “You’re lying under me right now. We have a piece of paper saying we don’t have to wait another minute if decorum or propriety are concerns. I’m not much of a religious man, but right now under the eyes of God, your body is mine and mine is yours.” “Oh, good God… is it possible to climax from words alone?” I murmur. If he keeps talking that way, I’m going to find out. Lowe smiles at me. A lazy, sweet smile but his eyes are heated. “This isn’t happening tonight unless you tell me in all honesty you’d have me in your body regardless of that
marriage license. I think you and I were headed there soon anyway, but—” “Lowe,” I interrupt him, bringing my hands to his face. “I would never think you did this just to get in my panties.” “Others might,” he points out softly. “I don’t care what others think,” I tell him firmly. “Only you. And if you care what I think, then yes… regardless of that license, I want you to make love to me. I have for a damn long time, and all the kissing and fooling around so far just isn’t enough. No matter what we did tonight or we do tomorrow morning, I want you. All of you. In every way.” “Okay, you had me at the ‘make love’ proclamation,” Lowe says with a low laugh, bending his head down to graze his lips over mine. “But that ‘in every way’ really has me thinking dirty thoughts. Any objections to getting naked with me like right now, Mrs. Mancinkus?” “I thought you’d never ask,” I tell him, and then his mouth is on mine. We consummate the marriage… Three times before we go to sleep.
CHAPTER 23
Lowe
I
COLLAPSE ON
top of Mely, my sweaty body pressing hers down into the mattress. Rubbing my cheek against hers, I mutter, “I can’t get enough of you, Mrs. Mancinkus. I knew it would be good. Just didn’t know it would be this good.” Mely laughs, tightening her hands around my back. I can feel her heartbeat still galloping hard through her chest wall right into mine. “You’re going to have to let me out of bed, Lowe. I’ve got to meet with Paula and her husband in a few hours.” I roll off Mely with a groan, and then pull her right into the side of my body. Her arm goes over my waist and her face presses into my neck. I look to the window and the early morning sunlight shining in. To say that we made the most of our wedding night is an understatement. If Mely didn’t have her design appointment soon, I’d insist on room service breakfast and another round of sweaty, marital bliss before we even bothered to think about what to do with the rest of the day. We’re silent for a while, both of us trying to regulate pulse, breathing patterns, and such. We definitely share a “vigorous” appreciation for all marital rights in the bed. Mely’s voice is soft and sated when she asks me, “What do you want to do for the rest of the day after I get back from my appointment?” I smile to myself. If I had my druthers, we’d stay in the hotel room the rest of the day and evening. But I know what she’s asking, and it’s time we talk about what to do. Planting one hand into the mattress, I pull myself up to sit against the headboard before dragging Mely over me so she’s straddling my lap. Face to face is best for this conversation. She immediately makes a grab for the sheet to cover herself, but I yank it from her hands. “Don’t cover that up. Not until we decide what to do, and until that time, you’re still my wife and I like looking at you naked. Okay?” Mely rolls her eyes at me but drops her hold on the sheet, instead putting her hands on my chest where she looks at me with more seriousness than I’ve ever seen in her eyes. “What should we do?” “Are you hungover?” I ask her instead. “Headache? Upset stomach?” “Lowe,” she says with exasperation. “We just had sex. And I’ll gladly have it again with you later regardless of what we decide to do about—” I lean forward and kiss her hard to shut her up, just as quickly leaning back to stare at her. “Baby… you are dynamite in the sack but you nearly broke me a few minutes ago, so
I need more time to recharge. I merely ask how hungover you are because I want to gauge how drunk you were last night.” Mely blinks at me several times as she comprehends what I’m saying. Her lips curl slightly as she shakes her head. “I’m not… hungover at all, actually.” “Me either,” I say pointedly. Truth of the matter is, we’d had several cocktails but over a really lengthy period. Sure… we were buzzed by the time we stumbled into the Chapel O’Love or whatever the hell that place was called where we decided to just peek inside as a lark. But neither of us were as drunk as Cooter Brown, that’s for sure. “Maybe it wasn’t all that crazy what we did,” I suggest to her. “But we hardly know each other.” A damn valid point in return. “What I know I really like,” I say with a charming grin. She grins back at me, but just a moment before lowering her eyes to my chest. When she looks back up, the smile is gone and her expression is grave. “What about what we don’t know about each other?” “I snore,” I admit. “I heard that last night,” she says dryly. “I sometimes drop my towel on the floor after my shower and don’t pick it up.” She snickers. “So you’re saying we should move in with each other, huh?” I let my smile drop, only so she knows I’m never kidding about this. “Mely… I’ve never felt for another woman the way I feel for you. That’s the honest-to-God truth. I’d be around you 24/7 if I could, because you’re just that magnetic to me. I know we’re doing everything backward and wrong, and we sure as heck didn’t start off right. But I do know that I want to be with you. Marriage paper or not, I want to be with you, and frankly… if that’s for the rest of my life, I’m really okay with that.” Mely sucks in air even as her eyes soften. “You have quite a way with words, Lowe.” “Not really,” I say. “If I was really any good, I would have gotten in your panties a lot faster.” With almost a cackle, Mely slaps lightly at my chest and tosses her head back. I’m slightly distracted by her breasts, which are now hovering right in my line of sight, but when she looks back to me with those clear blue eyes, I think my life really starts. “Okay,” she says, her eyes still shining with amusement but also with excitement. “Maybe we should give this a try. Not rush off to get an annulment.” “We’re crazy for doing this,” I warn her. “Totally,” she agrees as she wiggles on my lap, and well, hello there Lowe, Jr.
