Leave the Night On

by Laura Trentham

  They spent another hour wading in the river shallows and skipping rocks. She wiggled her toes in the mud. Her makeup was probably long gone, her hair was a windblown mess, her clothes streaked with dirt, yet she didn’t care. Wyatt had climbed onto the bank and was cleaning up their picnic. Mundane chores that he performed with an economical grace.

  Gray shimmered through the clear water, drawing her eye, and she reached for the object. It was the half shell of a river oyster, the inside smooth and pearled, the gray complicated by a multitude of colors. She closed her hand around the roughed edges and held on tight.

  “Are you ready?”

  What would he say if she said no? If she begged him to stay under the evergreen all night wrapped in the quilt. Instead, the part of her that didn’t believe in magic smiled and nodded.

  * * *

  On their walk back, Sutton slipped her hand into his. People held hands all the time, but the simple gesture gave him hope that whatever was growing between them didn’t have to die after the gala. He would build a careful case as to why they could work, but he could start by showing her. Another fiery roll in his sheets would make a strong point.

  Raised voices echoing from the barn blew his plan to smithereens. Even if he could ignore the fight brewing, no way could they slip up the stairs to his loft undetected. He pulled her to a halt before they cleared the tree line and his brothers noticed him. He wasn’t sure what to say and only shook his head, but she understood.

  “Daddy wants me home for Sunday supper anyway,” she said. “Unless you need backup?”

  “Better if you go on. I’m sorry. Not the way I wanted the day to end, believe me.”

  “Me either, but I understand.” She kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand before letting go and putting space between them on their approach to the barn. She gave a little wave and disappeared around the side.

  Ford and Mack were squared off. Jackson was off to the side like a referee. Only when Wyatt heard Sutton’s car start, did he step closer, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

  As kids, the brothers were competitive and obstinate and could fight like feral cats, even Wyatt and Jackson on occasion, but Mack and Ford had nurtured and tended their animosity toward each other into adulthood. One part personality driven and one part sibling rivalry, it had festered into something darkly dangerous.

  “What’s going on?” Wyatt asked, treading softly with his voice, afraid of setting Mack and Ford off like a trip wire.

  “Mack’s an asshole,” Ford said.

  “Better that than being a traitor,” Mack shot back.

  Mack was the biggest of all of them and quick to anger under the best of circumstances. Ford was a talented manipulator, which is probably what made him an excellent salesman, and could stretch Mack’s patience reed thin in a matter of minutes. Without their father around to diffuse the situation, Wyatt feared a trip to either the hospital or police station—hell, maybe both—was on the horizon.

  Sutton’s declaration from the night before popped into his head. Was he more like their pop than he thought? Jackson had taken up his usual stance on the edge of the action, observing and never stepping into the fray. Without either of the aunts there to take them to task, Wyatt was the only one who stood a chance at brokering a peace.

  He inserted himself, forcing Ford and Mack out of reach of each other. “What’s the problem?”

  Without taking his eyes off Ford, Mack said, “Ford seems to think I’ve sent you into Cottonbloom, Mississippi, to stage a takeover of his territory.”

  “I told you this morning that Mack has nothing to do with it.” Wyatt turned to Ford.

  Ford pivoted around. “It was all your idea?”

  “First off, I was up there because Sutton invited me.”

  “Her father’s been talking up the garage. What’s he getting in exchange?” Ford asked. “Or maybe I should ask what are you giving to Sutton in exchange?”

  A hint of salaciousness undercut the question and put Wyatt on the defensive. “You’d best stop right there, brother.”

  “You always did love your projects. You’re taking advantage of her after Tarwater dumped her.”

  “That’s bullshit. She dumped him after she caught him with—” He bit his tongue until he could taste blood. Ford had goaded him into saying too much.

  “So it’s true. Tarwater was cheating on her.” Ford mulled the words as if determining their value to him. He turned his pointed gaze back on Wyatt. “Are you two dating or what?”

  “We’re hanging out.”

  “And is the Judge talking up the garage because you’re hanging out?”

  “I don’t know.” His eyebrow twitched and he pressed his thumb along the bone, hoping Ford hadn’t noticed.

  “Goddamn, you are whoring yourself out for business. She must be desperate. How much longer can you milk the situation? I’m sure you’re itching to move on.”

  Before he could consider his action, he had Ford’s starched dress shirt in his fist and Ford’s body up against the wall, his forearm pressed against his throat. “If I hear you talking about Sutton like that, I’ll rip your innards out through your throat. You got me?”

  A smile hovered at Ford’s mouth. Wyatt had given up too much information. Mack patted Wyatt’s shoulder, and he stepped back.

  Ford rubbed his neck. “I guess after Tarwater she was looking for a different experience, but she’ll get tired of dirty picnics in the woods and this place and you.” He gestured around the barn, ending with Wyatt.

  His words jerked Wyatt back like a punch. Too much truth resided in the insult.

  “You’re not planning to go to the gala, are you? You’ll only mess up my plans and make the garage look like some hick operation.”

