Engagement and Espionage: Solving for Pie: Cletus and Jenn Mysteries Series Book #1

by Reid, Penny

  “And I trust you.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t.” One of his eyebrows lifted a scant millimeter or two and the downward curve of his mouth flattened to a grim, straight line. “Because I also know all about being weak, yielding to destructive habits and instincts, when it comes to the well-being of someone I love.”

  Well. Darn.

  My indignation fled, leaving me with the harsh reality of reason.

  He was right. I’d been weak, allowing my mother to poke holes in my borders. I loved her, I wanted her to feel supported, and so I’d yielded, allowed her to invade the territory of my personal life, time and time again, rather than hold her accountable to her promises.

  Meanwhile, Cletus hadn’t interfered. He’d kept his promises.

  “I see your point,” I said, defensiveness draining from my bones. “I see your point and I won’t say I’m sorry since you don’t want my apologies. Instead, I’ll . . . do a better job of maintaining the boundaries I redrew this morning. I’ll do a better job of saying no to the bakery and to my mother.”

  His head moved with a subtle nod, his features now devoid of all expression, but I got the sense that my words had mollified much of his anger. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself, if that’s what you want.”

  “I will. I’ll do it for myself. But, Cletus, that also means I’ll be doing it for you because we’re—we’re tangled together, you and me.” I crossed my arms to keep from reaching for him again. I didn’t want him to take another step away. “I don’t want to let you down.”

  “Jenn.” His voice was soft, gentle, and it both warmed and broke my heart. “I don’t expect you to be perfect. I know you love your mother and need to be there for her.”

  “I do. But I can’t keep putting her needs ahead of mine. And for the record, I don’t expect you to be perfect either.”

  He continued nodding, now a little smile peeking out behind his bushy beard, a warming twinkle in his eyes. “On that note, it would help, maybe, if I were allowed one meddling per year. Or maybe two.”

  "One meddling per year," I parroted, confused.

  "I want to keep my promises to you, I do, but we both know I'm going to screw up—from time to time—and exact revenge on your foes without even realizing I'm doing it.” He sounded so reasonable, as though revenge was as benign as making a batch of cupcakes.

  I wanted to laugh, instead I lowered my eyelids by half and glared. "You want my permission to seek vengeance against folks who are unkind to me?"

  “Not permission, per se.” Now he reached out, his gaze following the progress of his hand as it smoothed down the sleeve of my jacket, encircling my wrist, unfolding my arms, and lifting my fingers between us. “More like—” he placed a kiss on the back of my hand “—an indulgence, like the Catholics used to do, in the medieval times."

  Despite the irritation I should’ve been feeling, a betraying smile pulled at my mouth. Jennifer Sylvester, do not be charmed by Cletus Winston’s wickedness. Do. Not.

  Charmed against my will, I countered, "Except those nobles paid the Catholic Church for their indulgences. What are you going to pay me for indulging your meddling?"

  His eyes, happier than I’d seen them in quite some time, moved to my lips. "I'm open to your suggestions, though I have several ideas of my own."

  "Nuh-uh, you would do those things anyway." A thrill raced down my spine and I didn’t try to hide my pleased smile, obviously forgetting where we were and who was waiting for us and that we were talking about me giving him permission to seek revenge on theoretical folks in an undefined future.

  "We could continue your lessons." He stepped closer, threading our fingers together and lowering his lips to my ear. "I'm an excellent teacher, as you know."

  I shivered, also moving closer, irritated by the layers of clothes between us. "You're such a good teacher, you fell for your student."

  "Yes, I did." His beard tickled my neck as he sucked my earlobe into his mouth. “And I continue to fall, daily.”

  An inelegant, wanting sound slipped out of my mouth, sorta like an unsteady uh-ya.

  I felt his lips move, grin against my skin. "I could also build you things."

  "What kind of things?"

  "Beds."

  "Beds?"

  "Of the garden variety. Or of the other variety."

