by Zoe Dawson
“Ma?” Booker called as he came into the house. My kids didn’t knock, and I was okay with that. “In the kitchen,” I called, and he appeared in the doorway. He looked like he had something heavy on his mind, and I was instantly concerned.
“What is it?”
He leaned against the jamb and ran his hand through his hair. “Other than the fact that I’m stuck on my book and I’m moving away from Suttontowne in a few short weeks?”
“I wish you wouldn’t remind me,” I said. “I hate that you won’t be here.”
“I know. But if you need anything…” He came into the room. “Anything, Ma. Call me. I’ll be here as fast as possible.”
“As to your book, you have a lot on your mind.”
“I guess I do.”
I bit my lip. I’d been so certain I had gotten over my empty nest. Gotten over the loss of my boys. But knowing Booker was moving to New Orleans with Aubree was hard. It had only been a year since my sons moved out of my house. The loneliness and loose-ends spare time that now fretted me was a result of having been so tied up in raising them, getting them through high school. Now I was faced with an empty home. With a loneliness I had felt more keenly today because of Win.
“I adore your Aubree,” I said, softening my voice, because it was so true. She is such a wonderful person, and so right for Booker. “You know that. And I’m a little irritated that she’s taking you away. But it’s all about your happiness, Booker, and that’s the only thing that makes it okay.”
He hugged me and I held on to him, swamped with my fierce, mama-lion love for him. “So, tell me what is bothering you?”
“It’s not exactly what’s bothering me. It’s whether this is going to work.” He pulled a ring box from his pocket, his face pensive. “I’ve been looking ever since I asked her to marry me. I think I know Aubree pretty well. Understated, beautiful and simple. Does this fit that?”
I opened the box and gasped softly. It was exquisite and my son had amazing taste. He knew Aubree well. It was just a lovely diamond and the brushed white gold band.
“So, what do you think? Too much? The guy called it a princess cut, but I don’t know shit about rings.”
I shook my head and closed the lid. “I think you know Aubree and this is just perfect. She will love this, but I believe she loves you more.” The pain hit me hard all of a sudden, and I longed for what Booker had with Aubree. But I wasn’t ready, hadn’t worked through my tangled emotions about my absent husband. I could thank Win for dredging this up. All the more reason to steer clear of him.
Booker gave a self-conscious little laugh. “She’s everything to me, Ma.” His face grew serious. It was natural for Booker to slough off his emotions with a joke. His eyes sparkled with his love for Aubree. “I want to give her so much.”
“Just give her yourself and work at your relationship every day. Don’t let it become rote or commonplace.”
He nodded. “That’s good advice.”
“When are you going to give this to her?”
“Soon. I want her to have it before we go to New Orleans. Make sure my promise is locked up, cementing a time for new beginnings.”
That struck me like a blow. A time for new beginnings? Was that a message for me, too, delivered through my son? It shook me, because beginnings, and the endings which came before, were always the most difficult for me. I shook it off. I wasn’t superstitious, or a ninny. I was practical, like my momma. “Good idea.”
“Are you doing okay?” he asked. My sons had their tripdar to warn them of their brothers’ state of mind, but for me, he picked up on my upset intuitively. I was suddenly, after thirteen years, once again struggling with sorrow and dread over what happened to take my husband from me. It was something I couldn’t talk about to my sons. They had written him off, but I couldn’t do that. I knew him, and he had been the love of my life. All the more reason to visit my sister.
I couldn’t seem to let go of it. I wasn’t sure if it was because Brody had been all I had known, or because our love, for me, had never died. It was a sobering and scary thought.
“I’m fine.”
“You know,” he said with a lift of a brow and a cant to his head, “when a woman says she’s fine, she usually isn’t.”
I didn’t respond, and Booker was old enough and smart enough not to push me. “If you need me…”
“I know,” I said, and he smiled.
