“Because I love you,” Jazz said, turning his head to look at her.
Her foot slammed down on the brake and she stared at him, her cheeks unusually pale.
“Ex…excuse me?”
“You’re blocking traffic,” Jazz responded mildly.
“What did you say?” she demanded, throwing the car into park and turning to him while cars stopped behind her and a passerby stopped to stare with avid interest.
One shoulder raised and lowered in a casual shrug. “I said, I love you.” Turning his head, he stared at her with blank eyes. “Is there a problem with that?”
“How…” She paused, licked her lips, cleared her throat. “How long?”
“Seems like my entire life.”
“Are you talking like, real love, or the brother-sister kind of love?”
“You’re not my sister and I’m not your brother,” he answered. She looked mighty nervous, he decided. Mighty scared. Why was that?
Softly, she whispered, “The real kind?”
“For more than half my life,” he told her, reaching out and brushing a stray lock of hair back from her face. “Is there a problem?”
He was unprepared when she launched herself across the console at him, her arms going tight around his neck. “I never thought I’d hear that from you,” she whispered, burying her face against his neck. “I spent almost all my life hoping you’d come back home. But I never thought you’d actually love me.”
Closing his eyes, Jazz rested his cheek against her black cloud of hair. “I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, standing there in your daddy’s kitchen, hugging that book to your chest.”
“Oh, God, Jazz,” she sobbed, pulling back far enough to see his face. Pressing her lips to his, she stifled a giggle while tears streamed from her eyes. “I loved you before I saw you. Before I was even born, I think. I feel things for you that I’ve never felt.”
“Even when you thought I was driving the car?”
Anne-Marie stared at him out of teary eyes. “I never thought you were driving, Jazz. I was too afraid to say anything, because of what it meant if you weren’t driving. You’d never get drunk enough to lose control like that. Not after Beau.”
Shaken, he pulled her back against him, cursing the tight confines of the car. So many years wasted, he thought as he stroked her hair. “Marry me, Annie,” he said abruptly, taking her arms and pulling away from her to stare down at her face. “Marry me.”
Her eyes closed and she sighed, a slow smile curving her lips upward. “In a heartbeat, Jazz. Just name the place.”
“Daddy?”
Desmond looked up from his book, a smile lighting his face as Anne-Marie entered the room. The smile dimmed a bit when he saw Jazz standing behind her, but it didn’t fade. “Jasper. It’s been some time since you’ve been inside this house, hasn’t it, son?”
“Yes, sir,” Jazz replied. It looked the same, painted a dark green with red accents and mahogany furniture; it still smelled the same, of those cigars Desmond pretended Anne-Marie didn’t know about.
Even the old man sitting in the chair by the window looked pretty much the same, just a little older, a little sadder. And as he pushed himself to his feet, Jazz added silently, a little slower.
“Still a man of many words, aren’t you, Jazz?” Desmond asked.
“A man I knew when I was a kid always told me ‘Better to keep your mouth closed, and look the fool, than to open it and remove all doubt’,” Jazz replied, the tension slowly draining from his body.
The old man knew. It was there in the sharp green eyes, in the way he reached out to stroke a hand down Anne-Marie’s hair. When Desmond looked at Jazz, he gave a single, simple nod of approval.
“Well, Annie, have you got something you want to say to me?” he asked, leaning back against his desk, arms folded across his chest to keep from reaching out to her. His baby had grown up. And was getting ready to leave him; never mind that she had lived on her own for nearly five years now.
This was different.
“What makes you think that?” Anne-Marie asked.
“Girl, you never were able to keep a secret, especially not from me,” Desmond said, wagging a finger at her. “Don’t ever play poker. Those eyes can’t hold secrets.”
“Dad…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at him.
“Anne-Marie.” He said her name quietly, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth.
Anne-Marie left Jazz’s arms to go to her father, wrapping her arms around him, inhaling the scent of aromatic tobacco, peppermint and Old Spice. “I’m going to marry him, Daddy,” she whispered into his shirtfront.
“Somehow, darlin’, I already knew that,” Desmond said quietly, stroking his hand down the wild tumble of raven curls. “You set your sights on him long ago, and you’ve always gotten everything you wanted.”
