by Liza Kendall
Rhett held up a hand and shook his head.
She looked at him, helplessly. Feeling pity rise in her. It stung her eyes and seeped through every pore of her skin.
“Jules.” His voice was ragged.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Can you—” He jerked his head.
She nodded.
“Just give me a minute.”
Feeling awful for him, she turned and slowly walked off. She felt an odd melange of emotions. Wanted to put her arms around him. Comfort him. Yet she felt forlorn at being pushed away; dismissed. She felt that old hurt from childhood: that outsider feeling she’d gotten when Grady and Rhett hadn’t wanted the pesky little sister trailing them and getting in their way. Messing up their good times.
Well, now she’d gone and done it. Messed up Rhett’s good times with Frost. But how could she not tell him? She’d had to.
She heard his voice calling her back again. “Jules?”
“Yeah.” She went back to the stall.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just needed . . .”
She unlatched the low door and went inside. Stood with him in the clean sawdust next to Frost and stroked the old boy’s neck. He nuzzled her. She unzipped her fanny pack and gave him an apple slice and a baby carrot to make him happy.
Rhett stood behind her, silent. Then at last he said, “Thank you.”
She felt his warmth behind her, smelled the laundry detergent of his shirt and a tinge of his aftershave that reminded her of ocean breeze and yachting and single-malt Scotch. And then she shuddered as his lips brushed the back of her neck, oh-so softly. Like the wing of a butterfly. With a tenderness that made her ache.
Somehow that single touch eddied out to every nerve in her body, sending out an echoing shiver.
“Jules.” He breathed, rather than said, her name into her ear.
A question drifted between them, light and soundless, as imperceptible as a single dust mote in the evening light.
She didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t know if she could.
And then Rhett dropped his mouth to her nape, settled it there, warm with longing.
She stood frozen as his arms slipped around her waist and tightened; pulled her to him. She did her best not to tremble.
“You’re great with the kids,” he said. “They adore you.”
She smiled. “You did all right yourself.”
“Frost adores you, too.” He turned her to face him. Settled his warm hands on her shoulders and gazed down at her. He let go of one shoulder to reach up and stroke her hair.
Just then, Esme’s van pulled up in a cloud of dust. Jules pulled herself away from Rhett, leaving him with the horses as she headed out to meet the vet, who’d opened the door and was half in, half out. The dog jumped out of the van, but Esme kept her close by the collar. “Hi!” she called. “Special delivery. I was heading out to the Lundgrens’, so I brought her with me.”
Beast had become a beauty. The Saint Bernard was clean: shampooed and brushed, with her nails trimmed and neat. “Hi, there, Gorgeous!” Jules exclaimed, when Esme set her free. “Look at you . . . just look at you.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. She’d done a good thing.
“She sure cleaned up well. You must have spent all day on her.”
The dog’s formerly matted, soiled fur was a beautiful mix of brown and white with the characteristic of Saint Bernards. Her eyes were softer and more trusting already, and she perked up at the sight of Jules.
“When I see a dog in that condition, I just can’t wait to make things right. We didn’t have any major emergencies today so . . .” Esme shrugged.
“Thank you so, so much.” Jules sank down onto her knees and gave the animal some love, stroking her head and scratching her behind the ears.
“Sure. So she’s malnourished, as you can see,” Esme said. “She went quite some time without regular meals. She’s also dehydrated. But she’s in surprisingly good shape for what she’s probably been through. We’ve dewormed her, but she’ll need another dose. She’ll need regular heartworm medication.”
“Of course,” Jules said.
“We’ll donate the collar and leash. Least we can do. You have food?”
“Not yet.”
“Want to try her on the Science Diet? Mix of wet and dry?” Esme asked, lowering a cardboard box of supplies from the van.
“Sure.” Jules fished around in her boot for her tiny wallet.
Esme waved it away. “Your, ah, friend? He said he’d take care of everything.”
Her friend?
Friend: Rhett Braddock. Jules stole a glance back at the barn, where Rhett was still with the horses. Jules stared at her lone credit card and driver’s license. At the exactly nineteen tattered dollars folded up behind them, cheering that they weren’t about to be spent yet. And she felt a combination of grateful and guilty.
How would she have paid for the vet bill without Rhett?
She’d have put it on her card, and then would’ve had to pay it off slowly at 18 percent interest. It would have been worth every penny, but still . . .
He’d let her put the dog in his car. He’d paid the vet bill. He was buying food.
“We need to say thank you,” she said to Beast. “Don’t we?”
Beast whined and sat down, cocking her head.
“Yes, we do. Even if I’m still annoyed about that charm school comment,” she muttered. “And his general sarcasm. And the incredibly off-putting way he has of coming up with really smart ideas that I wish I’d thought of—or could execute—myself.”
“Excuse me?” said Esme. “I didn’t catch that.”
“Oh, nothing. Just . . . thank you. Thanks so much for taking care of Beast—and on a Sunday, too. Treating her and cleaning her up and everything.”
“You’re welcome. It was our pleasure. Especially after she calmed down and decided not to rip our faces off,” said Esme dryly. “Understandable, though. I don’t think she’s been treated well. So she’s wary.”
