by Maggie Wells
She stroked one of the velvety flower petals and swallowed around the hard lump of bitterness lodged at the base of her throat. Harley might be an unreliable, big-talking pain in the ass, but he sure knew how to capture a woman’s attention.
Monday he’d sent a rainbow of tulips. On Tuesday, he followed up with two pounds of Richart chocolates. Wednesday, the bell chimed seconds prior to closing time, and she stepped out from behind the register to find a young woman toting a collapsible massage chair standing inside the door. The massage therapist had managed to undo some of the knots in Laney’s neck and shoulders, but she couldn’t loosen her stance on letting Harley back into her life. Not now. He was hard enough to handle when she’d had her feet under her. She didn’t know what she’d do with him now that her life had gone completely sideways.
“Of course, he is doing very well for himself. Why, Connie Cade was in here a couple weeks ago spending money like they were printing it in the basement.”
Laney didn’t remind Miss Jeanette she was the one who’d waited on Harley’s mother. Despite her humble roots, Mrs. Cade was a classy woman. She didn’t lord their reversal of fortunes over Laney when she shopped at Sassafras. In truth, St. Patrick’s former lunch lady was a joy to work with. Unlike the majority of their clientele, she was respectful, kind, and had a self-deprecating humor that made Laney laugh out loud. It was easy to see where Harley got his overabundance of charm.
Ignoring the not-so-subtle jibe, Laney made an attempt to go back to her work. “Mrs. Cade has become a good customer.”
The older woman placed a hand on her arm, commanding her attention. “The kind of money that might help set things to rights. Why, with some guidance, he might even turn out to be a….” she paused, her lips drawn in as if she were sucking the sourest of all lemons, “breath of fresh air. He certainly is handsome enough, and with the right kind of woman to take him in hand—”
Laney tuned her out. She’d already heard a half-dozen of Miss Markham’s ever-varying opinions. She could recite the gist of it by rote. Harley Cade was little more than poor white trash who made a pile of disgustingly dirty money by working with his hands and taking advantage of people by forcing them to buy houses at far more than what he’d paid for the same property. It was robbery. Piracy. Profiteering of the worst kind. But if he were to marry someone from the right family, perhaps she could shove all his filthy lucre into a brand new front-loading Maytag—or better yet, have the help do it—and bring the wild ruffian up to scratch.
The trouble was, Laney liked him untamed. The way his sun-streaked brown hair waved over his ears and curled at his nape might have made the Mobile matrons cluck their tongues, but it drove her crazy in a completely different way. She knew how soft those swirls were as they looped around her fingers. And how hard his body was when pressed against hers. Every inch of him. Firm. Unyielding. Skin hot as an inferno. No one would ever suspect the man was capable of doling out sweet, lingering kisses designed to make a woman’s toes curl and her heart lurch.
“They are lovely, though.”
An appreciative little sigh snapped Laney from her reverie to find she was caressing the flower in a manner which a lady of lesser breeding than Miss Jeanette Markham might construe as suggestive.
Jerking her hand back, Laney rubbed her fingers against her thumb as if she could erase the silken softness of the flower petal or the memory of Harley’s hands on her. Rough, working-man’s hands, ridged with calluses she doubted would ever soften. No matter how much money he had in the bank, Harley Cade wasn’t the type to ever stop banging away at what he wanted. Literally or metaphorically.
“He is a determined young man. One has to admire his tenacity,” the older woman commented.
“He’s a stubborn ass.” Laney bit her lip and shot her employer a sheepish glance.
Miss Jeanette laughed. “Well, darlin’, you know what they say about it taking one to know one.” She smiled, but it faded to an apologetic grimace, the lines on her face settling into familiar folds. “Speaking of stubborn…”
A nervous chuckle chased the opener, but Laney could tell by the way the older woman squared her shoulders that something big was coming.
Expecting the boss to finally admit she’d been wrong not to order a wider variety of ultra-control undergarments as Laney suggested, she widened her eyes and answered with an angelic smile. “Yes?”