I decided that escaping for the rest of the afternoon was an excellent idea. I started up my little pickup that I used instead of my car when I went antiquing and set off for Vermillion Bayou, which was about forty minutes away. Twenty minutes into my drive, I saw a sign saying ANTIQUES FOR SALE. I headed down the rutted road, bouncing over potholes to pull up to a ramshackle house with a lot of what looked like junk at first glance.
But to me it was like coming upon buried treasure. I got out and an old man came out of the house and smiled at me with bad teeth.
“Howdy,” he said and I smiled back. “If you need any help, jes’ come git me.”
“Thank you,” I said as I started to peruse the items outside. I was getting disappointed when I spied a pile of metal obscured by some weeds. I knelt down and had to smother my delight before I squealed.
Weathervanes. A girl riding a bear…but her flowing hair was bent and damaged…one of a winged horse, minus one of his wings, and I covered my mouth to keep the yell of sheer joy from escaping when I found Mary Poppins, her umbrella and carpet bag intact. Only the lower part of the support was bent, and part of the arrow broken off.
The rust didn’t faze me. I could clean that up. The broken and mangled bits didn’t worry me, either. My nephew Creed was a metal worker, and he shared my weathervane mania, but he had the imagination and skill to create his own beautiful designs. He could make anything I needed and weld whatever had broken off.
I was going to take them all.
A little bit behind his house, I saw something else I knew Boone would want. Stone lanterns. Six of them. What a find!
We haggled a bit on price, but not much. It was obvious the man was dirt poor. I was certain if I sold these weathervanes once they’d been restored they would fetch a pretty penny. Except I didn’t really sell any of the stuff I restored, just mostly gave it away or stored it in the sturdy but ugly shed behind my house. But I made sure he got what I thought these deserved.
Further down the road I found several rolls of chicken wire and bought those for Creed as well.
In another shop about fifteen miles away from my sister’s house I found a really old pie safe. It was in bad shape, but with some loving care and new tin inserts, it would be spectacular, and quite perfect for Imogene’s. Samantha Wharton, the woman from up north who had saved the Suttontowne landmark by buying the place and making it profitable again, would love it. I was positive.
As I got on the road again, I spotted a nice sports car on the side of the road and pulled over. There wasn’t a whole lot of traffic on a weekday on this road, and cell reception this far away from Lafayette was sketchy.
I slipped out of my truck just as the driver emerged. I stopped short, my heart beating faster. Oh, damn. Win Sutton. It was daunting to see him again so soon, because he was a good man wrapped up in a charming, disarming package. It was an intoxicating mix.
“Evie?” His incandescently blue eyes twinkled. He did a quick head-to-toe survey of me. Between the pleasure in his deep, buttery voice and the appreciative way his eyes went over me, I flushed. “I was hoping someone would happen by. I just didn’t realize it would be such a lovely lady.”
Lady? That wasn’t something I had had ever been called by a male from Suttontowne. It wasn’t like I didn’t have male attention. But there weren’t many in Suttontowne who would take on the Abandoned Wife of an Outlaw and all my baggage, not that I was ready for that anyway. I bit my lip. Why had I told him about Mumbo Gumbo? It was just off this main road. “Mr. Sutton.”
“Win,” he said again, stopp
ing in front of me. At least this time he was dressed and I didn’t have to struggle to stay focused on his face.
“I was heading back to Suttontowne when my car just up and died.” Win’s gaze narrowed down so tightly on mine, I thought I could feel him touching me. Everywhere. “It hasn’t been driven in some time since I have been traveling. I guess something got mucked up.”
“I’m sorry about that, but there’s no garage until we get to Petit Libellule.”
He stepped into my personal space. I should have backed up. I should have made it clear he was not welcome to take liberties with me, regardless of how he had come to my rescue. “Little Dragonfly. Pretty name. I have to confess that although I lived here a long time, I rarely strayed from Suttontowne. Is it far?”
“No, about fifteen miles.” I sounded less than enthusiastic, and I could see it wasn’t lost on him. “It’s my hometown.”
“Is it?” A breeze gusted and my hair blew across my shoulders and chest, and it was long enough to flutter against his shoulder. I reached up to push it away, but he beat me to it. His fingers brushed my face and I backed up at the warmth of his touch. His features softened. “Am I taking you away from something?”