“You realize we just now made this decision, so it’s probably already gossip in Whynot right now, right?” Mely snickers and leans in to kiss me on my jaw, then slides her mouth to my ear. “I think I’m going to like being the talk of the town with you.” Lowe, Jr. now has his second wind and wants to join in on the conversation. I bring my arms up to band around her waist, but before I even know what’s going on, Mely’s rolling out of bed and grabbing her clothes off the floor. “I’m going to head over to my room to get in the shower.” “Oh, hell no,” I mutter as I lean over the side of the bed and make a grab for her. She giggles and jumps away from me. I absolutely ache as I watch her shimmy her panties up her legs, but I know she should get ready for this appointment. Mely has the luxury of picking and choosing what work she does, but this could be a huge design project for her and I understand that. So I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling as she gets dressed. Then her face is in my line of vision as she bends over me and presses her lips against mine in a sweet kiss. “I’ve got to go. I should be back in time for lunch.” “Naked room-service lunch?” I ask mischievously. “Is there any other kind?” she quips. Before I can even think of a comeback, she’s breezing out of the room. My wife. I watch the door for several long moments, and with a sigh, I reach over to the nightstand to grab my phone. I pull myself back up to lean against the headboard and dial my mama. She needs to be the first to hear the news. “Hey, honey,” Mama answers on the second ring. “Enjoying Vegas?” “It’s a city I’d only ever been able to take in small doses, but this has been a great trip so far,” I tell her. “Do any gambling?” “A little. Didn’t win anything.” “See any shows?” she asks, and I can hear pans rattling around so I assume she’s up cooking an early breakfast for my dad and Colt or washing up after. “Nah,” I tell her. “Not my thing.” “What have you done then?” she asks a little distractedly as I can hear my dad say something in the background. “Got married by Elvis,” I say, and then I hear something loud crash to the floor. “Lowe Christopher Mancinkus,” my mama gasps. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Not joking,” I tell her solemnly. “Is she pregnant?” she asks in a low whisper and I can tell she’s moved away so my dad can’t hear. “Who?” I ask, just to pull her leg a little. “Mely, of course,” she says harshly and I can tell she’s getting frustrated. “Who says I married Mely?” I have to bite down on my tongue not to laugh. “Maybe it was a Vegas stripper.” “Lowe,” she says through gritted teeth. “What is going on?” I do laugh this time, but I keep it short and not overly mocking toward my mama. “We had a little too much to drink yesterday, and we went into this little chapel just to check things out, and honestly… we thought it would be hilarious at first, and we knew we could get it annulled, and well… we did it. And then we woke up this morning, and it wasn’t so funny anymore.” “So, you got it annulled?” she asks curiously. “We didn’t get an annulment,” I tell her quietly. “We decided to give this a go.” “Oh,” she says softly, and even louder as the implication her son just got married hits her. “Oh.” “Mama,” I say as I look out the window, past the buildings to the Mojave Desert. “I’m pretty damn sure I’m falling in love with her. Or maybe I’m there. I don’t know, but I know this is different and she’s the one. There is no doubt we’re taking a big leap here and faith is the only thing leading us at this point. But I feel good about it.” “Honey… Lowe,” she says tenderly, immediately accepting me at face value that I might not know what I’m doing, but at least I’m following my heart, which isn’t a bad thing. “You’ve always been the one I never feared for when it came to love. I knew you’d find the deepest kind one day because you’re the one who got all the heart in this family. If you tell me she’s the one, then she’s the one.” “Thanks, Mama,” I say, relieved that the one person in the world whose opinion would truly matter on this has just reassured me. “I love you.” “Love you too, my baby boy.” “Grown man here,” I remind her with a grin only I can see, but I know she can hear. She laughs in return and murmurs, “I’m going to go tell your dad the news. He just headed out to the barn.” “Okay.” “We’re having another wedding though,” she warns. “I want pictures. And cake. A beautiful embroidered handkerchief I can cry into.” “Okay, Mama.”
“Not joking about this, Lowe. You make sure Mely understands,” she says, feeling the need to press her position. “Okay. I’ll see you when we get back tomorrow, and we can talk all about it.” “You going to move into Mainer House?” my mom asks. “Mama… I have no clue about anything other than I have a wife. When I know, you’ll know.” “Too soon to talk about grandbabies, I’m guessin’?” “Goodbye, Mama,” I say without even giving into that crazy talk right now. She’s still laughing when I hang up the phone. Babies are definitely not on the agenda anytime soon. But the practicing of making babies will be a daily thing as far as I’m concerned.
The Gossip Mill at Central Cafe by Floyd Wilkie
“I’
M TELLING YOU, this bass has my pole near bent in half,” Billy Crump tells me as we
eat our breakfast. “And I’m struggling not to give it any slack. And then this beast gets near the surface, does a slow roll over onto his belly, and that’s when I realized he had to be close to ten pounds or so. And then that darn line just broke.” I chuckle as I break a biscuit apart to put some jam on it. Billy’s fishing tales are always pretty tall. “You see any movement out of Lowe’s cabin?” a female voice says, and I immediately recognize it as Lynette Carnes poking her nosy nose in. I turn and look over my shoulder to see her and Sarah sitting at a table right behind us. Billy turns on his stool, takes his hat off, and scratches at the back of his head before putting it back on. “Not that I recall. But then again, I expect they’d be holed up inside seeing as how they’re technically on their honeymoon.” Lynette doesn’t like that answer as her eyes go blisterin’ hot. But why she feels affronted is beyond me. I think it’s cool Lowe came back from Vegas married to Mely. I was pretty sure that was going to happen one day down the road, and if it happened sooner, that was awesome too. They’ve been back from Vegas for two days now, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of them. But today’s a new workweek and I saw his truck in front of Millie’s, so I know the official honeymoon is probably over. “That sure happened fast, didn’t it?” Muriel comments from the other side of the counter, and I turn to look at her. “Seems like just yesterday they were kissing secretly even as they were fighting.” “What?” Lynette icily. “What do you mean by that?” Muriel nods her head at me. “Floyd told me. Was like only a day or two after the judge ordered him to work on her house, and Floyd caught them kissing late at night. With her pajamas on, no less.” “Sounds like Lowe was already starting to make a play,” Lynette asserts staunchly. “Maybe it was on his agenda to get her all softened up early.” “Whoa, I don’t think—” I say, but then I’m cut off by Billy. “Next night, she made a really expensive meal for him. Maybe she was the one playing Lowe.”
