Always On My Mind

by Kelsey Browning

  She wanted to lash out with a No shit, Sherlock but restrained herself. She’d know that masculine Texas drawl anywhere, any time.

  She pulled the phone away from her face and double-checked the screen. Sure enough, it was her mom’s number and not Teague’s. She might’ve bolted from Summer Shoals a few weeks ago, but she would never delete his number from her contacts. The Texas cell number he’d had for years was like a security blanket.

  A sudden panic hit her midsection. “What’s wrong? Is Mom okay?”

  His rough chuckle shot through her, making her skin tingle as though he was standing in the stairwell with her rather than calling from a thousand miles away. “She’s fine, healthwise, and believe it or not, she’s been behaving herself lately.”

  A snort filtered through the phone, sending a thread of relief through Jenny’s system. Obviously her mom and Teague were together. She’d been less worried about her mom since she moved to Summer Shoals, knowing Teague would keep her out of trouble. “Well, that’s a surprise.”

  “Oh, I figure good behavior only means she’s about to do something off-the-wall again soon.”

  “Damn straight.” Her mom’s strong Texas drawl was clear in the background.

  Teague’s voice came through the line again. “I thought I should make sure your phone was still working.”

  Didn’t take a sheriff to figure out she’d been dodging him. And successfully since she’d left town, at least until this sneak attack.

  She hadn’t known what to say, how to feel, how to act after that world-rocking kiss they’d shared at her mom’s birthday party. And then his even more world-imploding declaration of love. And quite frankly, she wasn’t any more prepared to deal with it now.

  That kiss had spun her back to the night he’d first said those words to her years ago. They’d been lying on the hood of his Jeep, staring up at the summer stars from a dark area near Buffalo Bayou. He’d rolled over, cupped her cheek in his palm—roughened by working summer construction jobs—and said I love you with such simplicity and sincerity that she’d known he was the man she’d spend the rest of her life with.

  She’d been wrong.

  Over the years, she’d convinced herself women remembered their first love with a sort of nostalgia that made it seem more magical and sexier than it really was. But that kiss a few weeks ago had been every bit as powerful and promise-filled as the ones they’d shared as teenagers.

  Maybe more so.

  Because they’d both been around the block, looked for a decent parking space, and been given a few tickets. She knew the difference between a lukewarm peck of affection and a habañero-hot lip lock.

  “Hey,” she said, trying to make her tone light, “I’m in the middle of bringing in groceries. Why don’t I give you a holler later and—”

  “Not gonna happen,” Teague said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “If I let you hang up this phone, you’re going to do exactly what you’ve been doing—avoiding me.”

  Yeah, he was no dummy. “I’ve been busy.”

  “What if something had happened to your momma? I might’ve been calling because she couldn’t.”

  Oh, hell, he should be a mother himself with as accurately as he could aim a guilt bullet. “Maggie or Sera would’ve been in touch with me.” Her mom’s newest BFFs apparently not only tolerated her abrasive personality but loved her for it.

  “Look,” he said quietly. A rustling came from his side of the conversation, as if he was walking. “I’m sorry if I spooked you by kissing you. I was just so damned frustrated, but I don’t want one little…”

  Mistake? So help her God, if that man said mistake, she would get in her car, drive all the way to Georgia nonstop, and beat him within an inch of his good-ole-boy life. “One little what?”

  His sigh was long and gusty. She could picture him standing there hipshot, head down with her mother’s phone to his ear. He was probably wearing an old Astros cap over his dark hair, a snug T-shirt about the same age, blue jeans and cowboy boots. That man did rock a pair of Levi’s. “Why don’t you tell me what it was?”

  Oh, that was dangerous territory. Weeks later, she still didn’t know how she felt about that kiss. “I live in Boston.”

  “That fact has not slipped past me.” His tone was amused.

  “My life is here.”

  “I get it. I jumped the gun, but did you have to up and run? It was just a kiss, Jenny.”