I felt like a shrew for being so unpleasant to him. My ingrained good manners kicked in. “Just a scrounging trip. I can give you a ride if you like.”
“I won’t turn down a lift.” He glanced into the back of my truck. “Let me lock my car and I’ll be right back.”
He turned and walked back to his vehicle. My, he had broad shoulders. They stretched wide, tapering down to his lean waist and nice butt. Damn. I turned away and got back into my truck, gripping the wheel. I was not going to ogle Win’s butt, no matter how fine it was.
When he settled in the front seat next to me, I felt a bit overwhelmed, as if he was suddenly taking up way too much space, using up way too much air. And yet he was seated a respectable distance from me. I tried my best to appear unaffected and coolly in control as I pulled off the shoulder and built up speed. He was quiet.
“Scrounging?” he asked, breaking the silence.
I grinned. I couldn’t help it. I loved old beat-up things. Loved the feeling I got when I restored them to their former beauty. “I’m a bone fide garbage picker. Out of necessity I reuse old things. I made guitar picks for my son Boone out of old credit cards, repurposed old picture frames into serving trays, and upcycled old light bulbs into candles.”
“And the stuff you’ve got back there?” He looked behind him to the truck bed with a quizzical glance.
“The chicken wire is for my nephew Creed. He’s a welder who loves to do metal art. He uses the chicken wire for a lot of things.”
“Like what?” His eyes glowed with interest.
“Structures, sculptures, accents, bindings. Many things. He’s very clever.”
“And the stone lanterns?”
“I picked them up for my son Boone. He’s a landscape architect, and I know he’ll love those.”
“Ah, that’s too bad.” He sounded disappointed. “I was thinking my sister-in-law would adore them. She’s been looking for something different for her back yard. She would need only two.”
“Oh, really? Well…”
“I would be happy to pay you a profit on them.”
“Let me think about it,” I said, realizing that the choice was up to Boone, but knowing I could influence his decision.
“Fair enough.” He nodded. “How about the metal junk?”
“That’s not junk,” I said emphatically. “They’re weathervanes and I’m kinda crazy about them. I’m going to restore them, and they’ll be beautiful. That girl with the flowing hair riding a bear is so whimsical, and the winged horse feeds that fantasy in all of us, and who doesn’t love Mary Poppins? She stands for order and believing in dreams and magic.”
“You can see the beauty in those items, that’s a gift,” he said softly. “A woman who has curiosity about life, I’d say. I think that’s the secret of creative people.”
My heart lurched. “Creative? No. I just see a purpose in everything.”
“Believe me, Evie, what you just described tells a story about each of those items.” He turned in his seat, canting his body toward mine, his arm going along the bench seat back until I was much too aware of him, his intensity, and this attraction. “That is special. Don’t discount yourself. You’ve got imagination. That’s the beginning of creativity. You can see the potential in those items in your truck bed. Where I see chicken wire, you see supports and structure. Where I see metal junk, you see whimsy and beauty.”
I didn’t want him to see anything, and I certainly didn’t want to respond to what he just said. But I couldn’t seem to help it. Most of my adult life had been full of hardship and making ends meet, protecting my boys and myself. I didn’t want some man I had barely met to penetrate that shell. Especially someone as dangerous to me as Win Sutton.
Someone who saw me like Brody had. The real me, without the pretense or the tough face I maintained to keep from being singled out.
“There goes that tough girl face. Just like the one you had on when that jackass was trying to intimidate you this morning. I saw a different kind of woman then. One I believe you’ve had to be. And that’s a shame.”
The respect in his voice threw me for a loop. I hadn’t been treated this way, not ever. With this kind of understanding…and admiration. Brody had loved me, and we’d been good together, but he was busy making a living and I had my hands full with three rambunctious, headstrong triplets. Our love had been pretty simple and straightforward, even though it had been short.
