“First of all, I never said that. And second of all, she was about as innocent as an old maid whore. All I said was… Shit, what did I say?”
He was truly angry now. “You said it was all my fault.”
“No. I said it started about the time you showed up,” she ground out. “Or just before,” she allowed.
“Great! So you’re saying I never should have come here. As if I had some choice in the matter. But I can fix that. I’ll go.”
“Then go! Maybe things will calm down around here.”
“And you can go back to working rednecks for tips,” he snarled.
“You bastard!” Kennedy jumped out of her chair and lunged at him, claws extended, ready to do damage.
But he was quicker. He grabbed her wrists and twisted his body, then pushed back, knocking her onto the bed. Then he jumped on top of her, pinning her down. She fought him like a trapped animal, kicking, trying to find a weakness. Wylie continued to hold her in place, but his expression changed subtly. The fury morphed into passion. He was ablaze with it. He saw she recognized the sudden shift. He bent his head and kissed her with such passion that she seemed unable to resist. After the briefest hesitation, she returned his fervor, and he released her arms. She snaked her hands about his neck and followed suit with her legs around his waist. He tore at her clothes, and once her creamy breasts were visible, he kissed one, then the other, moving down to the delicate pink peaks and teasing them into hardness. He opened his pants, and his hard manhood pushed out, aching with need.
His hand moved down to her thigh and lifted her skirt until she was totally exposed to him. All thought gone, driven by inexorable need; he plunged into her and reveled in the gasp of pleasure that came from her throat. Over and over, deeper and deeper, he plunged into her until their orgasms took them both by surprise, and together they exploded into a circle of flames.
Finally sated and exhausted, they slept linked together as if they would never part.
* * *
Kennedy left early to go to the diner. She wanted to talk to Norma privately. She waited, swathed in the early-morning shadows. He showed up a few minutes later, sporting a large, white bandage on his forehead. Kennedy gasped when she saw it, and he jumped at the noise. She stepped out; he didn’t seem surprised to see her.
“Hey, sweet girl,” he said. “How are you?”
“Me? How are you?” She was genuinely concerned.
“This?” He pointed to the bandage. “It’s nothing. I’m glad to see you. Did you come to work?” He unlocked the door and motioned her inside.
“Norma, you know that’s not a good idea.”
“I know no such thing. I’m counting on you. How can I run this place with no waitresses?”
“Norma, I’m bad for business.”
“Don’t be silly. Judy Jane was bad for business. Hell, if nothing else, everyone in town will show up just to see what you’re doing. In fact, I’ll give you a bonus if you get that boyfriend in here with you.” He was clearly teasing her with the last remark.
“Stop it. I’m serious.”
“So am I. OK, OK, you can start a little later today and leave early. But that’s as good as it gets. So go home, and I’ll see you back here in an hour.”
“Why are you so good to me?” she asked, half-serious, half-laughing.
“Because you’re the daughter I never got to see grow up,” he replied, not kidding at all.
She went behind the counter and prepped the coffee pot. It gurgled into life, and the heady aroma filled the air. Norma was bustling around, getting ready for the morning rush.
“Coffee?” Kennedy called out.
“You bet. Drink of the gods.”
Kennedy laughed. She poured two steaming cups and held one out for Norma. “Tell me about it.”
He knew what she meant. “It was a long time ago.”
“But it still hurts.”
“Yes. It was my fault.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“I ran a restaurant in Alabama. Lots of fried food. One day, my wife had to run some errands and asked me to watch Rose, our little girl. I was annoyed, since I was really busy and stressed out. Rose was eight. You know how kids can be. Into everything. She kept getting under my feet, and I made her sit at the counter. She was drawing on the napkins, and I thought she would be OK. Anyway, I went into the cooler to take inventory. I don’t know how long I was in there, but she must have gotten bored. I told her where I was, but maybe she got nervous. I’m not sure. I had turned on the deep fryers. She had pulled up the step stool. I guess she wanted to see. I didn’t hear her screaming. When I finally came out, she was on the floor, her right arm burned to the bone. She had hit her head and…”
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah. It was probably a combination of the concussion and the trauma.”
“She died?” Kennedy was horrified.
“It was all my fault. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I knew better. She was just a baby, and I left her to die.” Tears stood out against his cheeks. It was a heart-wrenching sight.
“Oh, Norma, it was an accident.”
“It was neglect. The sheriff in town knew me and decided I had been punished enough, so they didn’t press charges. I wish they had. I think I would have felt better.”
“I am so sorry. What about your wife?”
“Oh, she could never forgive me. And I don’t blame her. I can never forgive myself.”
“So you left town and came here?”
“I ended up here. For a while, I just drove. I’d pick up a cooking gig long enough to make some money, then move on. I had nothing to spend anything on, so I saved. After a few years, I had a nice little nest egg. I was tired. Tired of trying to outrun the demons. They always catch up. I can try, but I can never escape me. Or what I did.”
Kennedy reached out her hand, then pulled back. Norma didn’t want her pity.
“She would have been about your age. Long dark-blonde hair. Eyes like yours. I miss her every day.”
