by LuAnn McLane
When Luke looks up at the ceiling and laughs I decide I might as well go for broke. “So are we gonna forget about all that other stuff and make love?” Holy cow, did I really just say that?
“God, I hope so.”
I bite my bottom lip and then ask, “Can you read my mind?”
“I wish! But you said that out loud.”
“I know.”
“Macy, God I . . . ,” he says, but then stops and runs his fingers through his hair.
Was he going to say I love you? No . . .
I wait for him to continue while my heart beats against my chest. But he suddenly appears so shaken and confused that I gently put a hand on his arm and say, “Luke, let’s forget about it all and give each other . . . tonight.”
He closes his eyes and swallows. But before he can open his mouth and say something else, I rise up on tiptoe, place my palms on his cheeks, and with trembling lips kiss him softly. “Enough talk,” I murmur against his mouth since I don’t want to break the delicious contact.
He smiles. “Now you’re talkin’ . . .”
“Yeah, I know and I need to shut up.” While facing him I tug on his hands and start to backpedal down the short hallway. Of course I start bumping into things and stumble.
“Stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” Luke laughs and pulls me into his arms for a hot kiss that makes my legs wobble as though they’re made of pipe cleaners. We’re laughing, kissing, and untucking clothing until we reach my bedroom . . .
And the mood suddenly changes.
“Macy . . .” He draws out my name as if it comes from someplace deep within before dipping his dark head to kiss me thoroughly. Then, he gently brushes my trembling fingers to the side and starts oh-so-slowly to undress me. Luke kisses each inch of skin he reveals until I’m totally exposed to his intense gaze. But instead of making me feel shy as I’m expecting, he makes me feel sexy.
Beautiful. Wanted.
When Luke cups one breast and sucks a nipple into his mouth, white-hot desire shoots to my toes making my already unsteady legs buckle. I slither to the bed and then have the exquisite pleasure of watching him undress. He takes his sweet time, watching me all the while, caressing me with his gaze.
We don’t speak . . . just breathe.
When Luke joins me on the bed, he raises my hands above my head, gently capturing both my hands with one of his. Then . . . he oh-so-lightly glides his free hand over my skin, causing tingling ripples of pleasure everywhere he touches. He replaces his hand with his mouth, swirling his warm, soft tongue over my breasts, and then kisses me all the way to my navel.
“Luke . . .” I untangle my hands from his and thread my fingers through his hair, urging him on. With a deep sigh I bend my knees and arch my back while he makes slow, tender love to me with his mouth. “God!” My release is achingly, intensely sweet and while my heart is still thudding like crazy, he enters me with a smooth, gliding stroke.
“You feel so good,” he says in my ear.
“Mmmm . . . so do you.” With a deep sigh I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper, faster. I make love to him without holding back, giving and taking . . . reveling in the silky feel of his skin, the heat of his mouth, the taste of his body. I slide my hands over his back and squeeze his butt, thinking that I could never get enough of the feel, the taste, the touch of his body against mine. When Luke arches his shoulders and cries out my name I pull his head down for a deep, delicious kiss and ride the wave with him. When we tumble back to earth, I keep my legs and arms wrapped around him, wanting to feel him buried inside me as long as possible.
Afterward, with my head on his chest, I’m content to listen to the steady beat of his heart. He wraps his arm around me and we remain silent for a long time. We both know from our earlier conversation that this could be the beginning or the end, depending on which way our lives lead us. But for right now he’s here in my bed and I refuse to think of anything else and just live in the moment.
We doze off but sometime in the night Luke wakes up and kisses me on top of the head.
“Macy,” he begins softly, “my car is parked on the street in front of the hardware store. Sweetie, this is a small town and I don’t want everyone to know our business. As much as I hate it, I should go.”
“You’re right,” I whisper into the night. “I understand.”
“I’ll call you,” he promises as he eases from my arms and gets up from the bed.
