“I don’t mind recommending him as a mechanic, but be careful he’s not using you for your connections.” The warning in his tone was clear.
Anger from some deep, dark place she’d ignored for years oozed out. “Andrew is the one who was using me for my connections, Daddy, and if you can’t see that, then you need glasses.”
“The Tarwaters have been family friends for decades.”
“Did you and Andrew discuss the election for your position?”
“He assured me I have his support.”
“I would ask a few questions at the county courthouse and make sure he hasn’t filed papers to run against you.”
“He wouldn’t.” The surety in her father’s voice was unshakable. And maybe he was right.
Any residual anger receded, and she closed the door on it. “Who are you playing golf with this afternoon?”
Once he was on the subject of golf, he was hard to stop, and she ushered him out the door, still discussing his handicap. She hadn’t even made it back to the counter to recover when the bell tinkled, and Bree swept over the threshold, pushing sunglasses to the top of her head.
Her dress was cute, her hair pin-straight, but as she drew closer, the dark circles under her eyes and general air of strain made her look worn and tired. “I thought the Judge would never leave. Did you tell your parents everything?”
“How else was I supposed to explain breaking things off with Andrew?”
“They hate me. I was at church, and your mother refused to even say hi to my mom.” Bree ran a hand over a pretty midnight blue dress on the nearest mannequin.
“I’m sorry.” And she truly was. Bree’s parents were nice people and didn’t deserve to be ostracized, especially at the place that preached forgiveness. “I’ll talk to Mother, but she never met a grudge she didn’t invite in for a good long visit.”
Bree flashed a smile, but it was brief and settled into an even deeper sadness. Guilt niggled at Sutton like a splinter left to rot, but she kept her mouth clamped shut.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Bree said. “I’m sorry for what I did, but also the way I acted afterward. I was a real bitch.”
“No arguments here.” The anger that had burned so hot toward Bree was getting harder and harder to stoke.
“I’ve always been jealous of you.”
Nothing Bree could have said would have shocked Sutton more. “Of me?”
“The way you grew up. All that money. And you’re so natural and nice, people gravitate toward you. People don’t like me. They’re afraid of me, I think.”
“I liked you.”
“I know, and I screwed that up forever, didn’t I?”
Sutton couldn’t locate an answer. A week ago, she would have yelled “hell yes,” but time had blurred the black-and-whiteness of the situation.
Bree covered her face with both hands and continued. “When Andrew started coming on to me, for the first time ever, someone thought I was better than you. Then I really did fall in love. I’m the worst person on the face of the planet.”
A badass. Sutton was a badass and didn’t want to be the beige girl that people walked all over. But, faced with a weeping Bree, her heart splayed open and the truth spilling out like her life’s blood, Sutton couldn’t not offer help.
She pulled her former best friend in for a hug and patted her back. “Yeah, falling in love is way worse than that little Korean dude threatening to annihilate the world. Or those Chinese hackers that stole state secrets. I should get Daddy to throw you behind bars for life.”
A laugh sputtered through Bree’s sobs. “How can you joke about this? I ruined your life.”
Her life didn’t feel ruined. The opposite in fact. She felt alive and excited and optimistic. She was coming out of the closet—literally—with her clothing designs, and Wyatt … The man had set up camp in her thoughts. Strike that, he was building a fortress.
“Did you ruin it?” Sutton grabbed a box of tissues from behind the counter and nudged Bree’s shoulder with it. “Because I’m not the one crying my eyes out and looking like I haven’t slept in days.”
Bree took several and blew her nose. “You look good.”
“You’re welcome to Andrew, you know. If you and he can make it work, then go for it.” She wouldn’t dance at their wedding, but nothing but indifference surged thinking of them together. On the other hand, she might dance if it was the two-step with Wyatt.
More tears welled in Bree’s eyes. “He hasn’t given up on you. He loves you.”
Sutton had to remind herself they were talking about Andrew and not Wyatt. “He never loved me. He wanted to be the Judge’s son-in-law, not my husband.” She paused for a moment. “Do you think that maybe a small part of you wants to be a prominent lawyer’s wife and not Andrew’s wife?”
“All I know for sure is that I wish I’d never hurt you.”
She wasn’t ready to give Bree the absolution she so obviously craved, but for the first time, Sutton could see a time in the future when she would. “I know, but you did.”
A breath shuddered out of Bree, but she contained any more tears. “Are you this happy because of Wyatt Abbott?”
The question struck her like a slap. Not the kind given in anger but the ones you gave people who had fainted. Sutton blinked at Bree. Was she happy? She definitely wasn’t unhappy. Any woman who had been cheated on and dumped by her fiancé should be unhappy. Was there something wrong with her that she wasn’t?
Ignoring her philosophical crisis, she touched the spot on her neck where Wyatt had left his mark. In the most basic of ways, he’d made her very, very happy this morning. “Yes, Wyatt makes me happy.”
“I’m glad. Is it getting serious?” Bree asked, her eyes lighting with a shrewdness Sutton associated with her job as town counsel. Was Bree interested as a friend or ferreting out details she could use against Sutton later?
