by Ava Miles
“Yes, he has like thirty bottles, mostly with naughty names. I think he buys them just for that.”
“You’d better believe it,” he said and headed to the back, where he let himself out to the outdoor dining area with its massive grill.
As he fired it up, he heard Rory making gun noises and, sure enough, the boy came running around the side of the house a moment later. Annabelle was in pursuit, and the four dogs were running at various intervals between them. It looked like they’d gotten bored with their movie. The kids were brandishing sticks, and while he couldn’t make out their game, the elation on their faces said it all.
They were having the time of their lives, which was exactly as it was supposed to be.
It made him so grateful to see the change in them. When they’d first moved to Dare River, they had been tentative and quiet, particularly Rory, but they’d broken out of their shells and learned to play like the kids they were.
“Hey, Mr. McGuiness!” Annabelle called out, a picture in her yellow dress with blue piping. “We’re fighting aliens.”
“Oh, you are?” he said as the kids ran right past him and disappeared from sight.
When the temperature on the grill reached four hundred, he oiled the chicken breasts and put them on the grill. The flames shot higher, and he opened the side cabinet to retrieve the grill tongs.
“Do you mind if we eat outside, John Parker?” Tammy asked from behind him.
He turned and that bolt of attraction he always felt for her knocked him in the gut. It never failed to overwhelm him. God, she was beautiful, and her new style softened her in a way that made him want to tug her to him with her apron strings.
“I don’t mind the heat,” he said, keeping one eye on the chicken. It would be embarrassing if he burned them because he was too busy staring at his hostess.
“Great,” she replied, tucking her hands in her Capris like she didn’t know what to do with them. “I’ll just set the table.”
When Rye had created this outdoor space, he’d spared no expense, going so far as to add an outdoor sink and cabinets so no one would have to run indoors for supplies. The plates Tammy pulled from the cabinets weren’t the ones he, Rye, and the boys had used when they’d barbecued here in the past. No, these were white plates with a blue chintz pattern. Cloth napkins in the same blue dressed up the table nicely. Tammy or Tory must have chosen the new things—they had a woman’s touch.
As he flipped the chicken, she came up beside him, her floral perfume intoxicating.
“I’m going to cut some flowers for the table,” she told him and then walked off.
The kids made another round, Annabelle yelling at Rory. Man, he remembered running like that with his sisters, dogs in hot pursuit. The thought made him smile.
Tammy returned with a bouquet of pale pink roses and some small white flowers that he didn’t recognize, her hands still covered in green gardening gloves.
“Those look lovely,” he commented as she headed to the sink.
“Thank you,” she said, dropping the leaves she’d pulled off the roses into the garbage.
The chicken was pouring off juices now, the fire rising in bursts. He watched surreptitiously as she cut off the roses’ thorns and trimmed the stems until she had achieved the desired height. Like an artist, she arranged them into an elegant display in a bulbous clear vase she’d retrieved from one of the cabinets.
Tammy took her time with things. Something they had in common.
“The chicken is almost ready,” he called out. “Do you have a platter?”
“Coming right up,” she announced, and moments later, she set a yellow one beside him on the grill stand.
“Thanks.”
As he checked to make sure the chicken was cooked through, Tammy filled water glasses at each of the place settings she’d set up before disappearing inside.
When the chicken was done, he stored the platter in the warming oven so the dogs wouldn’t go for it—never could tell—and went to help her finish up. She was spooning the rice into a yellow bowl with the same pattern as the platter. To the right, the zucchini were in another matching bowl.
Again, order.
He picked up the zucchini. “Anything else I can carry out for you?”
“No, I think we’re all set unless you want your hot sauce.”
“I’ll make sure to pick one without a dirty name,” he told her.
Her smile was so endearing he almost kissed her right then. “I appreciate that, John Parker. Annabelle would read it out loud if she saw it.”
Something about the way she said his name made him both want to keep his distance and tear down her reserve.