“Why would she?” Muriel tosses out. “He doesn’t have anything she wants. She wanted the house and she got it. No, if anyone was playing anyone at that point, it was Lowe playing her. That house was everything to that boy.” “They have a real connection,” I blurt out, needing to defend Lowe and Mely, mostly because some of my original gossip started all of this. “You say that now, Floyd,” Lynette says calmly. “But you were just in here a week ago today agreeing with me that it was fortuitous that Lowe was courting a woman who now owned the house he wanted.” “Yes, but—” “And Muriel was here and we all agreed,” Lynette continues. “If Lowe wanted that house back, the best way to go about doing it was to marry that woman, then divorce her. We all know she’d get home cooked by Judge Bowe and he’d give him the house in the divorce settlement.” “It’s all hypothesis,” I mutter as I turn back to my biscuit, wanting out of this conversation like right now. “It’s a sure bet,” Billy says staunchly. “Judge Bowe might be a hard ass, but he’s always going to look out after his own.” “I bet that’s exactly what Lowe is doing,” Lynette says, and Billy bobs his head up and down in agreement. I turn to look at her, wondering how this is really any of her business. “There’s no other explanation. You don’t just up and marry someone you’ve only known for three weeks. And you certainly don’t do it in Vegas. I bet he liquored her up good and got her to sign that marriage paper before she even knew what was happening.” Okay, now this just needs to stop. It’s absurd and as protector of this town, I have a duty— My heart stops a little when I glimpse a woman past Lynette’s shoulder at the back of the restaurant, one I hadn’t noticed before and mainly because she’d been reading the paper when I’d walked in and couldn’t see who it was. But I see who it is now. Over the edge of the paper, she stares at Lynette with wide, unblinking eyes. Lynette notices I’ve checked out of the conversation and turns in her chair to see what I’m looking at. She only glances at Mely Rothschild for a second before turning back to me and giving a gloating smile. All conversation seems to have stopped in Central Cafe. Muriel, Billy, Sarah, and I all stare at Mely, who just looks blankly back at us. Then she lays the newspaper on the table, turning to her purse. She pulls some money out and quietly stands from the table. Dropping the money down, she looks to Muriel. “I’ve got to get going. Thanks for the fabulous breakfast. I’m sure this will cover it and a tip for the waitress who served me earlier.”
“Mely,” I say as she starts to walk toward the door. She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t falter in her stride. Shoulders squared, head held high, she walks out and doesn’t give any of us a second glance. Crap, I’m going to have to fix that with her later. I need to make sure she knows I don’t think those things about her and Lowe. And surely she realizes it’s just bored people gossiping about the easiest thing to gossip about. She’s new and interesting to this town. It’s just natural. Not done with any ill intent. Well, except Lynette. I have a feeling she knew Mely was sitting there the entire time, and that’s just wrong. Turning back to my breakfast, I decide I’ll finish it and head over to the hardware store to open. Then I might meander over to Mainer House after work and make my apologies.
CHAPTER 24
Melinda
I
PUT MY key in the lock of my apartment door and nearly yelp when it’s pulled open.
Morri stands there. “There you are,” he positively coos at me and opens his arms up wide. I manage to keep a stiff upper lip as I step into them, dropping my purse to the floor and leaving my rolling case in the hallway. “When you called me a few hours ago and told me you were coming back permanently, I almost had a heart attack. And Lowe’s been calling and texting me, but I haven’t responded—” “Let me pee, Morri,” I say quietly as I pull back. “If you can get my suitcase in and pour some wine, I’ll tell you all about it.” “Of course, Mely baby,” he says, beside himself. With a sigh, I trudge down my very short hall in my very small SoHo apartment that still has an extravagant rent because of its location, and I head into the bathroom. I only sneak a quick peek at my appearance in the mirror, and I know I look wretched. I’m still sporting that stunned look of betrayal, and it hasn’t even morphed to one of sadness or anger yet. I wonder when that will happen. All I know is when I walked out of Central Cafe after hearing my love life so casually discussed, and realized there was a very real theory going around town that I was being used, I almost felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. There was a weird buzzing in my ears and I swear I thought at one point I was going to pass out. And through it all, as I listened to their coarse hypotheses, deep down I refused to believe it. That was, until they pointed out that I foolishly got married after knowing someone for three weeks, after we got drunk and he suggested stopping in that wedding chapel. He is the one who suggested it. Lowe is the one who first brought it up when we were on that ride. Nothing scarier is what he said. And then we just sort of “stumbled” into one? While buzzed? And Lowe’s the one who thought it would be hilarious if we did it? He’s the one who stated if it was a mistake, we could get it annulled. And then he’s the one who charmed me with what was inside his pants and took away any possibility of an annulment.