Jazz stood in the doorway, hands tucked inside his pockets. He met Desmond’s eyes and swore, “I’ll take care of her. I’ll love her until the day I die.”
“Shoot, boy. You’ve loved her from the minute you first laid eyes on her. I don’t reckon that’s going to change at this late date,” Desmond said, shaking his head and he leaned back from Anne-Marie, studied her glowing face and damp eyes. “Fool kids, thinking you can hide that kind of thing from your old man.
“I wish Alex could be here,” Desmond whispered, drying a damp tear track with his thumb. “He always knew this would happen, you know. He knew it before I did. I just wish he was here to see it.”
“It ain’t fitting, if you ask me,” Betsy snapped, folding her magazine and laying it in her lap. In the mirror, she met Laura’s eyes. “Why, his uncle’s been dead in the ground only a few weeks and here they are planning a wedding.”
What bothered Betsy most was the fact that she hadn’t been the one to share the news with the women at the beauty parlor. Why, she hadn’t even known about it until old Mabel up and announce her granddaughter, Tabby, and Mariah were both going to be flower girls.
Imagine, inviting a colored child to participate in the wedding. It was one thing to invite the Winslow family, but to actually have one of them in the wedding… Betsy shuddered, casting a sideways glance at Mabel.
Well aware of what was going on behind those catty, blue eyes, Mabel ignored Betsy as she described the dresses Anne-Marie had in mind for Tabby and Mariah.
“Why, it’s sort of sickening, actually. Those two are practically related, with Doc Kincaid raising Jazz on his own and all.” Betsy huffed and resettled in her chair while Laura skillfully made allowances for her restless customer. Exchanging a sideways glance with Mabel, she pressed her lips together and pasted an interested expression on her freckled face. “Makes you wonder what was going on in that house before Jazz left.”
“Now, those two are no more related than you and me,” Mabel said, her dark face creasing as a smile spread across her lips. “I think it’s about damned time. Any fool can see that those two should be together. Dr. Anne was just waiting and biding her time for him to come home anyhow.”
“Up until a few weeks ago, he was guilty of killing her brother,” Betsy responded righteously, admiring the way the new red curls fell over her forehead. She’d need to dye her brows to match, though. “What woman would marry the man guilty of killing her brother?”
“Anne-Marie Kincaid never believed Jazz killed Alex,” a sultry, low voice announced. Sandy Pritchard stood in the doorway of the salon, eyeing Betsy with obvious disdain. “Neither did I.”
“Believe or not, what would people think?”
“I doubt Anne-Marie is overly concerned with what people think,” Sandy replied with a casual shrug of her well-tanned, nearly naked shoulders. Smoothing down the front of her lacy camisole-styled blouse, Sandy asked, “Laura, are you able to fit me in?”
“Soon as I finish with Miss Betsy, Sandy.”
With narrowed eyes, Betsy looked at her reflections. “The color is too bright, Laura. We’ll have to fix that b
efore I could ever leave. It looks unnatural.”
With a smirk, Sandy turned away. Any seventy-two-year-old woman prancing around with red hair was going to look unnatural, no matter how bright the color. Settling languidly into a chair, Sandy said, “No rush. I just wanted to get my hair cut before the weekend rolled around.”
“What sorta plans you got goin’, girl?” Mabel asked. Hands covered with suds, she rinsed the shampoo from Willa Davies’ hair.
“If I know Sandy,” Willa said from the sink, “We may not need to know what sort of plans she has. I doubt mine or Betsy’s heart could handle them.”
“Shoot, girl. You’d better tell. Your life is what keeps mine interesting,” Mabel said, with a loud laugh.
With a small smile, Sandy looked up from her magazine and said, “I plan on lassoing myself a sheriff this weekend. Gotta look my best.”
From the corner, Marlie’s hands stilled for only the smallest of moments as she started applying a topcoat to Linda Devane’s nails. “I think this shade of pink really suits you, Linda,” Marlie said quietly, her eyelids barely flickering as Sandy described her plans for the weekend.
