Biloxi Brides (Sugar and Grits)

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by Martha Rogers


  Tinges of orange faded to pink as the morning stole away the night. Sue Ellen watched the sun peer over the Catfish House and smiled. In all her years, she’d never taken notice of a sunrise until today.

  “Sue Ellen, check your pace,” Bud said. “Can you talk while running at this speed?”

  “I don’t know. Ask me something and see if I can answer.”

  She knew she’d have a hard time saying anything right now, but the combination of a rocket pace and a shortened night of sleep would surely have that effect on anyone.

  “Tell me about Biloxi and why you’re back.”

  His sideways glance told her the statement held more meaning than just a request for geographical information. Information she wasn’t quite ready to give.

  “Tell me why you’re so all-fired excited about leaving Calista.” She hurdled over a manhole, and then veered toward the sidewalk that ran beside Tilly’s. “Then maybe I’ll tell you why I came back. That’s what you really want to know, isn’t it?”

  Bud stopped short, and it took Sue Ellen a minute to notice. She doubled back to join him on the sidewalk. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “You took me by surprise with that question,” he said. “How about I buy you that cup of coffee you wanted, and we can talk about the answer?”

  A man wanting to talk? Now that had to be a first. Sue Ellen gladly let him steer her into the wacky interior of the Café Latte, Calista’s best—and only—coffee shop.

  “Well, good morning, you two. You’re the first customers of the day.” Tilly turned her attention to Sue Ellen. “You’re up early. What happened? Lose a bet?”

  While Sassy’s daughter giggled, Sue Ellen scanned the menu. “Better than that, Tilly.” She leaned toward the coffee shop owner. “I’ve been given a rare opportunity to actually change a man.”

  “Oh, really?” Tilly’s many earrings glittered in the morning sunshine. “How so?”

  “Actually, it’s me who has the rare opportunity.” He gestured toward Sue Ellen. “She would like a cup of coffee, black. Give me the same.”

  Tilly looked at Sue Ellen. “No White Chocolate Cinna-mocha with sprinkles?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  She looked doubtful. “All right, Sue Ellen, but please don’t let it get out that you’re giving up the sugar. It’d be bad for business.” Tilly snapped her fingers. “Say, speaking of business, did you hear about the new bakery and sushi bar that’s going in?”

  “Yes, I believe Fanny mentioned something about it in the shop awhile back.”

  Setting two steaming fish-themed mugs on the counter, Tilly smiled. “Well, I bet she doesn’t know this. You know my Fred, right?” When Sue Ellen nodded, Tilly continued, “It seems as though Faeoni Ledbetter, the new owner, decided she’d pack up and move back to Bogalusa. Something about there being a shortage of eligible men. Anyway, guess who’s going to be the new manager?”

  Sue Ellen took a wild guess. “Fred?”

  Tilly clapped her hands. “Yes,” she said with a glee that could only be achieved by a morning person. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  She left Tilly with a hug and a brief prayer that not only would Fred succeed in his job at Loaves and Fishes, but the Lord would lead him into a youth ministry position at the church. A silent but obvious prayer was that the fellow would also have the good sense to realize the prize he had in Tilly and marry her before she changed her mind.

  Sue Ellen took her sweaty self over to the table where Bud waited. “Biloxi?” he reminded her when she’d settled in.

  “Biloxi.” She sighed as she wrapped her fingers around the mug. “The truth is, I realized one day that while I was out looking for wings, what I really needed was roots.”

  Bud’s confused look told Sue Ellen he didn’t understand. “Translation: I missed home and realized everything I was looking for is right here.” She let the statement hang between them for a moment. “Your turn, Deputy. Why is it you’re set on leaving? What’s the FBI got that’s so much better than what’s right here in Calista?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Bud gave her an answer outlining the fine history of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, then went on to add how his military training made him a perfect candidate for the job. It was a lame response, and she knew it, but he seemed to believe every word he said.

  Later, when he walked her home, he avoided the topic, and she let him. Rather, they discussed the warming trend that had turned frigid into only moderately chilly almost overnight, the cost of pole beans at the farmers’ market, and which John Wayne movie was really the best.

  By the time they stopped in front of the Rhonda-Vous, he’d just about run out of words, or so it seemed. She fumbled with the silly key holder until Bud took pity on her. “Stick your foot up here.”

  She obliged, balancing on his shoulder as she raised her ankle within his reach. In no time, he had the contraption open and had placed the key in her hand.

  Was it her imagination, or had he let his fingers linger a bit longer than necessary when he placed the key in her palm? Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

  “See you at three,” he said, and of course he was back promptly at the appointed time.

  Sue Ellen slipped into the passenger seat of the squad car and handed him a map before tossing an oversized garbage bag and a smaller grocery-sized bag into the back.

  “Any questions?”

  “Nope,” he said as he studied the map. “Hey, that’s the high school football field.”