Kennedy nodded in understanding. She had suspected it was bad, but she’d had no idea.
“So there you have it. Not so pretty, huh?”
“Norma, you have been better to me than anyone except my mama. I know you for the man you are. I know it doesn’t help, but believe me, we all make terrible mistakes. All we can do is try to be better.”
“Thanks for not judging.”
“Who am I to judge anyone? I love you, Norma. I can stay for the breakfast shift. I just have to go get my purse.”
* * *
After Kennedy left, Wylie couldn’t go back to sleep. He was thirsty. He remembered a soda machine behind the motel. He hoped it worked. He was in a great mood and didn’t feel like kicking a hulking piece of metal to retrieve his money’s worth.
He was on his way back to the room when he saw the man from the diner, Sweet, hovering near his door. The man knocked once, twice, and then pressed an ear against the wood. When no response came, he looked around. Wylie pressed against the motel wall, just out of sight. What the hell? Sweet reached into his pocket and pulled out two thin metal rods, then proceeded to jimmy the lock and go into Wylie’s room.
After a minute, Sweet came out and hurried down the street. Wylie waited until he was out of sight, then slipped inside. He saw Kennedy’s purse on the table. Lying on its side. He used a fingernail to prop it open a little. He wasn’t surprised to see the glint of metal catching the morning light. A knife.
Wylie sprinted out the door. Sweet was just turning a corner up ahead. Sweet disappeared. Wylie ran to catch up, and then slowed his pace when he caught sight of the man again. Sweet was walking toward a bright-white Cadillac. Wasn’t this the part in the movies when the hero was hit over the head from behind? Wylie knew it was a cliché, but he looked over his shoulder anyway. When he turned back, the car was spewing dust into the morning air.
He ran back to the motel, anxious to get a better look at what Sweet had left behind. He
returned to the room and noticed the purse was upright again. He opened the bag. The knife was gone. Someone had taken it. Damn it! What was going on here? Did he imagine it? Maybe some other metal object caught the light, and Wylie just thought it was a weapon.
He tried to work, but the whole knife thing wouldn’t leave him alone. Sweet planted it on Kennedy, his motive obvious. But who took it back? And where was it now? It would have been safer under Wylie’s control. Now any number of possibilities tormented him. Maybe Kennedy would have the answer. Maybe Kennedy was the answer. Could she have taken it? It would make sense. He was hoping she would confide in him tonight when she came by.
The late-afternoon sun was just about to be pushed aside to prepare for the coming of night when a knock sounded on Wylie’s motel room door. He grinned, seeing Kennedy standing there in a pretty cotton dress, looking like a vision he had conjured in his imagination, almost too good to be true.
She grinned in answer and slid past him into the room, obviously completely aware of her effect on him and reveling in it. He closed the door and leaned against it, drinking her in for a moment.
“Well, get dressed. Or at least change your shirt,” she said, breaking the mood. “You can’t be meeting my mama looking shabby.”
“Excuse me?”
“My mama. She’s making dinner, and she wants to meet you. So come on. You do not want to miss her fried chicken, I can promise you that.”
Wylie just stood unmoving for a minute. He went to the closet to pull out a clean shirt. He held it up for her inspection. “Is this OK?”
“It’ll do. Just hurry up.”
“Where did you go this morning? When I woke up, you were gone.”
“I had something I needed to take care of. Then I worked some. Besides, I couldn’t just lay around here and listen to you snore.”
“I don’t snore,” he said.
“Oh, that’s right. No one actually ever snores. People just say that to torment each other. Now move it.” She grinned at him.
“You worked? I thought you couldn’t go back there.”
“Norma wanted me to, and I couldn’t let him down. He’s been so kind to me and protective ever since I can remember.”
“Did you have any trouble?” He was concerned about another near riot.
“No. Everyone just stared a little too much. It’s like they’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. On me.”
“Did you do anything else? Besides work. You said there was something you needed to take care of.”
“Oh yeah. It was nothing. Are you ready? If that chicken gets cold, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Wylie decided just to let it go.
* * *
As they walked down the road Wylie got a certain sense of pleasure from knowing the way. He followed Kennedy up to the porch and into the house. The sounds of food preparation came from the kitchen, and Kennedy led the way.
An older woman looked up and smiled as they came into the welcoming room, redolent with the scents of frying chicken and baking biscuits. Wylie was struck by the resemblance to Kennedy: the same amazing gray eyes, the purity of facial structure. Martha was beautiful now, but as a girl she must have been a knockout.
“Mama, this is Wylie,” Kennedy said.
The woman wiped her hands on her apron and stepped toward him. He virtually towered over her, but this fact didn’t seem disconcerting to her at all. She reached out her hands and grasped his. “My name is Martha, and I am most pleased to meet you. My daughter has spoken of you often.”
“Nice to meet you, Martha.”
Martha went back to the tasks at hand and spoke to Kennedy. “Offer your young man a drink, honey.”
Kennedy took down three glasses from a shelf and poured a healthy shot of Jack into each of them. Wylie raised his eyebrows. Martha was going to drink with them. It wasn’t what he expected from this tiny, fragile-looking woman. But then it was becoming clear that Kennedy had inherited her spunk.
