He gives another amused grin. “I mean, it’s probably totaled. From what I can tell, the frame’s all damaged and the engine’s a mangled heap. Best let your insurance cut you a check and move on.”
I rub my temples with my fingers and close my eyes. My blood sugar is getting dangerously low, and I’m thisclose to snapping into total bitch mode.
“Fine… whatever. I’ll let the insurance people deal with it. But later. I just need to get my stuff and get settled in. I’ve been driving since dawn… I’m hungry… Please just tell me what I owe you for the tow.”
Colton’s eyes soften for an instant. “We’ll work all that out later. Why don’t you head on over to The Dirty and grab a bite. I’ll get your belongings out for you.”
I let out a deep sigh. “Dale mentioned you might have a loaner car I can use?”
He chuckles, a most unexpected and sexy sound. Deep and throaty, yet playful. “I’m not running a car rental service here, darlin’.”
My eyes narrow again. “Cady. My name is Cady.”
“My mistake. Cady darlin’.”
He chuckles again, and this time I see two small dimples in his tanned, grease-covered cheeks. I turn away.
“Never mind then. I’m going to get something to eat and figure some things out. I’ll be back later.”
I start to walk away, then stop and look back at him. He’s staring at me with an amused look on his face.
I shoot him some death daggers with my eyes. “And don’t touch any of my stuff!”
Chapter 5.
Having spent most of my life in big cities, or at least towns with populations well over 100,000, I’m not the least bit prepared for the shock of walking through the front doors of The Dirty South and having what seems like every pair of eyes turn to look at me, as if they know a stranger is in their midst. An outsider. I swear conversations quiet down, and even the music gets softer. I’ve never felt so uncomfortably self-conscious, and I have to fight the urge to turn and walk back out the door.
But for better or worse, I’m here now. They can look all they want and get it out of their system.
I’m hungry.
I blink, and now everyone seems to be carrying on normally. Must’ve just been my imagination. I glance around looking for a hostess.
A petite blonde sashays by me carrying a large tray of food. She pauses and does a quick double-take, then flashes a perky smile. Her teeth are badly crooked, but for some reason it makes her look cuter. “Hi, darlin’! Drinkin’, dinin’, or dancin’?”
“Uh… dining?”
She nods at the booths around the room. “Grab a seat anywhere you like. Someone’ll be right with you.”
Seriously, what is the deal with everyone calling me darling?
It appears most of the patrons are here for the ‘drinking and dancing’ portion of the establishment, and the dining area is far less populated. I spot a table in the back corner, away from most prying eyes. Perfect. I hurry over and slide into the booth with my back to the rest of the room. The menus lying on the table are made of thick paper with faux-burned edging, and the one I pick up has several food stains on it. But when I check out the choices, everything sounds so delectable I wouldn’t care if it was covered in fire ants.
My stomach growls again. I’d begun dieting for the wedding, trying to lose some of my excess law school weight— the freshman fifteen that seemed to stick around all the way through graduation. And even after that all blew up, my appetite has been pretty non-existent these past couple of weeks.
But now, looking at the menu selection and the plates of the diners around me, everything looks so amazing, my will power is going right out the window.
Screw it. I haven’t had a decent meal in days, and I just almost died. I’m pigging out.
A waitress with curly red hair and the biggest, most heavily- mascara’d blue eyes I’ve ever seen stops by my table and smiles. I tell her my order: pulled pork nachos, a side of fried green tomatoes, and a tall glass of sweet tea. I’ve never tried fried green tomatoes before, but I know it’s a big thing out here. When in Rome…
As the waitress walks away I glance around. This place is pretty cool, almost like something out of a movie. The décor is mostly heavy wood, and sawdust is scattered on the floor. The vibe is definitely ‘down home and casual’, but with a bit of an attitude. On the walls are pictures of rough-neck cowboys placed right beside gorgeous debutantes posing in their ball gowns in front of historic mansions.
