"Okay," she said, reaching for the mug. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
She took several careful sips. "Well, this has been an interesting day."
"Are you feeling better?"
"I think so. The rum—and the heat," she said, wincing again. "Bad combination."
"Your little, uh, nap seems to have helped."
"I feel better," she admitted. "I'm not used to drinking that much alcohol so quickly. I don't remember how I got here."
"You walked," he said. "Until you passed out."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. You're not that heavy."
"We do know each other, don't we? I didn't imagine that?"
"No, we know each other." I sat behind you in algebra. Alphabetical order: Ashton, Ball, Brown, Carter. You smiled at me every morning. You blushed when I told you that you looked like a candy cane the day you wore a striped sweater to school. I grinned like a fool all day.
"I remember you from high school," she said, taking another sip of coffee.
"Yeah, but I don't remember cheating off your math papers."
"It's okay. I didn't mind. I wasn't that good in math, so I don't think I would have helped you very much." She smiled, a stunning smile that made his heart jump. He had no business sitting on Delia Drummond's kitchen floor and letting her smile at him.
"Look," he began, about to confess that he was the older brother of the woman who'd stolen her husband. "I have to—"
"Please excuse the mess around here," she said, waving one hand toward the stack of boxes by the back door. "I'm in the middle of moving and the house is up for sale."
"I saw the sign on the lawn." She seemed to be feeling better, he noticed. He could leave now with a clear conscience and go back to what he'd been doing before he walked into the Cottonwood.
"You don't have to look so guilty." Her smile didn't quite light up her eyes this time. "None of this is your fault."
"My sister—" He paused, not knowing what to say. My sister saw a good opportunity and made the most of it by seducing one of the richest guys in town.
"Ran off with my husband." Delia's voice was steady, but Joe wondered if that was still the alcohol working. "I've seen her a few times. She's very tall. And beautiful."
"Looks are deceiving."
"Yes, well," her voice trailed off and she glanced around the kitchen as if seeing it for the first time. "I'll be glad to get out of here."
That surprised him. "I would have thought you'd be, uh, upset."
She shook her head. "This was Martin's house, not mine. He was married before, they had three children, then his wife died. It's always been a lot to take care of."
"Where are you going from here?"
Delia took another sip of coffee before answering. "I haven't decided."
Joe didn't point out that it looked like she was running out of time. Maybe she planned to camp out here until the place actually sold, since he didn't think there were too many people in July who could afford a house as large as this one. He'd even spotted a deck and a pool in the backyard.
"I can't seem to decide anything," she confessed. "It's a little embarrassing. I can't seem to figure out what to do next."
"You're not the one who should be embarrassed," he said. "Julie shouldn't have been messing around with a married man."
"She's welcome to him," Delia said. "I'm about to start a new life after the fastest divorce in Texas. Sometimes it pays to be married to an attorney." She paused for a moment. "Would you like to have wild and crazy sex in the pool?"
"Drink your coffee, sweetheart." Lord help him, the offer was tempting.
She giggled and did as she was told. "I've never said that to anyone before."
"You might want to, uh, be a little more careful with the booze," he stammered. She laughed again, then as Joe watched in horror, tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her flushed cheeks.
"J.C. Brown," Delia said, trying to catch her breath as she choked back a laugh. "You're blushing."
"Yeah? Well, so are you." He never blushed. It was just hotter than hell outside and he'd hauled a drunk woman six blocks in the afternoon sun, that was all. "And that tells me you haven't had a lot of wild and crazy sex with Martin Drummond."
"You're right." Her eyes were huge. "I'm going to change all that. I have a lot of catching up to do."
"Well, don't look at me." He didn't mean it. He would have liked to topple her onto the tile floor—or, better yet, carry her down that endless hallway to the oversize bed where he'd found the pillows—and make love to her for three or four hours. He knew he could make her smile. And blush.
"I have to get better at this," she declared. "If I'm going to have any kind of interesting life at all."
