Although they differed in height and hair color and weight, they seemed one entity, laughing nervously, none of them making eye contact with him. He smoothed a hand down his beard. To them, he was a creepy old man trying to lure them into his carpeted van down by the river.
Monroe clapped her hands twice. The girls’ giggling faded into silence as they each took a seat on the mat. “Girls, this is Cade, Miss Tallulah’s brother. He’s going to make our sessions a little more realistic. Amelia, why don’t you get us started.”
A girl around the same height as Monroe but with frizzy red hair and a dozen constellations of freckles shuffled in front of Monroe. Amelia was spindly in the way young girls were, still a couple of years away from filling out.
Monroe stood behind her and whispered in her ear before stepping away. “All right, Cade.”
He side-eyed Monroe with a hint of exasperation. “What should I do?”
“Grab her wrist. Try to pull her toward you like you’re forcing her somewhere.”
Great. Exactly like the creepy man by the river. Knowing this was important to her, he grabbed Amelia’s arm and tugged her. The girl’s eyes widened and she didn’t fight his backward pull, bumping into his padded chest.
Monroe got close. “Think, Amelia. This is basic stuff. What have you learned about breaking an attacker’s grip?”
The girl came to life. Before he could react, she had twisted her arm out of his hand and punched him in the chest with enough force to knock him back a step. Amelia walked back into the fold of girls as they cheered.
“Yes.” Monroe paced in front of them and fist-pumped. “That was awesome. Who’s next?”
Throughout the lesson, Monroe kept up a constant stream of encouragement as well as checking on his knee and hand. The session was surprisingly vigorous but not painful, and the hour passed quickly.
The girls headed to the changing room as a group of kickboxers took over the mat. Tally strolled over, fitting a microphone over her ear and tucking the sound pack into the waistband of her shorts.
“Great job, Cade.”
“Thanks, Sis.” He threw a padded arm around her and hauled her in for a half hug. She pushed him off the mat with a small laugh.
He stripped the padding off and took the water Monroe offered him. “I didn’t see Kayla.”
“Nope.” A frown replaced her smile. “She hasn’t returned my texts. I think she’s mad at me.”
“Mad? After what you did? My guess is she’s embarrassed.”
“You think?”
“Put yourself in her place. I remember Tally at seventeen. Forget sugar and spice and everything nice; she was tears and angst and melodrama.”
“Maybe I’ll ride out to her house later. I don’t suppose you’d let me buy you dinner for helping out?”
He hesitated. Their kisses had unleashed a muddy, confusing flood of emotions in him. She’d wanted him. But why? Women usually pursued him because he was rich. The excitement of his lifestyle drew others. Monroe didn’t seem to care about either. None of the others had ever really known him—he didn’t allow that sort of intimacy.
Monroe had been a good girl ’Sip, and he’d been the troublemaking swamp rat. Was she satisfying her own curiosity about him? Acting out a fantasy, maybe? She knew he wasn’t sticking around.
Her kiss had been a plea to be claimed. He could have gotten her naked. He could have satisfied his pent-up sexual frustration. But it would have broken some unspoken bond of trust between them. It would have hurt her. That he couldn’t do, and that’s what scared him. Monroe was different. Special.
He hid his inner turmoil behind a bland expression he’d perfected during negotiations. “Sure. What were you thinking?”
“How about the pizza place over on my side? It’s laid-back. You don’t need to change.” She pulled a T-shirt over her workout clothes.
He followed her across the river in his truck, found parking down the street, and marveled at the revitalization taking place in downtown Cottonbloom, Mississippi. He reached the front of the pizza place a few seconds before Monroe and opened the door, gesturing her through. She grabbed a free booth and he slid in across from her. For a weeknight, the restaurant was doing steady business. The tables were half-filled and several people walked in to collect to-go orders.
“I’m impressed with the changes. Things were looking worn and run-down when I left.”
“Things got worse before they got better. Regan has done a bang-up job encouraging new businesses to take root. I know the festival is a sore point, but she really cares about this town.”