“I’m practical and strong.” I countered. “Being frail, showing any kind of weakness, would be inviting trouble. You are very charming, Mr. Sutton. But that’s not going to sway me.”
Chapter Three
Win
I hadn’t been wrong when I said Evie was strong. She looked sweet and fragile, but she’d been a warrior when she faced down that sorry excuse for a man. The resignation and the sadness on her face had touched off my protective instincts, made me want to shelter her, show her how a real man treated a woman as beautiful and tough as she was.
There was an orneriness in me that wouldn’t let go of getting her to step out with me. No matter how contrary she thought she was, she’d offered me a ride even though I was quite aware she hadn’t wanted to. She wanted to avoid me, which made me think either she actually didn’t cotton to me, or she really did.
I was betting she did. She was subtle about it, but I saw the way she’d looked at me this morning in that parking lot. Instead of stroking my ego, it only made me want to get to know her all the more. I had a powerful curiosity about her. I wanted to know things. Things she told to her close friends. Intimate things.
The dense green passed by with breaks in the foliage that showed bright glimpses of the Vermillion River. This was a wild place, seemingly lost to the lushness of the swamp. But every now and then a house would flash by, and occasional tiny towns.
I had never considered a broken-down car to be good luck, but my decision to eat at Mumbo Gumbo for lunch was a stellar idea. First, the food was just as good as Evie said, and secondly, I had run into Evie. Win/win for me.
There was silence after she’d told me in subtext to mind my own business because she was strong enough to refuse to give in to me. It only served to swirl a red cape in front of a bull. It told me that she was trying to resist me, and that meant she just might be interested.
It wasn’t lost on me that she was an Outlaw and I was a Sutton and our families had some difficult history. But I didn’t give two damns about that. I had always believed people should be judged by their actions, not by ancestors too far back to matter.
“Did you enjoy Mumbo Gumbo?” she asked.
“Very much.” I could almost taste the creaminess of her gumbo, the flavors of chicken and sausage, mixing with onion and garlic. It had melted in my mouth. “Mrs. Gravois was quite the chara
cter, with a big, booming laugh I found very endearing. I could barely understand a word she was saying, but my palate was completely engaged with her cooking. Easy to get an article out of that experience. Best gumbo I ever had.”
“You haven’t yet eaten Braxton’s. You might have to revise that statement.”
“I just might,” I said. “Maybe with you.” I smiled, watching her flush slightly.
She laughed and shook her head as if to say: don’t you ever give up? The look she threw me was both knowing and intimate, and made me wish we were anywhere but where we were.
“Her place still rough-looking?”
“The atmosphere was completely charming. The old, rustic cabin, potbelly stove and rough-hewn table and chairs were all authentic. Why, she even had braids of garlic hanging from the rafters.”
“I’m going to have to make it a point to get back out there.”
“You should, but do it soon. She might get a lot of customers after I write my review.”
Up ahead the bayou thinned out just before the beginnings of a quaint town came into view. We turned into the center, and Evie pulled up to a gas station with a simple sign that read Ballon’s Gas and Go.
“I’ll wait until you talk to Leonce,” she said. “He owns the place.”
There was that resigned voice again, and I had to say I was learning to hate it. I didn’t want her to think she was stuck with me. I got out of the truck and went inside. There was an old guy behind the counter with white hair and a bushy mustache and eyebrows. He turned friendly brown eyes on me and asked, “Can I help you?”
I explained my situation, and he assured me he would tow my car and give it a looksee.
I walked out with him to Evie’s truck and saw a smile spread across his craggy face. He spoke rapidly in French and Evie laughed and jumped out of the truck to give him a hard hug.
“Is this a friend of yours?” Leonce asked.
“Yes, Winchester Sutton, meet one of my daddy’s best friends, Mr. Ballon.”
He clasped my hand with a strong, sure grip. He was tall, his hands callused, no doubt from working on cars, grease under his fingernails. He wore a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans that had seen better days. “I’ll take care of this right away. You enjoy your time with our Evie. Hate to see you waiting when you could be enjoying her company.”