  I laughed, gripping the front of his jacket for balance because I wanted a kiss, and his kisses always made me dizzy. "Oh, well in that case—”

  "Jennifer! Cletus? Jennifer and Cletus!" My mother’s demanding recitation of our names yanked me out of my lovely bubble and—like before, in his room—one of us growled at the interruption (or maybe both of us). “I was just calling your phone again. What took you so long? Get over here.”

  Cletus leaned away, catching my gaze, a knowing smile in his clever eyes. We were now being ordered around by my momma, yet he seemed more peaceful and settled than he had on the drive over, or in his room, or at Mr. Badcock’s last night, or at the jam session before that.

  I felt similarly, content for now with the outcome of our short conversation but knowing there was still so much left to discuss. Taking a bracing breath and letting go of Cletus’s jacket, I turned toward the sound of her bellowing.

  She was dressed in a purple ensemble with a matching wool coat, different than what she’d been wearing this morning. Her hair a meticulous helmet of blonde waves and swirls, her makeup thicker, heavier, like she’d been preparing for a stage performance rather than a farm visit.

  Presently, she marched toward us, her hands fisted at her sides, two deep wrinkles between her eyebrows. "Oh, thank goodness. Y'all are going to help me secure these cows. Hurry up, the bidding is just about to start."

  * * *

  Everything happened so fast. In retrospect, I don’t know what I could’ve done differently to secure a different outcome.

  "You're going to help me win those cows, do you understand?" My mother had basically shoved us toward the makeshift auction area, her hand like a vise on my arm.

  JT MacIntyre, the junk man Mr. Tanner, half of the Hill clan, Old Man Blount, and several others I recognized from around town and the bakery were present. Old Man Blount was just about the meanest man in the world while also still being an upstanding citizen. It was common knowledge that his only son had preferred to join the Iron Wraiths than spend any time under his father's roof. I guess my father and Old Man Blount had that in common.

  "But Momma, we don't have any place to put them."

  "Never you mind about that." She narrowed her eyes as they slid to the side, her mouth pinching.

  I followed her line of sight to where my father stood. He wasn't looking at my mother. He was looking at Cletus, and he appeared nearly as irate as my mother.

  "Judging from the warmth of his expression, it’s a fair guess that I'm not on his Christmas card list," Cletus said almost cheerfully, adopting his typical expression and posture of the town goofball.

  "Harrumph." My mother stepped closer to Cletus, patting his shoulder. "Don’t you worry about him, baby. He’s a snake, and you're ten thousand times the man he is. Don't you let his nasty manners get to you, Cletus."

  Cletus and I traded confused stares. Since when had my mother become Team Cletus?

  She must've read our exchange because she huffed, her tone pragmatic. "I'm a big enough woman to admit when I'm wrong, and I was wrong about you, Cletus. You don't think I see all the ways you've been supporting my Jennifer?"

  "Your Jennifer?" he asked, his eyebrows bouncing high on his forehead.

  "I see you." My mother ignored his question, pointing at him like he was a sweet but sneaky boy. She paired this with a warm—for her—smile. "I see you're smitten, as you should be. And one thing is for certain, with eyelashes like yours, y'all are going to give me some of the cutest grandbabies.” She rubbed her hands together and stepped fully between us.

  Cletus ignored that, instead lifting his chin toward my father. “Who is t
hat lady with him?”

  I hadn’t noticed anyone initially. I took another peek. Next to my father was a woman with blonde hair like my momma’s, who was about my height—so, my momma’s height—and who looked a lot like my mother.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I was speaking, “Is that—”

  “Yes, that’s her.” My mother tugged on the sleeve of my coat. “Please don’t look. It’s embarrassing.”

  “That’s Elena Wilkinson,” Cletus muttered, like he couldn’t believe it.

  I couldn’t believe it either. The woman my father had been having an affair with for many years, his secretary at the high school where he’d been the principal, looked completely different.

