by Liza Kendall
Jules tore her gaze away from Rhett’s face, her heart still pounding. “We’re taking care of all that, so don’t you worry ’bout a thing. How you doing, Dad?”
He gave a sheepish laugh. “Well, I’m a little bored, to be honest.”
“You want to go for a drive?”
Dad didn’t look too excited until he realized Rhett had the keys to the Porsche in his palm. Jules’s breath caught as her dad’s face broke into a wide smile; he was grinning like a teenage boy. “You know where to drive to stay clear of Bode Wells?”
“Well, I’m not the one driving, so as long as you know, we’ll be fine.” He held the keys out to Jules’s dad, who seemed uncertain whether to laugh or swear. He was doing both when the two men walked out of the barn, Dad clapping Rhett on the back.
Jules pressed her right hand to her heart, completely confused by how much she felt for Rhett Braddock in that moment. “See you tonight at dinner, Dad!” she called. With the sound of Scarlett revving outside, Jules went back to work, the taste of Rhett still on her lips.
Chapter 19
It was after five when Jules finished up feeding and watering all the animals, and Dad and Rhett were still not back. She had just enough time to take a shower and change before heading to her parents’ for dinner. Grady and Aunt Sue were coming, too. On the menu: Mom’s Tex-Mex Macaroni, which Grady referred to as Chihuahua Pasta. It was basically chili mixed with elbow macaroni, and Billy Holt loved it.
As she stood in her tiny shower, she tried not to think about the fact that she’d kissed Rhett. Way to complicate things, Jules. She tried not to think about how good he’d smelled—just him, not that expensive cologne of his. He’d smelled so clean, of soap and leather and man. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to think about how his arms had felt—rock hard, dangerous, and yet safe at the same time . . .
Before she knew it, the water had gone cold. How long had she been standing there like an idiot, mooning over Rhett Braddock? Shivering, she shampooed her hair and realized that she’d forgotten yet again to replace her conditioner. At least she had a normal-sized towel to dry off with.
She jumped quickly into clean jeans and a long-sleeved tee from Schlitterbahn, shoved her feet into flip-flops, and ran up the path to her parents’ house, her wet hair falling loose down her back. She flew through the back door and into the kitchen, where she pulled up short at the sight of Rhett laughing easily with Dad.
“Billy here almost wrecked Scarlett,” he said to Mom, who eyed Jules and then the clock, pointedly. She was late.
“Julianna, your hair—” But Mom stopped.
“I did no such thing,” Dad protested. “Just took the bend out at the lake a little fast.”
“Almost took out the bait shop, you mean.” Rhett winked.
Dad looked flushed, happy, and a decade younger. His hair was mussed, standing on end with no John Deere cap in sight.
Jules felt her heart roll over. Just a ride in a sports car, a simple pleasure, had done wonders for him. Rhett had done wonders for him.
She felt like kissing him all over again.
His gaze locked with hers; hot and intense, then slid to her lips.
She flushed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
He lifted an eyebrow.
And then Grady appeared, his massive shoulders filling the doorway.
Jules tensed.
So did Rhett. A muscle jumped at his jawline. Other than that, he hid it well.
“Braddock!” Grady slapped him on the back. “You’re gone for over a decade. And now you’re everywhere, growin’ on us like black mold, man. In the firehouse, in the stables, and now here in my mom’s kitchen.”
“And just as sinister,” Rhett said, winking again.
“Hi, honey,” Mom said to Grady. “You kids are late.” But she walked over and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
“Sorry.” Grady picked her up, clean off the floor, and wrapped her in a bear hug until she squeaked. “We ran late on a drill. Mmm, the Chihuahua Pasta sure smells good.”
“Put me down,” she demanded.
“The what?” Rhett asked, laughing. He turned to Mom. “You got ground Chihuahua in your Crock-Pot, Mrs. H?”
“I have no such thing in my Crock-Pot, Ever-Rhett, and you know it. Staying for dinner?” Helen allowed a small smile to play around her mouth.