"Good luck." He needed some air. He needed to get away from a woman who would be very appealing if she wasn't drunk, sleepy and getting kicked out of her house because his sister couldn't keep her legs together. Joe looked at his watch and realized he never did get that lunch at the diner. And he was no closer to finding Julie and talking sense into her, either. He stood and looked down at Delia. "I'm leaving now. You might try to make it to your bed before you fall asleep again."
"Good idea." She smiled. "Thanks again for the help getting home."
"No problem. Take care of yourself."
"I intend to from now on."
Her smile almost got to him, but Joe turned and practically ran out the door. He cursed under his breath when he stepped outside into the hot sun and realized his car was still parked in front of the Cottonwood, six blocks away.
Welcome home.
* * *
"Delia!"
The voice penetrated through the pain throbbing in Delia's head. The sound, Deeeel-yah, shattered right through a dream she was having about sleeping on a sidewalk while Martin and his girlfriend drove by in a convertible singing "All My Exes Live in Texas."
Deeeel-yah!
She shoved her head underneath a pillow, but the sound only became louder.
"Are you sick, darling?"
Delia rolled over onto her back and tried to open her eyes. "Mom?"
"Who else?" Georgia stomped over to the window and yanked open the drapes, letting bright sun angle over the bed. Delia closed her eyes and moaned.
"What's the matter with you? We're supposed to be at the lawyer's office at eleven o'clock."
She'd almost forgotten about the reading of Uncle Gin's will. It had been delayed for a week because no one could find the papers when the secretary had left because her daughter had an emergency C-section and her grandchild was born six weeks early.
"What time is it now?" She couldn't believe she'd slept so late, but then again, she couldn't believe she'd gotten drunk yesterday afternoon, either.
"A little after nine."
"Nine?"
"I'm early, so shoot me. I thought we might need some time to talk."
"Talk? About the will?" Her head ached, her tongue felt like a bathroom sponge and her stomach was queasy. She would never, ever drink strawberry daiquiris again. Not on a hot afternoon and not four in a row. And not the day before she had to settle the estate of a sweet old great-uncle.
She really didn't like how the summer was starting off.
"I brought doughnuts," Georgia said, ignoring the question. "Should I make some coffee?"
"That would be a good idea." In order to make coffee her mother would have to disappear into the kitchen, easily fifty feet away, leaving the master bedroom in blessed silence.
"I hope you'll use the time to shower."
"I am not giving you a key to my next house."
"The back door was unlocked," Georgia informed her. "I didn't have to resort to using my key."
"I'll have to get a guard dog," she muttered. She waited a moment until she was certain her mother was gone before dragging her body out of the bed. It was a ridiculous bed for one person. Way too big and lonely. Much too empty. J.C. Brown's long, lean body would have
filled it nicely, she thought, cringing at the memory of trying to seduce him. She would have to learn how to hold her liquor. She would have to learn how to date again. She stripped off her nightgown and looked at herself in the closet mirror.
And she would have to start doing sit-ups, give up French fries and never, ever eat ice cream again.
Thirty minutes later, Delia decided that she didn't feel too bad after all. Aspirin, a hot shower, makeup and clean hair made her feel as if she could face the day—and her mother—with her customary calm. Once her mother handed her a cup of coffee and put a box of glazed doughnuts on the table, Delia decided that yesterday hadn't been that bad after all.
"Now," Georgia began, sitting down across the table. "Please tell me you weren't in the Cottonwood yesterday afternoon."
"News travels fast." She took a bite of doughnut. Maybe choking on fried dough would divert her mother from pursuing this line of interrogation.
"Oh, please." Georgia rolled her eyes. "Whatever possessed you?"
"Oh, I don't know. The divorce. Packing. A visit from Jennifer. The fact that my life is—"
"You've always been such a good girl," her mother interrupted. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you. There was talk—" She paused and Delia took advantage of the lull and helped herself to another doughnut.
"You were seen," her mother said, "staggering down the sidewalk with a man."