A bittersweet smile on her face, Marlie acknowledged that of course Tate would be interested in Sandy, gorgeous as all get out, funny, smart, brave. She wasn’t plain white trash and she had gone to college. Currently, she was the sole lawyer in a twenty-mile radius. They even had the law in common.
But, God, it hurt.
“—true, Marlie?”
Glancing up, Marlie met Sandy’s friendly brown eyes. Bad enough she was so beautiful, Marlie thought. She was also as nice as she could be. “I’m sorry, my mind was wandering, Sandy. I didn’t hear what you said.”
“I’d heard you were looking into moving to Lexington. Is that so?”
With money from Larry’s life insurance and the pay they would collect from the state, Marlie and her mama had quite a nest egg now. Enough to put a hefty down payment on a little house somewhere far away from Briarwood, and everybody who knew the Muldoons. It was only fitting, Marlie decided, for her brother to give her this fresh start.
After all, if it hadn’t been for her hellish family, her life might not be such a mess. She might not be such a mess.
“I’m looking into it,” Marlie responded, looking down, shaping Linda’s nails up just a bit more.
“Can’t say I blame you, Marlie. It must be so humiliating for you, you poor thing, after what your family went and did to Jasper,” Betsy stated loudly, glancing Marlie’s way.
Even as Sandy opened her mouth to respond, even as Mabel’s eyes narrowed and Laura’s mouth firmed, Marlie laid down the nail file and stood up. Her voice quiet but firm she said, “Larry did it, not me, not my mama. Larry, and Larry alone. I feel terrible for Jazz, I truly do, but I had nothing to do with it.”
“Now, child, I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” Marlie interrupted. “You darned well did mean. And don’t bother apologizing. I’ve had it up to here,” she slashed at her neck with an impatient hand, “with people offering me false apologies, false sympathy and false friendships. Don’t waste your breath.”
Not looking at anybody, Marlie settled back down in her chair, added a final touch to Linda’s nails, and said, “There you go. You’re set for the dance this weekend.”
“Well, I never—” Betsy said, her mouth working silently for a moment before she was finally able to speak. “Girl, you have got nerve, talking to me like that. After all I have done to try and help you out of your unfortunate situation.”
“I don’t call having your granddaughter send her worn-out rags my way helping out, Betsy. Or telling me that I can have the leftovers from your holiday meals if I’d come over and help you serve,” Marlie said in a calm voice, even though inside, she was shaking.
“Just doing my Christian duty, girl—”
“Christian duty has nothing to do with what you do. You merely rub in how fortunate and lucky you are, and how unfortunate me and my mama, have always been. I’ll say nothing more on the matter, Betsy.”
“Way to go, Marlie, honey,” Sandy called out, applauding, approval in her dark eyes.
Marlie ignored her, wished Linda a good day and gathered her supplies, stowing them under the table. Moments later, she was hurrying down the sidewalk, tears stinging her eyes.
Unfortunate? Marlie thought bleakly.
Pathetic is more like it.
“Whoa, there,” Jazz said as he crashed right into a tiny blonde. When she raised her eyes to his, he was somewhat startled to recognize Marlie Jo, her indigo eyes awash with tears, her cheeks whiter than death.
“Marlie, what’s wrong?” Jazz asked, guiding her into the doorway of the consignment shop, out of the way of the midday sidewalk traffic.
“Nothing,” she whispered harshly, dashing a hand across the tears streaking down her face. “Let me go, Jasper.”
He tightened his grip on her shoulders, studying her averted face. “What’s got you so upset, Marlie?” he asked again, frowning. “What happened?”
Marlie laughed, a brittle, pain-filled sound. “Happened?” she repeated. “Nothing new has happened.” With a sudden jerk, she tore free from his hands. “It’s the same damned thing that has been haunting me for years. And you know what? I’m tired of it.”
“Marlie—”
“Leave me alone,” she ordered, her voice rough. Turning on her heel, she strode away from him as fast as her legs could carry her.
Tate sipped at his beer and gave Sandy Pritchard an absent look as she ran her red-tipped nails through her fall of thick russet hair. Her brown eyes were full of appreciation and humor, but Tate was only mildly interested. He knew what she was after; he couldn’t say he wasn’t flattered.