And the paradox doesn’t end there. At first glance, the room looks rustic and dingy. But it has so much character. And as I study the booth where I’m sitting, I can tell this is no ordinary, run-of-the-mill factory table. It looks custom-made… maybe by hand. And the seats are covered with leather so soft they feel like butter.
While I’m waiting for the food to arrive, I take the opportunity to go to the restroom to wash my hands and check my lip again. Plus, I want to see where the music is coming from.
I pass by an open doorway that leads to the other part of the house. Against the far wall is a long, wooden bar with tons of bottles of booze behind it. There are some booths with barstools, dart boards, a few pool tables, and even a bucking bronco. No one is on it at the moment, but in the space around it several people are dancing to music coming from an old-fashioned jukebox.
They all look like they’re having fun, and I notice that everyone is either coupled up, or gathered in small groups with their friends.
A strange ache hits my gut, and I experience an unfamiliar sensation – loneliness.
I don’t know anyone out here. I have no friends, and I certainly won’t be part of a couple anytime soon, if ever. I can’t even imagine trusting a guy ever again.
I scan the room and abruptly stop when I see Colton saunter in through a side door. He raises his arm to give the burly bartender a casual fist bump, and I can tell by the shape of his bicep that he must spend a lot of time working out. But somehow I don’t see him as the snobby, gym-member type of guy. He’s more of the ‘lift up a tire and chuck it over your head while running up a hill’ type.
But not my type.
I hunch down in the corner, hoping no one sees me. But no one is paying any attention to this area anyway. Everyone is focused on the action at the bar, and I notice several women are now happily focused on Colton. Despite the fact that he looks like he just crawled out from underneath a car… my car… a few tipsy girls make their way over to him and start flirting. When he smiles and affectionately rubs the back of some slender brunette, I decide I’ve seen enough and continue on into the restroom to clean up. I don’t give a crap about that grease monkey or some drunken townies. I just want to eat, get settled, and call it a night.
I find a semi-quiet corner near the restroom and call the number of the place where I’m supposed to be staying. Since they aren’t actually expecting me ‘til tomorrow, and it’s getting kinda late, I want to make sure it’s okay for me to show up. The nice older woman who answers assures me it’s fine and that someone will be there to assist me when I arrive, and to just ring the bell.
Several minutes later I’m back at my table and the waitress has just delivered my dinner. My mouth is positively watering as I scoop in the first bite of the barbeque flavored pork. I close my eyes and give a small, happy groan. My God, this is amazing! Then I dip a fried green tomato into some ranch dressing and take a bite.
Okay, that does it. I don’t care if I turn into a giant whale. This is the way to eat.
“That’s what I like to see, a girl with a healthy appetite.”
Suddenly Colton slides into the booth across from me without even asking. He reaches over and grabs a fried green tomato from the platter. “May I?”
I’m half-horrified, half-irritated at his unexpected, and uninvited, arrival. But I’d just shoved more of the succulent pork into my mouth, and I can’t speak with my mouth full. I just nod and try to finish chewing without choking. Because holy crap, why is it so sexy wa
tching him eat, the way his strong jaw slowly moves around? And why is he looking at me that way, with that strange sparkle in his eye? What the hell does he want?
Finally, I finish my bite and take a long swallow of the sweet tea. “What can I do for you?” I ask coldly. Because honestly, it seems really inappropriate that this guy who just towed my car for me should suddenly sit at my table and start eating my food. I don’t care how hot he is.
Colton pulls out some keys from his pocket and sets them in the middle of the table.
“These are for you. They belong to the big gray Chevy out front.” His mouth turns up at the corners. “I’ve already loaded your stuff in there for you, and you can keep it as long as you need ‘til you make other arrangements.”
I give a quick frown and glance down at the keys. “Thanks…I appreciate it,” I mumble. “How much do I owe you?”
He shakes his head. “I’m loaning it to you, not selling it to you.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Well, yes, I figured that. But don’t I need to pay you?”