“Do,” I tell him, and unable to help myself, I watch him dress. He’s magnificent in the shadowy light of the moon filtering through the blinds. Once he’s dressed he leans down and kisses me on the cheek, pulls up, but then leans back in for a longer, deeper kiss.
“It is so hard to leave.”
I nod and want to answer but my throat closes up when it hits home how hard a long-distance relationship would actually be. As if reading my thoughts, once again he cups my cheek with his palm. For a breathless moment I think he’s going to say something more, but then he swallows and withdraws his hand. “Sleep tight,” he tells me, and I oh so wish he had said something entirely different. But I nod again and, with tears that I hope he didn’t see swimming in my eyes, watch him leave.
Of course I toss and turn the rest of the night arguing with myself. While I want this job so badly I can taste it, I panic at the thought of leaving my friends and family and losing Luke. After punching the pillow I decide not to disrupt my life and to tell Tammy thanks, but no thanks. “The stress just isn’t worth it,” I mutter beneath my breath.
“Are you crazy? You have to take this job,” I counter hotly. I think the fact that I’m managing to have a heated argument with myself, out loud no less, means that the answer undoubtedly is yes, I am crazy. Finally, when I’m at a stalemate I close my eyes and determinedly try to fall asleep, but then all I can do is relive the amazing kiss with Luke. With a frustrated little growl I give up and grab the remote from my nightstand. I pretend to channel surf but I know I’ll end up at the Home Shopping Network. I rarely buy anything even though for some reason things I have no real interest in always tempt me. It also boggles my mind how really ugly clothing sells out so quickly but I suppose that at three o’clock in the morning even turquoise tunics look appealing to bleary eyes. Plus they have models who would make a potato sack look sexy. I wonder how many people get UPS packages with turquoise tunics, scratch their heads, and mutter, “What the hell was I thinkin’?”
I remind myself of this fact when a chunky burnt orange necklace starts to capture my interest. With an exasperated sigh I click the television off before I end up with an unwanted purchase or two. Snuggling beneath the covers I hope that pure exhaustion will take over . . .
The next thing I know, curling fingers of sunshine are sneaking through moss green curtains that never quite overlap at one spot in the middle. With a groan I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away from the window in an effort to fall back asleep. Waking means making my final decision that’s flip-flopped more than a politician on the campaign trail. Sleep, however, is not an option since my stomach wants breakfast and my bladder begins protesting. “Oh, okay,” I mumble, realizing that I’m now talking to my body parts.
After taking care of business I pad on my bare feet into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, adding an extra scoop with hope that a jolt of caffeine will jump-start my sleep-deprived brain. While watching brown liquid steam and gurgle into the carafe, I once again weigh my options. The scale, of course, always tips in favor of taking the job so I begin my list of pros and cons, again hoping that something will change so that I can take the safe option of staying in Hootertown. It’s kind of like when Jamie Lee and I would toss a coin to make a decision and then throw it in the air again when we didn’t get the result we really had hoped for.
While mumbling to myself, I reach into the cabinet for my favorite jumbo mug that says DECAF SUCKS in big green letters. On workdays I prefer my caffeine in the form of Diet Dew but during my mornings at home I l
ove the smell of coffee brewing. To distract my decision-making process, I head over to the refrigerator for my favorite vanilla-flavored creamer. I’m wondering where in the world it’s hiding and tell myself that I really need to clean out and organize my fridge. “There you are,” I mutter when I spot the creamer hiding behind the squeezable mayonnaise jar. I know—I’m talking to inanimate objects but I suppose I’m only in real trouble if they start talking back. Just when I’m reaching for the carafe I hear the front doorbell ring.
“Who can that be?” I wonder. With Jamie Lee gone and my daddy on the road, I can’t think of anyone who would show up on my doorstep on a Monday morning. When the thought occurs to me that it could be Luke, I panic. “Ohmigod, I’m a mess!” I have serious bedhead from all the tossing and turning, my teeth aren’t brushed, and my sleepwear is a shabby Panther’s nightshirt! I can’t possibly answer the door, so I decide to stand there very quietly and hope that he’ll go away and come back when I’ve showered, shaved my legs, and lost ten pounds . . .