  “Sure is,” she said. “Nice breeze today?”

  “Um, I suppose.”

  Before long, they were standing in the end zone of the Calista Cougar football team with a pair of red, white, and blue striped kites. “Do you remember how to fly a kite, Bud?”

  He looked doubtful but soon followed her lead. While hers soared, however, his sank.

  “Here, let me get yours flying. Take mine.” She thrust the string in his hand, then took his kite and began to run. Soon she had Bud’s kite floating at the same altitude as hers.

  A swift breeze tangled their strings, causing both kites to plummet. In the process, Sue Ellen got caught in the twine. She reached for Bud to stay upright, and they both fell.

  Then the strangest thing happened.

  Bud Briggs laughed. Not a polite chuckle or a guarded smile. He laughed out loud—a belly laugh that was contagious.

  She heard that laugh again two days later when they played miniature golf. The next Saturday, when the alarm went off, Sue Ellen skipped the snooze button. A full week of jogging had done something to her. She actually had begun to like the dreaded activity. Not that she’d admit it to Bud, of course.

  The following Saturday, Bud let her sleep until nearly seven before his wake-up call came.

  By the end of the month, they’d settled into a routine. Running every morning but Sunday followed by coffee at the Café Latte. Three evenings a week, they piled into Bud’s squad car and headed out to do such varied things as lying on their backs watching a meteor shower and bowling at the lanes in Hattiesburg. The fourth evening was always reserved for playing board games.

  Today, however, their month together would come to an end. Bud’s call came a full hour before their customary time. It was still dark when Sue Ellen met him at the curb in her favorite pink jogging suit and began to warm up.

  “How about we skip our run today?”

  Sue Ellen did a double take, then walked over to feel his forehead. “Are you sick or something?”

  Bud captured her wrist and lifted her fingers, almost but not quite brushing them to his lips. “Our chariot awaits.” He gestured to the vintage muscle car across the street.

  “Is that your car from high school?” She wandered over to touch the black paint, noting how the color shone under the streetlamp. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve been working on restoring it.” He nodded as he helped her into the passenger seat. “One of those things I’d bee
n putting off until I met you. Well, until you and I struck this deal, that is.”

  A moment later, they were roaring past the Catfish House, then away from town with Elvis’s greatest hits playing on the oversized speakers. The sun was just rising and Elvis was finishing the Hawaiian love song with the funny words in the chorus when they reached a familiar spot.

  “Bud, this is where we used to dig for worms.”

  “Sure is.” He trotted around to help Sue Ellen out of the car, and then reached into the trunk to retrieve a hamper and an oversized lantern. “Follow me.”

  “What, no jogging today?” she asked as she trotted behind him.

  “Did you want to?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Because we can skip breakfast and run if you’d like.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  He stopped at the water’s edge. “We had a lot of fun here, didn’t we, Sue Ellen?”

  “Yes,” she said softly as she came to stand beside him, “we sure did.”

  A fish popped up in the moonlight, then hit the water with a splash, breaking the spell. Bud headed for the end of the pier, where he set the basket down and pulled out what looked like a tablecloth from the Catfish House.

  Bud patted the place beside him, and Sue Ellen obliged. “I have a confession to make.”

  “You didn’t cook breakfast?” Sue Ellen nudged Bud with her elbow. “I’m not surprised.”

  “No,” he said slowly, “although you’re right. Dottie Jean packed the breakfast for me. Biscuits and gravy, I believe.”

  “Why, Bud Briggs. You mean you’re going to indulge in an artery-clogging breakfast? How positively amazing.”

  “No,” he said slowly, “actually, you’re amazing.”

  Well now, she never saw that coming. “Pass the gravy, Bud, and stop being silly.”

  “Not yet.” He paused to reach for her hand. “You asked me a question a month ago, and I never did answer you.”

  “I did? What question was that?”

  “You asked what the FBI had that was better than anything I had in Calista.” Bud shifted positions to face Sue Ellen. “I gave you a whole line of nonsense about facts and figures. What I didn’t count on was that you would show me there’s something a whole lot more important than all that.”

  She glanced down at her hand, enveloped in the warmth of Bud’s fingers. Just beyond the edge of the Biloxi River, a slice of orange sun peeked through. “And what might that be, Bud?”

  “You,” he said softly.

  His response startled her. “Me?”

  “You. I turned down the FBI, Sue Ellen, and I have to tell you it feels right.” Bud moved closer. “Remember New Year’s Eve?”

  “Yes.” Despite her good sense, she moved an inch in his direction. “I believe I do.”

  “Well, there was a moment there when I missed an opportunity.”

  Like a moth to the flame, Sue Ellen allowed Bud to draw her into his embrace. “Was there?” she managed.

  “Oh yes. I believe it started something like this.” He paused. “Ten, nine, eight, seven. . .”