He shakes his head again and pops another fried green tomato into his mouth. Then he stands up, and I reflexively check him out. “Nah. She ain’t much yet cause I haven’t had a chance to fix ‘er up proper. But she’ll get you where you need to go. Not a tank, but sure a helluva lot safer than the silly tin can you had.”
“It’s not a tin can.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Have you seen it lately?”
Why is this guy intentionally trying to piss me off?
But I refuse to take the bait. I drop the keys in my purse, then start piling more pulled pork on a chip. “Thanks for the loaner. I’ll have it back to you as soon as I can.”
Then I shove the loaded chip in my mouth and look away.
Chapter 6.
About thirty minutes later I’ve finished my piece of Key lime pie and paid the bill. I’m amazed at how inexpensive the meal was compared to how big the portions were and how good it all tasted. I left the waitress a huge tip, and she rewarded me with a grateful smile. I waitressed one summer in high school and it was one of the hardest, most unrewarding jobs I’ve ever done in all my twenty-four years. So I always pay it forward when I can.
I walk outside and can’t miss the giant gray beast sitting right out in front. I stare for a moment, almost intimidated. I’ve only really driven two cars: my Lexus, and before that my used BMW. Never a huge, older-than-dirt truck.
But wheels are wheels, right? And it’s not like I really have a choice right now. How difficult can it be? The hardest part might actually be getting up in it.
I climb the steps and hoist myself onto the leather bench seat. All my stuff is already loaded in here, just like Colton said it would be. It’s a little unnerving knowing he went through my things. I give it all a quick once-over and imagine seeing my cargo through his eyes. Nothing too weird… just several pieces of Louis Vuitton luggage, a gift from my grandparents when I graduated college. A smaller sealed box that has some pictures and mementoes of the life I’d ditched so quickly. A bag with some books and my laptop and iPad. A small box of tampons I’d grabbed from a convenience store when nature paid an early visit…
Oh God, really? I’d just left them sitting there on the back seat. How embarrassing. I mean, I know it’s a perfectly normal thing and all, but the thought of Colton picking up my box of Kotex is an oddly intimate sensation that I’m not okay with. Didn’t I tell him not to touch my stuff?!
But I have to admit, it was nice of him to get me this truck. I’m sure I could’ve had Dale take me to the boarding house if necessary, but I don’t really like having to rely on other people like that.
I adjust the seat forward and dig through my purse for my phone. When I call up the address on the GPS I’m relieved to see it’s only a few miles away. Thank goodness. Everything is catching up to me hard, and I feel a major carb coma coming on.
The truck starts with a shaky explosion, then settles into a steady, cantankerous growl. I sure won’t be sneaking up on anyone in this thing.
My eyes scan the road, and I feel a sense of relief to see that the boarding house is in a nicer area of town. But I had pretty much assumed it would be, since it was my father who had made the arrangements.
Finally I see the address I’m looking for, and my eyes light up. Of all the large and beautiful houses I’ve seen so far, this one is by far my favorite. It’s old, but bursting with personality and charm. Its stately frame has stood the test of time proudly, and the surrounding grounds are lush and overflowing with mature landscaping. Natural and organic…not that artificial perfection I’m used to. This is wild and vibrant – perfectly imperfect. As I wind down the long, twisting driveway, I spot an old oak tree with a wooden plank swing, like something from an old-fashioned picture. I smile to myself.
I’m not sure where to park, so I just pull up to the bottom of some steps leading to the front door. There’s no way they didn’t hear me arrive, but I feel sort of awkward to be knocking on a stranger’s door this late at night, even if they are expecting me. Somehow it’s just not the same as walking into the lobby of a hotel. But the lady I spoke to had said they would be there waiting.
I smooth my hair down, take a deep breath and ring the bell.
Nothing.
I wait for several long moments, then lift the brass knocker and rap three times.
Still nothing.