  “Too bad. I’m going.”

  “I would advise against it. No telling what might happen if you show up.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m protecting our business.” Ford smoothed a hand down the front of his linen shirt, but the wrinkled imprint of Wyatt’s fist remained.

  Mack’s forced nonchalance did a poor job covering the tension hunching his shoulders and drawing his hands into fists. “Only one problem with that logic, bro. I’ve had more calls booking estimates in the last week than in the last year from your efforts.”

  “What are you talking about? The Judge can’t be that influential.”

  “Seems like our boy Wyatt is doing fine without the Judge’s seal of approval. A Ms. Eckert called and raved about Wyatt. She wants us to restore her late husband’s 1959 Cadillac and take it to auction. Apparently, there’s a widow’s walk of classic cars collecting dust, and Effie down at the Quilting Bee has passed our info along to several of her friends.”

  “That dried up old prune had a ’59 Caddy sitting in her garage?” Ford tacked on a four-letter word.

  Wyatt refrained from giving Mack a high five, but couldn’t stop himself from taunting Ford. “You’d have been better off spending your time down at the Quilting Bee instead of the golf course.”

  Ford didn’t answer, but his expression said bridges were burning to ash. He left without another word. The slam of the heavy back door to the garage reverberated.

  Jackson broke the silence. “So that’s what you’ve been up to. Cozying up to the ladies at the Quilting Bee.”

  Wyatt went to the fridge, grabbed three beers, and handed them out. The cold beer extinguished a good portion of his anger, leaving only dread in the pit of his stomach. “Crossing paths with Ms. Eckert was total chance. The Quilting Bee was actually Sutton’s idea. I’m not a user or a faker like Ford.”

  Mack uncapped his beer and pointed it at Wyatt. “You don’t have to fake it. You’ve got something none of us have, including Ford.”

  Mack didn’t hand out compliments often or easily. Perfection in the garage was expected, therefore not to be cheered.

  “What’s that?” Wyatt asked.

  “Likeability. Real charm.
You exude trustworthiness.” Mack killed half his beer in one go and wiped his mouth before saying, “Probably why women have always thrown themselves at your feet.”

  “I don’t think Wyatt cares about how many women his honeyed tongue attracts anymore.” Jackson took a measured sip. “You’ve gotten attached to Sutton Mize.”

  Twin powers had screwed him once more. Wyatt’s response was a shrug and retreat for another beer. He leaned against the jamb of the wide-open double barn doors and slipped to sit on his heels, his arms resting on his knees and his hands dangling.

  Jackson mirrored his position at the other door, while Mack lay back on the couch, a beer cradled in his elbow. A few minutes passed in silence until Mack snuffled a snore from the couch.

  “Thanks for giving us privacy last night. I should have warned you,” Wyatt said.

  Jackson chuckled. “I had a foot inside before I realized what was up. Your bedroom door was wide open. Looked like you were having fun. What are you going to do about her?”

  “She made it clear from the outset she’s not interested in anything long-term or serious.”

  “But you are.” It was a statement that Wyatt didn’t bother denying. “Change her mind, then.”

  “I’m trying.” Wyatt traced a series of interlocking circles in the dirt. “I’m worried I care way more than she does.”

  “You might not have the upper hand, but I wouldn’t be too sure she doesn’t care.”

  “Sure, she likes me, but she can live without me. In a few years, I’ll be a fond memory and that’s it.”

  “Can you live without her?”

  Wyatt was thankful Jackson wasn’t teasing him or making light of the situation. “She just got out of a serious relationship. She’s not ready.”

  “Then wait until she is.”

  Jackson made it sound easy, and maybe it was that easy. Except waiting her out would be agonizing. Wyatt wanted all of her and wanted it yesterday.

  “You’ll figure it out.” Jackson pushed up and went to stand over Mack, and said softly, “I’m worried about him. He’s working himself to exhaustion.”

  “I know.”

  In sleep, Mack’s sharp edges smoothed, and he looked years younger. Wyatt was reminded of the hours in the tree and looking down into Mack’s face. Even then, he’d been more mature and serious than any of them. As if wisdom had imprinted on him in the womb.

  “If we could diffuse the Ford situation, it would help,” Jackson said. “My guess is he’s using that threat as leverage for something else. Not even Ford would sell his share out of the family.”

  The surety reflected in Jackson’s tone should have set Wyatt at ease, yet it did nothing to diminish the premonition something bad was lurking to bite them on the collective ass. Not worse than getting his heart ripped out by Sutton, but pretty bad.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Wyatt said.

  They left Mack to nap and wandered into the garage. Jackson stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked at some tools left on the floor. His restlessness registered as unusual and expectant. Wyatt had been so caught up in his own problems, he almost missed it.

  Wyatt propped his arm up on the hood of the car sitting over the pit. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “What? Nothing.”

  Twin powers went two ways, and Wyatt knew his brother was lying. “Bullshit. Tell me.”