The gentleman respected her boundaries. The man fantasized about her surrender.
Patience, he told himself again as he selected a green hot sauce with a banal name.
They arranged the food on the table, Tammy fussing a little with where he’d set things. She walked over to a large brass bell and rang it with gusto, blushing again.
“Sorry for the commotion. Rye installed this to call the kids, since the property’s too large for me to chase them down for supper. I have to admit I like the idea even if it is a bit…well…loud.”
“I think it’s a great idea. You want the kids to be able to run free.”
And sure enough, they came a runnin’, faces flushed from exertion and heat.
“Mama, I’m thirsty,” Annabelle announced when she arrived.
“Me too,” Rory seconded.
“Tell your dogs to sit, and then wash your hands at the sink. Water glasses are on the table,” she told them.
After they’d instructed their dogs to stay out of the dining area—to John Parker’s amazement, both dogs listened—Annabelle toted a small stool over to the sink, and she and Rory took turns washing their hands. He’d never seen them fight and wondered if they did. It wasn’t uncommon for kids. He and his sisters sure had.
When they were all seated, the kids put their napkins in their laps, and Tammy smiled at them. “Rory, it’s your turn to say grace.”
He linked his hands and bowed his head. “Dear God, please bless this food that Mama and Mr. McGuiness made. Bless Uncle Rye and Aunt Tory and Granddaddy and Aunt Amelia Ann. Amen.”
“Amen,” John Parker added at the end like everyone else. He found it telling that Mama Hollins hadn’t been included in the prayer.
“I’m hungry,” Rory declared.
“Well, it’s no wonder,” Tammy commented, cutting both kids a smaller piece of chicken before serving them. “You two run and run. I’ve never seen anyone run as fast as you can.”
“Maybe we can be in the Olumpucs,” Annabelle said, bouncing in her chair.
“It’s the Olympics, sugar.”
John Parker had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
“I want to win a gold medal,” the girl announced, reaching for the zucchini.
“Rory, would you help your sister with the bowl? It’s a mite heavy.”
“Yes, Mama,” he replied, and the two lifted it together.
When the kids had their food, their chatter ceased. Yeah, they were hungry, all right. As John Parker added hot sauce to his chicken, Annabelle pointed at the bottle.
“Can I have some of that?” she asked.
“It’s a bit hot for you, honey,” Tammy said.
“Uncle Rye usually has the red stuff, and that’s hot, but I’ve never seen the green kind. Can’t I try, pretty please?”
“How hot is it, John Parker?” she asked.
Oh, if he wasn’t a gentleman…
“Not too bad. Why don’t you try some and see?” He speared a piece of his chicken and held the fork out to her. Since she was sitting across the table from him, she had to lean forward out of her chair. He could see the indecision in her eyes. Should she simply eat it off the fork, which would be an intimacy to her, he knew that, or should she try and take the end of the fork, which he was still holding?
He let
her off the hook and turned the end to her. The relief on her face was impossible to miss. She used a knife to slide the chicken onto her plate, then used her own fork to eat it after handing his back to him.
That told him a lot about how comfortable she was with him.
Not too darn much.
Somewhere inside he wanted to howl.
“It’s not very hot, Annabelle. You may have a dash on your plate and try it with a small piece of chicken. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.”
John Parker put a dab on her plate for her. The little charmer beamed a smile at him and dabbed her chicken in it. When she chewed it, her eyes grew so wide, he was about ready to run inside for a slice of bread and some milk.
“It’s so good! I need more,” she announced, her mouth still full.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Tammy said. “Please chew with your mouth closed.”
“Rory!” she cried, too excited to heed her mother. “You’ve gotta try some. It will rock your world.”
“Well if that isn’t a Rye-ism,” John Parker said, adding more hot sauce to her plate. “Rory?”
“Yes, please. Annabelle is usually right about food.”
