“Here with the boys.” I nod to the gaggle following Maura to the minivan. Beverly stands next to Jedd, and her head turns to follow the trail of children.
“You have kids?” she questions, looking back at me. Beverly has eyes that match her sister’s—gray and piercing—but they’ve softened over the time I’ve known her. She’s aware of a few secrets between Jedd and me, so she should know I don’t have children. However, she might not know about the boys’ home as I try to keep them separate from connections with my business affairs.
“I run a foster home of sorts,” I tell her, sensing I can trust Beverly. Her brows lift with the information, and then her face softens, breaking into a wide grin.
“That’s mighty generous of you, Big Poppy. You’re a good man.” Jesus, that nearly rips out my heart for some reason.
“Jedd, I’ve been meaning to call you.” For all of five minutes. I need some help investigating someone, and as much as I hate to admit it, it needs to be done. I want to keep this on the down low before I turn this into a legitimate investigation, and I know Jedd used a guy to try to help him find his younger brother about a year ago.
I don’t want to stir up trouble before there’s a need. Henny doesn’t need it. She’s already lost her husband, or so she says, and I hate that I’m doubting that as well. What do I really know about this new version of her other than her eagerness for us to get together again? A warning in Scotia’s voice goes off in my head. Why did the pickle vixen need to ruin tonight? The evening had been fun with the boys. Trouble just seems to follow that woman.
Or maybe it’s that trouble likes to find me.
“Have a drink with us,” Jedd invites, and Beverly smiles to encourage the offer.
“I hate to intrude on date night,” I tease.
“Naomi and Nathan are joining us. We’re here to support Scotia,” Beverly adds.
Dammit. I’m here myself for the same reason. If I want her to respect all my businesses, I decided I needed to show her I believe in hers. Plus, the boys begged to attend the celebration. Scotia should be proud of all she’s accomplished in the past five years. I’d been thinking about what she said and how similar we might be given that we both started our own businesses and worked to better ourselves. We’d also both thought money would improve our lives, our status, and it’s proven the opposite. In addition, we’d both hoped for love in our first relationships, which fell flat and left us disappointed.
“I should really help Maura get the boys home,” I say, hesitating as I’d like to stay.
“Maura?” Beverly questions while Jedd shakes his head.
“Man, I cannot keep up with your harem,” he teases, which causes Beverly to look over at him. Her face falls as she turns back to me, and I wonder what she’s thinking. More importantly, what does she know? Has Scotia talked about me? Does her sister know a thing or two about us?
“No harem. Just a house full of boys.” Somehow, that sounded wrong, and I chuckle as I scratch under my chin. I see the reverse lights of the van through the window and excuse myself from Jedd and Beverly. As I enter the parking lot, Maura stops the minivan and I step up to the driver’s side.
“What’s going on?” She knows me well enough to question my expression.
“I don’t know exactly, but would you mind if I stayed?” The great thing about Maura is I don’t always need to explain myself to her. She gives me a knowing look and sets the van back in reverse. I tap the side of the vehicle, waving at the boys before returning inside Genie’s.
Scotia gives me a surprised look upon my re-entry but doesn’t say anything to me as I cross the bar and take a seat with Jedd and Beverly at a table. We both need time to cool off—her with her accusations and me with my sudden doubts. I haven’t known Jedd for long, but I trusted him instantly upon meeting him. We have a business agreement.
“Tell me how horse training is going.” I know nothing about horses, but I listen as Jedd explains the types of horses on his property and how he’s working them, training bucking broncs for the rodeo. He’s also taking on students with the hope of entering his prospects in the local circuits next spring, and he offers horseback-riding lessons.
“Always need to start somewhere,” he states positively, and that’s what I like about him.
“I should bring the boys over.”
“You know you’re welcome anytime.”
Shortly after our conversation, Nathan Ryder arrives with his wife, Naomi. I’ve known Nathan for a long time through his brother and became better acquainted with him once he returned to Green Valley a few years back. He’s more jovial than his sibling but still intense at times. His wife seems to be the opposite of him, but they look at one another as if they were a match made in heaven. Fate brought them back together, Nathan would say. The first time Nathan explained their relationship, I was actually a little nauseated by the cuteness of it. And to think it all started at The Fugitive.
“Hey Jedd, come get another round with me.” I’ve asked awkwardly, but I need to speak to him privately. When we step over to the bar, I explain my need for an investigation of something off the record, and Jedd gives me a name.
“Ever hear of Cletus Winston?”
“I use his shop for my car.” Besides my motorcycle and truck, I take my 2019 Dodge Challenger to him for maintenance.
“If you want to know the who’s who in the area and their history, he’s the man.”
I nod, acknowledging I understand.
“Use my name.” Jedd pats me on the shoulder and turns back toward the table. I feel sick at the thought of investigating Henny, but I need answers. I’ll have to turn her over to the authorities if I find something, and God, I hope I don’t learn anything that will force me to do that.
Once back at the table, we laugh and drink, and I listen to the couples picking on one another, wondering what it would feel like to be a part of a group like them. If Scotia and I were something more lasting than some hit-or-miss nights in the sheets, could we do things like this? Hang out with friends? From what I heard secondhand, she hasn’t been close to her sisters, but the impression I have is they are working on mending a long-standing, broken relationship.
