Angry Girl rubbed a hand over her mouth, like it could help her keep whatever foul words were stamped clear as day across her pretty face.
I swallowed a laugh.
We drove through downtown Green Valley, a stretch of road I knew by heart, lined with small shops and brick buildings, waving to a few people as we did. On the corner, waiting to cross the street, Scotia Simmons peered into the cab of my truck with narrowed eyes, and I grimaced.
All I could do was pray her cell phone battery was dead so that the news of my unfamiliar passenger wouldn't reach too many ears in the next hour. If it did, I'd hear about it from more than one person in my life, that was for sure. In fact, by the time I dropped her off at Fran and Robert’s, I'd bet my phone would already be ringing.
First from Magnolia, second only to my father, if there was anyone to beat her to it.
We drove the rest of the way to the Buchanan's place in silence, and I noticed the way she started fiddling with her fingers after she dropped her combat boot-clad feet down onto the floor. It was the first flinch of nerves I'd seen out of her, and that ratcheted my interest another notch or two.
"You from Francine or Robert's side of the family?" I asked.
She sighed. "I'm a Buchanan."
Finally, an answer given freely, without rancor or heat behind it. I nodded. "They're good people."
When the road curved and the Buchanan's house came into view, she sighed audibly in relief.
That brought another smile to my face. "Ready to be rid of me, Angry Girl?"
"Yup." Her knee started bouncing as I pulled into the long driveway.
Their house was large, with shiny black shutters against crisp white siding. Blue morning glories crawled up the side of the wrap-around porch, and brightly colored stalks of astilbe popped against the side of the house. Set at the back of the driveway was the renovated garage apartment where Levi used to live, though he had recently moved out to Seattle.
Connor and his wife, Sylvia, lived down the road in a small ranch house. One I’d helped them move into just before they got married, because I felt bad that I couldn’t make it to their wedding. Nice people, kind and true and welcoming, and as I puzzled over this entire interaction, it wasn’t very easy for me to place this woman into the mix.
Fran came out of the garage, a hand raised to block her view from the sun, and her face broke into a pleased smile when she saw my truck. It took a second for her to notice my passenger, but when she did, I saw her clap a hand to her chest in relief.
I'd barely slipped the gear into park when the woman next to me flung the door open, crossed the driveway with just a few strides of her long legs, and wrapped her aunt in a fierce hug.
"Oh, honey, you had me worried sick! I tried to call a couple of times and it wouldn’t go through," Fran exclaimed, pulling back to cup the sides of her niece's face. "What happened?"
As I climbed out of my truck and greeted Fran with a nod, Angry Girl finally softened into a different creature entirely. Hugging her aunt yanked all the fight out of her, and a massive smile stretched over her face.
Damn if she wasn't one of the prettiest things I'd ever seen, and that was saying something, because she was awfully pretty in anger, too. The thought was there, as quick as a flash of lightning, and had the same kind of potential for destruction, but it couldn't be stopped. I shoved it out of my head as fast as it had shown up. That was a storm that had no place in my life.
"My stupid car died," she sighed, hugging her aunt again. "And I had no cell service. I thought I was going to end up a headline in the newspaper. California transplant dies of hunger in the backwoods of Tennessee."
Fran laughed and wrapped an arm around her niece's waist, since Angry Girl was a few inches taller. "Oh, Grace, this would only happen to you, wouldn't it?"
Grace.
Those golden eyes flicked in my direction at the admission of her name, and I grinned.
"Now, Tucker Haywood, what got you involved in my beautiful niece's misfortune?" Fran asked.
I slipped my hands into my pockets and shrugged. "I just picked the right time to go for a drive, I guess. Found her on the side of the road by her car."
Fran shook her head. "Well, I don't know how to thank you, Tuck. Though I'm sure Grace already has."
The woman in question set her jaw and gave me a level, warning look.
DON’T YOU DARE, she warned, in all caps.