  Her hair was the most drastic of the changes. She’d always had blonde hair—hers was a natural whitish yellow—but it had been curly and long, with pretty ringlets. Now it seemed to be dyed a brassy bottle blonde (like my mother’s hair), cut much shorter (like my mother’s hair), waves and swirls (like my mother’s hair), and styled (you guessed it, like my mother’s hair).

  Likewise, her makeup appeared to be thicker, and more of it. Also, her clothes were similar to my mother’s, that first lady chic look of a skirt suit and high heels, heavy with accessories and accents, instead of the flowy skirts and tops she used to wear.

  “Who is that woman next to her?” Cletus whispered, his lips barely moving.

  “What woman?” My mother craned her neck like she couldn’t stop the impulse.

  “The one with the curly blonde hair.”

  I hadn’t seen the other woman at first, on account of me being so short and her standing behind Elena like a shadow. I needed to lean to one side to get a good look at her face. Cletus was right, she did resemble my father’s mistress. Except she was older—at least ten years older by the look of it—a few inches taller, and, I realized too late, glaring directly at me like I’d taken her soufflé out of the oven too soon, making it collapse.

  I straightened, snapping my eyes away, and fought a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

  Cletus, meanwhile, seemed to continue his unabashed perusal. “She doesn’t like you, Jenn,” he whispered offhandedly, like he was speaking his thoughts.

  “Don’t look at those people.” My mother smoothed her hand down the front of her jacket and then played with her earring.

  “It’s to be expected that we’d give them a good once-over. They’re expecting it.” Again, Cletus’s lips barely moved. He clearly didn’t care about them knowing he was looking, but he didn’t want them to know what he was saying. “That’s got to be either Elena’s older sister or her mother. They look too much alike.”

  Now Momma played with her other earring. “I don’t want to talk about them. Auction is starting. We better hush.”

  "Welcome ladies and gentlemen. Let's get this party started. Farmer Miller wants to thank y'all for coming. Much appreciated taking time out of your Saturday on such short notice." JT MacIntyre grinned his big white grin at all of us. The man was exceptionally good at grandstanding and talking folks into doing what he wanted them to do. He wasn't especially handsome, but he had presence, and he used it.

  "If y'all have the pamphlet, we’re going in the order prescribed, starting with the livestock and working our way up to the equipment, feed, and outbuilding supplies. There has been just one small change to the agenda. Farmer Miller, upon additional introspection, would like to auction all his cows at the same time, as one lot, instead of in batches as we'd previously spelled out. He’d like to keep them together, if possible."

  "What? All of them at once?" This came from one of the Hills, and if his tone was anything to go by, he was upset by the news.

  "What if we don't want all the cows? What if we just want one?" Cletus asked, surprising me. I didn’t think he’d been serious in the car.

  “That’s not up to me.” JT held his hands up, like he surrendered. “Y’all can see the winner, after the auction, if’n you wish to make a deal.”

  I looked to Cletus, to discern what he thought of this change. His eyes, slightly narrowed, were moving back and forth between Farmer Miller and my father. The two men were looking at each other, an obvious understanding passing between them.

  My father’s gaze then cut back to where I stood. At the same time, a cold wind swept through the gathering, making me shiver again. He gave me a hard stare, like I disgusted him, and then scowled at Cletus, a mild sneer curling his lip. Hurriedly, I looked away.

  I hadn’t seen my father in weeks, and I supposed part of me would always long for a relationship with him where he saw me as something other than a pretty but dumb ornament, but our last conversation had left me feeling indifferent to his point of view.

  For one, he’d been cheating on my mother for years.

  And for another, every time he looked at me his gaze felt threatening, like he wished me harm. I saw clearly now that he’d been manipulating me with harsh words and silence all my life, withholding affection as a means of control. I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call it abuse, but . . . well, we’ll just leave it at that.

  Moving closer to my mother, I studied the crowd, realizing most folks were strangers. Many looked like farmers, in overalls and fleece, but a few weren’t dressed any differently than Cletus and me, in jeans and jackets and boots. I assumed they were homesteaders from surrounding areas, maybe as far as Kentucky, Georgia, and North Carolina. One fella wore a cowboy hat and looked like a real rancher from Texas.

