by Mary Frame
It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life. My parents would have been praying for the Lord’s forgiveness for the bright, flamboyant colors. Despite the large and eccentric exterior, it’s a welcoming place. In my deepest dreams, I would live somewhere exactly like this with a sassy wife, two point five kids, Mr. Bojangles, and maybe a pig. The most important part would be raising kids who could be themselves. A place where we could share triumphs and failures alike, without fear of judgment or shame. In other words, the exact opposite of my own childhood.
We’ve barely exited the vehicle when Granny directs me to wait for her in the kitchen and hauls Beast around the house to the barn in back, already yammering about lifting barrels of moonshine and mash.
The door is unlocked, so I let myself inside. The walls are covered with a variety of paintings and murals in vibrant colors, every available surface featuring statues and odd little artifacts and trinkets. A Yoruba goddess poses next to a Zulu warrior king, idols that would make my family cross themselves and hose the whole house down in holy water.
It doesn’t take long for Granny to meet me in the kitchen, where she smacks a duster into my hands.
“I need help cleaning the fans and changing some light bulbs that I can’t reach. I tried to use the stool but nearly broke my hip. If I’m gonna break my hip, I’d rather it be from doing something fun.” She winks.
I chuckle and follow her into the living room, where she points up at the fans. “There’s one in the spare room down by the bathroom you can get when you’re done with that.”
I bow. “I am at your service, my lady.”
She smiles and pats my arm. “You keep the cheap flattery coming, too.”
After a few, I get the ceiling fans dusted and then once that’s done, I find her in the kitchen extracting a pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge.
She’s left the bulbs for the lights on the counter and she points out which ones need to be replaced.
Even I have to use a step stool in the high-ceilinged kitchen, and while I’m spinning them in, she asks, “Are you thirsty? I made some sweet tea.”
“I would be delighted to partake of your hospitality.” I finish with a bulb and step off the stool, turning to face her only to find her already shuffling in my direction. Except she’s closer than I realized and we run right into each other and she spills the cold, dark beverage all over my white T-shirt.
“Oh, no. Will you look at that?” She tsks. “What a mess. You’re gonna get all sticky. Quick, get that shirt off and I’ll put it in the wash. Don’t worry, I’ll have it clean in a hot minute.” She sets the now empty glass down on a nearby counter and holds out her hands for my shirt.
I hesitate, watching her bright eyes. Did she plan this? Not that I’m complaining. If she wants a show, it’s the least I can do. I pull my shirt over my head and puff up my chest a bit, handing over the damp cotton and flexing my arms.
She’s grinning like a mule eating briars, and the shirt she was so eager to get in the wash is in her hands but she’s not making a move toward the laundry room.
Her eyes are focused below my neck.
Getting ogled by Granny . . . I may have reached a new low.
“Aren’t you gonna wash that, ma’am?”
“Sure, sure . . . you need a towel or something?”
“I’m good.”
“Yes, yes, you are,” she says. “I would offer you a change of shirt but I’m not sure we have any in your size.” She grins at me and I can’t help but laugh.
“You are slicker than a hound’s tooth, Granny.”
“Honey, I’ve been around since dirt was new. Besides, the others should be here soon and I hear Annabel is finally joining us.” She reaches into a nearby closet and hands me a broom. “I think the front porch needs some sweeping before they get here, which should be in, oh, ’round about ten minutes.”
I shake my head but take the broom from her. I see what she’s doing here and I can’t say I disapprove.
Chapter Ten
I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman’s inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman’s fickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men.
—Jane Austen, Persuasion
Annabel
“I’m so glad you decided to come with us this week. Granny has been asking after you,” Reese says as we head down the long gravel drive to the ranch.
I haven’t gone to supper at Granny’s in a while, always coming up with an excuse because I knew Jude would be there. Granny loves Jude. Everyone loves the rat bastard.
But since I haven’t seen him since our last awkward encounter, I wanted to check in without seeming overly desperate by calling (again) or stopping by with some excuse to see Reese for the tenth time.
We’ve talked on the phone, briefly, but he had nothing new to share.
This whole nefarious spy thing is a lot more boring than I thought it would be. Too much waiting around for Jude to call me and not enough ninja scissor kicking.
Life has been nearly normal. Reese and Fitz are annoyingly sappy, Stan is a jerk, and Bruce keeps telling me things he thinks are inspirational but make no sense, like “A cat can have kittens in the oven, but that don’t make ’em biscuits,” and “When you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.” But at least I haven’t had any more threats to my job.
“Did you call Momma yet? She’s been asking after you,” Fitz says when we stop in front of the house.
Reese is sitting in the middle so I lean over her.
“Don’t worry about it, Fitzwilliam. I’ll call her.”
“Are you sure? Because you keep saying that and you still haven’t. She said Dad talked to Bruce the other day and she wants to talk to you about it.”
Goddamn small towns. Bruce and Daddy went to high school together. Of course he thinks it’s no problem to call my father and talk to him about me and my job. It’s not like I’m a legal adult or anything. No ethical conflicts there at all.
