His words were a shot to her heart, crippling a response. She dropped her hand from his arm, and he moved away to mount the ATV. The growly engine cut through the night sounds. She blinked against sudden tears, the depthless woods blurring into black.
“Jessie?” He waited with his hands fisted on his thighs.
She was reading too much into the platitude. Her legs unlocked and she scooted behind him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder blade, rubbing surreptitiously at her traitorous eyes. He shifted, but she kept her face averted.
“Hey, are you all right?” he asked softly.
“Got a gnat or something stuck in my eye. I’m good now. Let’s hit it.”
She felt the hesitation in his muscles, sensed the questions gathering, but he only turned on the ATV headlights and steered them toward the path and home.
Their pace was more sedate than the morning’s headlong rush. The trees opened at the riverbank, revealing remnants of orange and purple on the horizon. The machine crawled over the bridge, and minutes later he pulled to stop in front of the garage and turned the ATV off. Neither one of them moved.
Full darkness was almost upon them. Bullfrogs called for mates at the river, and crickets played a tune from the high grass. Only a few hours had passed, but something inside of her had fundamentally shifted.
“It’s so peaceful out here,” she whispered.
He shifted his torso around, putting his slightly parted mouth in range. Shivers ran through her body, and she licked her dry lips. His hand landed above her knee, warm and callused. A few inches north and he’d be touching her, stroking her, pressing inside of her.
Her courage reached the tipping point, but the thought he might consider a kiss a form of manipulation stopped her. She hopped off, legs trembling, and retrieved her purse from the bed of his truck. “Thanks for the tour of the woods.”
“Anytime. And I mean that, Jessie.”
The way he said the shortened version of her name made her hesitate. He half-sat against the side of the ATV, his thumbs hooked in his front pockets. Her courtship ritual usually involved a logical weighing of pros and cons. With Logan, she could fit the pros on a post-it note, but would require a scroll for the cons. Logic didn’t make a dent in her attraction. Her control frayed.
Headlights cut out of the tree line and brushed over them, stark and blinding. A truck pulled to a stop next to her loaner. A tall blond-haired man and an odd-looking three-legged dog approached. The dog ran straight to Logan for a scratch behind its ears.
Logan lifted his chin. “Evening, Dalt. Have you met Jessica Montgomery? She’s staying over at Lilliana’s place.”
The man stuck out his hand for a shake while his dog sniffed at her feet. “Robbie Dalton. That’s Avery. Nice to make your acquaintance.” He dropped her hand, cleared his throat and shifted his gaze between them. “Wanted to go over some plays, but it can wait. Sorry, dude, didn’t realize you had company.”
“No. I was leaving. He’s all yours.” She gave the dog’s head a pat, plopped into the driver’s seat of her car, and fumbled the key into the ignition. She had been seconds away from mixing business with pleasure. A horrible mistake. Robbie Dalton and his dog deserved a thank-you note.
Jessica ran a damp palm down her skirt and gripped the steering wheel again. Logan’s words echoed again. You don’t need to prove anything to anybody. Then why did she constantly have to prove herself to her father?
She pulled in behind Lilliana’s beat-up SUV. Instead of heading for the front door, she wandered to the nearest magnolia, not ready for Lilliana’s chipper interrogation. Some memories she refused share. The wild ride through the woods, the crows surrounding them, the lightning bugs rising into the night. They belonged to her and Logan.
She ducked behind the leaves, the branches weaving around her like arms. How old was the tree? A hundred years? She twisted a blossom as big as her opened hand off. The scent took her back to the weeks each summer she spent with her ma-maw in Georgia. Weeks of freedom and discovery. Weeks without her mother and father’s watchful eyes. Weeks in heaven.
Her father. The sweetly scented breath she drew was at odds with the bile rising in her throat. He expected a call, and she would have to admit she hadn’t closed the deal.