Forgiveness and trust weren’t one and the same. Would she ever blindly trust a friend or lover again? “I need to get back to work. Inventory.” She worried how easily the lie rolled out.
Bree rubbed her arm, hunched her shoulders, and took shuffling steps backward. Shades of the uncertain girl with frizzy hair and acne Sutton had known so long ago had her hand coming up, but she stopped herself before the gap between them was bridged and turned her back to Bree.
The tinkling bell on her exit signaled a transition. Whether it was a death or rebirth, Sutton wasn’t able to tease out. Her life had become irrevocably complicated over the last weeks. Wyatt was the one golden thread to grab hold of through the mess.
What he offered was pure physical pleasure plus a sprinkling of hope and laughter. The fact they got along and could talk and make each other laugh didn’t mean anything. It was fundamentally about the simple act of sex.
She toyed with the scarf around her neck. Problem was the morning interlude had marked her deeper than a hickey on her neck. Echoes of pleasure from that morning mixed with the self-doubt circling her head.
“You hear all that, Mags?” Sutton asked.
“Your life has been more exciting than any of my books.” Her sister popped out from behind a mannequin she was fitting with one of Sutton’s gowns. “I’m putting this in the window, and I guarantee it will bring people in.”
Sutton couldn’t watch. She imagined it was like watching your child go up onstage and perform. A combination of hope and worry and terror.
She retreated to her office and stared at her phone. Crazy colorful sex. That was the goal, right? He’d told her to get a list of fantasies ready. Except it wasn’t the feel of him, thick and hard in her hand, that held her focus, but the depth of sadness in his eyes. He had been hurting last night.
Thinking about U. There. A simple yet open-ended text. Minutes passed. He was probably in the middle of some complex mechanical thing under a car. Or maybe he regretted everything. She paced.
Thinking about U2. And this morning. But have to cancel tonight. Sorry.
Not work, but I’d be terrible company. Talk to you tomorrow though. Promise.
K.
She tapped her phone against her chin. He wasn’t blowing her off. Whatever was making him bad company involved his father’s death. Whether it had been a day or a year, Wyatt’s grief was still raw.
As crazy as her parents drove her, losing either one of them would be devastating. Wyatt had now lost both his parents, one through abandonment and one through death. Her chest tightened in reflected pain. Even with him over the river and miles away, she wanted to soothe him somehow.
What did one do for a death in the family? In Cottonbloom, grief was counseled with casseroles. So what if his father had died a year ago? Wyatt was still grieving him. She would whip something up and drop it by the shop. No strings attached. Just like their relationship.
* * *
Mack squeezed Wyatt’s shoulder on the way out the door. It was the only acknowledgement of the one-year anniversary of their pop’s death. Sadness and melancholy had spread over the garage like an oil spill.
The fact Mack was retreating to the house before Wyatt had packed up said more than words. Jackson had already disappeared. Probably heading for the racetrack. He seemed to work out most of his problems going round and round as fast as possible.
Yet … Wyatt had needed his brothers. He wanted to sit around and trade stories about their pop, but none of them were good at talking about the important stuff. Him included, he supposed.
He picked up his phone and stared at the texts between him and Sutton. He had been honest. That didn’t mean he didn’t want her. He did—badly—but he wouldn’t be able to hide the intensity of his need under a flirty, superficial smile. Not tonight.
Still, his thumbs hovered over the keypad. The comfort of her company and her body called, but that’s not what they were doing. His already aching heart squeezed painfully.
He turned off the lights in the shop and stood there for a long moment. The quiet was disconcerting and lonely as hell, the shadows pressing at him. He backed out the door and took deep breaths of the humid air. It wasn’t even five. The night stretched to forever.
He stripped off his shirt, strapped on gloves, and let the punching bag bear the brunt of his grief. His arms burned and sweat trickled down his back. It was only when his lungs ceased to pull in enough oxygen that he stopped and hung on the bag, swaying like they were dance partners. He rested his forehead against the canvas and closed his eyes.
“Are you finished or was that round one?” Sutton’s voice came from behind him.
He turned, praying his lack of oxygen hadn’t turned him hallucinatory. She leaned against the doorway of the barn, a bottle of wine in one hand and a covered dish in the other. She was in a tight white V-neck T-shirt, a striped skirt, and flip-flops with big pink flowers between her toes. The smile on her face was hopeful and sweet and a little sheepish.
He wanted to chalk his weak knees up to his workout, but he had a bad feeling she was the cause. His insides buzzed like a streetlight at dusk.
He didn’t want to be alone.
He wasn’t like his brothers, who shut down and turned inward when troubles came to call. His pop’s death had been devastating for all three of them, but Mack and Jackson had remained stoic, and needing comfort signaled a sign of weakness in his family.
Every nerve ending screamed at him to take her into his arms, but he resisted. Barely. “I’m calling it a draw. Whatcha you got there?” He hoped he didn’t sound as pathetic and needy as he felt and gestured with his chin toward her hands.
“Casseroles heal all hurts.” She held up the bottle of wine and examined the label. “And if that doesn’t work, alcohol should do it. I can drop this off and go, but”—she shifted on her feet and bit her bottom lip—“I had a feeling you might need company.”