Leaning back, I look into the mirror again, seeing a veil of red flushing my face. Okay… now I’m starting to get pissed. But I still have to pee. I do my business and wash my hands. When I come back out into the living room, Morri has two large glasses of wine ready and the bottle on my coffee table. Handing one to me, he says, “Here you go.” I take the glass and chug it down without even stopping for a breath. As my throat works double time to suck the stuff down, Morri gasps at my audacity to do such a thing to a very nice wine. When I suck the last drop out, I grab the bottle and pour another. But this time, I sit on the couch with complete decorum and nod my head to the other end for Morri to do the same. When he’s settled, he asks, “What happened?” I lift my glass, take a huge swallow, and hiss slightly as the alcohol hits me a little. “Well, I was in Central Cafe eating breakfast as Lowe went to work really early.” “I still can’t believe you two got married,” Morri says dreamily. I glare at him and he straightens his spine, looking at me with rapt attention. “Sorry.” “It appears the consensus in town is that Lowe married me to get his hands on Mainer House,” I mutter, and then bite down into my cheek so dratted tears don’t start forming. Morri crosses one leg over the other and leans toward me with earnest attention. “Hmm. What did Lowe say to that?” My body jolts as I blink at Morri. “What do you mean?” “Well, what did Lowe say? Was he incensed? Did he understand why that would cause you to be upset?” My eyebrows furrow. “He didn’t say anything.” “Nothing?” Morri asks in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like him.” “I mean he didn’t say anything because I didn’t tell him about this,” I snap at Morri, angry he could think I’d even go to Lowe with that. “I’m confused,” Morri says slowly, walking a fine line with me. “He’s your husband and—” “He’s not my husband,” I growl at my bestie, and his lips press tightly shut. “He wanted Mainer House. I had it. He led me on. Buttered me up. Got me drunk and then acted like it was a silly game to get married. Then he consummated the marriage in such stellar fashion I was sure this was serendipity. That I’d found my soul mate. God, I was so stupid.” I take another huge swallow of the wine.
“No,” Morri says adamantly. “No. He wouldn’t do that.” “You’re taking his side?” I ask in disbelief. “I am if you didn’t even talk to him about this,” Morri returns heatedly. “Please don’t tell me, Mely, that you just up and left without telling him anything.” “I left him a note,” I mutter. “Oh, good goddess,” Morri scolds me. “You’re a child.” “How dare you judge me—” “How dare you judge Lowe like that,” Morri yells, and I’m completely taken aback by how furious he is. “I don’t understand you,” I tell Morri quietly, hoping to bring down his anger level. “Why are you just dismissing my feelings like this?” “Why are you just automatically assuming Lowe had this underlying motive? That he’s using you? That he’s nefarious and mean and underhanded? Because if you believe this about him, then you believe all those things about him, and I’m telling you… you’re wrong.” A slimy feeling of guilt tinged with regret starts to seep into me. If Morri is right, then I’m a fool. But I’m also still bristling with anger and resentment, not only at Lowe, but at a town that would dare to even discuss me in such a hurtful way. I realize no matter what the real story is, the only truth I know is that isn’t my way of life. I can’t understand it. I certainly can’t adapt to it. I was more of a fool than anything to think I could have a life there the way my grandmother did. That something magical and life changing would happen to me. Tipping my glass up, I finish the rest of my wine and stand from the couch. I don’t even look at Morri, but just softly tell him. “I’m really tired and going to go to bed. I’ll talk to you later. Lock the door behind you if you don’t mind.” “Mely,” Morri says, and now I hear the contrition in his voice. But I don’t want to hear it. I probably made a mistake in leaving without giving Lowe a chance to defend himself. I accept that. But I’m done thinking about this for right now. My life just got upended, and I’ll go ahead and admit it for the first time. I feel like my heart has been shredded. The only other time I’ve felt this way was when my grandmother died. I realize… I’m not angry. I’m grieving. ♦ THE SUN COMING in my window hits me in the face and I wince as I sit up in bed. Normally I shut the blinds before going to sleep, but that was the last thing on my mind last night.
“Morri,” I call out as I see it’s just half past ten in the morning from my bedside clock. He doesn’t respond. By the general stillness of the apartment, I know he must have left to go back home last night. Rolling out of bed, I grab my phone from the nightstand and pad into the kitchen. I don’t bother turning it on until I get my first cup of coffee doctored and take a few sips. Then I look to see the damage that’s left behind. First, my voice messages. I’m surprised to only see three since I left Whynot yesterday morning. I’d turned my phone off intentionally as I didn’t know when Lowe would find the note I’d left on the counter of Mainer House, but I knew he’d call me and I didn’t have the guts to talk to him. I’m guessing because there was a small part of me deep down that knew he’d never do something like that, but I was letting my anger at the people in Central Cafe drive me, most especially Lynette Carnes. When she looked at me after dropping the bombshell about how they’d discussed Lowe would get the house in a divorce, she looked straight at me and smiled like a cat and I was the canary. My stomach churns as I listen to the first voice mail from Lowe. What in the hell, Mely? he shouted into the phone. I can’t find you today, was worried something bad had happened to you, and I find a note on the counter telling me it’s over? Just what in the hell, woman? Oh, God. In hindsight, that note was a bad idea. It had been short. Too short. Lowe, I was in Central Cafe today and heard small-town gossip at its finest. It appears everyone agrees that you’ve been playing me. The Vegas marriage was genius. I didn’t realize you’d stoop to marrying me and then divorcing me to get Mainer House back. I didn’t realize it meant just that much to you. Tell you what… you can have the house. I’ll keep my dignity. Melinda Ugh, that was a petty, spiteful note that I’m pretty sure in the clear light of today wasn’t necessary at all. Lowe’s voice continues, although it drops an octave. I hope you know that is not the reason I married you, and while I haven’t said it aloud yet, you must know I love you, Mely. For the love of all that’s holy, I can’t believe you’d be that foolish as to let those people get in your head like that. Just… call me, okay?