Jules leaned against the stove. Don’t you dare stay for dinner. Please stay for dinner.
Rhett looked as though he could read her mind. He grinned.
She scowled.
Grady, clueless as to this byplay, lifted the lid of the Crock-Pot and inspected the contents. “Yep. Chihuahua. I see the tail.”
“That is not true!” Mom swatted his butt with a kitchen towel.
“Well, ma’am, I don’t know.” Rhett adopted a dubious expression. “If it’s not a small dog, what sort of critter you got in there? Is it tender?”
“It’s possum,” said Jules. “And Mom pickled the feet.”
Her mother frowned. “That is disgusting, Julianna.”
No affectionate swat with the towel for her. No kiss on the cheek, either.
Rhett observed the dynamic and stepped in easily. “Oooh, I do love me some pickled possum toes. With Tabasco.”
“What can we get you all to drink?” Mom asked, ignoring this.
“Red rum, please.” Grady tried to get to the Crock-Pot with a spoon, but she shooed him away.
“Beer?” Rhett suggested, though he knew better.
“Not at my table, young man. You may have iced tea, milk, a Coke, or water.”
“I have Baileys in my purse,” Aunt Sue called from the other side of the screened kitchen door.
“Where it will stay,” Mom informed her evenly. “Come on in, Sue.”
“You can’t drink that with Chihuahua Pasta anyway,” Grady pointed out, opening the door for her and wrapping her in a bear hug, too. “It’s a flavor crime.”
“A hanging offense,” Rhett added.
“It’s for my coffee,” Sue clarified, utterly ignoring Helen Holt’s pointed look. “It ain’t against my religion.”
And so it went.
Not-So-Rotten-Rhett did indeed stay for dinner, and Jules couldn’t decide whether she was happy about it or not.
Dessert was homemade apple cobbler with vanilla ice cream, and Aunt Sue did indeed splash Baileys from a flask into her coffee while Mom was in the kitchen.
Billy shook his head, but grinned.
So did the rest of them.
Mom appeared with a tray of plastic champagne glasses and a bottle of ginger ale. “Sue, you left your purse open. And you all—y’all can wipe the smirks off of your faces, you disrespectful bunch. But we do have something to toast.”
Jules stared at her. “We do?”
“Yes. You can help me pour the ginger ale. If you can keep your wet hair out of it.”
Jules pulled a rubber band out of her pocket and fumbled with her hair.
Mom’s lips flattened. “Not at the dinner table, Julianna. Please.”
Jules sighed, got to her feet, and ducked into the hallway, where she pulled her hair back with the help of a reflection from a picture frame. By the time she got back to the table, Mom had poured all the ginger ale and set the plastic flutes down in front of everyone.
“So we got some good news from that fancy doctor on Billy’s prognosis,” she said.
“What fancy doctor?” Jules asked.
“The one that Rhett got in touch with on Dad’s behalf,” Grady said.
A lump grew in Jules’s throat. Not-So-Rotten-Rhett, yet again . . .
“She thinks the tumor is treatable with just surgery and then medication,” Billy told them.
Jules stared at him, tears welling in her eyes. “That’s�
��that’s—” She ran to hug her father.
“Fantastic,” Rhett finished for her, raising his glass.
Grady laughed in delight and raised his, too.
“Thank the good Lord,” Mom murmured, toasting Dad across the table.
“Amen,” said Aunt Sue, raising her coffee cup.
Mom shot her a look of irritation.
Aunt Sue just grinned and had herself a big swig—bless her heart.
* * *
After dinner, Jules stopped by her cabin, retrieved two gallon Ziplocs of rosemary and lavender sprigs that she’d harvested from Aunt Sue’s garden for Mia, and, accompanied by Beast, headed out to her friend’s showplace of a house on the outskirts of town. Built of pale gray brick with white trim and double doors, Mia’s ex, Rob, had spared no expense on the grand facade of the place, complete with a white columned portico that looked as though it was ready to receive the governor and first lady of Texas at any moment. It would be no surprise if the doors were opened by a butler in full uniform, parading a silver tray of iced tea.
