I noticed that my hand wasn’t as steady as it usually was when I lifted the buzzing shaver to my chin. I was shaking with desire, like an addict needing his next hit. If there was anything that would take me out, it would be her. I didn’t mind having a beer at the end of the day but honestly, I could take or leave alcohol. I was addicted to her, plain and simple. She’d managed to get under my skin so deep I didn’t know how to get her out of my system. I wasn’t even sure when it had happened.
There were general things that I loved about her. I’d always loved watching her interact with people. She treated whoever she was talking to like they were the most important people in the world. I’d always loved the sound of her voice and her laugh, they were sweet and melodic. Her smile was addicting. Seeing it gave me a high and I knew if I let myself, I’d do anything to chase that high. But as far as specifics, was it when I’d seen her helping Cameron Simms, who suffered from cerebral palsy throw his cap up and catch it at her high school graduation?
Delilah graduated the same year as my brother Cooper. When the rest of the class was celebrating their achievements with the time-honored tradition of placing their tassels to the side and throwing their caps in the air, Delilah noticed that Cameron was having trouble. Without missing a beat, she sat down beside him and assisted him so that he didn’t miss that milestone experience. She beamed as she held up his hand and they both caught the cap. I continued watching as families rushed the field to congratulate the graduate they’d come to see. Her family reached her just as her fingers grazed her own tassel and I saw the instant that she realized the moment had passed and she wouldn’t be tossing her cap in the air.
Was it the time I’d seen her jump out of her car and jump into the middle of the road, stopping traffic both ways so a turtle could cross the road?
People had honked impatiently, wanting to drive around the slow-moving reptile, but she’d stood in front of vehicles insisting that it would “scare the poor thing” if cars were zooming past it.
Was it the time I saw her leave her front row spot at Movies in the Park during her favorite movie, Bridget Jones’s Diary, and offer to watch my brother JJ’s baby so that my exhausted sister-in-law Destiny could enjoy the show?
Destiny was out on a girl’s night with my sister Harmony and my newest sister-in-law Cara, and the baby was fussy. Delilah didn’t hesitate to pack up her stuff, march over and hold out her arms to Destiny who tried to refuse, but ultimately handed over the bundle of fuss.
Was it when I was repairing the convalescent home roof and watched Delilah playing checkers with Mr. Gladstone, whose wife had recently passed?
I’d watched as she’d excused herself and moved to a private corner of the garden where she made a phone call canceling her date that evening, then she went back to Mr. Gladstone and stayed another two hours playing with him until he was tired and ready to go to bed.
Time and time again I’d seen her do selfless things, things that the people that she was helping appreciated but that mainly went unnoticed. I’d been born an observer. I watched people, and it was shocking just how different some people were when they thought no one could see them. But not Delilah. She was generous, caring, nurturing and she didn’t do it for any praise or acknowledgment.
All that and, as my sister had pointed out; she was smokin’ hot. And that was exactly why I needed to keep my distance. She needed a man that could give her everything she deserved. She deserved the white picket fence. Happily ever after. A man who would bring only good things into her life. I wasn’t that man.
I set the electric razor down, and I heard Chewy let out his signature deep bark-howl, the one that had earned him his name. Seconds later the doorbell rang. I wasn’t a fan of uninvited guests. I realized that this went against the southern hospitality that my mama had tried to instill in me.
Growing up, visitors were always welcomed at our family property, Briggs Farm. It didn’t matter what time of day or what was going on. If someone happened to show up at supper, they were offered a plate and chair at the table. If they showed up during family game night, they were put on a team. If they showed up at night, they were offered a bed.
It was the Briggs’ way.
Sometimes it bothered me that I didn’t carry on that tradition. If people showed up on my doorstep uninvited, I did my best to take care of whatever they needed and send them on their way without them stepping a foot inside. I was a private person. I always had been.
