Her butcher knife clattered to the counter as Avery whirled around. A wiry man with strawberry-blond hair stood in the doorway, the skin on his face over-tanned.
“Are you ransacking the place?” He eased toward Avery, who took a step back.
Avery looked at the piles of boxes and gave a spurt of uncontrollable laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Kathleen called from across the store.
“Uh, Kathleen, we’ve got company.”
“At this time of night?” She approached, eyes wide as she looked at the man pressing too close to Avery.
The surprise on the guy’s face would have been amusing if Avery hadn’t been so frightened. Kathleen wasn’t cowed. She stood with her hands on her hips, a threatening pose in its own way. “Avery, step over here. Who do you think you are, mister?”
Avery picked up the knife and walked around the counter.
“I’m Greg Vaughan, Bill’s nephew. I manage his business affairs. And I don’t appreciate coming in to find you stealing from him.”
“Stealing?” Avery said. “We just spent our own money to restock the store.”
His lips curled. “You the Broussard woman?”
Nodding, she put a hand to her hair, pulled into a sloppy knot on the top of her head, and brushed at the dress jeans that had a patch of flour on them.
“You any kin to that realtor?” he asked. “I need to get in touch with him.”
“I was married to his brother.”
“You’re divorced?”
“My husband died.”
“So you come from money. Even better.”
“Listen, buddy,” Kathleen said. “I don’t care if you handle Donald Trump’s business affairs. We open early. Unless you want to stock the shelves, you’d better be on your way.”
“How much are you taking from my uncle’s profits, Ms. Broussard?” His gaze went to the register.
“Kathleen and I work here as a favor to your aunt and uncle.” Avery stepped closer to him. “We barely scrape by. Take any complaints up with Bill.”
She reached for an apron and thrust it at him, pleased to see sweat glistening on his temples. “Or maybe you plan to be here before daylight to open the store you claim to be in charge of. If so, Kathleen and I will gladly leave it in your hands.”
“Go, Avery,” Kathleen murmured. “Nicely done.”
“How’d you get in here anyway?” Avery demanded.
“I had a key made the last time my aunt was in the hospital, and I stop in from time to time to make sure Uncle Bill’s not losing it.”
“Bill’s going to lose it when he hears you’ve been sneaking around his store,” Kathleen said.
“This place is not going to be here much longer,” he sneered. “I drove in from Little Rock to help them wrap things up. We’re putting it on the market ASAP.”
“ASAP? Took you long enough to get here,” Avery said. “Your aunt had her heart attack over a week ago. Have you even been by to see her?”
“You mean since you put her in the hospital?” Greg waved at the patched front wall.
“That was an accident.” Kathleen’s voice rose.
“We won’t spend a cent for your carelessness. I intend to make you pay.” He pranced toward the door. “I’ll expect an accounting of all expenses. You ladies have a good evening.”
“Ugh,” Avery said as the door swung shut. “He makes me feel sorry for cranky Bill.”
“You’re good in the kitchen, aren’t you?” Avery watched Kathleen line up ingredients for the next day. With the tulips on the counter and the new supplies in place, the space looked almost pleasant, remnants of nephew Greg’s horrid visit erased.
For the moment.
“I was raised in rural Louisiana and married for more than thirty years. Lots of practice.”
“Why aren’t you making the biscuits?”
Kathleen gave a small shrug. “You’re good at it. I’m better at frying things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Pies. Fish. Chicken.” She looked over her shoulder. “It’s probably what killed Wayne.”
“Did you shovel it into his mouth?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you didn’t kill him.”
“Hmm.” Kathleen held a mesh sack of avocados that looked as out of place as a silver goblet would have. “I’ll have to think about that.”
“What kind of fried pies do you make?”
“Apple, cherry.” Her eyebrows rose up and down. “Chocolate’s my specialty.”
“Want to add those to the menu?”