I hit delete as I have no desire to ever hear that again. I shore up but give a preemptory wince when I hear the tone of Lowe’s voice on the second voice mail. Okay, now I’m pissed. You don’t even have the common courtesy to call me back or respond to my texts. I haven’t even gotten to his texts yet, and I’m not sure I ever want to. Thank God Morri told me you made it safely to New York. Please call me as soon as you get this. I delete that voice mail too. The third, surprisingly, isn’t from Lowe, but his mother, and that really shames me. Catherine’s voice is sweet as honey, and I can tell she’s as concerned for me as she is her son. Mely… sweetie. I made a promise to myself I’d never interfere in my children’s love lives, but I can’t help it. What you heard was beyond wrong, and there are a lot of people here who are sorry for hurting you. Please don’t turn this on Lowe, though. I can promise you that my boy loves you and would never in a million years hurt you. Please call him. Oh, God. I’m drowning in guilt. I hit delete as fast as I can. Then I turn to the texts from Lowe. They are numerous but surprisingly short, except for the last one. Mely… want to grab some lunch together? Hello? Mely, are you okay? I’m getting worried. Going to head over to Mainer House. I left you a voice mail an hour ago and you still can’t call? Clearly, it’s too much of a bother for you to call me. I just left you another voice mail, and as you might can tell…I. AM. REALLY. PISSED. You’re being a brat.
Then the long text, and I feel like my heart curls up and dies when I finish it. I’m done, Mely. Done chasing you. I thought about hopping a plane to New York and dragging you back here, but then I thought… why should I even bother with the effort? She can’t even return my phone call. Hell, she can’t even bother with the truth. You just up and left without even letting me try to defend myself. So no… not coming to New York after you. Not going to answer your call if you do bother to try to reach me. Only other thing I want you to know is I’ve done some digging and all of this was orchestrated by Lynette. I thought you were smarter than the way you’re acting. Thought you would have figured that out. She’s a piece of work alright, but here’s the thing… she would have at least given me the benefit of the doubt.
I suck in a breath between my teeth, because that was just harsh. But it was also calculated, I know, because without any further thought, I’m dialing Lowe’s number. He doesn’t answer as he promised, and I don’t leave a message. What I have to say is too important for that.
CHAPTER 25
Lowe
I
MEASURE THE area where the check-in desk will go for a third time because even the old
motto “measure twice, cut once” isn’t good enough for me. “Sarah and I are going to be at Chesty’s tonight if you want to come by for a drink.” Damn it. I lose the number in my head as Lynette prattles on, and I can’t concentrate at all. I measure again while she talks, and try to tune her out. But tuning her out means I think about Mely, and that’s even worse. It’s been two days since she left, leaving behind that godawful note. Two days where she’s not responded to my voice mails or texts. Not even that last one where I practically taunted her to come flying back to town to chew me out. I figured about the only way to get her to respond to me was to piss her off on a womanly level, and I also figured throwing Lynette’s name at her would do it. But apparently not. I’ve heard nothing. Neither has Morri, who has been in constant contact with me. “Lowe,” Lynette whines, and I cringe inside. “Are you even listening to me?” “I’m trying to measure something,” I tell her, hoping the terse tone gets the message to her that I’m busy. “Got time to talk to me?” And that’s a voice I’m completely interested in listening to. I whip around to see Mely standing in the doorway of Millie’s, which is really just the framing and drywall at this point, but still… She looks beautiful, and the fullness in my heart right now is an indication of just how lonely I’ve been without her. “Welcome back,” I say with a smile as I toss my pencil down on the notepad that’s resting on my workbench. Mely narrows her eyes at Lynette. I can tell this was not the best scenario for her to have found me in, so I correct the situation the only way I can. The right way.