  She stumbled back, almost losing her grip on the bags with her eggs in it. That had not been just a kiss. That night, her hormones had done the kind of shoulder-shimmy-flash-some-cleavage move it hadn’t done since…since…well…that was so damned sad.

  She’d been so raw after her split with Daniel a year and a half ago. Now her emotions simply felt calloused over. And somehow it was safer, more comfortable that way. But that just a kiss with Teague had stripped away those calluses in one tender moment and had left her a huge nerve ending of mistrust, lust and confusion.

  No, thank you. Confusion meant being out of control, and Jenny controlled her world. She’d had to leave Summer Shoals for her own sanity.

  “Let me talk to her.” Her mom’s voice came through the phone. Then some scuffling, shuffling. “Jenny, you have to come back to Summer Shoals. So book two tickets for no later than day after tomorrow.”

  “That’s before Grayson gets out of school for Christmas break,” Jenny protested.

  “It won’t kill him. That kid’s as smart as I am,” her mom shot back. “I’ve signed you up for a big art competition so you have to be here.”

  “You did what?”

  “I know you’re not hard of hearing, so I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question.”

  Jenny’s head lolled back as if she’d lost every last bit of her strength. Mom had that effect on her. “Maybe you’ve forgotten that I’m an artists’ agent, not an artist.”

  “Which is why you won first prize in that photography competition.”

  “Mom, that was in seventh grade,” Jenny said. “I’m not interested in—”

  “Not interested in showing your pictures?” Teague was back on the line.

  “Put Mom back on.”

  “She’s already headed for her truck.”

  Of course she was. Abby Ruth Cady specialized in hit-and-run relationships. And she thought she could demand that Jenny hop on a plane and take part in some small-town art show. As if.

  “If you don’t come, she’ll be disappointed,” Teague said. “She wants you and Grayson here for the Christmas holidays.”

  “How did you know I was thinking about—”

  “Because I can hear those wheels in your head grinding away like an old locomotive on rusty tracks.”

  God knows, she wanted to be offended, but the man knew her like no one else in this world. Even after all this time. “It’s tough to get away so soon after—”

  “If what happened between us keeps you from bringing Grayson to see his mimi for the holidays,” Teague said, his tone low and serious, “then I can promise you it will never happen again.”

  At that, the bag did slip from Jenny’s grip and splatted to the stairs. She glanced down to see yolks oozing onto the floor. Scrambled eggs for dinner. Or maybe French toast. Grayson would be ecstatic. Meanwhile, her heart was scrambled inside her chest. Only a man like Teague would put her kid before his wants and needs.

  Tears snuck up on Jenny. Damn him for hitting her in the softest spot.

  Even Daniel never prioritized Grayson over the political hand-shaking and butt-kissing he was so involved in lately. When Jenny had casually mentioned she wanted Grayson to spend the Christmas holidays with her even though it was Daniel’s turn, he had merely grunted, waved a hand and told her that was fine. That he had some appearances to make anyway.

  Ass.

  To Grayson, she’d made it sound as though it had been a big sacrifice on his dad’s part. She was still covering Daniel’s butt to make him look good to his
son. Some days, she wanted to tell it like it was, but that was her anger yelling in her ear. She’d learned to take a deep breath, throw a few mental knives at her ex, then move on.

  Because Daniel was still Grayson’s dad.

  “It’s not the kiss,” she said, hoping she sounded confident when she was anything but. “If I give in to Mom now, she’ll find a hundred other ways to manipulate me into bringing Grayson down to visit.”

  “You’re not usually one to run away from a fight.”

  Jenny had to laugh. That was a lesson she’d learned at her mother’s knee. Abby Ruth Cady hadn’t been a chocolate-chip-cookie-baking or a sit-outside-the-ballet-classroom mom, but she’d given Jenny a lot of useful life skills. “She can’t order me around. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

  “Believe me—” his low voice sent a shiver cruising up Jenny’s back, “—I’m more than aware of that fact. And I won’t lie. I want to kiss you again.” Something in his tone told Jenny he wanted that and a whole lot more to happen. “But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  Uncomfortable? The man heated her up like he’d shoved her under the broiler and cranked it up to five-hundred degrees. Jenny breathed deep. Could she be in the same zip code with Teague for a few days without kissing him again? Who was she kidding? She wanted a whole lot more to happen too.