“I suppose we could.” Kathleen drew in a breath. “But that visit with Greg wore me out. Can we talk about this tomorrow? Let’s call it a day. Head on home.”
“Home?” Avery squatted to put the dish detergent under the sink.
“You know, that place where you live. Where you sleep at night.”
She sat back on her haunches, and Kathleen extended a hand. “You’re exhausted too. Let’s get out of here.”
Avery popped up. “I’ve got my second wind. You go on. I have a few more chores to do.”
Kathleen frowned. “Why are you doing this? Bill doesn’t work this hard, and he owns the place.”
Avery moved back toward the register. “I’d like to get the place in shape for Martha and Bill to sell. Besides it’s a nice break from the boutique debacle.”
“You can’t run from life forever.”
“It hasn’t even been two weeks. I hardly think that’s forever.”
“What about the year before that?”
She tightened her ponytail. “Until Greg sells the place, can’t we enjoy each day as it comes?”
Chapter 19
T. J. showered and changed from his work clothes into a pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt Wednesday evening. He didn’t want to look like he’d gone to too much trouble.
Then he fed Willie and let him linger outside, smiling as he ran around the yard like a maniac. The dog was another of the creatures Bud had rescued, the same way he had saved T. J.
At first T. J. had protested the animal, who leaned to the goofy side. Now he couldn’t imagine the house without him, even though he had grown well beyond the “terrier-mix” prediction to out-and-out large mutt, still with reddish hair “the color of Willie Nelson’s in the old days,” as Bud put it.
“Come on, big guy. I’ve got business to handle.” He had been by the hospital yesterday to check on Martha and Bill and gotten a surprisingly positive report on the biscuit business and a request to move forward with the market repairs.
He scratched Willie under the chin, rewarded with the shaggy tail swishing back and forth in pure dog happiness. “I confess, though,” he said as the dog bounded away and dropped the slimy ball at his feet. “I’ve missed Avery.” The dog barked. “I know. I wasn’t going to get involved in some society woman’s drama.” He threw the ball again and waited until Willie dashed back with it. “But I can’t stop thinking about her.”
The notion of getting close to Avery should have felt as uncomfortable as a suit and tie. He steered clear of women like his mother who liked stuff and status. A woman who could be attracted to Cres Broussard couldn’t be his type. Could she?
So he stalled. Excuses to stay away weren’t hard to come up with. Between helping Bud fix busted pipes for people at the mission and making custom cabinets for a new house in the Cotton Grove subdivision, T. J. had been so busy that he hadn’t made it by the market since running into Avery and Kathleen at the wholesale store on Friday.
When Ross had called Monday, T. J. had been alone in Bud’s shop, working on fancy cabinet doors. Proud of his work, he rubbed the smooth cherrywood as he listened to Ross. Bud was an excellent teacher.
“What’s up with Avery?” Ross asked right off the bat.
“Is something wrong?”
“You tell me. I tried to call you over the weekend, and she picked up the phone again.”
Maybe T. J. was
tired. Maybe he was busy. But something in Ross’s tone irritated him like nothing had in weeks. “Her phone broke, and I loaned her an old one.”
“I didn’t know you were that close.”
T. J.’s jaw clenched. “You’re the one who dragged me into this.”
“Dragged you into what?”
“Why don’t you come back and take care of her yourself?” He clicked off the phone, trying to remember the last time he had hung up on someone. Maybe Bill was rubbing off on him.
Before he picked up the piece of wood again, Ross called back.
“Hey, man, I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time and then laughed nervously.
“I won’t babysit your sister-in-law for you.”
“But you’ll keep an eye on her, let me know if she’s in trouble?”
“She may have had some bad luck, but she’s plenty independent.” T. J. brushed a layer of sawdust from his shirt. Did the Broussards even know Avery? “I get the feeling she’s turned some sort of corner.”
“That’s good news.” Ross was quiet for a moment. “But it helps to know you’re there. Everything good?”
“Yeah, man.” Most days.
“The mothers fixing you up with all of Samford’s single women?”