“There should be a special place in hell for people who mistreat animals,” Jules said darkly.
“Agreed.”
“But no face-ripping,” Jules said to the dog, who looked devastated by this order. “We’ll get you a few toys to mangle, instead. Okay?”
Beast whined again.
“In the meantime, let’s think of something nice to do for Ever-Rhett.”
Beast wagged her tail.
“Here’s the paperwork. I’m going to go check on Curly and Frost while I’m here.” Esme clapped Jules on the shoulder and headed toward the stables.
Jules shaded her eyes against the sun and patted Beast. She eyed Scarlett, musing. Then she brightened. “Oh, I know exactly how we’ll say thank you, Beast!”
Chapter 13
Unfamiliar barking pulled Rhett out of his reverie. He ran his hand down Frost’s mane once more before turning to the sound just as Jules called his name.
“Come and see,” she said as he strolled through the stable door. Jules opened her arms as if she were revealing a game show prize. A beautiful Saint Bernard eyed him.
Wait a minute. “That’s not the Swamp Thing that tried to eat me, is it?” he asked.
“Yes, it is. Can you believe it?”
“Is it still named Beast?”
“For now. We should probably come up with a nicer name, though.”
“Hi, Beast,” Rhett crooned.
She growled at him.
He sighed. “Why am I persona non grata with this animal, when I took her in high style to the vet and paid her bill?”
“She could tell you didn’t think she was good enough for your Porsche.”
“Good enough? That’s not it at all. I just didn’t want mud, mange, worms, and roadkill remnants in it. Why is that a reaso
n to condemn me?”
“She needs unconditional love. All dogs do. That means you love her even when she’s disgusting.”
Rhett eyed her. “Is that right.” I let you in my Porsche. And you were disgusting, too. Not to mention exasperating. Does that mean I love you, too? No, but you are hot. Annoyingly hot.
And you’re Grady’s little sister. That hasn’t changed.
“Yes. That is right.”
He chuckled. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“So . . . can I ask you to look after Beast while I do a couple things?”
The dog eyed Rhett suspiciously. Rhett eyed the dog suspiciously.
She tilted her head. So did he.
She growled; he followed suit.
Then they both subsided.
“Will she chew off my legs?” Rhett asked.
“No, because I’ve got a bone right here in my bag.” Jules produced an enormous, smoked one from what looked like an army surplus backpack.
“Are you kidding me? That looks like a femur.”
“Yes, I believe it is,” she said cheerfully.
“So how am I supposed to be filled with confidence that when she’s done with it, my own femur isn’t next?”
“Not to worry. This’ll take her a couple of days.”
“Right. That relieves me so much.”
“I almost forgot . . . I also got you a bunch of carrots for Frost.” Jules pulled those out of her backpack, too. “I bet he can smell them from here.”
He furrowed his brow. Was she trying to get him out of the way? Why? “O-kaaay,” he said. “Guess I’ll go do the honors.”
She nodded eagerly. “Great. I’ll . . . be in the tack room.”
Rhett smelled a rat, but he couldn’t see what harm it would do to go give Frost a carrot. So he did, watching Esme checking out Curly’s injury.
When he headed back to the tack room, Jules wasn’t there but Beast had made herself comfortable on a horse blanket in the corner. She looked up from her bone and growled half-heartedly at him.
“Aw, cut it out. Only one femur for you. Got it?”
She seemed to understand and went back to gnawing.
Where had Jules gone?
He looked around, didn’t notice anything missing, and shrugged. He sat down again at the tiny corner desk, opened up the laptop, and started scanning the figures to see where else they could cut costs or make more profits.
And that’s when he heard it: the sultry purr of Scarlett as a key turned in her ignition.
Rhett jumped to his feet and ran out of the tack room as her engine gunned. “What the fu—”
He sprinted the length of the barn and out the open door. Jules raised her hand and waved merrily at him in the rearview mirror as she sped down the gravel drive and out onto the highway. Rhett swore a blue streak. She’d gone too far. He had a good mind to call the cops. The crazy girl had stolen his car!
Rhett ran to Jules’s Chevy and looked under the visor and then in the glove box and drink holders for the keys. Nothing.
At which point Esme strolled out from the barn and stood there with a grin on her face, watching him. “Well, that’s Julianna Holt for ya.” She paused. “Need a ride somewhere?”
It was thirty minutes before the very thorough Esme finished with the horses and had the two of them bumping down the road away from the stables. Another twenty minutes to stop and examine a tagged goat who seemed to have wandered away from home about halfway to town. The entire time, Grady’s phone was busy and Jules and Jake didn’t answer. Fuming, Rhett considered his next move while a call to Lila went straight to voicemail.
The vet’s bemused expression didn’t help matters. Didn’t help at all. At least she had the decency not to laugh as Rhett sat along beside her in the van, his phone to his ear.
Finally, finally, Grady answered. “What do you mean, my sister stole your car?” he asked, his deep voice amused.
“I mean exactly that!” Rhett thundered into his cell phone. “Is she at the firehouse?”