Growing up with seven brothers and a sister didn’t exactly lend itself to a whole lot of privacy. All those years of never having my own room and having to share a bathroom with four other people had worn on me. Most of my adult life I’d lived on my own, except a few months here and there when one brother or another would move in temporarily.
For a lot of years, my solitary life had been just what the doctor ordered. When I left something somewhere, it was there when I went back to it. If I cleaned something, it stayed clean until I used it. If I ate half a pint of ice cream, the other half was waiting for me when I got in the mood for Cookies and Cream again. I liked order and control; two things I’d never had as a kid or teenager.
But, lately, things had been different. Lately, my house felt empty. Lonely. Chewy helped, but it wasn’t the same as having another person to share my space with.
He followed along beside me as I walked down the stairs. Before I’d even hit the last step, I saw through the glass squares above the front door that my mom stood on the other side. I held in a sigh.
She only stopped by for one of two reasons: to meddle or to meddle. Her intentions were always pure, and most of the time she tried to be subtle about it, but I saw through her good intentions like they were covered in Saran Wrap.
Chewy was whimpering with excitement before I even got the door open. Dolly Briggs never came to a house empty handed, especially if it was one of her children’s homes, and Chewy, like everyone, loved my mom’s cooking.
“Hey, Mama.” I leaned down, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.
She wrapped her arm around my waist and gave me a hug. When she pulled back, she handed me a casserole dish of lasagna as she instructed, “Heat at three-fifty for thirty minutes.”
I nodded, not bothering to point out that I’d been heating up her lasagna since before I’d hit puberty and knew how long and at what temp to cook it.
We made our way to the kitchen, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom sneak a rawhide to Chewy.
“Those upset his stomach.” I hated repeating myself, and this was probably the hundredth time I’d told her that, but I had to when it came to my dog’s digestive system. She wasn’t going to be cleaning up the mess that he’d inevitably make tonight.
“It’s not a rawhide. It’s a DreamBone.” She explained, “It’s a rawhide alternative.”
“Then why were you being so sneaky?”
She cocked her head to the side as she pointed her finger up in my face. “Because. I didn’t want you to give me that look.”
What look?
“Your disapproving look.” She answered my silent question. “But, I didn’t stop by to talk about rawhides, and I only have half an hour to get home and get ready for the fundraiser, and you know how your dad is about being on time.”
I put the glass pasta filled dish into the freezer and tried to mentally prepare myself for whatever my mom had to say. Nothing that woman did was ever accidental. This drop-by was timed so that she could say her piece and then have an excuse to leave.
I turned around and expected to see her hands on her hips or crossed in front of her chest in one of her two go-to mom stances. The ones that said she was serious and meant business. She’d raised eight boys and one girl to be respectful, contributing members of society, that didn’t happen by accident. We all equally loved her and feared her.
But I didn’t see either of her drill sergeant stances when I faced her. Instead, I found her sitting on a barstool at my kitchen island. Her eyes we
re focused on her hands which were flat on the butcher block countertop. When her gaze rose to meet mine, I saw that they were glistening with tears.
My heart clenched in my chest, and my stomach knotted instantly. I stepped forward. “Mom…”
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out an apology.
“It’s okay.” I had no idea what she was sorry for, but whatever it was, she was forgiven.
Her arms raised as she shook her head. “I don’t know how to say this…”
Now I wanted to throw up.
My mother wasn’t a woman that was ever at a loss for words and unlike my sister, she wasn’t overly dramatic. This was bad. Someone had to be dying.
I tried to hold back the tidal wave of emotion that was crashing over me. I needed to stay calm. I was the rock. That was my role in the family. Harmony was the princess. Travis and Trace were the troublemakers. Cooper was the ladies’ man. Jackson was the wild one. Wyatt was the smart one. Beau was the musician. JJ was the athlete, and I was the steady one, the rock.
“Mom. Just say it.” I was happy when my voice sounded surprisingly calm.
Taking a shaky breath, she sniffed. “I shouldn’t have leaned on you so much when the boys and your sister were young.”