Wylie looked around the comfortable living room. And spotted the paintings on the wall. Vivid colors depicting forests and gardens and wildlife, emotions poured all over the canvases and reaching out. The work was breathtaking.
Martha stepped out of the kitchen. “Kennedy,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows in question. “You were going to ask about the artist. Kennedy. Talented, isn’t she?” Martha’s voice was full of pride. “Lord knows I’ve tried to convince her to see about getting into a gallery in Dallas or at least Abilene, but she won’t hear of it. She doesn’t think she’s any good.”
“I’m right here, Mama.” It was obvious Kennedy was embarrassed. Wylie guessed that very few in town knew of her abilities with a brush and paints.
“Your mama’s right,” Wylie agreed. “These are amazing. Are there more?”
Martha didn’t wait for Kennedy to answer. “Yes, she has lots more. In the back room, stacked against the walls. We just don’t have enough space in this little house.”
“Can I see?” Wylie asked.
“Another time. Not tonight.” Kennedy looked uncomfortable.
Wylie didn’t push. He had thought there was more to this woman than just beauty and sex, and he was pleased to discover he was right.
Their conversation was light and superficial. They drank a little and went about preparations for the meal, setting the table and serving food. When they sat down to eat, Martha led the grace, and they dug into the food. It was so homey, so comfortable, that Wylie felt himself relaxing. The food was more than delicious.
“Told you she made the best fried chicken ever,” Kennedy said between mouthfuls.
“I have to agree with that. This is the best meal I’ve had in a long time, and I truly appreciate it. I just have to know one thing before this goes any further.”
It was no secret both women knew what he meant by “this thing.” They sat up taller, expectant. “Can Kennedy cook like you? Because if not, I might have to rethink which member of this family I pursue.”
Everyone laughed. “She can cook,” Martha said. “She’s a very accomplished girl. So now I’d like to know a little about you,” Martha said to Wylie, “and how you came to be here in Snakewater. And I don’t mean that it was on account of your car breaking down.”
Intelligence radiated from her. He knew better than to try and sell her one of his stories. Wylie had come into this town underestimating the citizenry. He had expected uneducated, unworldly, and unwise. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Especially not with these two.
“I write. I guess it’s because I never could do the nine-to-five thing. My first two novels have been successful enough. I travel. I guess because my home life was always so stable, I have that freedom. I can always go home, and, knowing that, I feel free not to. My parents own a small business in northern California and have worked together forever.
“They’ve been married years, and they still hold hands and share secrets. That’s what I want.” He paused for a moment to look at Kennedy; she blushed and dropped her head. He found this surprising, since it was such a vulnerable action. He hadn’t expected it. At the same time, it definitely pleased him to see this soft side of her.
“I was coming from Dallas and aiming for El Paso. I have some friends there.” He shrugged. “You know the rest.”
“Do you believe in fate?” Martha asked.
“I believe a wise man never says never.”
“Good noncommittal answer. Well, I do. And I have to believe that’s what brought you here now. Not just to make my daughter happy, although I’m sure that’s what she believes.” Martha smiled at Kennedy. “I know you know what’s been going on around here. It isn’t pretty. Somehow you and my daughter are smack in the middle of it.”
He thought for a moment. “It appears that way.”
“Everyone around here believes it’s just about the money, but I think there’s more to it than that. What do you think?” This was a woman who got directly to the point.
&
nbsp; “I don’t know. Money can be a might powerful motivation. People have killed for it more than once.”
“Maybe. But Delie was a stupid, gullible little girl who never grew up. Everyone knew that. And everyone also knew that if they wanted something from her, it was pretty easy to talk her out of it. I just can’t understand why anyone would want to kill her.”
“Maybe she wasn’t as dumb as everyone thought,” Kennedy stated.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Martha asked.
“I don’t know. I think she lived inside her head and didn’t deal too much with reality. She had this rich fantasy life. She even told people she went to Vegas and got married. First it was to a movie star, then a stockbroker. The story changed with each telling. She hasn’t been right since…well, since Freddie came into their lives. I have my suspicions as to what happened there.” Kennedy hesitated, as if there would be no benefit in elaborating. Sometimes it was better not knowing the whole truth.
“Kennedy, honey, you need to let all that go. What happened with Freddie and Ruby and PJ, it’s past history. I loved your daddy, and he loved me, and that’s what I choose to keep. The rest isn’t worth dwelling on.”
Unless it’s coming back to haunt us, Kennedy thought.
Later Wylie and Kennedy stood on the porch. Wylie thanked Martha and said good night. It was then that Kennedy said he needed to go home alone.
“Why?” he asked. “I like you sleeping in my bed.”
“Mama. I should stay here with her tonight. Besides, I don’t want her to think…you know…” Kennedy was blushing.
“You are a strange girl.”
“Why, because I don’t want my mama to think I’m a tramp?”
“I don’t imagine she’d ever think that.”
“Maybe not. I just feel funny leaving here with you and not coming back until morning.”
“I am falling in love with you, Kennedy.” The sentence just came out of his mouth as if he was so full of the emotion it needed room to spread out.
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