My grin spread, and I couldn't believe I felt this tempted to pull the tiger's tail, so to speak, after everything I’d already done.
"Of course she did," I said. "She has the manners of an angel."
She narrowed her eyes at me, color popping on her cheeks.
Fran glanced between us with a smile. "An angel, huh?" She nudged Grace. "Now that's a new one for you, sweetie."
"Do you need some help getting the car over to the Winston’s?" I asked.
"Don't worry about it. We'll give the garage a call after her daddy gets off work. He and Robert will get it settled. Thank you, Tuck."
Ahh, the last puzzle piece. Daughter of Glenn, Robert's brother, whose ex-wife and two kids moved off to California years ago. No wonder I didn't know who she was.
In the pocket of my jeans, my phone started buzzing. Not wanting to be rude, I reached in and silenced it. "Well, I'll leave you two to visit." I held Grace's eyes and nodded. "Grace, it sure was a pleasure to meet you."
She pulled in a deep breath, visibly fortifying herself. "Thank you for helping me," she said, and oh, I saw how much it pained her to pull those words out.
I nodded to both of them as I climbed back in my truck. "Welcome to Green Valley, Miss Buchanan."
Her glare made me laugh, and the two women started into the house as I shifted the truck into reverse. My phone started buzzing again, and I pulled it out of my pocket.
Magnolia.
I let out a slow breath before I answered it. "Hey there."
"So I just got the strangest phone call," her sweet voice said. "Daddy heard from Scotia who said you passed her going through town with a strange woman in your truck. She didn't have the faintest idea who it was."
"You checking up on me?" I was smiling, and she must have known it, because she let out a breathy laugh.
"No. Just curious."
"Just helping out Fran and Robert's niece. Her car broke down outside of town and she needed a ride."
"Poor thing. Well, I'm glad you could help. Are you coming over?"
I glanced in my rearview mirror, the house and the angry girl completely out of view.
"Yup. I'm on my way," I told my girlfriend.
Chapter 29
Grace
“Shouldn't we be helping them?" I asked Aunt Fran.
In unison, our heads tilted to the side while Uncle Robert and my cousin Connor unloaded suitcases out of bed of his truck. My car was safely towed to the Winston's Garage, after they'd divested the defunct automobile of all my belongings.
"Yeah," Connor said with a grunt. "Shouldn't you be helping us?"
"Hush," Aunt Fran chimed in. "She had a rough landing. No harm in having some tea and a visit while you two put those God-given muscles to use."
Before he turned back to grab another one from the truck, I caught an eye roll. When he grabbed the handle of the one holding all my books, I couldn't resist. "Lift with your legs, Connor. That's a heavy one."
The jar of tea, loaded with ice and sun-warmed flavor, hid my grin when Connor gave me a dirty look.
"Missed you too, cousin," I called out.
Aunt Fran clucked her tongue when he flipped me his middle finger. The laugh that popped from inside of me felt like it swept away the last of the foul aftertaste from the first part of my day. I shifted in the solid wood Adirondack underneath me, tucking one leg underneath the other while my brain flashed back to my ride into town.
The foul taste was back.
I didn't want to think about Tucker Ames Haywood.
In fact, just thin
king his name made my body shudder. A wave of recoil from the bottom of my feet up to the tippy top of my head. But it came off like I was cold, because Aunt Fran turned to me.
"Sweetpea, it's hotter than a grave in hell out here. You're not coming down with something, are you?"
I shook my head. "Just thinking about that rough landing."
Her eyes twinkled, even though she didn't smile. "I'm just glad that Tucker drove past. He's good people."
"Is he?" I mumbled under my breath.
"Grace Bailey," she chided gently. "You weren't with him long enough to not like him. Everybody likes him."
Wanna bet? I thought. But I kept the words locked down in my throat, because the last thing I wanted was to come off as ungrateful. My dad's apartment didn't have near the space for Grady and I to be able to stay with him, even for a single night, and the kindness of people like Aunt Fran and Uncle Robert was the reason I was able to make this transcontinental switch.