After seeing the joy Logan took in the woods, she couldn’t imagine him in Atlanta, cursing the traffic and living surrounded by concrete. It seemed as tragic as capturing a wild animal and locking him in a zoo.
A sense of rightness squared her shoulders. The man who headed up the experimental kitchens didn’t deserve a demotion. The offer felt wrong all the way around. She walked inside. Lilliana was reading on the couch once more, her legs thrown over the top, her head tilting upside down over the cushion. “How was—”
“I need to use your phone. May I?”
“On the counter, in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
Jessica kept her heels on, needing the sense of power they instilled even if her father wouldn’t be there to see. She cursed the weak, trembling finger punching in her father’s number.
He answered after the three rings. “Jessica. Give me good news.”
“He hasn’t said no, but he will.”
A string of curses erupted, and she pulled the earpiece back. “You just shit on an already shitty day. What the hell is going on with you?”
A cold sweat broke on her forehead. “I pushed as hard as I could.” She hoped the lie would turn the trajectory of the conversation. The clink of ice from his end settled dread in her stomach. One of her first lessons learned at age six had been to avoid her father when he drank whiskey.
“If logical arguments aren’t convincing him, try a different tack. Flirt, bat your eyes, charm him until he doesn’t know up from down. Manipulate him into accepting the job. Once he’s established in Atlanta, he’ll thank us. And I’ll thank you by giving you the promotion.”
“I quit,” she whispered, her lips tingling as if she’d pressed them against a popsicle for too long.
“What’d you say, girl?”
You don’t have to prove anything to anybody. The echo of Logan’s words untangled her tongue even as her body trembled. “I quit.”
Ice tinkled, and she imagined her father draining his glass. “You can’t quit. You’re a Montgomery.”
“I’m your daughter. You don’t own me. I’m sick of the way you to talk to me. Sick of the way you’ve dangled the CFO job like a piece of cheese and made me run your maze like a blind mouse. I’m done.” Her declaration didn’t feel right or wrong, just inevitable.
“You have to see this through, Jessica. You have no choice.”
“Last I checked, free will still existed.” A hint of irony injected a backbone into her voice.
“Not for you. Deals hinge on Logan Wilde getting a high-paying, cushy job within Montgomery Industries. A job that won’t get him mentioned in Southern Living again. Something low profile and un-newsworthy.”
“What deals?”
Her father was silent for several heartbeats. “The DC restaurant. Your sister’s quest to become a senator’s wife.” The edge of aggression and bravado was replaced by a more conciliatory tone she secretly referred to as his snake-charmer voice.
“I don’t get the connection with Logan.”
“Logan Wilde’s father is General Wethersfield. Joint Chief of Staffs. Not only does he have the contacts to help our family now, he’s ambitious and might wield even more influence in the future. How do you think we won the lease for the prime real estate on Sixth Avenue? And, the influx of cash into Mitch’s campaign?”
She swallowed, lining up the tidbits Logan had given her with this new information. Logan’s father wanted him buried. Why? Because Logan’s mere existence, not to mention his checkered past, was a liability to a man with political ambitions. Especially, an amoral one. Outrage on Logan’s part strengthened her resolve. “That sounds like your problem now, not mine.”
“It’s a Montgomery problem, and last
I checked, you are part of the family. Your sister is set on being a senator’s wife, and I promised to help in any way I could. If we can exploit her connections to expand throughout DC, then all the better.”
“I want to be CFO, but you only throw up roadblocks.” Childhood bitterness soured her stomach. How would her relationship with her sister have been different without her father’s schemes? “It’s a game to you, isn’t it? I’m out.”
“Think of what this would do to your mother.”
The guilt, the manipulation, the intimidation tightened the noose around her neck. “Mother will survive with the help of her happy pills, her wine, and her tennis instructor.”
Silence fell. Her jab had been below the belt. Later, if previous patterns held, regret would nip at her conscience, but right now she felt only a dark satisfaction at inflicting pain, however slight.