  Time slowed, and the world seemed to stand still. A cool breeze blew across the pier, bringing with it the scent of morning. “Oh my,” Sue Ellen whispered.

  “Six, five, four. . .”

  “Sue Ellen?”

  His lips were close. Too close. And yet not close enough.

  “Yes?”

  “If you’re not falling for me, now’s the time to say so.”

  She met his gaze. “Three, two. . .”

  “One,” was his response.

  And then he kissed her.

  Sue Ellen’s Fabulous Fudge

  2 cups chocolate chips (or peanut butter chips)

  1 can (14oz) sweetened condensed milk

  1 ½ teaspoons vanilla

  Melt chocolate chips and condensed milk together in a saucepan on low heat (or microwave on high 3 minutes, stirring at 1-minute intervals). Add in vanilla and stir well.

  Pour into 8x8 pan lined with foil and refrigerate until chilled, approximately 2 hours. Remove foil and slice.

  Pretty Is As Pretty Does

  The Rhonda-Vous House of Beauty Guide to Essential Southern Style

  P- is for petroleum jelly. Yes, ladies, petroleum jelly is your friend. Not only does this miracle substance remove all traces of makeup from your face and rough skin from your heels, but it also makes a mighty fine lip gloss. Like your gloss with a little flavor? No problem! Flavored lip-gloss is easy to make. Just add a dash of powdered Kool-Aid (steering away from grape or lime and using a nice lemonade or cherry flavor, of course) or for those special occasions, chocolate! How? Easy! A dab of petroleum jelly and a chocolate chip melt together just fine in the microwave and make your lips kissable and yummy. Oh, and an application of petroleum jelly to the pole that holds up your bird feeder will keep the squirrels out. Stick to unflavored for that use or you just might draw flies. And we all know it’s tacky under any circumstance to draw flies.

  R – is for rub. Yes, rub. No, not the kind that goes on your barbeque. I’m talking about the mentholated topical ointment your mama used to rub on your chest when you had the sniffles. And no, we are not rubbing it on our chests. Perish the thought! However, a nice coating of rub on your feet will keep them smooth and ready for summer. I’d recommend wearing socks unless you don’t mind tangling up in the sheets and leaving a mark where the rub saturated through.

  E – is for eyes. Your eyes are the first things a man will notice about you, or at least they ought to be unless you ignore your mama’s warnings about dressing trashy. Make your peepers sparkle with a lovely shade of shadow that highlights your best features. Don’t forget your mascara, which will apply thicker and stay longer if you dust your lashes with baby powder between the first and second coat of mascara. And ladies, if you’re going to a wedding or funeral, do consider buying a special tube of waterproof mascara for these occasions. Why risk stealing the spotlight from the bride or the dearly departed with a tacky case of raccoon eyes?

  T – is for terrific face cream. Now, I’m not talking about something you find on the shelf with those expensive oils and lotions. Just pass on by that part of the pharmacy and head over to the department selling hemorrhoid essentials. Yes. I am serious. What shrinks your undesirables also shrinks the pores in your skin leaving you looking fresh as a baby’s bottom. I would recommend you use the gel and not the cream so you don’t look like you’re wearing frosting. No, I am not kidding. Just try it and you’ll thank me.

  T – is for teasing. No, not the kind that ends up irritating a man more than capturing his attention. I’m talking about teasing your hair. In the South, we know that the higher the hair, the closer to heaven. So, unless your mama’s gene pool gifted you with naturally bouncy and beautiful tresses, you’re going to have to improvise. And that means you’re going to have to learn to tease. Some stylists call it back combing, but whatever the name, the procedure is the same. Lift up a section of hair and using your rat tail comb—yes, that is what they are called—comb down toward the roots until you’ve got a nice little lift. Now listen close on this next step. Way back when, girls would apply a nice coat of hair spray to seal in the style. I don’t recommend that unless you like the helmet head look. Instead, I want you to apply a coat of hair spray to your comb and repeat the process of teasing one more time. Now see how that holds up? You’re welcome.

  Y – is for you! Because what man in his right might can resist you? Not one with any good sense, and not after you have followed all these beauty tips. Just remember, pretty is as pretty does!

  About the Author

  Kathleen Y’Barbo

  Bestselling author Kathleen Y’Barbo is a Carol Award and RITA nominee of more than fifty novels with almost two million copies of her books in print in the US and abroad and nominations including a Career Achievement Award, Reader’s Choice Awards, Romantic Times Book of the Year, and several Romantic Times Top Picks. A proud military wife and tenth
-generation Texan, she now cheers on her beloved Aggies from north of the Red River. Find out more at www.kathleenybarbo.com.

  Look for more books from these authors at your favorite Christian retailers.

  Oh, and while you’re at it, hang on for the ride with the characters you met in these stories. They might just re-appear in future books!

 

 

 


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