I double-check the address on my phone. Yup, 1631 Sycamore Lane. This is definitely the right house. But why isn’t anyone answering? I can see lights on, so someone must be home.
After a few more minutes of nothing, I’m ready to call again when I hear something by the side of the house. Maybe they just stepped outside for a moment. A path leads around the corner and toward a five-car garage, so I decide to wander over – my phone in hand.
I’m passing by a window and I think I see a movement inside, so I gingerly step over some flower bushes to check it out. Just as I’m leaning my palms and face against the glass to take a look, I hear a familiar throaty chuckle from right behind me.
“Can I help you?”
Startled, I jump away from the window, and spin around to see Colton standing there with a mocking grin.
What. The. Hell. How small is this town?
“What are you doing here?” I snap. Scowling, I step back and almost trip over a bush. “Are you some sort of weird stalker or something?”
He folds his arms over his chest and studies me. “Do I really need to point out that you’re the one lurking around peeking in other people’s windows?”
“They’re expecting me. I’m staying here for the summer, but no one answered the door when I rang.”
For once, Colton seems caught off-guard. “You’re the one staying here? You don’t look like a Jack… or some old lady…”
“Jack is my father. What do you mean ‘old lady’?”
He shakes his head and shrugs. “I remember hearing about a ‘Jack’ and a ‘Cadence’. I just assumed it was some old woman. I was expecting someone with blue hair and maybe a cane.” He chuckles at his own joke, which doesn’t strike me as funny.
“And I was expecting someone with some manners who appreciated the fine art of bathing. Guess we were both wrong,” I retort. I hate it when people make fun of my name. I give him another disdainful look and step further away, more carefully this time.
…And why would he be expecting anyone here anyway?
But Colton is unfazed and just cocks an arrogant eyebrow. “Oh, I appreciate it. Nothing I like more than soaping down after a long, sweaty day at work. Unless maybe it’s soaping down someone else.”
I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Please spare me. And don’t tell me that line actually works on anyone.”
He grins again. “Wasn’t a line, and I don’t think it’d apply to you anyways. You don’t look like you get all that dirty.”
I have to literally bite my tongue so as not to say something I’ll regret. After a tense moment,
he gives me another quizzical glance. “Besides, you can’t blame me for not knowing. You said your name was Katie.”
“Cady… short for Cadence. C-A-D-Y. And I’m not some old woman.” But I do wish I had a cane so I could whap you with it!
His confusion turns to amusement and he looks me up and down again. “Obviously. My mistake.”
I take another deep breath. “So what are you doing here?” I ask, my voice quieter. Why do I have a sinking feeling that—?
“I live here.”
I open my mouth and quickly snap it shut. How is this happening? Is this town really so small that I have to keep crossing paths with this guy wherever I go?
But I’m too tired to dwell on annoying coincidences now. “So what do I do now?” I ask him tonelessly. “I knocked and rang the bell and no one answered.”
He pauses a moment. “Della Mae is the house manager, but she left when I got back about ten minutes ago. I was just out in the garage for a few.” His eyes flicker to the side. “You’re booked in one of the bungalows. Follow me.” He turns and starts to walk away.
“But what about—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring in all your stuff for you in a minute. It’s part of my bellhop duties around here.” He glances over his shoulder and gives me another quick smirk. “It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”
I follow him behind the main house to a large open yard the size of a few football fields. The landscaping is even more beautiful back here, with four small guest houses, each about fifty or so yards apart, nestled around a huge marble fountain and manicured gardens. Thick, old oak trees surround the whole area, and their low-hanging branches create a private sanctuary of Spanish moss and vibrant blossoms.
Colton leads me to the building furthest to the right and opens the door, then steps back and holds it to let me go through first. My pulse catches briefly as I brush by him in the narrow doorway. Despite his grungy exterior, he actually smells pretty nice. Like an old-fashioned spicy musk. Subtle, but it’s there. And then I hate myself for even noticing.
The Dirty South Page 4