“Emotions are high. Let’s talk more tomorrow after you’ve had a night to consider the ramifications.” His fatherly admonishing tone almost had her apologizing. He knew how to exploit her weaknesses, and another phone conversation might see her caving.
“I’ll email you my resignation letter.” She disconnected. The reality of what she’d done washed over her, first in numbing disbelief, and then as hot panic.
“Is everything okay?” Lilliana’s voice from the kitchen doorway made her jump. The phone slipped out of her hand to bounce on the wide-planked floor.
Jessica scooped up the phone and examined it for cracks. “I’m so sorry, but it’s not broken.”
She held it out to Lilliana, who slipped the phone in her back pocket and thankfully didn’t comment on her shaking hand.
Jessica wiped trembling fingers over her damp forehead and across her upper lip. It had been more than three years since she’d had a full-blown panic attack, but one skulked close, ready to consume her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to locate the words of her mantra.
Hands guided her a few steps backward. The back of her knees hit an object, and she plopped into a chair. Cool air wafted over her, and the comfort of a hand rubbing gentle circles on her back untangled the knot in her chest. She opened her eyes. Lilliana crouched at her side and fanned her with a glossy home décor magazine.
“I quit my job. I’m unemployed.”
Lilliana’s eyes flared, but her mouth tightened. “From what I could gather, you’re too good for that place, family business or not. You can land another job anywhere with your background.”
“But I’ll start at the bottom. I wouldn’t be in line for a CFO job for a decade, at least.”
“Is that what you really want? To be a CFO?”
Is that what she wanted? Wrapped up in her parent’s world of company and social obligations, she’d kept her eyes on the prize. She enjoyed making money and organizing restaurants, and she was honest enough to admit she enjoyed the prestige and ego-bolstering mentions in the paper. Her work was her life.
But Richmond wasn’t even the center of the Southeast, much less the universe. The ties binding her weren’t steel but fraying yarn. A hard truth slipped out, leaving her floating off into a scary unknown. “I’m not sure what I want anymore.”
Lilliana slipped an arm around her shoulders, anchoring her to the here and now. “Join the club. How old are you, anyway? Thirty? Thirty-one?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“A babe in arms. You have time to figure it out, you know.”
“Do I?”
“Sure. And until you do you’re welcome to stay here. For free.”
Jessica found a small smile. “I have money saved. I could help you—”
“I’m a bad investment. Anyway, you might need money for your transformation. If you really want to barter for a room, you could help me pull down wallpaper and paint.” Lilliana gave her a half-hug and patted her arm.
Jessica tilted her face into Lilliana’s shoulder, prolonging the contact. Her parents had never been physically demonstrative people. Her hugs had come from teachers and her ma-maw. Even with her few boyfriends, casual hugs and handholding had been rare. And toward the end, Michael had been more of a seldom seen roommate than a lover.
“Any interest in a movie?” Lilliana asked hesitantly.
“Actually, I’m exhausted.” Jessica pushed to her feet, her ankles wobbly in her heels.
Lilliana dropped her arm, but worry scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes. “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Jessica went through the motions of getting ready for bed and settled under the covers. The fan overhead made a soft womp with every turn, casting hypnotic circling shadows on the top of her canopy. The conversation with her father went on repeat in her head.
Logan’s father wanted him tucked away so no press, good or bad, would draw attention to the skeletons rattling in his closet. Her father’s insinuations led her to wonder if the general might be planning a run at the presidency. The Montgomery family would be aligned with power. What would be the fallout of her resignation? Or would Montgomery Industries even feel the void?
Logan was only a pawn in the game. How could she protect him? Did he need protection? The man emanated confidence and capability. In fact, he had given her the courage to stand up for herself and finally quit.
She pressed her cheek against the cool cotton of the pillow and drifted to sleep on the memory of waking in the meadow to Logan’s smile and warm eyes.
8
Jessica sipped on her iced tea and dove into her third novel over the past two days. The morning after her phone conversation with her father, she’d sent off a resignation letter. Her father had not responded, which was probably his passive-aggressive way of not accepting it.