“I’ve been holding on, hoping things will get better, but everything’s been so hard these past few years.”
Laney nodded. Between devastating hurricanes, massive oil spills, and the ever-shifting tourism economy, the entire Gulf Coast was reeling. Almost everyone took a hit, from small specialty businesses like Sassafras to companies that had once been part of the backbone of the community, like Tarrington Industries.
“The time has come to retire. I’m going to sell Sassafras.”
Though she’d known this could happen at any time, the announcement felt like a blow. Laney pressed the flat of her palms to the sides of her legs. The smile froze on her face. Like a child, she closed her eyes, hoping she could duck yet another one of life’s sucker punches. But there was no escape. There was no sense in hiding from reality.
She needed a moment. One moment to push back the rush of memories swirling inside her. A terse phone call from her father telling her the oil spill in the gulf had finished off what was left of the family fisheries after Mother Nature was done kicking the crap out of them. The day she realized that even if she worked two jobs in addition to her unpaid internship at Kerring Limited, she couldn’t afford her split of the Manhattan apartment she shared with six other girls. The sadness in her mother’s ebony eyes when Laney came home broke and broken-hearted. Later, the resignation in those same eyes when she repeated the prognosis a second, and then a third oncologist confirmed.
Endless appointments, embarrassing meetings with various administrators where she flat-out begged them to help her help her mother. The whispers undercut the well-wishes at the funeral. The stench of bourbon wafting off her father as they stood graveside. Piles of bills. Two dozen perfect peonies. Harley’s persistent, charming, cajoling messages. How was she supposed to be able to believe things could last with him when he’d been the first to leave her?
It was all too much.
Once again, she was going to be cast adrift. As rudderless as one of the stripped down fishing boats rotting in the Tarrington Industries docks. Bobby Ahern talked her into going on one of those spinning rides at the state fair one summer. The kind where the floor dropped out from beneath her feet and only the laws of physics held her tethered to the padded wall. But this—Sassafras—this was the last thread she had binding her to the world of high fashion she’d loved all her life.
“Of course, I’d love to sell it to you.”
Gravity was a relentless bitch.
Laney’s eyes popped open. Miss Markham was using the low, hushed tone Southern women reserved for visitations and other hopeless causes. A hot rush of indignation crept up Laney’s neck and set the tips of her ears ablaze. She wanted to tell the old bat to stuff her sympathy and let her keep her damn job. But she didn’t. Instead, she swallowed her shredded pride and forced a tight smile.
“Thank you. I means a lot you think so highly of my work here, but we both know I don’t have the backing to make an investment at this time, and given the bankruptcy of Tarrington Industries and the medical bills we have left from my mother’s illness, I sincerely doubt any of the area banks would consider offering me a loan.”
If Miss Jeanette was taken aback by the blunt acknowledgment of her family’s finances, she didn’t let it show. The demise of the Tarrington fortune had been whispered about for years. When the collapse finally came, it surprised no one, but shocked everyone.
Two spots of pink—neither the result of Mary Kay Cosmetics—appeared high on the older woman’s cheeks, but she sailed past the implication of unpleasantness like Captain Smith admirin
g a passing iceberg. Shooting the bouquet of peonies a meaningful glance, she pursed her lips appraisingly then shrugged off the distasteful talk of money. “Well, give it a little thought, dear. Perhaps you can come up with something.”
Taking a step back, Laney made a point of checking the slim gold watch she wore on her wrist. Some might have called the timepiece’s streamlined face and bracelet band outdated, but Laney preferred to think of it as retro-yet-to-come. She tried not to think too hard about the fact it was all she had left of her mother. Or the day she’d had to borrow two hundred dollars from Brooke to buy it back from the pawn shop her father sold it to so he could stock up on enough bourbon to pickle himself.
“Now that you’re here, is it okay if I step out to lunch? I’m meeting Brooke for a quick bite.”