“I figured she ran for mayor for the attention and prestige. Kind of like a pageant for grown-ups.”
Monroe’s laugh made his insides feel warm. “Prestige? The only perk she receives is free coffee down at Glenda’s and a seat in the lead convertible for the Christmas parade. Otherwise, it’s mostly fielding complaints.”
The waitress plopped two waters with lemon wedges on the table and pulled out an order pad. A frisson of something had him wiping his hands down his shorts. Surely it wasn’t nerves? He hadn’t been nervous for years. Hanging from a cliff face and leaping into the unknown were adrenaline rushes. Negotiating a million-dollar deal? Exciting. How could something as mundane as eating pizza with Monroe incite nerves?
They’d never eaten together. Never been on a date. Their meetings had been illicit. Cade remembered something. Something simple, yet the knowledge calmed the rush.
“You still like pizza with everything on it except onions?”
Her smile turned his insides from warm into gooey. “I sure do. I can’t believe you remember that.”
The waitress jotted down their order and disappeared. Cade propped his elbows on the table and poked his lemon wedge into his water. “Sawyer looks like crap. Being commissioner must be just as stressful as mayor.”
“Probably even more so. Sawyer has the entire parish to handle, and there are different issues on that side. Harder issues in most ways. He and Regan had done a good job ignoring each other until they both entered the festival competition.”
“I have the feeling me being home has only added to his troubles.” He ran a hand down his beard and scratched at the stubble on his neck.
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know, maybe ’cause he threw a hissy fit worthy of a Housewives of Cottonbloom reality show when I moved Daddy’s truck to the garage to fix it up.”
He glanced out the window. The truck was nothing special. Not old enough to be considered a collector’s item, it looked downright decrepit next to the vehicles from the last decade parked around it.
A couple of springs were poking through the upholstery, the headliner was hanging down in one corner, and the AC still wasn’t working. Cade didn’t care. Seeing it slowly disintegrate had driven a spike through his heart. He hadn’t been able to save his parents, but he could damn well save his daddy’s truck. Sitting behind the wheel brought him a comfort he hadn’t felt in forever.
“Isn’t it technically Sawyer’s truck? Did you ask if he wanted to help you fix it up?” She cut her clear blue eyes back to him and leaned onto her elbows.
“I’m the one that drove that truck, kept it running, so I could work. So he could finish high school, play baseball, go to college. He never offered to help me back then.” The bitterness that ran from his heart to his mouth shocked him. Disgusted him. He had made sure Sawyer hadn’t had to deal with the hardship he faced on a daily basis. He swallowed and looked out the window. “I didn’t mean that.”
The warmth of her hand came over his, their fingers weaving naturally. Her touch provided a solace he didn’t realize he needed until she offered it. “It’s okay to be mad at the cards you were dealt, but you made something of yourself. Made it out of here.”
Made it out. Forced out. Driven out. She didn’t need to know that.
He had never felt normal. Like Monroe, he’d questioned whether he was capable of real love. The ki
nd that made a man want to sacrifice everything to protect his woman. He was afraid he’d used it all up on his brother and sister. His heart bounced around his chest, trying to communicate in Morse code.
A familiar figure came down the sidewalk, the setting sun glinting off the highlights in his hair. Andrew Tarwater pushed the front door open and stepped straight to their booth. The look on his face would sour milk.
“Monroe?” Her name was accusatory. She snatched her hand away, her oversize T-shirt falling off one shoulder.
Cade clenched his hand into a fist. Was she embarrassed to be seen with him or was something serious going on between her and Tarwater or both? A resentment born of years fielding pitying looks and thinly veiled insults burned under the pleasant mask he forced himself to maintain.
“Hi, Andrew.” The friendly welcome in her voice only stoked the fire.
“Father and I are working late on a case and he sent me down for a pizza. What are you two up to?” A jealous suspicion hid behind the question. Could Monroe hear it?