“Lynette,” I say, and she turns toward me, a pinched look on her face. “I’d like a little privacy so I can talk to Mely if you don’t mind.” There. Nice. Polite. To the point. “So I’ll see you at Chesty’s tonight?” Lynette inquires with a tone that suggests we had firm plans. My stomach drops as Mely’s eyes turn practically frigid. “Pretty sure I’m going to be groveling to my wife instead,” I mutter, and then curse as Mely turns around and flies back out the door. “Don’t go after her, Lowe,” Lynette says as she latches onto my wrist. I pull it free, completely ignoring Lynette and running out the door after my wayward spouse. She’s headed toward Mainer House. I catch up with her just as she hits that block. My arm goes around her waist and I pull her to a stop, turning her to face me. “Don’t be mad about Lynette,” I cajole. “She came by and was just yammering nonsense. I wasn’t even listening to her. I have no intentions, nor will I ever, of meeting up with her for a drink. She was just pulling your chain, babe.” “Don’t babe me,” she grits out, tearing free of my hold so easily. I realize I underestimated how pissed she was to find me in that situation. I’m thinking my last text to her where I threw Lynette’s name in there was a mistake. “I’m going home.” Okay, time to turn the tables on my little spitfire. I slip my arm around her waist again and start directing her toward Mainer House. “Good idea. Let’s go to our house and talk about this.” Hopefully, we’ll get naked after we talk, but I doubt she wants to hear that. Mely spins on me again, managing to dislodge my arm from her waist. She slaps something against my chest. My hands come up to take a thick, white envelope from her as she hisses, “It’s not my house. It’s your house.” Looking down, I examine the envelope and see a New York law firm address on it. “Oh, hell no,” I say through gritted teeth, waving the envelope. “You are not divorcing me. You didn’t even give us a chance.” “Those aren’t divorce papers,” she says softly, and relief floods my body. “I deeded the house to you. It’s yours now regardless of what happens to us.” “What?” I ask, stunned and perplexed and incredibly turned on that she’s not divorcing me. That would have been her easiest solution if she really believed those things about me, and the mere fact that she’s not doing that means she wants to stay married. She wants to be with me. I have to force myself to remain calm and not drag her inside Mainer House to exercise marital rights in, which I don’t give a damn what she says is on these papers, our
house. “The house isn’t part of our marriage anymore,” Mely says as she clasps her hands in front of her almost primly. “Therefore, if you want to divorce me, then I’ll know it’s not about the house.” “That implies you want to stay married,” I say hesitantly. Please, oh please, say you want to stay married. Mely lifts her chin up. “I think it’s worth—” “Lowe,” I hear from behind me, and I cringe. I can’t help it. I full-out cringe and shoot Mely an apologetic look as Lynette comes up beside me. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glances at Mely and then at me. “We were discussing getting together tonight, and I get you want to set things straight with this woman, but let’s face it… it’s never going to work out between you two.” I open my mouth but then Mely’s hand is on my arm where she gives me a warning squeeze. Stepping in front of me, Mely says in a very soft but deadly voice, “I’m only going to say this once. You stay the hell away from my husband. He’s not interested in you. Hasn’t been for years. You are doing nothing but embarrassing yourself with this childish behavior, and it’s doing nothing more than labeling you the town idiot.” “Why…… you…” Lynette starts sputtering, but Mely cuts her off. “I’m here to stay, Lynette. Get used to it. Go about with your spiteful jealousy and your hot-winded gossip, but know that nothing you say will ever cause me to doubt my husband again. My advice to you is to move on and save some face, okay?” Lynette opens her mouth, but I’ve had enough. My arms come around Mely from the back, circle around her chest, and pull her back into me. I look over her head at Lynette and stake my claim as the man who will protect Mely from anything and everyone. “It’s time for you to move on, Lynette. And by that, I mean don’t look my way or Mely’s way again. Don’t talk about her. If I find it happening, you won’t be happy.” “You can’t threaten me—” “Lynette,” I bark at her. “Grow the hell up and move on. We’ve got better things to do than to argue with you about this.” Finally, she does something smart and shuts her mouth. I don’t trust it though, so I take Mely by the hand and lead her up to Mainer House. I fish my keys out of my pocket, unlock the door, and give her a gentle push in. She spins on me as I close the door. “I’m sorry I left like that. It was impetuous and childish and I don’t know what overcame me.” “Can I take a guess?” I ask her with a gentle smile as I put my hands on her shoulders. She nods with relief that she won’t have to do all the heavy work in this apology.
“I think you love me. I don’t know if you admitted it to yourself, and Lord knows we hadn’t said the words to each other outright, but I think when you heard from the town gossips that I was using you to get that house, you were crushed. Devastated. Completely overwhelmed with the implications.” “Think much of yourself?” Mely mutters as her gaze drops downward, but I know I’m right. I bring her gaze back up to mine with a push of my hand under her chin. “I love you, Mely. Just go ahead and admit you love me too.” She laughs and shakes her head. “You’re impossible not to love, Lowe.” “Okay,” I say crisply. “Going back to my last point… I get why you ran. It had to have been awful to hear that stuff.” “I feel like an idiot that I even gave it any credence,” she mutters. “I’d never in my life do anything that underhanded,” I tell her. “I know,” she says quickly. “I mean… I really know that. Once I got past the hurt and shock of the entire town having this theory, I realized how wrong they were. You’d have never done that to anyone.” “You know my last text to you was to light a fire under your butt to get you back here?” I ask her. “I was goading you with mentioning Lynette.” “I know that. And you’re lucky I’m a savvy woman who gets these things or I could have made your life a living hell.” Chuckling, I pull her into me hard and plaster a kiss to the top of her head. “God, I love you.” “Back at you,” she mumbles into my chest. “But if you ever take off like that again without talking to me, I’ll redden your hind end something fierce.” “Maybe I like that,” she says as she pulls back to look at me. I, in turn, look upward to the clouds in the sky. “Oh, dear baby Jesus in heaven. Please don’t let her be joking about that. I know we’re still learning stuff about each other, but if you could have seen fit to give me a wife who is adventurous in the—” Mely hits me in the stomach, not all that lightly, and I double over. I grin at her. Her smile shows me she still thinks I’m cute as all get out. “Can we go upstairs and make up proper like?” I ask. Her gaze turns to look at the staircase briefly before turning back to me. “You think sex is the answer to our problems?” “We don’t have problems, babe,” I tell her just before I swoop her into my arms. She laughs and wraps her arms around my neck. “But if we ever do, I’m going to insist we
always rectify them in the bedroom.” “I’m down with that,” she says before pressing her lips to my neck. And I run up the stairs with my new wife, eager to get started on our life together again.
The Gossip Mill at Mainer House by Floyd Wilkie
“Y
OU GO.” I push Muriel in the back.