As expected, Miss Jeanette’s face lit at the mention of former Miss Alabama, Emmaline Hastings’, daughter. “Oh, yes, of course. How is that pretty Hastings girl? You know, I always thought it was a shame she didn’t go for the title. Wouldn’t that have been something?” She beamed, clearly delighted by the thought of a mother-daughter pageant sweep. “I never did understand how those judges could possibly think some twiggy of a girl from New Jersey and red-headed trash from Texas were prettier than our Emmaline. I’m telling you, the whole thing was rigged.”
Well-versed in Miss America conspiracy theories, Laney simply nodded and smiled. “Well, you know she didn’t let Gary Collins touch her bottom.”
“And she was right. Never trust a man with so much hair,” Miss Jeanette said gravely. “They’re vain and self-absorbed.”
“Duly noted.” Slipping behind the counter, Laney pulled her handbag from the drawer beneath the cash register. “Any errands you need me to take care of while I’m out?”
“No, dear, you run along.” She crammed her own, more substantial handbag into the space Laney’s had vacated. “Now, you tell Brooke I said it’s getting to be about time she brought her Dalton boy up to scratch.”
“I’ll be sure to pass your advice along. I’m sure it won’t be long before she lands him.” Looping her bag over her arm, she reached for the vase. “I think I’ll run these over to Horizons while I’m out.”
Miss Jeanette scowled in disapproval at the mere mention of the hospice facility. “You must be joking. Those flowers are worth a fortune!”
Laney drew a deep breath, allowing herself one more heady dose of extravagance, then flashed her very sweetest smile. “They are, and hopefully they’ll make at least one lucky somebody feel like a million bucks.” Turning away, she marched resolutely toward the exit.
* * * *
Harley spotted Laney the second she walked through the door. Unfortunately, Brooke Hastings had chosen a table between his and the door, so he had no choice but to hunker down and hope they didn’t see him. Not an easy feat for a guy who topped six feet in the seventh grade. It didn’t help that Frannie’s Kitchen was about the size of a boot box and people kept coming by his table to welcome him home. Funny how they all forgot he used to bus tables for three bucks plus a split of the tips.
“Harley, I still want to talk to you about the reclamation project we were discussing last spring.”
Setting aside his muffaletta, he wiped his hands and mouth on a paper napkin and half-rose from his chair as he extended his hand. “Certainly, Mr. Mayor. Whenever it’s convenient for you.”
The mayor smiled and waved him back into his seat. “You know Brian Dalton, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m telling you, this guy has some interesting ideas for the same waterfront area you’ve been eying.”
Peering past the mayor, Harley caught what might have been a smirk on Brian Dalton’s smug face. “Brian.” Harley nodded and shook the younger man’s hand as well. “Seems like I see you every time I turn around.”
This time, Brian didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “Gee, I wonder why.”
“I was here first.” His defense was instinctive. It rankled to justify his existence to privileged eggheads like Brian Dalton.
Brian eyed his barely touched sandwich--the evidence that he had indeed been camped out at his table for a while, then glanced around at the bustling waitstaff. “Seems like they made you wait for a sandwich. Did you piss the waitress off or something?”
Fixing the younger guy with a bland stare, he gestured to the abandoned empty plate and sweating iced tea glass his site manager had left behind. “I prefer to get my business out of the way so I can enjoy my lunch.”
“Better for the digestion,” the mayor decreed. “Brian, I hate to run out on you, but I have another appointment.” He shook Brian’s hand then turned his attention back to Harley. “Good to have you home again, Harley. I was afraid you’d like it out there in Hollywood and we’d only see you in the tabloids.”
Harley didn’t need to look at Brian to feel the guy’s wince. The rise and fall of Dalton’s reality television career was a hot topic along the Gulf shore. After all, it wasn’t often one of their hometown boys was featured in People Magazine.
The mayor turned, took half a step, then turned back, his wide brow puckered in a thoughtful frown. “You know, you two boys should talk to each other. I think if you could find a way to put your ideas together, we might really have something we can work with in terms of grant monies, subsidization...” He paused to let the idea take hold, then nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, it might be something to think about.”
“What might be something to think about?”