  "Now, we don't have any more time for questions, the rest of the details are in the pamphlet. Let's get this auction going. I know I'd like to get home to my beautiful wife." He grinned, pausing like he expected us all to agree—out loud—that Bobby Jo MacIntyre was gorgeous.

  She was, but JT MacIntyre was infamous for being obnoxious about how he'd married the most beautiful woman in town. Granted, they'd dated for close to twenty years before she married him, and only after finding out she was pregnant with their daughter, Magnolia, but that man simply could not open his mouth without bringing up his wife. It was kinda cute, but it was also awkward. And irritating.

  A few more grumbles erupted from the audience, and two ladies backed away from the group, turning toward the driveway and leaving. Everyone else stayed put.

  "We'll open things up at ten thousand."

  "Ten thousand?" someone near the back complained. “Ain’t nobody here got ten thousand to spend on cows.”

  "For twenty of the finest dairy cows in these southern states? I should say it's a deal,” JT said cheerfully, grinning at the naysayer.

  My mother lifted her paddle with the number fifty-two on it. "Ten thousand."

  “Momma!” I whispered, grabbing her arm that held the paddle. “Do not bid on those cows. We have nowhere to put them.”

  “Jenn, what are you doing? You know we should all have a united front, us against your father.” She extracted her wrist from my grip. “You’re making us look weak.”

  I opened my mouth to object, but Cletus cut in, “Yes. I agree. We should have a united front. Go on, Ms. Donner. You get those cows if you want them.”

  I looked at Cletus, my mouth agape, incredulous. Did he really want her to buy twenty cows? Was he crazy?

  Or is this his way of meddling? Getting revenge on my mother?

  The thought was unsettling. I had just agreed—in a roundabout way—to allow him indulgences. Did that mean he was going to let my momma make an idiot of herself for pushing my boundaries? Was this his idea of revenge?

  Looking at Cletus’s stoic face, I couldn’t be sure one way or the other.

  “I hear ten, do I hear twelve?” JT looked out over the crowd.

  "Twelve."

  "Twelve-five."

  "Thirteen."

  “Thirteen-five.”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Sixteen-five.”

  “Seventeen.”

  These rapid-fire
bids came from different folks in every direction, people I didn't recognize, and gave me no time to process what was happening. All I knew was that Cletus and I were clearly not on the same page, and it was up to me to stop this insanity from going any further.

  Pretty soon, the bidding was up to twenty-five thousand dollars, but my father hadn't bid yet. After her initial bid of ten, my mother didn't bid either, just kept eyeballing my father, as though ready to pounce.

  "Twenty-five going once. Twenty-five going twice."

  "One hundred thousand," my father said, loud and clear, and administered a superior smirk to the rumble of murmurs and astonishment.

  Oh no.

  Chapter Nine

  “It wasn't necessary to win for the story to be great, it was only necessary to sacrifice everything.”

  ― Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life

  *Jenn*

  My momma was right. My father planned to buy the dairy cows. All of them. What my daddy wished to do with the cows, I had no idea. He'd never done a day’s worth of manual labor in his whole life, if you don't count using my mother’s money to pay someone else to sail a boat.

  My mother stepped forward, as though to bid, and Cletus caught her wrist. "No. No, that's crazy. You're not going to buy those cows for a hundred thousand. He’s baiting you.”

  "Cletus Winston, let go of my hand,” she seethed through clenched teeth.

  "Diane, if I may call you Diane—"

  "You may not." Her eyes were like bullets. On fire. Fiery bullets, drilling into Cletus’s unruffled but determined wall of stony blue irises.

  "You do not want to purchase those cows for a hundred thousand dollars. I can find you a Guernsey for two thousand.” His forehead wrinkled with what looked like concern. “Anything above forty is unfair."

  "You do not get to tell me what I want." She ripped her gaze from his, struggling to lift her arm.