“What?” I was expecting her to say that she was sick. Or that maybe my dad, one of my brothers or my sister was. Or that someone had been in a horrible accident.
I was still trying to switch gears and wrap my mind around what she was actually saying when she continued, “It’s not an excuse, but your dad worked so much, he had to with our family growing so fast and…you were there. You did everything I asked the first time I asked it, without any back talk. I was so overwhelmed, and I know that’s no excuse. I was the mom. I was the adult. You didn’t ask to have to take care of all those kids—”
“Mom.” I cut her off. “Where’s this coming from?”
“It’s coming from this.” She held out her hands as she looked around my kitchen and family room.
“My house?”
“Yes.” She nodded, sniffing back the emotion threatening to overtake her. “And the fact that it’s empty.”
I knew what she was getting at. Hell, I’d just been thinking the same thing, but I didn’t want her to know that. I hated the fact that she was so upset and I wasn’t about to let her think any of my life decisions had to do with my upbringing. They had to do with me hurting the people I loved.
“It’s not empty,” I spoke slowly as if I didn’t understand what she was trying to say. “It’s furnished.”
Her eyes narrowed and the sadness, the anxiety that had been in them disappeared. “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t be a smartass.”
“Language, mom.” I used the same phrase and stern tone that she had when we were kids.
She smiled as she grabbed a dish towel that was lying beside her and swatted at me. A grin tugged at my lips. I’d rather have her irritated and swinging cotton at me than on the brink of tears.
After taking a deep breath, she set her hands back down and started again. “What I’m trying to say is, I know that it’s my fault that you haven’t settled down.”
No, it wasn’t.
She leaned forward as she spoke with earnest. “You had so much responsibility at such a young age. It burned you out. If I could go back in time and do things differently, I would. I know that it wasn’t fair to you. I know that it scarred you. You don’t let people get close because you don’t want anyone depending on you.”
A lot of people depend on me. My family. My employees. My friends.
“I mean, you won’t even let your sister set you up for her wedding.”
Is that what this is about? “That’s not why.”
“Then what is it, Sawyer?” My mom asked with genuine sincerity. “You haven’t been in a relationship since Kenna. That was years ago when you were in college.”
Fourteen years and three months. She didn’t need to remind me. When I closed my eyes, I could still see the pain in Kenna’s face when I ended things. The pain that I caused that dimmed her vibrant green gaze.
“JJ’s married. Trace is married. Travis is engaged. Harmony’s going to be married next month, and I’ve never seen them happier.” There was a desperate quality in her voice as she reached across the island and took my hand. “Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to share your life with someone?”
Yes. But it wasn’t going to happen, and it had nothing to do with the fact that I’d helped raise my siblings.
I figured I better set the record straight before she went off the rails. “Mom, I love you. I love my brothers. I love my sister. Yes, I had a lot of responsibility, and it made me who I am. I own my home. I own my business. I have a good life. Don’t worry about me.”
Her eyes scrunched, and she looked at me like she had when I’d asked if I could start driving myself to school at age fourteen: like I was crazy. “Asking a mother not to worry about her child is like asking a lion not to hunt. It’s in our nature.”
“I’m good, Mom. I promise.”
“But…” She shook her head, and I could see the wheels turning.
It was clear that she wasn’t convinced and I knew if I didn’t nip this in the bud now, she was going to start off on another tangent. “Thanks for stopping by and for the lasagna. I’ll see you tonight.”
I started towards the door, and she followed behind. When we reached the foyer, she rested her hand gently on my forearm. I looked down and saw that the emotion was back.
“Sawyer…” Her voice was earnest. “I just want to say one more thing.”
I waited.
She took a deep breath. “You know your father and I will love you no matter what. We were talking and…if you’re gay, it’s okay. We just want you to be happy.”
I almost laughed thinking of what that conversation must’ve been like.
“And you know, your dad remembered that Patsy Rayburn’s grandson is gay. Maybe you two can get some coffee or your sister’s wed—”
“I’m not gay.” I clarified, not wanting her to take matchmaking into her own hands.