The question rattled T. J. “Every now and then. Listen, you office guys may sit around and talk on the phone all day, but I’ve got real work to do.”
Ross laughed.
“I’ll run by Magnolia Market sometime this week. I’ll let you know if there’s a problem.”
“Like I said, I owe you one.”
Avery’s smiling face popped into T. J.’s mind. “No, you don’t.” He hung up.
Now he could hardly wait to get over there, and if he wanted to pretend like it was a work matter, that was his business. He did need to get with her about design details and had sketched a new front on an envelope after Sunday lunch at his mother’s.
When he and Bud had ripped the rest of the tin off the shoddy front, they found a fine old facade. With some tinkering, the building could match the personality of the Sweet Olive Folk Art Gallery—and maybe attract more business.
He gave Willie’s chin one last scratch. “No offense, big guy, but she’s a lot prettier than you are.”
Waiting until the last minute to call Avery—maybe that would make it seem less like a social call—he climbed into his pickup and pulled out his phone. But before he got out of his driveway, a horn beeped twice.
Camille Gardner, his brother’s girlfriend, pulled up in her vintage pickup, the twin of Bud’s vehicle.
Stepping out, Camille waved, illuminated under the streetlight. “I hoped I might catch you before you went over to your parents’ house.”
“My parents’ house?” He looked at the date on his watch. “Is that tonight?”
“It’s Wednesday, isn’t it?”
“I forgot all about it.” He shook his head. “I can’t make it.”
Camille stepped closer, a smile on her face, her short hair tousled. She had on a loose artsy dress, topped off by her standard cowboy boots. “Nice try, buddy, but if I have to go, you have to go.”
“You’re going?” Camille and his mother were not all that comfortable in the same room. His mother hoped Marsh would come to his senses and marry Valerie Richmond, a Samford princess who had moved to Houston.
“If it takes a Wednesday night supper to make your mother happy . . .” Camille shrugged.
“But we already do Sunday lunch.”
“Marsh does Sunday lunch. You skip out with your mission crowd more than you go to your parents’.”
“So now Marsh’s tattling on me? He must be in love.”
Camille laughed.
“I can’t go tonight. I need to take care of something—” T. J. stopped at the amusement on her face. “I’m not making that up. What’s this dinner all about anyway? It’s not anybody’s birthday, is it?”
“Your mother read a magazine article about a woman who has midweek dinner parties with the neighbors. She thinks it will be a nice tradition.”
“This is going to be a tradition?”
“Marsh says she’ll move on to something else in a week or two.” Camille gave an impish grin. “I’m meeting him there, so hop in and I’ll give you a lift.”
Looking down at his jeans, he grimaced. “Can you wait for me to change?”
“You’re fine. I won’t even hold your boyish looks against you.” She smiled, her face transformed in the look that had first drawn his brother’s attention. “Come on.”
“Dinner at my folks’ wearing jeans?”
“Horrors!” She looked at her feet. “Maybe I should change too. Your mother’s not crazy about the boots. But I like the way they look with this skirt.” She winked. “And Marsh likes them.”
Avery probably would too.
He froze. Where did that come from?
Unlocking the duplex, T. J. ushered Camille in and picked up a woodworking magazine from the khaki couch. “Sorry for the mess.”
“No sweat. My place is a wreck too.”
“But you just moved in.” He turned. “How’s the art business anyway?”
Camille sat in a wooden rocker Bud had made. “Slow. Trumpet and Vine isn’t exactly a trendy location. Lawrence Martinez’s glass is our best seller.”
“Mom liked the piece you gave her for Christmas.”
“He’s going to make the gallery famous—if we can hold our corner together.” She ran her hands through her hair. “We’re getting some walk-in business and a few orders. And a little traffic since Magnolia Market’s doing better.”
“Really?”
“Marsh said you’re doing some work over there.”
“Bud and I are patching up the front.”