He just wasn’t interested.
Full breasts strained against the bodice of her sundress and her perfume was subtle and sexy, but all Tate could think of was silvery blonde hair and sad eyes
Just then, that familiar, silvery blonde head crossed his line of vision and Tate’s head whipped around, following Marlie as she led her mother across the church grounds. She’d finally gotten the old woman out of the house. He couldn’t believe it.
When an irritated sigh came from across the table, Tate turned his eyes back to Sandy’s. She had a smile dancing around her full, deep red mouth as she watched him. Tapping out her cigarette, Sandy said, “It’s starting to look like a McNeil man is not in my future.”
He closed his eyes for a minute and then looked back at Sandy, “I’ve always liked you, Sandy. But—”
“But, nothing,” she cut him off, shrugging. “No harm done. At least, not to me.” She was remembering the look in Marlie’s eyes several days earlier. “Does she know how you feel?”
“I’ve never told her,” he said, slumping in his chair and staring up at the painfully blue sky.
“I’d suggest you do it and do it quick. That girl is aiming on getting out of this town, Tate. And leaving you and everybody else behind her.”
With a laugh, Tate brushed that aside. “She won’t leave here. She’s been thinking about it for years, and she’s never done it.”
“Until recently, she didn’t have the means available,” Sandy said. “With Larry being a civil servant and up and dying, well, it’s my guess she has a lot more money than before.”
“Sonovabitch!” Tate hissed under his breath as he realized how true Sandy’s words were. With the life insurance policy alone, Marlie could live for several years without having to lift a finger, if she so chose.
His eyes darted helplessly in Marlie’s direction.
With a self-deprecating laugh, Sandy waved him away. “Go on. Wearing your heart on your sleeve like that, you’re a waste of my time, anyway.”
Marlie Jo smiled down at her mama as the old woman stroked a finger over the silky dress of the porcelain doll Marlie had bought her. “She sure is pretty, Marlie. You sure your daddy won’t mind us getting her?”
“Daddy’s dead, Mama. He’s past caring now,” she reminded her mother, aching to see that fear leave her eyes once and for all. But Marlie didn’t know that fear would ever completely go away. “Come on, now, Mama. Get in the car.” She opened the door and helped her mother into the car. Marlie bent over and tucked her mother skirt in so it wouldn’t catch in the door.
“Dead?”
Crouching down, Marlie touched her mother’s arm. “Yes, Mama. He’s dead. He died a while back. Remember?”
“Oh. Oh, yes. I remember now.” But she didn’t, not really. Yet, she was happy, stroking the lovely Gibson Girl-styled doll. Mama had always liked pretty things, just had never gotten any of them.
Until now, Marlie thought, thinking of the money sitting in the bank. They’d have a pretty, little house, pretty furniture that wouldn’t get torn to shreds, and maybe even another pet.
“Marlie.”
Straightening, she gently reminded, “Fasten the seat belt, Mama.”
“Yes. Yes, I will,” Naomi promised, her faded, green eyes focused on the doll.
Marlie turned slowly, meeting Tate’s eyes only after she had carefully blanked hers. “Hello, Tate. Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked him, taking a deep breath, inhaling the scents of fried chicken, cotton candy and summer.
Tate’s scent was there as well, heated male and long cool nights, all blended together. Even as the smell of him sent little darts of heat through her belly, she shuddered and fought against letting him see how much his nearness affected her.
“I’ve heard you still plan on moving to the city,” Tate said, jamming his hands in his pockets, watching her with unreadable eyes.
Checking to make sure Naomi’s feet weren’t dangling outside the car, Marlie shut the door and walked around to the other side. “That’s right. I’m going Sunday to look at a house. I think Mama would like it.”
“No, she won’t. Neither would you. Briarwood is your home, Marlie.”
Opening the primer-gray door to the Ford Pinto, Marlie slid into the car as she said, “This isn’t home to me, Tate. And I’d be happier anywhere else besides here.”
For the Love of Jazz Page 18