Appearances could be as deceiving as Rob, who had borrowed too much money, run out of it, failed to pay it back, and then skipped town. A real peach of a guy, was Rob. Good riddance.
But Jules wasn’t allowed to mention any of this to anyone, on pain of death. Rob, as far as anyone in Silverlake knew, was working in Europe. And Mia was never so much as a day late on any payment of any loan of any kind. Mia was as honest and sturdy as a live oak—and twice as proud. No tongues would wag about her business. She and Rob had just drifted apart; the divorce had been amicable; they still cared deeply for each other.
Yeah, right. What a crock. Jules wrinkled her nose as she rang the doorbell, which played—yes, really—a strain of “The Eyes of Texas” to announce visitors.
Mia opened the door with a classic eye roll, wearing yellow rubber gloves. “I swear I’m going to shoot that thing right off the wall.”
Jules grinned at her. “You’ve been saying that for six months.”
“I mean it this time.”
“Hey, at least it doesn’t play ‘Up Against the Wall Redneck Mother,’” Jules said as Mia made a fuss over Beast and congratulated her on her choice of owner. Beast licked her face, wagged her tail, and then headed off to explore the house. “‘The Eyes of Texas’ is classy.”
“All the livelong day.” Mia’s eyes lit up at the sight of the herbs. “I could kiss you! I was just running out of lavender. And the rosemary is perfect, too.”
“Aunt Sue has mint, if you want it.”
“Yes! Thank you. How’s your dad?”
Jules shared the good news.
“Wonderful! I’m so glad to hear that.” Mia led the way into the huge kitchen, where she had three double boilers going on the stove, each with four jars submerged in the tops, full of chunks of beeswax.
In another was a mess of pinkish goo.
“What is that?” Jules asked.
“My very first batch of beeswax lip balm. It’s got shea butter and coconut oil in it.”
“Why’s it pink?”
“Raspberry juice.”
“Interesting. How are you packaging it?”
Mia heaved a sigh and pointed to five cookie sheets in the middle of the gourmet island, each one covered with at least a hundred tiny plastic jars. Next to them lay sheets and sheets of round labels, printed with her business name: You & Mia, Ltd.
“You’re kidding me.” Jules stared at her friend. “You have to fill each one?”
“And screw on the lid after it cools. And center the tiny little labels on each one.”
“How much can you sell them for?”
“Five bucks. I test-marketed them in spas in Austin. They flew off the shelves.”
“Okay.” Jules settled herself on one of the kitchen island’s stools. “But I am charging you margaritas for my time and chances are that I will cuss when trying to center the stickers.”
“Done. You’re a lifesaver.”
“And I want blues music, not country.”
“Hey, hey! Demanding little wench, aren’t you?” But Mia put on some B.B. King and then headed for the blender. “Lay down some wax paper. And then fill that measuring cup with the melted lip gloss. I’ll bring you a tiny funnel. Only one funnel-fill per jar.”
“Got it.” Jules inhaled the scent of the lip gloss. “I think some lavender would make it smell really nice.”
“Ooooh. Good idea!”
Twenty minutes later, they were both working, margaritas at the ready. But something about the smell of the lime and tequila was off-putting to Jules. She barely touched hers.
“Any sign of Rob yet?” she ventured.
Mia compressed her lips and shook her head. She reached for her margarita and took a liberal slug of it. “So what’s happening with Rhett?”
Jules cracked her neck and placed another label. She smoothed it down. “He’s . . . annoying.”
Mia cast her a sidelong glance. “Seems to be staying for a while.”
“Yeah. Camping out at the firehouse, instead of going home to Silverlake Ranch.”
“He and Declan . . . will they ever patch things up?”