Brian glanced at Harley as if he had some kind of secret decoder ring that might tell him what the mayor was cooking up in his mind. Unfortunately, when it came to political wheeling and dealing, Harley had no clue. His usual modus operandi was to storm into a place, tear the guts out of it, then build it bigger and better from the sub-floor up. In this situation, all he had to offer was a shrug. Lucky for them, Mr. Mayor tossed a few clues on the table.
Pointing to Brian, he said, “Coastal wetlands recreation and education.” The finger swung in Harley’s direction. “Loft condominiums for upwardly mobile yuppie-types. Throw in some solar panels and bike trails.” He circled his hand in a way Harley interpreted as the mayoral equivalent of an order to “make it so” and finished with a jaunty wave.
Brian blinked, and for a moment the former television hunk looked like an owl who discovered all the windows at the wizard academy had been fitted with glass. He dropped into the chair across from Harley. “Solar panels?”
“Have a seat,” Harley muttered, returning his attention to the sandwich he feared he’d never get to enjoy. “I didn’t need to eat anyway.”
Brian looked over at the women seated across the crowded room, then turned back with a sneer. “Please. Go ahead and eat. We’re practically brothers-in-law as it is.”
Clutching his sandwich, Harley looked up. “How do you figure?”
The superior smirk was back. “Brooke and I are getting married.”
At that very second, Delaney Tarrington leaped from her seat, emitting a squeal so high-pitched, the plastic glasses the restaurant used almost gave in and shattered like they were glass. She snatched up Brooke’s left hand, held it an inch from her eyeballs, and let loose with a rebel yell. Their fellow patrons cheered as she enveloped her best friend in a bear hug and Harley felt a sharp stab of envy.
“And we have confirmation,” Brian murmured, reaching across to snag a couple of chips off Harley’s plate.
Harley stared at the two women, transfixed. Laney was as dark as Brooke light. Laney’s inky hair spilled over Brooke’s shoulder, eclipsing the shorter woman’s blond beauty for only a second. Brooke was softer, curvier. To look at her, one would think she was nothing more than another sweet Southern confection. A doll to be dressed up and admired. But two minutes of conversation were all it took to discover the woman had a mind sharp as a harpoon and the blood instincts of a shark.
Most people thought Delaney was all acute angles and b
arbed edges, but he knew better. He’d seen the vulnerability in her eyes, felt her tremble beneath him, savored the honeyed silk of her skin. Looking at them together brought to mind the packages of old film negative his mother refused to throw away. Opposites, and yet, the bond between the two women was unmistakable. Without the other, neither one was whole.
Brian’s crack about them becoming in-laws and all its implications struck him anew.
“They aren’t sisters,” Harley pointed out.
“Brooke is the only person who has never left Laney. Ever.” Brian snatched one more chip then fell back in his chair, his eyes locked on Harley. “Too bad you can’t say the same.”
Harley dropped the sandwich, but this time he didn’t bother with a napkin or being polite. “You seem to know an awful damn lot about my business.”
“Like I said, Brooke and I are getting married.” Brian rose from the chair, a welcoming smile spreading across his face. Harley looked up to see Laney weaving her way through the tables, dodging a server with a trays loaded with plates, her focus locked on Brian like a laser beam.
“You sneaky bastard. Don’t you know you’re supposed to consult the best friend on everything?”
She hurled the accusation at the would-be bridegroom and punctuated it with a finger to the center of Brian’s chest. When her victim grunted in protest and rubbed the afflicted spot, she threw her head back and laughed. Laughed the same sexy laugh of pure joy she’d unleashed when they were tangled up in the sheets. It flowed into the room as rich as molasses. The problem was, Harley wasn’t the one to tap into her captivating bliss.
Harley stood as well, but before he could say a word, Delaney Tarrington, his Delaney, was hugging the stuffing out of the other man. He watched as she squeezed Brian tight, tears seeping from the corners of her closed eyes and a pink flush of emotion coloring her cheeks. Though he knew the embrace was completely innocent, jealousy, raw and rough-edged, tore through Harley like a buzz saw.