Not to mention that all it’s gonna do is stress Momma out. I’m stressing enough for the both of us as it is. If I can’t pay the rent, there’s nowhere else to go. The housing market in Blue Falls is a hot mess ever since the new mines opened outside town. We were lucky to get this place as it is, and there’s no money to be had from any other quarter, not since Daddy had to stop working and they moved away to live with our grandma in Florida. Worst-case scenario, we move to Florida with them, which means Fitz wouldn’t be able to finish his degree, which is not an option at all.
“It’s none of your never mind.” I jump out of the truck before he can harass me anymore but then come to a full stop.
Jude is on the porch, sweeping. Shirtless.
Is he trying to kill me?
His chest is defined and built without being overly so. Not too big, not too small, just like a sexy version of Goldilocks.
I follow Reese and Fitz up the walk.
“Granny’s got y’all working up a storm, doesn’t she?” Reese calls out as we approach.
“She likes to keep me busy.” His jeans are slung low on his hips. He leans on the broom, all relaxed grace and intrinsic masculinity wrapped in a muscular package.
And somehow he’s a light golden color everywhere. Where and when has he been tanning? Does he go to a salon? He’s a hacker. They aren’t supposed to be golden gods with six-packs. They’re supposed to be milky white with saggy moobs and spindly arms.
“Where’s your shirt?” I ask.
“Granny had a little accident with the sweet tea.”
Fitz laughs. “I just bet she did.”
Granny opens the door. “There’s my little Tootsie Roll. Heya, Fitz, Annabel. I’m fixin’ to set the table, since the food’s ’bout done. Reese, why don’t you help me?”
“Sure, Granny.”
She heads inside and then Granny focuses on Fitz.
“Would you mind checking on Beast? He’s in the barn, strain
ing the mash.”
“On it.” Fitz disappears around the side of the house.
And just like that, I’m left alone on the porch with a shirtless, broom-wielding, too-sexy-for-his-own-good Jude Parker.
I’m trying not to stare, but it’s damn near impossible.
One of his pecs tightens and flexes under my scrutiny.
“Stop that!”
“Then stop staring.” He’s grinning.
“Aren’t you cold?” I pick at nonexistent fuzz on my sleeve.
He shrugs. “It’s like sixty-five degrees. Not exactly sweater weather.”
“In East Texas, anything lower than seventy-two is sweater weather.”
We fall silent. His eyes are bright as the sky with the sun behind me, and the weight of his gaze makes me squirm. He’s watching me and I’m trying to watch anything but him. He’s doing that thing where he says nothing to try and make me uncomfortable and cave first, and dammit, it’s working.
“Have you heard anything?”
“Nothing worth mentioning. I would have called you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t you trust me?” He moves closer.
Now him and his hot man chest are within touching distance. My stomach shimmers in anticipation. I want to touch him. I want him to touch me. I’m like one of those toys in the package with the button, touch to test. “Should I?”
“I don’t see why not.”
He’s so close, all that skin and muscle makes my mouth goes dry. He has a smattering of freckles on his shoulders. Why is he so hot?
My hand rises of its own volition, as if he’s answering my internal question. Yes, touch to test, go ahead. I yank my disobedient fingers back, covering my mouth on a cough, as if that’s what I had intended all along.
“You need some water, darlin’?”
“I need something.”
His grin is slow and sends heat rippling through me.
“Jude! Annabel! Dinner!” Granny calls.
I jump back a mile, but Jude just smiles at me, lazily, while I fluster and fiddle with my clothes like a teen getting caught necking by her parents.
Jude motions for me to precede him into the house. He follows, close as a shadow.
Beast and Fitz are sitting at the table while Reese and Granny bring out some dishes from the kitchen.
We all sit around the long table in the substantial dining room, but while sizeable, it’s not formal. The chandelier over the table is a mishmash of geometrical shapes and primary colors. The seats are bench style, formed with a dark gleaming wood that matches the table. I slide in next to Beast, and Jude sits on my other side. Very closely on my other side.
Granny sits at the head of the table and says grace before we dig in. When she passes a dish down to Jude and it nearly spills on him, he asks, “Is my shirt ready yet?”
She purses her lips in thought, her head cocking to one side like she’s listening for the wash. “I don’t think so.”
Amusement lightens his tone. “How long does it take to wash and dry one shirt?”
She busies herself with the silverware and napkin in front of her. “It’s possible and somewhat likely I may have forgotten to move it to the dryer.”
“I have an extra shirt in my truck,” Fitz offers.
Granny gives him the stink eye, but Fitz ignores it and runs out to the truck and comes back with a Blue Falls track shirt. Jude tugs it over his head and covers all that perfect virility. I can’t help but sigh in relief.
Now I can focus on something else. Except Fitz is a runner and longer and leaner than Jude, so the shirt is a bit too small and tight around his chest and now Jude is sitting a smidge closer.
Our thighs are touching.
I’m not moving away first, dammit.
Granny asks everyone—except Jude and me—about school.