Which is why Tucker was the absolute last thing I wanted to talk about.
I didn't want to talk about his deep, steady voice.
I didn't want to talk about his dark hair or broad shoulders.
I didn't want to talk about his gratingly steady presence or the way he drove his truck with one hand resting easily on top of the steering wheel.
The way he looked at me like he was amused with my irrational hatred of him.
Not just amused, he incited it once we were locked together in the confines of his good-smelling truck.
I blew out a slow breath and shoved his face out of my mind. One violent, brutal shove.
"My dad couldn't get off work?"
She shook her head. "It's a busy time of year at the Bait and Tackle. It will be until winter. I'm sure he would've left early if Bobby Jo said it was okay."
The thought of my dad, gruff and quiet, hair sparse and gray, cheeks scratchy from the stubble that he could never get rid of, settled me a bit. He gave the best hugs in the world, and my arms fairly itched to give him one.
He was a simple man, something that my mom despised now, but at one point, she must have been drawn to it. Long enough to let him slip a ring on her finger, say I do, and procreate two kids in one go. Their marriage had only lasted four years, and I didn't have a single recollection of them together.
Living in California, my mom's home state and where she moved us after they got divorced, was as foreign to my dad as if I'd come from Hong Kong.
"He likes working there?"
"He does. Working at the lumber yard got to be too much for his back, and even though he makes a bit less now, it’s work that makes him happy." She glanced over at me. “You know your father doesn’t need much, other than that.”
We shared a smile, thinking of his sparsely furnished apartment. He had his recliner and his TV. A small table to eat his meals, and a small balcony overlooking downtown Green Valley where he smoked his clove cigarettes. One every night before bed.
"No, he doesn't." My heart tugged painfully in my chest when I thought of him. "I love that about him."
Aunt Fran patted my hand. "Me too, sweetpea."
Uncle Robert winked at us when he pulled the last box out of the truck and walked it into the garage apartment that I'd be staying in until I got my feet under me. My cousin Levi used to live there until he moved to Seattle with his girlfriend, and since I got here a few days before my brother, I claimed that shit real fast.
"Speaking of jobs," I said slowly. "I'm going to need something to do."
She nodded and took a sip of her tea. "I know. I've been puzzling over that the last few days."
"I have too, I just don't know the places to puzzle about like you do."
"Well," she said thoughtfully, "it'll be hard to find something like your last job. But I think you know that."
The snort that came from the general vicinity of my throat made her laugh. "I'll bet. And that's part of the reason I'm happy to be here. That job drained the soul right out of my body."
"Oh, it couldn't have been that bad."
I cut her a look. "It sounds so innocent on paper, right? Receptionist at a photography studio. Perfect if you’re trying to become a photographer yourself. But when you're talking anywhere in the Los Angeles or Hollywood area, the subheading of that job description is Must Be Willing to Wrangle Pigs, Perverts, and Princesses. I've never been told to get my boobs done or had my ass groped so much in my life."
Now my full-body shudder was apparent, and she gave me a sad smile. "Well, I'm even more glad you're here then. It’ll be a good change of pace for you."
I leaned my head back and stared up at the soft blue sky. The edges of their yard, tips of the trees sweeping back and forth in the breeze, was starting to shift to a pinkish-orange as the sun began its descent somewhere that I couldn't see.
The sounds were different here, and they soothed something in me that I hadn't realized needed soothing. Like I was a cat whose hair was still lifted along my spine, a frightened child ready for a fight, and those birds singing sweetly as they swooped from tree to tree were slowly helping me lower my clenched fists.
Noises that I couldn't identify, no matter how hard I tried, were a song I wanted desperately to put on repeat, let it wipe away the memories of grungy buildings and plastic faces and gridlocked traffic.
"I'm glad I'm here," I heard myself saying. "I don't think I care what I do."
“What about the bakery? Joss has only been gone for about a month since she and Levi moved. I’ll bet she’d call over there for you if you want an interview.”