I’m thinking that my plan is a good one until the doorbell chimes bing-bong and then again in rapid secession as if the person on the other side knows I’m standing here hiding in my very own kitchen. Bing-bong!
“Well, hell . . . ,” I mutter, and decide that I’ll just pour myself a cup of coffee and wait them out . . . but of course now I’m curious as to who might need to see me this early. A sharp knock has me creeping toward the door so I can look through the peephole. Maybe it’s Publishers Clearing House with balloons and a big check for a million bucks!
Ha . . . yeah right.
More likely it’s the UPS man delivering a Home Shopping Network item I’ve forgotten I purchased. I hope it’s not something ugly or worse, a household gadget that I’ll never use. With that in mind I peek through the tiny hole expecting to see a dude in brown shorts, but when big red hair comes into view I have to smile and then quickly unlock the door.
“Why hello there, Mrs. Carter. What brings you here so bright and early?” Like me, Jamie Lee’s mama is not a morning person.
“Child, when am I ever going to convince you to call me Daisy? I’ve been trying for years, you know.”
I nod. “I think of you as Daisy but there’s something ingrained in me that just can’t do it.”
She pats my cheek. “I understand. It’s your proper upbringing. Your daddy raised you well.”
“You had a hand in that too, you know.”
After patting my cheek she smiles at me tenderly. “Yes, Macy, you know I think of you as a daughter. I will always be here for you.”
“I know that,” I tell her, and then give her a big hug. After I back away we both take a moment to clear the emotion from our throats. It hits me hard how difficult it would be to leave here, and my decision starts flopping like a goldfish out of water.
“I brought you some leftover cake,” Daisy explains as she breezes into my living room. “I wanted to eat some for breakfast but I needed a partner in crime to consume something so sinful this early in the day. Good Lord, child, that coffee smells heavenly. Strong just as it should be. May I have a cup?”
“Why, of course,” I offer, but something tells me she didn’t show up here just to share breakfast. While her smile is bright Daisy has a determined look in her eyes that I know means business. “Come on into the kitchen and I’ll pour you a cup.”
“Bless you, Macy,” she says with a smile. Although she isn’t a morning person, unlike me she looks fresh and cheerful in white summer slacks and a light green cotton blouse scalloped at the edges. Open-toe shoes show off a shiny red pedicure that matches her fingernails, and even though it’s a sultry summer morning, not a bead of perspiration has the nerve to pop to the surface of her ivory skin. “Just a splash of cream, if you will.”
“It’s the flavored kind.”
She waves an elegant hand, “Oh . . . that’s fine. I’m getting used to the newfangled products. Why just last week I purchased wild rice in a packet that was already cooked! All you had to do was pop it in the microwave and it was ready in seconds! I was skeptical but I have to admit it was quite tasty. So see, I’m startin’ to lighten up and try new things. I’m tryin’ to branch out and not be so set in my ways.”
“Good for you, Mrs. Carter.” While I gather together the plates, forks, and coffee, we chat about the wedding and the weather and things in general but I still feel an underlying purpose that she hasn’t gotten to just yet. When there’s a lull in the conversation I know that she’s gearing up to tell me her real reason for dropping by. After swallowing a bite of cake she daintily dabs her napkin to her lips and then says, “So, I hear that you have a wonderful job opportunity.”
Ah . . . now we’re getting somewhere. “Yes, I do. How did you find out?”
She runs a red-tipped finger over the rim of her coffee mug and looks at me thoughtfully. “Luke told me.”
“Oh.” For some reason I feel the need to blush. “He did? Well, I guess it had to be him since no one else knows.”
Daisy nods. “I hope he wasn’t out of line tellin’ me but you do know he cares about you, don’t you?”
“Of course.” I’m not sure where she’s going with this but I think that something is weighing heavily on her mind. “Luke and I have been friends for a long time,” I venture, and have to wonder if Luke told her about the kiss. I feel my cheeks get warmer.