I listen and shovel mashed potatoes and pulled pork into my mouth while Fitz and Reese assure Granny they’re getting ready for finals and staying on top of their obligations, and Jude comments on Beast’s excellent grades and test-taking abilities.
Then she lasers in on Reese, as she does, about how much time she’s spending with Fitz and how their relationship is progressing.
Normally, I’d join in and argue with Granny or tease Reese because it’s fun, but I’m too focused on the man next to me. I can’t stop thinking about the heat of his leg pressed against mine, or the way he wipes his mouth with the napkin, or the feel of his arm brushing mine.
Granny says, “You can’t ignore the physical aspects of a relationship.”
My belly dips in response to Jude’s low chuckle.
Wait. That pulls me back. “What are we talking about?”
But now I’ve yanked the spotlight from Reese, who throws me a grateful smile, not realizing the move was completely unintentional.
“Annabel. How’s work? Any good gossip I should know about?” Granny asks.
Something buzzes in Jude’s pocket, the vibration moving through my thigh since he’s basically on top of me. Surreptitiously, so only his hand is moving and anyone on the other side of the table can’t even tell, he pulls the small phone out of his pocket and lays it face up in his lap.
“It’s great. Nothing really going on. The usual stuff, you know.”
“Nothing to share? Can’t swing a cat in this town without hitting someone with juicy gossip and you should have the best being at the Daily.”
“Uh.” I glance over at Jude. The happy-go-lucky smile is gone. His eyes are serious.
Something is happening.
We need to get out of here.
“Actually, speaking of the paper, I just remembered I have to go to . . . um, do something for that right now.” I stand up and glance over at Fitz. “Can I take your truck?”
He’s bewildered. Understandably. “You have to leave now? We haven’t even had dessert yet.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s for my job. And you know, it’s important because we have to pay bills and such.”
“Where do you have to go?” Reese asks.
Jude stands. “Actually, it’s for me.”
Fitz leans back, crossing his arms over his chest and scrutinizing both of us. “For you? Really, guys? Ads for gigolos doing well these days?” His words are joking, but his tone is hard around the edges.
“I’ve got a little interest with the paper and Annabel is assisting me,” Jude says. “But we can’t talk about it yet, because, you know, ethics and sources and all that.”
Reese cocks her head at us, a little smile on her face, but Fitz is still blinking in confusion.
“That makes literally no sense.”
“It’s one of my many lucrative ventures, babies. You know how I am with my entrepreneurial mindset. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have some business to attend to.”
“Y’all can take my car,” Granny says. “Keys are by the door. Bring it back by tomorrow afternoon. I have an appointment at the beautician. And I expect you to make up for this absence by coming over for supper on Thanksgiving. No excuses.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jude says.
“Clothing optional,” Granny adds.
Jude smiles at her and kisses her on her white-haired head.
“Thanks, Granny,” I say, giving her a hug and then following Jude out the door.
I’m buckling up in the front seat of Granny’s Cadillac when I ask, “What did you find out?”
“Bryce received a phone call from a blocked number. Might be something important.”
He drives us through town, his hands competent and strong on the steering wheel. Within ten minutes, we’re back at his place. “You need water or anything?” he asks as we pass the kitchen.
“Uh, no, thanks.”
He’s always so damn considerate. It makes him even sexier.
Once in his room, he shuts the door behind us and heads to his closet, pulling out his laptop and flipping it open on his desk, fingers flying.
With a few cli
cks, he starts the playback.
“Hey. You wanted me to call?” Bryce’s voice, but the pitch is high and wavery.
“You alone?” the other voice asks. It’s male and young and confident. Louder than Bryce. No nerves here. Definitely a Texas drawl, too.
“Yeah.”
“I need you to make a delivery.”
“Where?”
“Pick up will be in the same place as last time. Get it by eight tomorrow night and bring it to Bodean’s. They’ve got a computer in the office ’round back. Just stick it in the drive and it will run its magic.”
“Fine. But this is the last time I’m doing this.” Bryce tries to sound tough, but his voice is on the shrill side of nervous.
The voice on the other line chuckles, and what should be a humorous sound has a dark edge. “It’s the last time when I say it is. I’ve got you by the balls, little boy. If you don’t help me, not only will I reverse your grades, I bet daddy dearest would love to know everything you’ve been up to lately.” There’s a smile wrapped around the bitter words and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“But, but, I—”
Click.
Bryce emits a gargled sound of frustration and hangs up.
Jude and I share a glance.
“Bodean’s.”
I shake my head. “The Turkey Trot is tomorrow night. It’s a charity dance competition. They hold it there every year. It’s very popular and the place will be packed.”
Jude’s eyes light up.
“Now you want to have a dance competition some night, don’t you?
“Well now, that would be a fine way to generate some income.” Jude taps away at his laptop.
“Whoever Bryce was talking to sounded young. Like early twenties, maybe.” I sit on the edge of the desk, watching him work. Competent fingers flying.
Jude nods, his brow furrowed. “Sounded vaguely familiar. You think?”
“I didn’t recognize it.”