Caught Up in the Touch: Sweet Home Alabama

by Trentham, Laura

  “I won’t be around that long.” She needed to buy time to figure out the best course of action. “What about my car?”

  “I’ll get it towed to Jeb Harrison’s shop. He’s a good, honest mechanic.”

  The promise of a cool shower before the hour was up was tempting. Her hair was stuck to her neck, and she’d be shocked if sweat stains hadn’t ruined her blouse. The man had done nothing to warrant distrust on her part. In fact, he’d gone above and beyond to help her, and if she had to meet with Logan Wilde more than twice, it made sense to stay close. If things appeared at all shady, she would hightail it away, coolant leak or not.

  She nodded. “All right. Can I get a loaner car from your mechanic friend?”

  “I’ll have my buddy Dixon drop one off for you. He owns a dealership.”

  “Do you know everyone in this town?”

  “Pretty much. I grew up here, and I suppose I’ll die here. Someday they’ll bury me next to ancestors who settled this land, fought in the Civil War and both World Wars.”

  A sense of melancholy tightened her chest. She forced a tight laugh. “Geez, that’s morbid.”

  His mouth drew into a frown and deepened the crinkles at the edges of his eyes. “I suppose it is, yet deep down, it gives me comfort, a sense of belonging somewhere.”

  Mountain Man had turned into a philosopher, and she had no idea how to respond. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment. What did he see? A heartless barracuda of a businesswoman, or could he see the girl underneath, the one who’d desperately wanted to belong somewhere and who’d sought acceptance at every turn?

  He turned away and dropped the hood closed. The bang reverberated like a gunshot, and an annoyed blue jay flew over them, squawking.

  His voice rumbled, low and throaty. “Why don’t you grab your stuff, and I’ll give you a lift?”

  She blew out a slow breath, needing to regain a sense of control. “Will my car make it to the B&B?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then I’ll drive myself.” She slid behind the wheel but left the door open.

  “Fair enough.” A teasing amusement was back in his face as if he suspected she didn’t trust him. Mountain Man rapped his hand on the roof and retreated to his truck. His gait was relaxed, assured, confident. The man had probably never suffered an anxious moment.

  She clenched her jaw and turned the key. The car started, and coolish air blew from the vents. The rumble of his truck grew louder. His window rolled down, and she pressed the button to lower hers.

  He raised his voice to be heard over the truck. “We’re going to turn left out of the lot. If you have problems, flash your lights and pull over. I’ll go slow.”

  She followed him, prepared for her car to betray her at any moment. The farther down the road they travelled, the less she worried about her car making it and more about where they were headed.

  She questioned the thought process that had led her to this point. Without an operational phone, she couldn’t even fall back on 911. Did a pokey, still-water town like Falcon even have 911?

  She was following a strange man to a strange house. A frenzy of nerves shot from her stomach through her body like electric currents, triggering irrational threads of thought. What was Mountain Man’s real name? How about “Buford?” Not likely. “Beau”? Old-fashioned, upper crust. Didn’t fit. “Chester”? That made her jump straight to Chester the Molester. Dear Lord, what if that was actually his name?

  They turned down a wide street lined with hundred-year-old oak trees. Houses were set well back from the road, each on at least an acre of land. Most were modern stucco or two-story brick.

  Sitting at the end of the street like a queen on her throne, an antebellum-style mansion looked ready for a Gone with the Wind remake. Massive magnolias framed the white-columned beauty. Mountain Man pulled into a gravel driveway that lay in a semicircle up to the front steps and tooted his horn.

  Jessica pulled in behind and turned her car off, but she kept her hand on the key and her foot hovering above the gas pedal. The front door opened. Jessica held her breath, ready for a grizzled old woman accompanied by a dozen cats to sweep out with a rifle.

  Instead, a petite woman with ebony hair in a swinging ponytail swallowed by an oversized T-shirt emerged from the shadows, took one look at Mountain Man, and yelled, “You asshole! How could you sic him on me?”

  The woman stomped barefoot down the sweeping front staircase, picked up a magnolia pod, and lobbed it at Mountain Man. It hit him on the forehead, knocking his hat back.