“Annabelle is our taste tester of sorts,” Tammy informed him.
“Yep. When Uncle Rye tries something new, so do I. If I like it, then usually Mama and Rory will too.”
“But not always for me,” Tammy said, cutting her zucchini in half before eating them.
He was fascinated by how she ate. He’d been raised with good table manners, but he could never handle that much precision. Glancing at her gardens again, he noticed this time how evenly spaced the plants were, and how they rose in height from short to tall so nothing was obscured from view.
“Right,” Annabelle continued. “One time Uncle Rye taught me how to suck crawfish heads, and Mama just wouldn’t do it.”
“Even though they looked gross, they tasted pretty good,” Rory told him with a shrug. “Have you ever eaten them, Mr. McGuiness?”
“Sure have. Rye and I have even found some crawfish in Dare River.” Granted it was easier to buy them, but sometimes it was fun to fish the river for dinner fixins'.
“You like to fish?” Rory asked. “Will you take me fishing while Uncle Rye is gone?”
“Rory,” Tammy cautioned.
“Tammy,” John Parker said softly. “I wouldn’t mind. I love having a fishing companion.” Well, not always. Sometimes it was nice to be on the river at dawn when the world was quiet. But it would be a fun treat to go with the boy.
“Can I go too?” Annabelle asked.
He ducked his head to her level. “How are you with worms?”
“Oh, I like them. And there’s tons of them in Mama’s garden because she puts poop on her flowers.”
Tammy cleared her throat, and Annabelle glanced over at her.
“Well, you do, Mama.”
“We’re not supposed to talk about poop,” Rory told his sister. “Can I have some more of the hot sauce, please?”
“Of course,” John Parker said and added more to his plate.
When they finished dinner, the kids took their dishes over to the sink, and Tammy placed them in a large tub she’d pulled out. When he handed her his plate, their eyes met.
“I usually put everything that needs washing in here and take it inside.”
“Let me carry that for you,” he said, reaching for the tub.
The sides of their bodies brushed before she could step away. He felt the charge run through them both, but he managed to keep his eyes on the dishes. She wasn’t ready to see the desire in his eyes just now. Hearing her gasp had just about undone him.
She opened the door for him, and he took the tub into the kitchen and started loading the dishwasher.
“You don’t need to do that,” she said.
“I’m happy to.”
“Thank you.”
Heavens, he hoped there would come a day when she didn’t have to thank him for every little thing, when it would become so normal that she wouldn’t say a word other than to kiss him sweetly when the kids weren’t looking.
“Mr. McGuiness? Can you push me on the swing again before we go on the mower?” Annabelle asked.
“Honey, you just ate your supper,” Tammy said.
“I promise not to puke, Mama.”
Tammy’s mouth tensed at the word just like it had when the kids had talked about poop. He held back a smile.
“How about you swing tomorrow?”
“How about—”
“Annabelle.”
“Yes, Mama. I’ll go get my bike helmet so Mr. McGuiness can take me for a ride. Can we go fast?”
There was no containing his smile this time. “How fast does your uncle go?”
“Really fast,” Rory said. “Annabelle screams sometimes.”
“And how does your mama feel about that?”
“She usually works in her garden,” Rory said.
“Sometimes she even covers her eyes like she’s afraid we’re gonna crash,” Annabelle told him, like that would be the coolest thing ever.
“I see,” he responded with a straight face, or at least that was his intention.
“Y’all make me sound like a ninny,” Tammy said with exasperation in her voice.
“Nah,” John Parker said, picking Annabelle up when she held her arms out. “Just a good mama.”
“Thank you for that.”
“If you’re satisfied with cleanup, Tammy, how about we all go for a quick bike ride before I start mowing?”
If he didn’t finish tonight, all the better. He’d have an excuse to come back before their meeting on Wednesday.
“Yes, Mama, let’s go! It’ll be fun.” Annabelle wiggled with excitement.