I couldn’t have stifled that laugh if I tried. “I’m a terrible baker.”
“Oh, hush, you can’t be that bad. It’s just following a recipe is all.”
“I suppose it’s something,” I said quietly. “Maybe I’ll call Joss tomorrow.”
I closed my eyes again and listened to the sounds pushing through the branches and the leaves.
"There's got to be something that calls to you, sweetpea," she said softly, like she could tell I was in a trance. “Beyond just a paycheck. I know you need that too, to get your feet under you, but what do you want to do?”
My eyes closed, even though I wanted to watch the sky change color. "I love taking pictures, but … probably not much of a calling for that here. I couldn't make that a career in LA either. How bad is that?"
"You're young, honey, of course that's not bad. I think you'll figure it out."
My job at the studio was supposed to be my foot in the door. The lever into my success. Except all it got me was a boss who catered to the fake and the phony. Any suggestion I had, any ideas I tried to bring to him earned me a pat on the head and a pointed finger back to my sterile desk in the lobby.
I turned my face in her direction and opened my eyes. "How did you do it? Figure out what you wanted to do with your life?"
"Oh goodness." She smiled gently at my uncle as he closed the tailgate on his truck. "It may sound old-fashioned to you, but I knew when I met him that building a life with him was what called to me. Make a home, raise a family of good, kind people who'd leave the world better than they found it. That's always what I wanted. Finding something to pay the bills came second, and I've been fortunate enough that since your cousin Hunter was born, I was able to stay home."
"There's nothing wrong with wanting that," I said honestly. "I just don't know if that's the case for me. I'm not sitting here dying to get knocked up a few times and change diapers for the next six years. Not that I don’t want kids someday, but I hardly worry about my ovaries shriveling up just yet."
Aunt Fran laughed. “It’s not the dream for everyone, but it was for me. But I’m a lot older than you. My generation was raised differently. There’s no right or wrong about it, mind you, just not the same.”
“And Green Valley is a lot different than LA,” I told her.
"That too." She took a sip of her tea. “You’ve got a perspective on life that I’ve never experienced, sweetpea. And it�
��s good to try to understand the people who don’t see things the way you do.”
Sitting in her chair, drinking the tea she warmed in the sun on her deck, with the sun setting in the sky, I told her to stay just as she was.
I leaned over and grabbed my camera, lifted it to my face and made a small twist to the lens. When I snapped a picture, she smiled.
“Goodness, what was so interesting about that?” Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink.
“Sweet tea in the south is interesting,” I said, pulling the camera back so I could see the shot on the screen. I smiled and showed it to her. “Especially when you’re not used to it.”
Her eyes turned speculative as she listened to me.
"What?" I asked.
“That’s what you should do. You should take pictures of the way you see life here. You probably notice details that we take for granted, because we live it every day.”
Just like that, ideas sprang into my head, a million balls bouncing wildly on a trampoline.
“Who knows what I’d do with them,” I said slowly, “but it’s something to keep me occupied, at least.”
She patted my hand. “I tell you what, you call Joss about the bakery, and in the meantime, I’ve got somewhere to take you tomorrow.”
“What is it?”
“A meeting.” Aunt Fran winked. “Good subjects for pictures, trust me.”
A brief, bright burst of nerves fluttered around my stomach. A meeting full of Green Valley residents who'd peg me as a newbie as soon as I cleared the doorway. People who'd probably call me a Yankee or smile at my flat vowels. Tucker's face slipped right back into my head, an unwelcome flash of hard jaw and dark eyes.
Get. Out. I thought viciously.
"What's the meeting about?" I tipped the tea up to my mouth while I waited for her to answer.
"It’s just a meeting, sweetpea."
She'd called me that since I was little, maybe four or five. "That's a blatant non-answer."
"Goodness, so impatient."
"I'm impatient because I know exactly what you're doing, Aunt Fran."
"Do you now?"
The Love at First Sight Box Set Page 25