“What gave me away?”
She took a step forward and his feet shuffled to meet her halfway. He took the wine bottle, and she put her free hand in the middle of his chest. His heart felt like it was trying to break free of its confines to experience her touch.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about everything you told me last night. I had a feeling you might need a friend.” She shrugged a shoulder but didn’t drop her hand. “Is that crazy?”
“I happen to relate to crazy. It runs in my family.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and glanced his thumb across the soft back of her hand. She leaned even closer to him. So close he could feel the residual heat coming off the dish propped on her hip.
“Your family is not crazy.” Her voice was breathless and vaguely distracted sounding.
“Have you heard about the curse?”
“What curse?” Her hand twitched on his chest, her fingernails scraping against his skin erotically.
“There’s a long history of twins in my family. My aunts Hyacinth and Hazel are the previous generation’s set. Jackson and I are the most recent.”
“Guess that means one of you boys will have twins.”
“No set of twins have ever gone on to get married. A bunch of Abbott old maids and bachelors.” He tensed although he wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.
She was silent for a moment, a crinkle appearing between her eyes even as she smiled. “You don’t really believe that will happen to you, do you?”
What had been a funny family story had turned into an ominous one. After the last two weeks, he was very much worried that would happen to him. Admitting that would cement his crazy status. Her gaze dipped to where their hands entwined over his heart before rising to meet his.
A long moment passed in which all they did was stare into each other’s eyes. The bond between them was strengthening by the second. He recognized the danger, uncuffed her wrist, and stepped away.
“Looks like there’s plenty to share. You wanna come up?” His voice sounded strange.
She followed him toward the loft stairs. “I don’t know if you classify as crazy, but I’d say you’ve inherited more than a touch of wildness.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to be mighty disappointed.” He halted midway up the stairs and turned.
She took one more step, putting them so close he could kiss her. She tilted her face up to his, her tongue dabbing along her bottom lip. His breathing accelerated as if he’d gone another round with the body bag.
“No way are you going to disappoint me.” Sutton’s laugh was throaty and sexy.
Her eyes were hypnotizing and his stomach swooped. Clearing his throat, he continued up into his loft. Without her eyes on him, he found his footing, but he could feel her presence like a caress.
Once inside, he backed away as if she were an explosive. “I need to hop in the shower.”
“Take your time.” She veered toward the kitchen area. “I’ll pop the casserole into the oven to heat back up and open the wine. Daddy made me promise to let it breathe.”
Out of sheer cowardice, he stayed in the shower long after he’d scrubbed himself clean. He rubbed the steam off the mirror, seeing a fuzzy reflection of himself. She was returning the favor and here on a mission of mercy.
He glanced around and cursed. His habit was to streak around naked, and he’d been so intent on escaping her, he hadn’t brought any clothes in with him. He wrapped a towel around his waist and poked his head out the door. The smell of the casserole made his mouth water, and the bottle of wine was in the middle of his small table uncorked.
Had she left? He took a step out of the bathroom, and she straightened from a long shadow at the window, holding a water glass filled with red wine. Water dripped from his hair and down his chest and back, and his grip on the towel at his waist tightened.
They stared, and the longer they stared the more electric the air grew between them. Wyatt had never experienced the kind of gravitational pull she exerted with any other woman. Whatever storm brewed behind Sutton’s eyes had nothing to do with casual fun.
He held his ground this time, but the challenge he’d sensed in her faded into a smile he recognized. It was the one that made her eyes crinkle and settled a warmth that helped burn away his worries of the future.
“You get dressed, and I’ll set the table.” She had kicked off her flip-flops and her skirt swished around her thighs as she headed to the kitchen area.
He left the door cracked and grabbed a pair of broken-in jeans and a T-shirt. Watching her putter around the kitchen through the narrow opening, he pulled his clothes on. She was on tiptoes reaching for something on the top shelf. The homey sight settled a knot in his belly and an ache in his chest. Whatever affliction he was suffering was more complicated than simple lust. It felt closer to longing.
He wasn’t sure where the night was headed, but he made his bed just in case they got up close and personal with it. He covered the stew of frustration and anticipation with a smile and joined her. A quick peek inside his oven revealed a bubbling, cheese-topped casserole.
“Five minutes to go. Time enough for a glass. Daddy has good taste; the wine is delicious.” She got down another water glass and poured him some.
“I’ll bet the Judge would be horrified if he knew we weren’t using proper glasses.”
Her laughter was slight yet held a tease. “He’d probably disown me.”
He sat down, the table only big enough for two. It had been handed down from an Abbott relation when he and Jackson had been furnishing the loft. Most of the hand-me-downs they’d replaced with nicer things over the years, but the table was so seldom used, they hadn’t bothered. He and Jackson usually ate on paper plates in front of the TV. Two mismatched dinner plates were flanked by silverware. Sutton was probably used to eating off china.
He took a sip of the wine. He was more of a beer connoisseur, but even his inexperienced palette sat up and took notice. It was good. She joined him and the silence that followed wasn’t the comfortable kind.
They weren’t friends or lovers or even dating by the strict definition. But potential for all three brewed between them.
Leave the Night On Page 20