She locks her legs and doesn’t budge, but she does hiss at me over her shoulder. “No. You go.” “Billy… you go on up,” I suggest. “No way,” he says as he moves to the back of the crowd standing on the sidewalk in front of Mainer House. “Sarah?” I ask. Sarah stands there with a homemade peach pie in her hands, but she shakes her head in the negative. “Della?” I ask, turning to the woman beside me. “I wasn’t there on the day you all became jackasses,” she points out. “I’m just more of a welcome party.” Della has a casserole in her hands, and it smells divine. “Fine,” I grumble as I start toward the porch. I stomp up the steps and when I get to the top, I wait for my compatriots to gather round me. I look over my shoulder to find them still standing on the sidewalk. “Get up here,” I growl at them. “Or I’m going to use the keys I’ve collected to each of your houses and businesses and I’m going to do something you wish I wouldn’t.” All of them scurry up the porch steps. Taking a deep breath, I turn around and knock on the door. It takes a moment, then I hear feet coming down the stairs. Lowe opens the door wearing a t-shirt and a pair of cut-off sweat pants, his hair sticking up all over the place. He looks clear and bright eyed, which means he didn’t just wake up, which means he wasn’t sleeping, which means he was in bed for other reasons. Damn. “Is Mely available?” I ask tentatively. Lowe grins at me. “Yeah… she’s coming.” And then there she is.
Tying a long robe at her waist, her hair also sticking up all over the place. The smile on her face indicates that— Well, she looks happy. Mely comes to the door and looks at the crowd. “Um… hey, all.” Lowe’s arm comes around her waist, and he pulls her protectively into him. His smile is warm and welcoming to me though, so he knows we’re here to rectify things. “Mely,” I begin after a soft cough. “We all hate that we upset you the other day. It’s not right, but it’s what happens in a small town. People talk because nothing interesting ever happens here. Normally, it’s harmless stuff, but in this instance, you and Lowe got hurt, and we sure are sorry. We hope you’re back to stay though, and we want you to be a part of Whynot. We want you to start gossiping with us, so to speak.” My words must be the thing she needed to hear because she’s pulling me down for a hard hug as she murmurs, “Thank you, Floyd. That was lovely, and yes… I’m here to stay.” “Good,” I tell her, all gruff and business like again. “I’ve added Mainer House to my nightly route. You’re safe, darlin’.” “Aww… that’s sweet, Floyd,” she says. “I’ll need a key to your house, though… just in case.” “Not a chance,” she says firmly but with a polite smile. I just nod and back away, so everyone else can have a few words. One by one, they approach with apologies and food. Invitations for coffee and bridge club. Queries as to whether there will be a real wedding and if it will be an open bar. You know… important stuff. Eventually, everyone has their say, has put their gifts just inside the house, and then Lowe and Mely are backing away and shutting the door to get back to their honeymoon. We all turn and amble down the steps. “I’m thinking we’re going to hear a baby crying in about nine months’ time,” Billy posits. “No way,” Della says. “They’ll want some time to themselves to get to know each other. Two years.” “I’ll say eighteen months,” Muriel adds on. “Wanna start a pool?” I shake my head at these people who just can’t seem to stay out of other people’s business. “What do you think, Floyd?” Della asks.
“Put me down for twenty-two months,” I mutter as I hit the sidewalk and start walking back toward my store. NEWSLETTER SIGNUP!!! Don’t miss another new release by Juliette Poe!!! Sign up for her newsletter and keep up to date on new releases, giveaways, book reviews and so much more. If you enjoyed Stubborn as a Mule as much as I enjoyed writing it, it would mean a lot for you to give me a review on your favorite retailer’s website. Read on for an excerpt from
Barking Up the Wrong Tree The Sex and Sweet Tea Series #3 SAWYER BENNETT WRITING AS
Juliette Poe
CHAPTER 1
Pap
T
HE DOOR TO Chesty’s opens, and I’m stunned to see my twin granddaughters walking in.
So stunned, I check my watch. Yup… only three PM on a Friday and both being local business owners, they rarely take a Friday afternoon off. It’s almost unheard of for them to be able to take it off at the same time. “Not that I’m complaining,” I say to them as they head my way, “but to what do I owe the pleasure?” The girls grin at me as they take the two stools to my immediate right. Sam-Pete is there, putting down two frothy mugs of beer that he started pouring the minute they walked in. It’s slow on a Friday afternoon, but it will start picking up in a few hours. Larkin, the younger of the identicals by roughly two minutes but seemingly the more mature, gives a quick smile to Sam-Pete as Lakin pulls a twenty-dollar bill out to hand to him. “Her drinks are on me this afternoon, as are Pap’s.” Sam-Pete nods and takes the money, turning to the register. “And take a few bucks for yourself,” Lakin says after him. At age thirty, the girls are nearly identical in almost all ways. Up until a few weeks ago, they had the same long hair parted on the same side, but then Larkin cut hers all off. Past that though, their faces are the same. Their mannerisms are the same. Larkin’s a tiny bit heavier than Lakin but in my opinion, it’s so hard to tell, you can’t really use that as a go by. It’s the hair styles that set them apart. “Why are you buying drinks this afternoon?” I ask Lakin, who’s sitting in between me and Larkin. “Well,” Lakin says after taking a long pull off her beer and setting it down. “You’re my pap and you always buy my drinks, so I’m just pre-empting you today. As for Larkin, I owe her since she helped me out in the clinic today.” “Why’s that?” “Because she doesn’t know how to hire competent staff,” Larkin says as she leans forward to look me in the eye past Lakin. Lakin rolls her eyes at her sister and then admits to me, “Jenks quit this morning.” “Jenks Peterson was working for you?” I ask in surprise. He’s a moron.