“I went over to visit the new manager. Isn’t she adorable? She’s improved that store in just a few days.”
“Um . . . adorable?” He wasn’t about to talk to Camille about how much he liked Avery. Next thing he knew, Marsh would be ragging him about it. “I guess I haven’t paid much attention.”
“Yeah, right.” Camille snorted. “You’re honestly trying to convince me you haven’t noticed Avery?”
“About your age? Long blond hair?” He had been much better at bluffing in his poker days.
“You’re on the right track.” Camille smirked. “Drives a station wagon that makes my truck look like a VW Bug?”
Finally, an escape. “She doesn’t drive a station wagon.”
“It’s there night and day.”
He shrugged. “Beats me. Avery’s filling in for a few days until Bill figures out what to do.”
“I wish she’d stay. The store’s about our only hope to make something happen on the corner.” She glanced at him. “Ross says there’s an investor who wants to bulldoze the market and that vacant church.”
“Bill might drive the dozer himself at this point. He’s ready to unload that place.”
“He’s probably been listening to his nephew.”
T. J. frowned.
“That guy’s in town again from Little Rock to ‘help.’ He stopped by the gallery Friday, acted like he was shopping for a painting.” She wrinkled her nose. “I went on and on about my dream for the corner—until I realized who he was. He wouldn’t know a piece of original art if it fell on his head.”
T. J. blew out a slow breath. “Bud says he’s tried to get his hands on Magnolia Market for years. Wants to sell it and manage Martha and Bill’s money.” He shook his head. “I’d hate to see them with nothing to count on.”
“If they tear it down, it could ruin our plans for the corner. Do you think they’ll ever run the store again?”
“I doubt it. Want to buy it?”
Camille’s eyes grew wide. “Is there any chance Avery might?”
He stilled. “I wouldn’t think so. Avery’s life’s complicated.”
“I heard about her husband getting killed.” Camille made a small noise. “I can’t ima
gine losing Marsh like that. She must be a strong woman.”
“She’s something of a contradiction.” He debated how much to say. “She made Evangeline’s dress store a success, according to Ross. Ran the place for five years.”
“I’ve met Evangeline. Avery must be strong. She’s perfect to help us do what has to be done.”
T. J.’s cell phone rang, and his mouth thinned as he glanced at it. “Hi, Mom. I’m on my way. Five minutes. Ten max.”
“Your father said you hadn’t forgotten, but I had my doubts,” his mother said. “Oh, there’s the doorbell. See you soon.”
“We’re late,” Camille wailed. “I’m going to be kicked out of the family before I’m even a part of it.”
“I’ll be right back.” T. J. dashed out of the room. Sticking his head in the laundry room, he smiled at Willie, asleep on a towel on the floor. He grabbed a pair of khakis from a hook on the door and a shirt that could have used an iron, disappointed at the delay in seeing Avery.
Willie stirred and glanced at him with his you’re-leaving-again-already? look, and T. J. gave him another pat as he walked out.
“Think this’ll do?” he asked Camille.
“Other than that frown on your face.”
“I had something else to do tonight. Plus, my brother will show up in a starched white shirt and silk tie—and he’ll be right on time.” He rolled his eyes.
“Your mother means well.”
“I keep telling myself that.”
“She’s so glad you’re back in Samford that she gets a little overexcited.”
T. J. grabbed a lightweight jacket instead of his canvas work coat and held the door as they went outside. “I’m trying to be patient. Dad’s great. Marsh and I don’t quite live our lives to suit Mom.”
She certainly hasn’t lived hers to suit us.
He extended his arm. “Your truck or mine?”
“Mine. I’m not getting enough time behind the wheel now that I’m at the gallery.”
“Go ahead and admit it. You like the look on my mother’s face when you drive up in that thing.”
“Well, there is that.” Camille smiled.
Watching her shift the old truck, he felt a pang of happiness that his half brother had found the perfect woman for him. It would be fun to take Avery on a date with Camille and Marsh.
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