“Cade helped me out with my class this evening, and I thought a pizza was the least I could do.” She favored Cade with one of her ice-melting smiles.
Andrew harrumphed like a grumpy old man. Someone from the front counter called his name, but he didn’t move.
“Your pizza’s ready,” Cade prodded.
“I heard,” he snapped in return. “Are you getting excited for the fund-raiser, Monroe?”
“Superexcited.” The vagueness in her voice belied her words. “I appreciate your mother’s kindness.”
Andrew’s jaw worked as he cast a glance toward Cade. “Yes, well, I’ve worked hard on the party as well. I’ve made sure the best of Cottonbloom will be in attendance.”
Was it his imagination or was the smile she gave Andrew smaller and cooler? “Your interest in the girls at risk program is admirable. The money is going to a good cause, I can promise you that.”
Andrew collected the pizza and walked out, decidedly more stiff than when he’d entered. She seemed to deflate.
“What’s the problem?” Cade gestured toward the door.
“What do you mean?” She was fiddling with the end of her silky ponytail.
What did he mean? He was the one with the problem. The animosity he felt toward Andrew had a definite green tint.
“Nothing,” he murmured as their pizza was delivered, steaming and aromatic.
The act of eating together eased the tension jumbling his emotions. He didn’t bring up Andrew again and neither did she.
“I know you moved to Mobile first. Where did you go next?” she asked.
“I moved to a different port city every few months. Never had a problem finding a job with my skills. In fact, I found my reputation started to precede me. By the time I looped up to Maryland, an engine shop came looking for me.” The corner of his mouth lifted.
“Weren’t you lonely?”
“A little.” The understatement wiped his prideful smile away. The first night in the cheap, dirty motel had been worse than his family’s first night in the old trailer. At least then, Sawyer and Tally had been within calling distance. No one in Mobile knew him. No one cared what happened to him. The noise of a restless city had been jarring after so many years drifting off to the sounds of the river. He hadn’t slept that night.
“But you moved from port to port? Never settling down?” Her blue eyes searched for the truth.
The truth was complicated. “You can’t know what freedom felt like after so many years under a yoke.”
“You eventually settled down in Seattle, though. What changed?”
“I was in Connecticut, and the guys around me had been working on rich men’s engines for twenty, thirty years and they would die working on rich men’s engines.”
“You wanted more.” It was a statement.
“I wanted more. I was used to working hard. I put in twelve-, sixteen-hour days and played with some ideas I had rolling around in my head. Engines with my mods were able to produce noticeably more horsepower. I started to get a lot of attention.” He shot her a sly grin. “Men seem to think there’s a correlation between their engine horsepower and the size of their junk.”
Her throaty, husky laugh was like a shot of rich whiskey. “So men started to come see you for enhancements.” She bracketed the last word in air quotes.
“Exactly. Eventually, a man showed up who was more a visionary than I was at the time. He encouraged me to file for a patent, and we became business partners. The rest is, as they say, history.”
“Why didn’t you stay on the East Coast? Why Seattle? Besides the lack of gators.” She smiled around a bite of pizza.
“It’s where my partner, Richard, was based, so I followed him out there.”
Her brows bounced up as she chewed. “You don’t seem the following type. What’s this Richard fella like?”
At the beginning of their business relationship, Richard had been more mentor than partner. He’d taught Cade the jargon of the rich, how to dress, manners. Richard had treated him like a son and had never belittled Cade’s lack of knowledge of his world.
“He’s more than just a business partner. I count him as a friend.” His phone buzzed with an incoming text and he glanced at the screen, debating for a second whether he could blow off his obligation to stay with Monroe. “I’m going to have to head out.”
“Emergency?”
“Only if you consider a nighttime boat ride down memory lane with Sawyer and Uncle Delmar an emergency.”
“You’re not going—” she leaned forward and dropped her voice “—poaching, are you?”
He couldn’t tell if she was worried for him or excited at the prospect. Questions rose again. Was she only interested in him for a different kind of thrill?