“I know, I know,” Lakin says with frustration and takes an even larger pull on her beer. “But I’m not a great office manager. I went to vet school to practice animal medicine, not be an overlord.” Larkin snickers but doesn’t say a word. While her sister owns the area’s only veterinary practice, Larkin is also an entrepreneur as she opened the town’s only bakery about five years ago. It’s done amazingly well, and Larkin is definitely more business minded than her sister. “Well, as much as I appreciate the beer,” Larkin tells her sister. “I can’t keep coming to your rescue with my own business to run.” “I know,” Lakin huffs out one more time in exasperation. The door to Chesty’s flies open so forcefully the girls jump in their stools. We all turn to see who could be making such a statement, as most people just tend to politely push the door open in more of a sauntering fashion when entering this bar. The bright afternoon sun outside doesn’t reveal much other than the large figure of a man standing there, legs planted wide and one arm holding the door open as he looks around inside. “Can I help you?” I call out, because my gut instinct says he’s not here for a beer. The man steps inside and lets the tinted glass door swing shut behind him. Lakin mutters an, “Oh, my” as we take him in further. He’s a big boy. Tall as Colt at least and maybe twice as thick, and I don’t mean fat. I mean muscles that pull and stretch at his shirt and pants. Oddly, the man is dressed as if he just got off work in a bank. The shirt is a button down and looks expensively tailored, as do his pants. He’s wearing a tie that’s been pulled loose around his neck with the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His blond hair is wet with sweat, and I know it’s sweat because his face is drenched, as are the large stains under his armpits and across his chest. His clothes are filthy, covered with the signature red clay that’s found in this area, along with grass stains. There are streaks of dirt on his face where he’s obviously tried to wipe sweat away using mud-covered hands. I note his shoes are almost completely covered with wet clay. “I’m looking for the owner of Whynot Veterinary,” he says in a rough voice, his gaze rolling only briefly over Lakin and Larkin, searching the bar for someone else who might fit the bill. “There’s a note on the door that said he’d be here.” Curious, I look to Lakin. She’s staring at the man in abject appreciation of what I’m guessing is his handsomeness. I can’t exactly speak to that, but I’ve seen that look on her face before when she’s been around the menfolk. My granddaughter is a bit of a lady player so to speak. Still, she doesn’t speak up, but merely turns around to give him her back and starts drinking her beer.
Larkin nudges her sister in the ribs. Lakin doesn’t respond. The man is irritated when he asks, “Do any of you speak the English language?” “I do,” I say genially. Easy question. Easy answer. “And where is the vet?” he grits out. I look again to Lakin, but she doesn’t even glance at the man, so I give her up by nodding my head toward her. The guy walks through the bar, his footsteps so heavy I can feel the vibration through my stool. Nudging his way in between Lakin and Larkin—Larkin scooting her stool over to give him room—he leans forward to demand her attention. “Are you the vet?” “Depends,” she says without even looking up, her gaze instead pinned to a Pirates baseball game on the TV. “On what?” “What you need?” she says blandly. “Is there a reason you’re ignoring me?” he snaps at her. “I’m thinking your business isn’t all that busy since you’re drinking on a Friday afternoon. I’d think you might want some business.” “I need an apology first,” she says, eyes still on the TV. “For what?” he asks, incensed. “First, for not even looking at me or my sister, Larkin, twice when you barged in here looking for a vet. You dismissed us right away. Second, because you referenced the ‘vet’ as a ‘he’, it’s clear you don’t think women have the ability to be doctors or something, so I’m not sure I want to help you.” The man mutters a series of unintelligible curses, and then looks to me for assistance. I shrug my shoulders and turn my attention to the game. “Um… what seems to be the problem?” Larkin asks the guy. He turns to face her, the distress on his face evident. “My goats have gotten out of their fence,” he says quickly, and there’s no mistaking the underlying panic in his voice. “I can’t catch them and they’re in the road. One almost got hit.” This gets Lakin’s attention as she is not about to let an animal get hit. She doesn’t bother looking at the guy, but her sharp words are for him alone. “You have no business owning goats if you don’t even know how to keep them contained, or in the chance they get loose, to catch them.”
“Save the lectures,” the man growls at her. “I just bought the damn farm. Unbeknownst to me, the foreman had quit. I just arrived into town to find this mess.” Lakin jolts in surprise and turns to face the man. “What farm?” “Farrington,” he replies. “You bought it?” she asks, eyebrows drawn inward. “Yes, and now I have rampant goats,” he says heatedly. “Will you help me?” “Yes,” she says as she picks up her beer and drains it. When she sets the mug down, she stands up from her stool and hardens her gaze. “But it will cost you.” “I don’t care the cost,” he grumbles as he turns for the door, calling back over his shoulder. “Just help me get the damn animals back in the fence.” Lakin turns around and winks at me with an evil grin. “He’s not going to like the price.” I snicker and raise up my mug to toast her. “Happy goat hunting.” Whynot, NC has gone to the dogs in Barking Up the Wrong Tree (Sex and Sweet Tea, Book #3), coming September 14, 2017! CLICK HERE to pre-order Barking Up the Wrong Tree now! Connect with Juliette online: Twitter: twitter.com/juliette_poe Facebook: facebook.com/AuthorJuliettePoe
About the Author
Juliette Poe is the sweet and swoony alter ego of New York Times Best Selling author, Sawyer Bennett. A fun-loving southern girl, Juliette knows the allure of sweet tea, small towns, and long summer nights, that some of the best dates end sitting on the front porch swing, and that family is top priority. She brings love in the south to life in her debut series, Sex & Sweet Tea.
When Juliette isn’t delivering the sweetest kind of romance, she’s teaching her southern belle daughter the fine art of fishing, the importance of wearing Chucks, and the endless possibilities of a vivid imagination.