Her lips pursed and she inhaled through her nose, indicating that once again, she wasn’t convinced.
“See you tonight, Mom.” I kissed her on the top of her head as I opened my front door.
Her arms once again slipped around my waist, and she pressed her head to my shoulder. Patting my back, she said, “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
She gave Chewy another “not a rawhide” rawhide before she left. As I walked back upstairs to finish getting ready my mind drifted back to the one thought it always did if I wasn’t actively thinking of something else, and sometimes even if I was.
Delilah Turner.
I’d be seeing her tonight, and I needed to reinforce my keep my distance rule. No exceptions.
Chapter 4
Delilah
“Sometimes ya just gotta play the hand you’re dealt.”
~ Grant Turner
I smoothed my hands down over my hips and twisted back and forth as I looked into the full length mirror. The soft, pleated fabric of my skirt swayed against my freshly shaved and lotioned legs and felt deliciously sinful. I stared at my reflection and was surprised that it looked even better than it had when I’d tried it on in the dressing room, which never happened to me. I tried to view myself through an unbiased lens, hoping to predict what Sawyer would see.
Objectively, my Marilyn Monroe inspired white halter top dress did what I’d hoped it would. It accentuated the girls and took my cleavage from eh to hello. It pinched in at my waist, and fell softly over problem areas: my hips, backside, and thighs, thus showcasing my hourglass figure. And Bella truly had worked her magic. My hair fell in soft waves over my shoulder, framing my face and highlighting my dramatic eyes. The pop of color on my lips completed the Old Hollywood look.
Earlier today, I’d worried that the effect would be diminished because Sawyer had seen me wi
th my hair and makeup done. But after putting on my dress and heels, I was leaning towards the wow factor still being a very viable possibility. If this didn’t change Sawyer’s perception of me from a kid to a grown, adult woman, I had no idea what would.
I inhaled a deep breath and placed my hands over my stomach, hoping to calm the nerves that were bubbling up and exploding like a can of soda that’d been shaken. I’d spent the last two hours reading You Are a Badass: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life by Jen Sincero. In it, she wrote that “the only failure is quitting” and “on the other side of fear is freedom.” I tried to focus on that now. I’d also done some much-needed self-talk and had to admit I was feeling a renewed determination.
I was inspired to follow through with my plan, no matter how terrifying it was or what the ultimate outcome ended up being. I deserved to give myself the best chance at happiness, and I believed, from the bottom of my heart, that Sawyer Briggs was that for me. And I was finally at the place in my life that, if I broke down the steel-reinforced walls that he’d erected around himself, put myself out there and laid my heart and soul on the line and he rejected me, I’d be okay. At least then, I’d know. I wouldn’t be living in “what if” limbo where I constantly imagined what life could be if he knew how I felt. If he felt the same way I did. If we could be together.
If that was the case, I was ready to move on with my life with my head held high and no regrets.
I checked the time and saw that I only had about five minutes before I needed to leave. Closing my eyes, I visualized what I wanted to happen tonight. It was another technique I’d picked up from a self-help book.
It didn’t hurt that I’d already been down at the Old Town Hall building, that was renovated and now used for weddings and civic events, dropping off the floral arrangements I’d worked day and night the past few days to finish for tonight’s festivities. I knew that there was a wooden arch that was draped in twinkle lights as you entered. In my mind’s eye, I pictured myself walking through it, exuding confidence, grace, and beauty. Then, I envisioned Sawyer standing across the room, drink in hand, wearing a button up and slacks, standing out in a room filled with tuxes and suits. Our eyes meet for a brief moment before he breaks our stare and scans down my body, drinking me in like I was a bottle of Aquafina and he was a man that had been stranded in the desert with no water. Next, I see him walk towards me with a predatory gleam in his eye. He stops in front of me and says…and says…
Seducing Sawyer (Wishing Well, Texas Book 7) Page 3