Sitting here among friends has calmed my irritation from earlier. I wasn’t actually upset with Scotia as much as the possibility she’s right. Something is amiss with Malik disappearing tonight upon Henny’s arrival. It reminds me he went missing the same night Henny showed up at the house. With this revelation, I look up to see Scotia wandering over to the table.
“Well, y’all sound like you’re having a good time,” she says, but there’s an undercurrent in that tone and a forced grin on her face. Is that displeasure? Exclusion? Does she sense she’s missing out? Everything in me wants to reach out and tug her onto my lap to make her a part of this circle. Like I’d thought the other morning, I’m not hiding her, but we’re on her ground here.
“Join us,” Beverly suggests, a hint of hope in her tone.
“Come sit, Sissy,” Naomi says next.
“Some of us have to work,” Scotia remarks, sharper than she should, and I wonder what she thinks her sisters do. Naomi’s a librarian. Beverly runs a soap-making business and a farm with Jedd.
“We’re here to support you,” Beverly states, and Scotia’s mouth opens, then quickly shuts. She has something to say in response to her sister, but I see her biting her cheek.
“Thank you for coming,” the eldest sibling grits out, fisting her fingers and then excusing herself. As she stalks back to her associate, I watch her fine ass sway in her dark, tight skirt. I don’t know what it is about her body, but it calls to mine. So does her attitude.
“I’ll be right back,” I mutter, excusing myself and standing. I follow Scotia, grip her upper arm, and tug her near the bathrooms. Once we enter the small hallway, I spin Scotia, who looks ready to spit nails.
“What is the problem?” I snap when I intended to stay calm. Her aggravation with me is something I can handl
e, but her rude behavior toward her sisters, who are here for her, is another thing.
“Nothing,” she lies, staring up at me, eyes searching mine a minute. “I-I’m sorry for earlier.” Her apology completely stumps me and derails my new ire.
“For what exactly?”
“Henny.” She swallows around the name. “Malik is in your care. I just don’t want anything to hurt him.” Her eyes lower, and her shoulders fall. The tension inside me releases a bit as well. I don’t want to fight with her tonight. This was her night. This was her party.
“I’m proud of you,” I say, reaching out for those white strands of hair that soothe me.
“You . . . what?” Her voice lowers as she swallows around the question.
“You had something to say to your sister, and judging by the way you were gnawing the inside of your cheek, I suspect it wasn’t pleasant. So, I’m proud of you for holding back and not saying something to hurt Beverly.” I’ve met that sister on more than one occasion, and I have a soft spot for her.
Scotia stares at me, and her arms cross. Her hip juts to one side, and then she turns her face away from me. I’ve stumped her.
“Now, tell me what you were going to say.”
Her attention snaps back to my face. “What?”
“It’s still bothering you, so get it off your chest by telling me instead of taking it out on your sister.”
Scotia’s hands fall to her sides as she considers her thoughts for a second. Eventually, she huffs. “Fine. While I appreciate Beverly saying they are here for me, where were they when I started this company?” As soon as the words leave her mouth, her expression falters.
“Where were they?” I repeat back to her and her head tilts again.
“What do you mean?”
“What was going on in their lives when you started your business?”
Scotia hesitates before speaking. “Beverly was still recovering, wallowing in her self-imposed reclusiveness, and Naomi and I just weren’t close as she was letting guilt and the goddess rule her life.”
I don’t exactly understand the goddess statement, but I give Scotia a hard glare.
“So what you’re saying is they were busy with troubles in their own lives. And were you there for them?”
“I—”
“Et.” I hold up a hand.
“But—”
I shake my head.
Her shoulders fall. “No.” Her eyes close. Her head lowers. At least she admitted the truth, if to no one else but me. A pinch of pride fills my chest. I can’t help myself. I step forward and pull her into me. With her forehead pressing into my sternum, I place a kiss on the top of her head.
“I’m a really awful person,” she mutters against me.
“You’re a work in progress. That doesn’t make you awful. It means you’re tryin’. There’s a difference.”
Her head pops up as she remains leaning into me. “Do you really think there’s hope for me?”
“I already told you I did, darlin’.”
“I appreciate your faith in me,” she whispers. “Not many people have believed in me in the past.”
I don’t know what she means because she seems to have enough faith in herself to weather any storm, but there’s that sweet and vulnerable side she gives to me. I understand that it’s nice to have support from others. It’s nice to have others believe in you, be proud of you. Maura’s been there for me, and Todd, too. Hell, I even count Savannah and Nathan and Jedd. Who was there for Scotia when she was holding up that farce of a marriage? Who was there when she started her business venture? Scotia asked who holds me, and I recall that look she had when we met. Who held her? Would she let me be the one to always be there for her?
“Okay, boss lady. Get back to work selling deep-fried phallus.”
She laughs lightly in my arms, and I lean down, giving her a quick kiss. The action surprises both of us, and she slowly smiles afterward. As I release her, a thought strikes me.
“That’s why you do it, isn’t it?”