  “What the fu—heck are you talking about, Lilliana?”

  Was this spitfire of a woman his girlfriend? This certainly had the hallmarks of a lover’s spat. The thought was somehow more bothersome than Mountain Man possibly being Chester the Molester.

  “Your buddy Alec Grayson came by for an inspection. Unannounced.” Lilliana picked up another magnolia pod and threatened to throw it.

  “I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. The city’s hired him part time as a building code inspector. In fact, I come bearing a gift. Your first customer.” Mountain Man opened Jessica’s car door with a flourish.

  Jessica didn’t get out. “Look. It sounds like you two have some stuff to work out, and I don’t want to get in the middle of it. I’ll take my chances on the drive to Tuscaloosa.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Come on and meet a first daughter of Falcon. Lilliana Hancock. Her ancestors settled Hancock County.” Mountain Man wrapped a hand around Jessica’s forearm. The calluses of his fingers and palm rasped against her sensitized skin. The air in the car thickened, and when he tugged her hand off the steering wheel, she didn’t fight him but stepped out.

  Lilliana Hancock smoothed her hair back. The smile that came to her face seemed like one she’d slapped on for politeness sake, stiff and faked. Jessica was familiar enough with the type, keeping one handy as well.

  A breeze snaked through the trees, and the delicate scent of magnolia blossoms wrapped around her. Mountain Man’s hand settled on the hollow of her lower back, a gentle pressure guiding her closer to the steps. The woman had backed up and stood on the second step, putting them all close to equal height.

  Jessica stuck her hand out and slipped on an answering fake smile. “Hello. I’m Jessica Montgomery. If this is going to be too much trouble . . .”

  Mountain Man’s hand dropped from her back, and she found herself missing his touch.

  Lilliana shook her hand with a firm grip and gestured toward the front door with the other. “Not a bit. Welcome to Hancock House. I hope you don’t mind being my guinea pig.” At this, Lilliana’s mouth screwed up into an apologetic grimace before a genuine sunny smile lit her face. It made all the difference. Jessica relaxed and pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head.

  Lilliana came down a step and peered at her face. “My goodness, you have gorgeous eyes. How do you do that with your eyeliner? Can you show me?”

  Jessica ran a finger under her eye. It came away smudged black. “I think it might be a trick of the humidity and being stuck in a car with nonworking AC.”

  “Don’t her eyes look amazing?” Lilliana punched Mountain Man in the shoulder.

  Jessica looked over and held her breath. During their brief time together, Jessica had pegged him for a good old boy. A grin wasn’t a signal of anything more complicated than simple happiness, but he didn’t grin and toss off an answering compliment. His brown eyes didn’t spark but hammered at her, searching for something. The sudden shift tossed her off-balance, and her eyes darted off to the side.

  “Pretty surprising,” he finally said cryptically.

  “O-kay,” Lilliana drawled as she waved a hand in Mountain Man’s direction. “Make yourself useful and get Jessica’s bags. Come on in, and I’ll show you around.”

  The cool blast of air soothed Jessica’s frayed nerves. Everything seemed easier when your body wasn’t about to spontaneously combust. Three pairs of shoes were jumbled u
nder a white bench by the door. Jessica plopped down and kicked off her stilettos, setting them side by side with OCD-like precision. She stuck her legs out and wiggled her toes.

  “Those are some impressive shoes. I never mastered an elegant walk in heels. Which is a shame, ’cause I could use a couple of extra inches.” Lilliana waited in the doorway. “Come on up. Your room is the first one on the hall. It has a private attached bathroom. How tall are you anyway?”

  “About five-nine.” Her three-inch heels put her exactly an inch taller than her father. She always bought three-inch heels.

  A curved staircase rose from the middle of a large atrium and split, leading off into two wings. Jessica skimmed a hand up the oak banister, worn smooth by generations of hands. “How old is the house?”

  “It was built in the 1810s by my many-greats-grandfather Zacharia Hancock. One wing burned in 1892 and was rebuilt. The staircase is from the original though. A Hancock has always lived here.” Pride, worry, and wistfulness entwined the words.