“I think everything looks good,” she replied cautiously, “but I’m not sure—”
“Great!” Rory cried. “I’ll meet y’all in the garage.”
“Me too,” Annabelle said, struggling out of John Parker’s arms.
As the sound of their footfalls faded away, the silence stole back in between him and Tammy.
“Are you really sure you want to stay, John Parker? It’s a Friday night, and I’m sure there are plenty of more exciting things you could be doing than spending the evening with us. Like I said before, I can hire someone to mow the yard.”
He spanned the distance between them, desperately wanting to take her hand, but knowing it was too soon. Still, he could do something to make his intentions known.
“There’s nowhere in the world I would rather be, Tammy.”
Awareness flashed in her eyes, and he knew she understood him.
For now, it was enough.
Chapter 7
Tammy watched the driveway for Amelia Ann’s sporty BMW. Her sister was coming over for dinner after spending her Saturday at the law firm. Her hours were grueling, even as an intern, but she clearly loved it.
Tammy’s nerves were pounding into her like railway spikes. What would Amelia Ann say about her new look?
When the BMW finally pulled into the driveway, purring like a giant cat, Tammy let herself outside before her sister even had a chance to close her car door. Amelia Ann had obviously changed after leaving work. She was wearing black shorts with a peacock patterned top and black wedge sandals. Her bold peacock blue purse fell right off her shoulder when she caught sight of Tammy, and her mouth dropped open like she’d caught someone having sex in public.
“Oh. My. God. Tammy Lynn, you chopped your hair!”
Tammy’s fingers curled around the short ends. “Do you like it?”
She stared at her without blinking as the sun beat down on them. “Do you?”
“Yes,” she answered truthfully. “I won’t pretend it won’t take some getting used to, but at least I don’t look like Mama and her crew anymore.”
“Amen to that,” Amelia Ann said in relief. That was another thing Tammy appreciated about her sister now: she never minced words.
>
Amelia Ann shuffled forward and studied her cut more closely. “I adore it!” she said. “Really! It looks wonderful on you. You look softer. More relaxed.”
She wished she felt softer and more relaxed. It was happening, but she wasn’t all the way there yet.
“My scalp doesn’t hurt any more. I didn’t realize my head wasn’t supposed to feel that way.”
Her sister hugged her then. “That’s because you aren’t cinching your hair up as tight as a girdle. Mama’s had you wearing it up like that for as long as I can remember.”
“I know it,” Tammy said. “Of course, you were given more leeway.”
“That’s because Mama said my neck wasn’t as elegant as yours, so my hair had to cover up what nature didn’t provide.”
Good heavens. Mama had said that, and even now, it sounded cruel. “Your neck is lovely.”
Her sister’s hand caressed it, and a turquoise flower ring caught Tammy’s attention. Fun jewelry. Hmm…
“I like it, and it holds my head up just fine. Now let me check out these new clothes. Your hair left me speechless. Well, look at you.” And she whistled like Rye did. “White Capri pants and a scoop-neck top. So not ladies’ luncheon.”
“You don’t think it shows too much chest, do you?” she asked.
The black top with gold stitching at the neckline had looked regal at the boutique, but she’d spent five minutes in front of the mirror this morning wondering if it was too unseemly. She’d only kept it on because Annabelle loved it.
“Showing a little décolletage is a good thing, Tammy, unless you’re at work, and then…”
Yeah, they both knew what people said then.
“But I have two kids,” she responded. “Am I really supposed to be showing off my décolletage?”
Her sister laughed her new loud and gusty laugh, so not in Mrs. Augusta’s etiquette book: Never laugh so loud as to make others turn and stare.
“Honey, you’re not dead. Heck, you’re only in your early thirties. And it doesn’t show too much. It’s tasteful.”
Phew. That’s what she’d thought too, but it felt good to get confirmation from someone she trusted.
“I want to go shopping with you. I need more shoes, and seeing your jewelry…”