“No idea. But in the meantime, he’s driving me crazy.”
Mia lifted a reddish eyebrow.
For some reason, Jules found herself blushing. She could feel the heat rising from her neck all the way to her forehead. “He stayed for dinner tonight at my parents’ house.”
“Did he?” Mia waited.
Jules outwaited her, the silence stretching.
“Uh-huh. You still have that thing for him,” Mia finally said, placing three colorful polished river rocks artistically in the top of one of her candles. They would glow, adding charm and luster when it was lit.
“I do not.”
“Whatever you say. You sure came back in a terrible mood after Dallas. Did your meeting fall through? Weren’t you going to have dinner with him there, or something?”
“Didn’t feel like it.”
“When are you going to tell me what happened?” Mia could be ruthless.
“Have you tried rosemary in the candles?”
“It’s for the lotion. Nice subject change.”
Jules sighed. “Fine. I did have dinner with him. And . . . you know.”
Mia’s eyes widened. “You did not!”
“I did. It was . . . disappointing.” It’s only half a lie. The morning was.
“Bull.”
“That’s all I have to say.”
Mia evaluated her frankly. “It may be all you have to say, but you are withholding something big. Let me guess: He pulled the Grady card.”
“Aaaaaagh.” Jules took a swig of the unwanted margarita and squinted balefully at her friend.
“I knew it.”
The tequila burned an acid trail down her throat. “Got any munchies?”
“No. At least not the salty, fattening kind that you want—only celery, carrots, or fruit. And I’m not done asking you Rhett-orical questions, girlfriend.” Mia grinned.
“Yes, you are. At least if you want my help packaging the next nine hundred of these obnoxious little lip glosses, you are.”
“Fine.”
“Mia, why not have a bunch of girls over to help you? We could make a party of it.”
“Believe me, I’ve thought about it. But then word will get out about the house . . . I can’t have that.”
Jules shook her head. “So you’d rather that people just think you’re snotty and won’t invite them over?”
Mia sighed. “Yeah. The truth is too embarrassing.”
“We could do it somewhere else, then. Kristina’s kitchen at Piece A Cake? C’mon. You need help—more than I can give you—especially if you want your products ready for Fool Fest.”
>
“Kristina’s got her own production issues for Fool Fest. I can’t ask her.”
“So you’re going to work your nursing shifts and take care of your in-home patients and stay up until all hours doing this . . . until you drop?”
Mia shrugged. “I don’t really have a choice.”
“I’ll be over again tomorrow night,” Jules informed her, eyeing the endless rows of tiny plastic jars. “You have to sleep sometime.”
Tears welled in her friend’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“Stop it.” Jules slid off her stool and wrapped her arms around Mia. “Shut up and drink your margarita.”
Mia hugged her back. “Okay. If you insist.”
Chapter 20
Rhett stood, hands on his hips, surveying the area that would become the new indoor riding ring at the Holt Stables. It would back right up to the barn. Massive piles of two-by-fours lay at each corner of the ring, along with extension cords, sawhorses, tarps, toolboxes, nail guns, and everything else imaginable that a construction crew might need to frame out the building. He’d gotten a work crew in a few days ago to sink the posts in cement.
Jules had avoided him as much as possible for the last several days, which was downright confusing, considering that she’d planted a kiss on him. When they had run into each other, they both ignored the tension spiraling between them.
She was busy now corralling the horses and that donkey of hers in one of the far paddocks, so that they’d be away from the noise and chaos of today’s work party.
Rhett didn’t know how Declan had gotten the memo, but he showed up for Saturday’s work party, too, along with Jake and Grady and the rest of the Fire and Rescue squad not on shift. He’d barely acknowledged Rhett and was inspecting the French drain along the barn wall. Drainage was crucial.
Jake was reviewing the plans. Grady, Rafi, and Mick had gotten to work marking and measuring.
Lila, Charlie, and a bunch of their friends set up the “party” portion of work party.