  At the top of the stairs, paint cans were stacked next to a chaise tucked into an alcove. Velvet upholstery worn shiny in places peeked out from under a haphazardly thrown drop cloth. Hancock House was far from being ready for guests.

  Lilliana opened the first door in the right wing of the house and gestured Jessica inside. Jessica poked her head around the doorframe, worried about what awaited, but the blue-washed walls and white bedding over an old-fashioned canopied bed had an old-time charm.

  Jessica’s bare feet landed on a plush, antique rug, the swirling colors a perfect complement to the wide-planked dark-wood floors. This had any hotel beat. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It is rather swanky, isn’t it?” Lilliana clasped her hands under her chin, accenting a pleased smile.

  A door to her left was cracked open. The bathroom? Jessica couldn’t wait to see it. In two steps, she’d pushed the door open. “Dear Lord!”

  Again, Jessica took another leap through time. This time to the 1950s. A color-blind person—or maybe just plain blind—had painted everything in the tiny bathroom hot pink to match the florid tile.

  Lilliana’s sigh brushed over her upper arm. “I should have warned you. The bathroom is next on my list to remodel.”

  Jessica’s mouth opened and closed a few times before locating a distant compliment. “It’s got its own kind of charm.”

  A throaty laugh burst from Lilliana. “You must have been sent to some sort of finishing school. I can recognize another woman schooled in Southern politesse from a hundred yards.”

  “I spent time in an all-girls boarding school up north, actually.” Jessica fiddled with her sunglasses.

  “No boys? That must have been rough. I spent my summers in Falcon being brainwashed by the most ancient of my female relatives. Naturally, I rebelled and became a pot-smoking bohemian artist, but their lessons do come in handy when I need to impress a banker.”

  Jessica muffled a laugh with her hand, not sure if Lilliana was joking.

  “Speaking of acting ladylike, I suppose I owe the dipwad an apology.” Lilliana’s lips pursed and drew to the side, signaling her displeasure at the thought. Mountain Man backed into the room with Jessica’s suitcases and a bag of shoes. Lilliana said in a distinctly unapologetic tone, “Sorry I pegged you with a magnolia pod.”

  “You’ve done worse. Darlin’, can I use your phone? I need to call Jeb to tow Ms. Montgomery’s car.” The ease of their conversation spoke of a long relationship, and Jessica wasn’t sure what to make of the casual endearment.

  “You lose yours again?” Lilliana pulled a phone from her back pocket.

  “Some monster catfish is probably using up all my minutes.” He took it and retreated to the hallway.

  Jessica tuned in to his low, rumbling voice and barely heard Lilliana explain where everything was. When Mountain Man returned the phone, he let his gaze rove all over the room before landing on her. She hadn’t realized how much she anticipated the heat of his regard until it hit her, but something about him had changed. The humor bubbling from under his good-natured manners had vanished.

  “You going to be okay?” His hat shadowed his eyes, but something about his tone combined with his frown made her straighten and take on the demeanor of a boardroom adversary.

  The fact he’d thought her anywhere close to helpless burned. Although, without a working phone or car, and with the panic she worked hard to keep at bay breaking through weak cracks in her façade, she’d been dangerously close. At least she’d felt that way until he’d sauntered up like a dang cowboy.

  “Of course. I’m perfectly fine.” Keeping her voice cool with a twist of tartness like the best lemonade, she smoothed her hair. The mass had surrendered to the humidity and reverted to the natural slight wave she stamped out of existence on a daily basis with a flatiron. Why had she taken her heels off? Mountain Man was entirely too tall.

  “You heading back to Adaline’s tonight?” He scuffed one of his work boots along the fringe of the rug.

  “As long as your buddy delivers me the promised loaner.”

  “It’s on its way.” He took a step backward, toward the door.

  This was it. He was going to walk away, and she’d most likely never see him again. She stepped forward and offered her hand. “Thanks.”

  He hesitated before engulfing it with his. They didn’t actually shake, but stood for an abnormally long time, seemingly holding hands. Under his brim, his face flashed an unexpectedly complicated set of emotions.