She pronounced "man" as if it was a dirty word. And Delia didn't much like the "staggering" description either. "Yes."
"Yes?"
"The man—a very good-looking man, by the way—brought me home."
Her mother gasped. "I don't want to hear this."
"It's not as terrible as you think," Delia said. "Unfortunately."
Georgia sighed. "Well, I suppose I'll have to take your word for it. But I hope that you're not sinking into a bad lifestyle." She stood and brought the carafe back to the table to refill the coffee.
"You make it sound as if I'm going to hell."
"Well, I suppose you're entitled to a little lapse in judgment after all you've been through." She returned the pot to the counter and then sat down across from Delia and smiled. "This is nice, isn't it?"
"What is?" She knew exactly what was coming, another suggestion that she move in with her mother to live and die happily ever after.
"Us. Having breakfast together. We'd do just fine, the two of us. I have that big house and you need a place to live and we're family, after all. Two women against the world."
"I told you, Mom, I'm thinking of getting my own place."
"With what? I thought you said Martin mortgaged the house for the kids' college tuition."
"He did, but there might be a little something left over, after the house sells." And the rat had fought against even doing that. The judge hadn't been sympathetic to Delia. He'd just divorced his third wife and was close to bankruptcy because he spent too much time in Vegas. So, the alimony was meager and Delia had too much pride to protest. After all, she ought to be able to take care of herself from now on. Delia's lawyer, a young woman from Austin, had done everything but throw a fit in the middle of the courtroom, to no avail.
"Think how much money you'll save living with me," Georgia pointed out.
At the expense of her sanity, not to mention her pride, Delia thought, but she sipped her coffee and thought about looking in the classifieds for a place to rent. She wouldn't need much, just a bed, a bathroom and a gas oven to stick her head into whenever the prospect of living with her mother became too much to bear.
* * *
The last will and testament of Horatio Guinness was a simple document, handwritten by him on the back of a piece of sheet music and spattered with something that looked like chili sauce.
Delia blinked back tears. Horatio had just loved chili. At the brief meeting, no one contested the old man's scribbled wishes. It wasn't as if Georgia wanted her uncle's old guitars or boxes of papers; even if she was the least bit sentimental, which she insisted she wasn't, she wouldn't have known what to do with a mobile home filled with things that smelled like cigars, whiskey and onions. Heck, she said, everyone assumed he rented the place and the only thing he owned was that old truck and a couple of guitars.
There was no other family to protest the fact that Uncle Horatio left all his worldly possessions to his great-niece, which meant that the old man's wishes would be respected. At least that's what Martin's partner, recently divorced and the recent owner of a Ferrari, had told Delia this morning. He'd wished her luck and hinted that he'd be glad to take her out for drinks some night.
Delia had pretended she hadn't heard him. She'd followed her mother out of the downtown law office and driven them both to the Pecan Hollow Mobile Home Park, five and a half miles north of town.
"What a job we've got ahead of us," Georgia said, surveying the cluttered interior of the trailer. "Maybe we should find someone to haul the whole mess to the dump. That'd be the easiest thing to do with all this junk."
"I think I should go through everything first." Delia peered into the bedroom. Her great-uncle's double bed was neatly covered with a patchwork quilt as if he had straightened it before dying of a heart attack while frying his morning eggs. "I can't just throw it all away."
"I suppose not, but you've got enough to do right now, with having to sell the house and dealing with the divorce. Horatio would understand." Georgia fanned herself with her hand. "It's too hot in here. I'm going to step outside. That onion smell—"
"I know." Delia suspected that her uncle put fried onions in every meal he ever cooked, including breakfast. Horatio was partial to freshly chopped onions on top of his eggs, along with crackers, chopped peppers and a big chunk of cheddar cheese. "You'd think after all this time the smell wouldn't be so strong."
"If you're going to work inhere, you'd better get the air conditioning fixed."