  But that was simply physical. Her body would be in heaven. But her heart would be in hell. Still, she said, “Tell Mom she can expect us on Wednesday.”

  Chapter 3

  With Jenny riding shotgun and Grayson in the backseat, Teague headed from the Atlanta airport back to Summer Shoals. He gazed at Jenny, so slick with her dark hair in some kind of twist and wearing one of those loopy scarves woven in shades of wild purple and pink. She glanced over and caught him looking. Pleasure lit her face for a nanosecond before she shut it down, covering her normal brightness with guardedness.

  Impatience welled in Teague’s chest. He wanted to take a battering ram to the protective shell Jenny had around her. He’d like to blame it all on Daniel Northcutt, but Teague wasn’t a man to lie to himself. He had to shoulder a good share of the responsibility for Jenny’s mistrust.

  If he hadn’t screwed up years ago, maybe he’d be driving his wife and his own flesh-and-blood kid rather than the woman he wanted to make his and another man’s son.

  “Why didn’t Mom pick us up?” she asked.

  “Big Candlelight Christmas home tour coming up. Summer Haven’s the centerpiece of the whole thing, so she’s helping Maggie and Sera get it all duded up.”

  “You’re saying my mother, aka Abby Ruth Cady, former journalist and non-cookie baking mom, is tossing tinsel around?” Her grin softened that guarded mask she wore so often around him.

  “Last I heard, it was twinkle lights.” Abby Ruth stringing Christmas lights was definitely farfetched, but this was love. All was fair in love and war, and he planned to fight with whatever he had.

  “I bet Lillian loves decorating her home, so I’m surprised she asked Mom for help.”

  “Apparently, Miss Lillian is traveling again.” Abby Ruth and the others were still carrying on the charade that Summer Haven’s owner traveled on a regular basis. Truth was, she was in federal prison camp. But if Abby Ruth hadn’t shared that little fact with Jenny, she probably had a reason, and Teague wasn’t about to step in the middle of that.

  From the backseat, Grayson bellowed out a sigh. “Mimi promised me a cherry limeade when we Skyped last time, but she’s not here. I guess that means—”

  “I guess that means not only a cherry limeade,” Teague said, “but a double order of chicken poppers too.”

  “Yes!” A fist pumped in the air near Teague’s right temple.

  “You just made a friend for life.” Jenny’s hand was so soft when she reached out to squeeze his arm, Teague’s insides tightened. Was it wrong that her kid was a few feet away and all Teague could think about was getting her naked?

  “What about you?” he asked. “Are we still friends, Jenny?”

  That got her toe to tapping. She wore boots, like her momma always did, but Jenny’s were black suede with a toe so sharp she could probably perform surgery with them and heels so high…

  Hell, there he was picturing her naked again. Except for those boots.

  “We used to be so much more than that,” she said quietly.

  He glanced over to find her staring at him. Maybe he wasn’t any brighter than any other man, but at that moment, he would swear what he saw in her face, in her eyes, was a combination of fear and hope.

  When they pulled up in front of the Summer Shoals high school, a charming redbrick building with an entryway supported by four massive white columns, Jenny spotted a twelve-foot long banner hung across the walkway announcing the Annual Holiday Artfest.

  “Look, Mom!” Bouncing in his seat, Grayson pointed at the banner. “Your name is up there.”

  “So it is,” she said, trying to infuse her voice with holiday cheer. Fine. It was a new event for the small town and by the looks of the ten names on the sign, they were probably desperate for entries. Regardless, Jenny was tempted to strangle her mother for entering her.

  When her mom had called before the flight from Boston took off, she’d said, “I was only trying to help. Besides, it wouldn’t kill you to become part of the Summer Shoals community since I live here now. You wouldn’t want to make me look bad in front of my new hometown, would you?”