“Give me a sec,” Grady said, and then a second later: “Nope, sorry.”
“Well, she swiped my key and took off in the thing. You know what they call that?”
“Grand theft auto,” Grady suggested pleasantly.
“Grand theft auto!” Rhett echoed, not as pleasantly.
“Okay, Jules is a little . . . uncensored . . . sometimes. But she’s no thief. You know that.”
“I don’t know it—my car is gone, and she’s at the wheel of it. I’m tempted to call the police and report it stolen. This is insane, Grady!”
“Did you piss her off?”
Rhett was silent. “Which time?”
Grady groaned.
“She’s not exactly easy to manage, and this isn’t always an, ah, comfortable arrangement. If you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I do.”
“But I draw the line at having Scarlett ripped off. I really do.”
“She’ll return her.”
“In what condition?! Grady, have you seen that wreck she drives?”
“Yes, I have. I’ve ridden in it many times. She likes it. She doesn’t want a fancy car. She hauls around dirty stuff for the barn. And critters.”
“Yeah, I know. She stuffed a rabid, stinking dog into Scarlett when I found her out of gas on the highway—”
“Not again?”
“Yes. How often does she do that?”
“Oh, now and then.” Grady seemed unconcerned.
“Does this mean I’m going to find Scarlett out of gas and abandoned somewhere on I-35 between Waco and Dallas?”
“Doubt it. She’s better with other people’s things than she is with her own. Listen, let me call Bode—”
“Bode Wells? Why?”
“He’s the town sheriff, genius. You didn’t know that?”
“No.”
“Okay, now you do. So I’ll call Bode and check if he or one of his deputies has seen Scarlett around town.”
“How about I call him and report a stolen vehicle?”
“Don’t do that. Please, Rhett. I’ll get this taken care of. Promise.”
Rhett hung up, feeling stymied. Julianna Holt had made a fool out of him. He was no better than those googly-eyed, sparkling jesters strung up all along Main Street. And he didn’t like it one bit.
Esme looked over at him. And then she stared straight back through the windshield.
“What?” Rhett asked with a sigh.
“I moved here last year,” Esme said, her lips twitching slightly. “And I have to say that Fool Fest is my favorite holiday ever.”
Rhett’s cell phone rang.
“Yeah?” Rhett barked into it. “Grady?”
His friend was laughing. “Hold on a sec. I’m gonna put Bode on.”
“What?” Rhett waited.
“Everett Braddock,” Bode’s voice said. “I heard you were back in town.”
“I am.”
“Didn’t swing by to say hello.”
“I’m not even sure who lives here anymore, Bode, and that’s the truth.”
“Well, I do. And I’m a little confused, here.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I’ve found your car—”
“Oh, thank God. Is it in one piece?”
“Not a scratch on it.”
Rhett exhaled in relief.
“Now, Grady, here, tells me you want the driver picked up for grand theft auto,” Bode said.
“Well, wait a minute—”
“The question is, would you like me to arrest her now, or wait until she’s finished hanging an air freshener?”
“Excuse me?” Rhett could hear Grady hooting in the background, though Bode was doing an admirable job of keeping his tone e
ven and serious.
“And the, uh, perp—she’d like to know if you want pine-scented or citrus?”
Rhett leaned back in the seat and began to laugh. “I’m going to kill her,” he said.
“Whoa, now, sir. You cannot make statements like that to an officer of the law. That is a threat of bodily harm and must be taken as such . . .”
“Give me a break, Bode. Seriously?”
“Are you going to press charges for the Armor All and the leather conditioner?”
“Oh, you bet.”
“And what about the wheel detailing?”
“That I may let slide.”
“I don’t know, Rhett. She’s done an awful thorough job. With a toothbrush.”
“A toothbrush,” he repeated, his shoulders shaking.
“So. Toss her in the slammer, should I?”
“That won’t be necessary, Bode. But I do appreciate the offer.”
There was a commotion on the other end of the line. “There’s one more thing.” Grady’s voice. “We don’t want you to panic.”
“What?” Rhett asked warily.
“We’re not sure about the engine,” Grady said.
Rhett’s hand clenched around his phone.
“You gotta get down here!” someone shouted into the receiver. Jake.
“Jake?”
“Hey, bro,” Jake said cheerfully.
“What’s wrong with the engine?” Rhett asked.
“Well, we’re not sure. So, me, Grady, Jules, and Bode are all doing some test-driving to figure it out.”
“Son of a—”
“Better get down to Sunny’s and have a look-see for yourself.”
“Sunny’s? What the—” Rhett looked at Esme. “Change of plans,” he ground out. “If you could drop me at Sunny’s instead of the firehouse, I’d be much obliged.”
Rhett hung up, still hearing a chorus of laughter in the background.
Sure enough, when he finally got to the diner, Grady, Jake, Jules, and Bode were tossing Rhett’s keys around in front. The men gave him a fool’s welcome, including catcalls and backslaps and a severe messing-up of the hair, to boot, before heading back inside Sunny’s for more coffee, thus abandoning a laughing Jules to his mercy.