Daisy inhales a deep breath and slowly lets it out. “Macy, I believe that my son’s feelings for you run deeper than mere friendship. I’ve seen the way he looks at you lately.”
At her unexpected comment my pulse beats rapidly. “Mrs. Carter, what are you sayin’?”
She reaches across the table and puts her hand over mine. “I probably shouldn’t be tellin’ you this, but that’s never stopped me before, so here goes. I’m sayin’ I believe Luke could be falling in love with you, Macy.”
My heart leaps in my chest. “Do you really think so?”
Daisy squeezes my hand. “I think he knows it but is afraid to admit it to himself. We both know he’s been through some rough times and I think he’s somewhat afraid to put his heart on the line.”
I nod because I know she’s right.
“I also suspect that you’ve been in love with him for a long time.”
“I won’t deny it, but Mrs. Carter, let’s be honest. I’m not his kind of girl. I mean, look at me. Luke dates girls who look like supermodels.”
“Oh Macy, when will you ever learn that you’re a beautiful woman? And sweetie, your beauty radiates from the inside out.” She shakes her head. “The funny thing here is that Luke doesn’t think he’s worthy of you. He already cares about you so much that he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.”
My eyes widen. “What? How can he possibly not think he’s worthy of me? Have you . . . talked about this?”
“You know I can’t keep my mouth shut even though I tried for the past few weeks when you two danced around your growing attraction to each other. I wanted to bang your heads together . . . and now that you’re considering this job in Nashville, I felt the need to stick my nose in.”
She nibbles on her bottom lip for a moment. “But here’s the thing. Both of you are at pivotal points in your careers. You have to make that part happen . . . be happy in your own skin before a relationship could work.”
“Oh Mrs. Carter, I’ve been wrestling with that very notion.” I frown. “So, are you tellin’ me to take the job and if it’s meant to be between Luke and me, then it will somehow come to pass?”
“Heaven’s no. Sometimes you have to make things happen, Macy. Do you think Griff and Jamie Lee would be together without our meddling?”
I shrug.
“Probably not. Fate only gets you so far and the rest is up to . . .”
“Other people messin’ with your lives?”
Daisy smiles. “At least where I come from.”
I casually lick a dollop of icing from my thumb but my heart is thumping like a base d
rum. “So, I’m confused. What are you tellin’ me to do?”
“I’m encouraging you to take this job, Macy. It won’t be the same at the Cut and Curl without you, but at sixty years old . . . ,” she says, but when I arch one eyebrow she admits, “Okay, sixty-five, I know that nothing stays the same even in sleepy little Hooterville. We’ll miss you and I’ll shed some tears but we’ll be fine. So, don’t let that enter into your decision. You got that?”
“Got it,” I reply gruffly. “I’ve been arguing with myself all night long. This is so hard, especially now . . .”
“You go to Nashville, Macy, and give this opportunity your best shot.”
I nod, but then ask, “Well then, what about Luke?”
“Find yourself first, Macy McCoy. You have talent and confidence that haven’t begun to be tapped. I always knew it. But,” she says, and then winks, “go after that son of mine with both barrels. You don’t have to give up one thing for the other.”
“I know . . . I was thinkin’ the very same thing but—”
“No buts, babycakes.”
“Oh, Mrs. Carter, I have about a thousand buts rollin’ around in my head right now. In the past couple of days my life has been turned on its ear and any moment now I think I might start hyperventilating.”
Daisy squeezes my hand once again and says, “Macy-girl, just breathe. Your adventure is just beginning.”
12
Rednecks Without a Cause
Three days after my conversation with Daisy my head is spinning and I haven’t had a drop to drink . . . Nope, I’m just reeling from exhaustion after three days of whirlwind activity that included up and moving to Nashville. After going back and forth in my decision-making process a few more times—okay more like a hundred—it was my daddy who convinced me to take the job. He said that my mama would be proud and it got me thinking that maybe she’s up in heaven playing a hand in all that’s been happening to me lately. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve felt as if she were my guardian angel.