  Her simple thanks seemed weak. The man had gone out of his way to help her. He drove a beat-up pickup truck and wore ragged jeans. Her father’s answer to everything was to offer money. She should write him a check for his trouble.

  Instead, with nerves kicking in, she said, “If you didn’t have anything else going on . . . you could stop by Adaline’s later and I’d . . . buy you a drink for helping me out of a tough spot. If you wanted.”

  Lilliana’s head swiveled back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match, her face blank. What if he and Lilliana were an item? Would the woman think Jessica was poaching? She wasn’t poaching. She didn’t want to poach this man. Did she?

  “I’ll most definitely be there, Ms. Montgomery.” He squeezed her hand before letting go, touched the brim of his hat with a forefinger, and retreated. Jessica stayed planted until the clomp of his boots faded into the rumble of his truck, her hand still slightly outstretched.

  “Excuse me while I cut through the sexual tension to the door. I’m sure you’d like to clean up for tonight.” Lilliana’s voice vibrated, plucked by strong emotion. Hurt? Anger? Sadness?

  Jessica’s tongue worked clumsily. “Nothing happened, I mean, nothing is going on. It’s not what you think. We met a couple of hours ago. If you and he—”

  “Dang, slow down, girl.” Lilliana broke into laughter. “Logan and I are not together, if that’s what you’re worried about. In fact, I’m pretty sure he still has cooties. But, hey, if that doesn’t bother you . . .” She shrugged.

  Logan. The name razored away the crazy attraction, leaving a blistering wound that oozed humiliation. “That was Logan Wilde? Mountain Man is Logan Wilde?”

  “You called him Mountain Man?” Lilliana giggled.

  Jessica chuffed. “In my head.”

  The humor melted out of Lilliana’s face. “You seriously didn’t know his name?”

  Jessica grabbed one of the posters of the bed, staring down at the green and blue swirls while she systematically reviewed their encounter. “No. Neither of us introduced ourselves, actually.”

  Which meant he’d only known her name when she introduced herself to Lilliana. That’s when everything about him had tensed and darkened. Of course, he’d recognized her name and he’d be at Adaline’s tonight. Not because he wanted to have a drink with her, but because he freaking owned the place. She dug her fingernails into the old, soft wood.

  “How do you know his name but not him?” Lilliana
asked.

  “I’m here to offer him a job.” She sank onto the edge of the soft mattress.

  “He has a job.”

  “A better job. Or at least, one that pays better,” she said vaguely.

  Part of Jessica wanted to crawl under the covers and forget about her task, at least for the night, but the cutthroat part trained by her father wondered if she could somehow spin this to her advantage.

  The one thing she couldn’t do was barge into Adaline’s and unleash. Calm, professional, in control. The mantra she’d gained from years of therapy scrolled through her head. Her chest loosened, her lungs expanded, the deep breaths inducing an almost meditative state. She would show no anger or exasperation in front of Logan Wilde. He would get the Jessica Montgomery who was icy and tough not messy and neurotic.

  The beep of a vehicle backing up cut through the silence.

  “That’d be Jeb. Why don’t you shower and get yourself together while I handle your car?” Lilliana didn’t wait for her to answer but made her way to the door.

  Jessica wanted to smile and thank her, but she couldn’t. Not now. Later, maybe. Right now, she had to concentrate on burying the urge to punch Logan Wilde right on his knee-weakening, sexy grin.

  3

  The clock was broken. That was the only way to explain why the last ten minutes felt like an hour. Almost seven. Logan ran a hand up his clean-shaved cheek and into his freshly-trimmed hair. Jessica fucking Montgomery. A chef friend in Birmingham who had worked for Montgomery Industries for a couple of years had labeled the Montgomery daughter a cold, ambitious barracuda.

  A quick google search once he’d gotten home had yielded surprising facts. Top of her class at Wharton. Rising star at Montgomery Industries. Probably because her daddy owned it, but she was featured in several news articles in the Richmond Times business section. What did it mean that the big honcho had sent his daughter to offer him the job?