He met her halfway over the table, his mouth close to her ear. “With Uncle Delmar in charge, no telling what kind of mischief we’ll get up to.”
A flush raced up her neck and into her cheeks. Could he make her entire body flush like that? A picture of her naked and laid out on a bed flashed. He tried to shake the thought, but it was too late. It was as if his sudden hard-on had graffiti painted the image on his brain.
He leaned back, the distance not helping the state of his mind or body. “I can afford to hit the grocery store these days. I can buy this pizza, too.” He pulled out his wallet and tossed cash on the table, more than enough to pay for the pizza and put a smile on the waitress’s face.
“But this was supposed to be me treating you.” Monroe tucked wisps of her hair behind her ear.
“You asking me to share a pizza with you was treat enough.” He slid out of the booth and worked his knee.
She popped up and her gaze dropped. “You look stiff.”
His mind veered directly into a middle-school arena, and he moved his hands in front of his pants. A second passed before he realized she was talking about his knee. He burst out laughing. The sound rang in his ears. “My knee’s better. Only bothers me if I sit for too long.”
They lingered on the sidewalk, their vehicles facing opposite directions. “How’s your hand?”
“Some better. I’ve been doing my exercises, Miss Kirby, I promise.” He opened and closed his wounded hand. “Gets achy if I try to use it for too long, and sometimes the pins and needles thing wakes me up.”
“I can’t do much for nerve damage, unfortunately, but the exercises will help with strength and endurance.” She took his hand and massaged down the scar tissue. “There are some things only time can heal.”
Their eyes tangled and her words seemed to encompass more than his hand. A lump settled in his throat, and the tingling along his palm grew into a burning sensation. “Yeah, well. I’ll see you later.”
He turned and walked away, knowing it was abrupt yet unable to bear another minute of her eviscerating stare. Too much wanted to pour out of him, too fast. The rumble of the truck engine drowned out any street noise, and he sat until her SUV turned the corne
r.
Chapter Twelve
Monroe tramped through the tall grass to the water oak standing like a lone sentinel in the field. Halfway between their childhood homes, the tree marked her and Regan’s meeting spot growing up. Cursing herself roundly, she wished she could take back their earlier conversation. Her casual mention of catching a bite with Cade had led to her telling Regan about his planned nighttime boat ride with Sawyer.
Regan had been suspicious, but it wasn’t until she called back in a tizzy, ordering Monroe to their tree, that she realized the severity of her misstep. Not only had she been roped into some kind of reconnaissance mission, but the feeling she somehow had betrayed Cade niggled her conscience also. What if the men were going poaching and Monroe had given them away? She wasn’t sure what Regan would do if she got incriminating evidence against Sawyer.
Wearing black slacks and a dark-blue summer cardigan, Regan paced, looking ready to jaunt off to a Junior League meeting. Monroe’s black leggings and dark-gray T-shirt were more practical. Movement under the tree caught her attention.
A man with rumpled brown hair and glasses leaned against the trunk, his hands buried in the pockets of his green cargo pants, his biceps bulging in the fitted black cotton T-shirt, a tattoo peeking out of a sleeve. An eight-inch knife hung from a belt holster. How had Regan roped Nash Hawthorne into her plans?
If it wasn’t for his soulful brown eyes behind black-framed glasses, he could have passed for Special Forces instead of a newly hired history professor at Cottonbloom College. She had no doubt his classes would be extremely popular among the coeds. But to her, he would always be Nerdy Nash, the boy who’d been teased and ignored most of their childhood.
“Did Regan guilt you into this, too?” She joined him in the arms of the tree, the wind making the leaves shush around them.
“Ha-ha,” Regan said. “He cares about our town and the festival, too.”
Nash’s thick brown eyebrows arched over his glasses. “She oh-so-kindly reminded me of the time she saved me from total humiliation in the cafeteria our sophomore year by letting me sit with you guys.”
Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel Page 13