She spent the next two days reliving her youthful summers and hadn’t stepped foot out of Lilliana’s house except to sit under the branches of a magnolia and read. Lilliana lent her T-shirts and yoga pants, too tight and too short, but there was no one to see her.
She was gearing up for another day of the same when Lilliana came bounding into the kitchen, snapping her fingers. “Since you’re going to be hanging out in Falcon for a while, it’s time to get out and meet some people. The football team is having their first open practice this afternoon.”
“So? Who cares?”
Lilliana’s swift intake of breath and pretend pearl clutch was only half-faked horror. “You’re speaking sacrilege. If there’s one thing the Baptists, the Methodists, and those heathen Presbyterians can agree on, it’s the sanctity of Falcon football. Anyway, you-know-who will be there.” Lilliana waggled her eyebrows.
“What’s wrong with your face?”
Lilliana let out an exaggerated sigh. “Logan Wilde is an assistant coach.”
“Are you serious?”
“He’s the strength and conditioning coach. Didn’t he tell you? I didn’t think the man could go five minutes without mentioning football. He’s a fanatic. I’m sure getting his buddy hired on as coach so he could be an assistant was his master plan since childhood.”
Her mind whirling, Jessica marked the place in her book and set it on the side table. Yet another layer to the man. “When does he find the time?”
“He makes the time. I wonder when the man sleeps. We can grab some lunch and window-shop on our way to the practice field. Darcy will probably stop by to see Robbie. You can meet her.”
“Let me change and do something with my hair.” She was not going in public with high-water yoga pants, a grungy T-shirt, and wild hair.
Dread and excitement mingled, making her stomach dance on the edge of being upset. She wanted to see Logan again, but didn’t know what or how much she should tell him. Maybe it would be better to say nothing. After all, how long could she realistically hide out in Falcon? Tomorrow she would buckle down and look for a job. Or maybe she’d wait another couple of days until her car was fixed.
She pulled on a blue cotton skirt with white asymmetrical stripes and a white T-shirt. Staring in the mirror, she pushed
her hair around. She didn’t have the excuse of being in the woods, so she pulled out her flatiron and, with difficulty, worked the prongs into the cracked wall outlet. She went on autopilot, the straightening of her hair a years-long habit.
No wonder Logan was in such phenomenal shape. Strength coach. The memory of the flex of muscles against her cheek on the ATV had her closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
A rancid, electrical-type aroma had her popping her eyes open and looking for the source. Smoke wisped from the outlet. She let out a scream, dropped the flatiron, and yanked the cord out of the outlet with a shower of sparks.
Lilliana burst through the door, out of breath and wide-eyed. “Omigod, what happened to your hair?”
“My hair?” Jessica blinked at her reflection. The electrical burn of wiring was joined by the stench of charred hair. Her hair.
Soft threads no longer attached to her head stuck to her shirt and fell around her feet. She ran a hand over the back of her head and came away with a handful. Her knees knocked and she grabbed the counter. She tried to remain calm, but a shrill panic filled her voice. “How bad is it? Can you see my scalp?”
“It’s not that bad. Really.” Lilliana’s lips turned a weak smile but trembled. “I’m so incredibly sorry. The wiring in this old place . . . I thought I could . . . obviously not . . . so much money. Dangit.” Lilliana kicked the plywood cabinet.
“My hair. What about my hair?” Jessica tried to muster some sympathy, but the house wasn’t burning down around them. Her hair, on the other hand, was literally falling out.
“Your hair I can fix.”
“How?” Jessica turned to try to see the back of her head.
“Come with me.” Lilliana pulled her into the hallway by her elbow and slipped her phone out to make a call. “Marlene. I’ve got an emergency . . . No, I did not try to color my hair again. It’s a friend. Flatiron accident . . .We’re on our way.”
Caught Up in the Touch: Sweet Home Alabama Page 9