  As if Abby Ruth Cady had ever cared a lick about looking bad. She did that plenty all by herself.

  Still, it would be fun to be at Summer Haven for Christmas. But that didn’t mean Jenny had to go through with the competition. She’d just politely withdraw.

  She represented award-winning photographers. She knew the difference between amateurs and professionals, and she was far from a pro. The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself by pretending she was good enough to exhibit her pictures in a show, even if it was in tiny Summer Shoals. If her clients caught wind of her showing her own work, they’d fire her and haul their big-dollar artwork with them.

  And if she lost all her clients, her agency would let her go. Not an option because Grayson needed braces.

  Jenny pushed her door open and did a little do-si-do with Teague, who’d tried to go Southern gentleman on her and open it for her.

  Before she could blaze up the walkway, Teague caught her arm and motioned to a man exiting the school. “Hey, Dr. Broussard.” Teague held out his phone. “Would you mind taking a picture of the three of us?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Teague wrapped a possessive arm around Jenny’s waist and pulled Grayson in on his other side.

  “One, two, three.” The phone made a camera-snapping sound. “One more, just in case.”

  When he handed the phone back to Teague and walked away, Jenny said, “I want to see.”

  Teague swiped and tapped at the screen. “Sorry, the doctor apparently isn’t much of a photographer. Nothing like you.”

  “Yeah, right.” Jenny headed toward the door, with Teague and Grayson in her wake. Since the show didn’t open to the public until tomorrow at nine o’clock, she had plenty of time to pluck down every last photograph. Then she’d find the event coordinator and withdraw. That was all there was to it.

  When she walked inside, her pace slowed. Someone had transformed a regular high school into a winter wonderland. An information kiosk commandeered the front entry hall, and booths were set up in the wings running left and right. The lockers were hidden behind dreamy silver chiffon drapes that softened the look. Twinkle lights lined a path down the hallways, which would encourage people to wander among the booths.

  “This is awesome,” Grayson said, his eyes and mouth wide.

  It wouldn’t hurt to check out the artists’ work before she pulled her own. After all, she might discover someone she wanted to represent. She strolled into the left wing to find a variety of art genres. One boot
h displayed silk fans hand-painted in different motifs. A Georgia state flag, an azalea, a bucket of peanuts. She stepped inside the booth for a closer look at one. Sure enough, its subject was none other than a big bowl of grits with a butter pat melting on top. Only in the South.

  “Makes me hungry,” Teague said when he and Grayson caught up to her.

  They wandered to the next booth, and their shoulders brushed, making Jenny weave and almost take out a support pole. She sucked in a breath, trying to steady the nerves jumping under her skin.

  Lord, it’s just Teague’s shoulder and we’re both fully dressed. Why am I reacting like a tween girl over it?

  The most beautiful watercolors Jenny had seen in a long while filled the booth. Haunting scenes of old oaks, Spanish moss and swampland.

  Jenny studied the huge clear Hurricane vase standing at the front of the booth. The sign above it said: Pick up a Christmas ornament at the check-in station. Then vote for your favorite entry by placing a ball in that artist’s tube. The person with the most balls wins.

  That should be my mother. That woman has some balls for entering me in this competition without asking.

  “Can you arrest my mom for forgery?” she asked Teague. Because Jenny surely hadn’t signed her own entry form.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” he said. “Because she’d just call you for bail money.”

  “Sometimes she makes me so crazy, I…I…” she growled, unable to finish the sentence.

  “Don’t know what to do?” Teague chuckled. “Welcome to the Abby-Ruth-Cady-itis wing of the mental institution.”

  With each display, Jenny’s stomach tightened further. This wasn’t just some thrown-together, small-town event. These artists were talented.

  Talented enough that she jotted down the names of the watercolor painter and a man who tooled leather.

  Two of the others—a whittler and a potter—were both good too. But Jenny couldn’t see their offerings in one of the chic Boston galleries she often worked with.