“Do what?” she asks, slowly disengaging herself from my embrace.
“You’re symbolically deep frying his dick, aren’t you?”
Scotia chuckles nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And it has nothing to do with his sexual orientation,” I continue. “You’re boiling his tiny pecker in hot oil because of his unfaithfulness. Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peckers.” He screwed around but she didn’t.
“It’s peppers,” she corrects me.
“His pecker?” I question, returning to the subject at hand and arching a brow.
“I have no idea what you mean,” she says, smoothing her hands down her skirt and walking away from me. Then she cranes her neck to look at me over her shoulder and winks.
Someone remind me never to get on Scotia Simmons’s bad side.
Chapter 25
Three Things
[Scotia]
The Pickle Day-slash-anniversary party was a big success, and I’m pleased as a pickle with the turnout. Between the high of the celebration and a shot or two in my honor, I might have been a teeny bit tipsy by the end of the night. Even Genie gave me a weak smile, disregarding all the questions in her head about Malik hiding out behind a mop bucket in her kitchen.
“Thank you again,” I say to Patty and Willa who worked their tails off with the patrons, and the extra service required to share the fried pickle samples. Gideon tipped them each generously for their efforts. I’m exhausted yet exhilarated. My siblings and their significant others are long gone, but Chet stayed the remainder of the night. I had to remind myself to call him Big Poppy in front of the others, although I’m certain they all know his real name, and this isn’t his biker bar.
“What a good night,” I say to Gideon as I walk him to the front door, surprising him with my cheerful tone.
“See you in the morning,” he tells me in a tired voice.
“Let’s start at noon tomorrow.” His brows lift, but he doesn’t question me as he looks over my shoulder at the burly man sitting at the bar waiting on me.
“Have a good night, boss.”
“You worked hard tonight, Gideon. Thank you.” I’ve stumped him a second, and he simply smiles before speaking.
“I knew you could do it. See, a genuine compliment wasn’t so bad, right?” He tips up a brow. Perhaps the boss has been schooled by her assistant.
I softly chuckle. “Get out of here,” I tease and then watch him walk to his car with a handful of pickle-shaped helium balloons.
After Gideon leaves, I cross the bar for Chet, and he reaches for my hip, tugging me between his spread thighs as he sits on a barstool.
“Tell me three things,” he says, a grin gracing his lips.
“My feet hurt. I could use a drink. I’m exhausted,” I jest, placing my hands on his chest.
“Interpreted as massage, wine, and sex. Got it.”
I let out a sharp laugh which he captures, melding his lips to mine as we linger in the nearly vacant bar. The kiss is tender, hesitant, and soft. He takes his time to work over my mouth, drawing out the suction of my bottom lip before covering both once more. My knees buckle, and I fall into him, leaning against his firm body. His hand holds my hip, and the other slides to my lower back.
“We’re closed,” Genie hollers, dinging on a bell from the kitchen. “Get your groove on somewhere else.”
I twist to face her, feeling her watching me, and she gives me a look like she’s never seen me before, like I’m someone new to her, and she nods towards the door. I’m hoping after tonight—between the party and the situation in her kitchen—she does see me differently. Not that I really care what others think of me . . . but I do, a little bit. Okay, maybe more than a little.
I look back at Chet, flushed at being caught kissing a man in public, but I want people to know he’s with me. He’s mine.
“Are you mad about Henny?” My fingers play with the collar of his shirt w
hile he rubs his hand up and down my back.
“Not mad,” he clarifies. “But that green-eyed jealousy blends well with your pickles.”
I smile weakly, ready to retort I’m not jealous, but I realize I am. Of course, I deny it. “I have nothing to be jealous of,” I state, defending my own honor, but Chet surprises me.
“That’s right. You don’t, darlin’.” The softening of his rough voice does something to my insides. Is he telling me he isn’t interested in his first love? Does he believe my suspicions? Does this mean we’re exclusive?
“I don’t like fighting with you, so can we drop Henny, please?” he asks.
“Okay,” I whisper, not wanting to fight with him about her either, especially with him holding me like he is. He feels so warm against me. He smells like beer, lemons, and man.
“So my place or my place?” The hour is late, and yeah, I’m propositioning him. It has been a good night as I told Gideon, but I know what would make it better.
“Sometimes, I like how you think,” Chet whispers.
“Sometimes, I just like you,” I tease him back before I take him home with me.
“Oh, Chet,” I groan as he clutches at my backside, tugging at my cheeks while he hammers into me repeatedly. My arms wrap around his broad back as our chests press together. We might be in the missionary position, but this is anything but vanilla. This is chocolaty heaven and sinfully delicious rolled into one.
“Come on, darlin’,” he gasps as his body moves, sliding back and forth. I can’t possibly have another in me. He’s already given me two orgasms that curled my toes and made my knees weak. With a thin layer of sweat, our bodies slip against each other.
“I can’t,” I whimper.
“You can,” he grunts. “Give. It. To. Me.” He’s demanding, and I love it. I also want to please him without being selfish, but he’s determined I release once more before he gives himself relief. I think he likes the sense of accomplishment.
Love in a Pickle: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 9) Page 23