"Yes." They'd realized almost immediately that the unit wasn't working. Delia had fiddled with the thermostat and nothing happened, though the electricity worked. She'd have to remember to bring a fan next time. Delia opened the narrow closet door she hoped contained the air-conditioning unit, but the space was piled high with sheet music. Uncle Gin's career as a songwriter had ended decades ago, but it looked like he had kept on writing. "What am I going to do with his music?"
"Oh, Lord," Georgia said, climbing down the metal stairs. "I thought he got rid of that stuff years ago."
"Or else he just kept writing more," Delia replied, lifting the top paper to see for herself. There were stacks of sheet music, notes and even some scraps of paper with lyrics scribbled in Horatio's shaky script. The country singer known as "Gin" Guinness had achieved some fame as a songwriter years before when he lived in Austin, but he'd never hit the big time. And he'd never been much of a businessman, which was why he'd spent the last thirty-two years of his life in Pecan Hollow. "I can't throw this away."
"What else would you do with it?"
"I don't know, but I can't just toss it out. Someone might want these songs someday."
"The heat's gotten to you, honey. Let's go out for a nice lunch," Georgia said from outside. "I could drink a gallon of iced tea right about now with a piece of Key lime pie for dessert."
"All right." But she would return later on, if only to read the song on the top of the closest box called, "I've Got All Night to Love You But The Dog Needs Me More."
* * *
Chapter 3
«^»
"Heard J.C. Brown is back in town," the waitress at the Yellow Rose announced after she put their glasses of iced tea on the table. She gave Delia a sly look, which didn't go over well with Georgia. What on earth was that all about?
Della didn't answer and acted completely unimpressed with Mary Lou's announcement, but Georgia knew she had to keep a close eye on her daughter. This drinking thing yesterday wasn't good. And she knew darn well that Delia was hung-over. Those dark circles under her eyes and the way she squinted when she took o
ff her sunglasses were a dead giveaway. As soon as Mary Lou, class of 1981 and girl voted "Most Likely To Succeed" took their order and moved away, Georgia leaned forward.
"That Brown boy was in high school with you, wasn't he?"
"Yes," Delia said, but to Georgia's horror, she blushed. "He was probably in one of your English classes."
"Hmm." She might recall a quiet, tall young man who attracted lots of attention from silly girls and was rumored to be wild, though Georgia didn't remember any of that nonsense—not that she would have put up with it for one minute in her classroom, of course. "Didn't he have an older brother?"
"He died in a car accident years ago."
"That's right." She couldn't believe how bad her memory was getting. "And the sister—oh, good heavens, Delia," Georgia said. "Don't tell me that Julie Brown is related to—"
"Yes." She took a long drink of tea before adding, "She's the sister."
"Nothing but trouble, all of them," Georgia said, sipping at her own drink. There were a lot of Browns in the county, enough so it was a common name. And truth be told, she hadn't wanted to hear anything about Martin's girlfriend. No other woman could hold a candle to Delia. She wished they'd hurry up with the chicken salad. At this rate she'd have been better off at the Burger Barn. "Good Lord, I'm hungry."
"I saw J.C.—Joe—in the bar yesterday," Delia said, as casually as if she'd announced she got a good deal on paper towels at Wal-Mart.
"Oh, please don't tell me—" Suddenly the stories she'd heard yesterday made perfect, horrible sense.
"Yes, he was the person who brought me home and yes, he was a complete gentleman the entire time." Delia moved her glass to the side when that snoopy waitress brought their lunch plates.
"Oh, my," was all Georgia could reply. Annie had said she hadn't seen a thing, which meant she'd been watching Everybody Loves Raymond repeats instead of the house across the street. Annie was slipping, bless her heart.
"Enjoy your lunch," Mary Lou said. "I'll bring refills on the tea in a minute."
"No hurry," Delia said, reaching for the ketchup. The girl always loved to put ketchup on her hamburgers. It was nice to see that some things didn't change. Or maybe outwardly Delia looked fine—except for those dark shadows—but inside she was falling apart.
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