  “Do you know how annoying that is?” Jackson sent him a side-eye.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “You noticed anything strange going on with Willa?” Jackson kept his gaze down, his feet shuffling various bolts and washers and a screwdriver from side-to-side as if looking for something of vast importance.

  “I’m gonna be honest. She’s never qualified for normal, even for around here.”

  Willa Brown was as secretive and closed-off as Jackson. Maybe that’s why they made such a good team. Wyatt made it his mission to get her to smile or laugh every day. He had a feeling she hadn’t had a chance to do enough of that over her life. But that was only a guess, because she’d rarely volunteered information about herself.

  “Ever since Pop died, she’s been acting weird.”

  “Maybe she misses the old man. They were pretty close.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but things have gotten worse the last few weeks.” Jackson usually kept worry of this magnitude contained to his cars.

  “She’s like you—an observer. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s picked up on the tension. I’m going to throw out a crazy idea here, but stay with me … why don’t you ask her what’s going on?”

  “We talk about cars, not personal stuff.”

  “You’ve been working side-by-side for two years. Asking her if everything is okay at home wouldn’t be out of left field. Does she have a boyfriend?”

  “No.” Jackson jerked as if a fire ant had bit him in the unmentionables, the single word reverberating against the concrete before he added in a softer tone. “Actually, I’m not sure.”

  “This thing with Ford has us all skittish. That’s probably all it is,” Wyatt said with more confidence than he actually felt.

  Jackson made a noncommittal noise, kicked the bolts like he would a rock down the road, and headed to the door. “I’m going to hit the shower.”

  If Sutton was right and Wyatt was the glue of the Abbott family, he was thinking he might be defective.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The week passed as if she’d stepped onto a carnival ride. Her days were busy leading up to the gala, selling dresses to ladies that had waited until the last minute or were looking for something different. She sold the gown Maggie had put in the window on the first day and another she had slipped onto a rack. Any residual gossip about her and Andrew or her and Wyatt didn’t seem to be hurting business. In fact, the season was shaping up to be one of their best yet.

  Wyatt had been busy as well. Ms. Eckert had brought her car to the garage, and Wyatt had taken on the project. His excitement over having something new was both contagious and concerning. It only made her question where she stood in terms of her personal restoration.

  Their work schedules hadn’t kept them from having fun. Sutton couldn’t remember a time she’d been happier, but it was a bittersweet feeling, like savoring the summer’s last harvest of blackberries. Three more days until the gala. The countdown was like the Doomsday Clock.

  Determined not to worry about next week or even the next morning, she had planned a surprise that would also check off one of her fantasies. She cuddled next to him on the couch, overlooking the woods. Nerves sizzled in her stomach like frayed wires.

  Was she actually going to do this? She glanced over at him under her lashes and found him staring at her, the overtones darkly sexual.

  She leaned over and kissed him. As always her body turned to taffy, sweet and malleable. Before he could take control of the situation, she put her plan into action, straddling him. The fact any of his brothers might walk in only amped up her arousal.

  The old her would be embarrassed and hesitant over what she was about to do. The new her was armed with research and the desire to experience everything, yet the old her was still there, her body trembling.

  She fisted her hands in his T-shirt and circled her hips against his erection. Her only regret was her choice of shorts over wearing a skirt. Too many layers were between them. Even so, he was hard against her.

  He dropped his head back and coasted his hands up her outer thighs, his fingertips slipping under the hem of her short-shorts. It would be easy enough to allow his hands to turn her into a writhing, begging shambles until she shattered. He enjoyed her like that, but she hoped he’d find her surprise even more to his liking.

  Biting her bottom lip, she slid off his lap to kneel in front of him. Placing her hands on his knees, she pushed them apart to scoot in between. The hands that reached for his belt shook, but she couldn’t separate excitement from nerves from anticipation. It was even better than
a carnival ride.

  He grabbed her shoulders, his thumbs digging at her collarbone. “What are you doing?” Surprise and shock colored his voice.

  The bite of his hands heightened her awareness of his strength. Considering their positions, she thought it was obvious. So obvious she didn’t have to utter the words aloud. Looking up at him through her lashes, she said, “I’m … you know.”

  His look was so befuddled, she almost smiled. His lack of confidence in the situation grew hers.

  “A blow job. I’m giving you a blow job.” The declaration came out far easier than she’d expected. Husky laughter welled out of her. She was acting on her urges, taking charge, and it felt awesome.

  “Yeah, I got that. But why?”

  How selfish had she been with him? Taking, taking, taking, and never giving him the kind of pleasure he’d freely offered her for the first time in her life. Her emotions were on a zip line, and tears sped to her eyes even as she kept a smile in place.

  “Because I want to make you feel good.”

  His grip eased, and he raised a hand to caress her cheek. She nuzzled into his touch and lay a kiss on his palm. The erotic moment took on a touch of sweetness even as she turned her attention back to his belt.

  After fumbling his buckle and button open, she paused with her hand on his zipper. His body was saying “hell, yeah,” but his eyes still betrayed an uncharacteristic uncertainty.

  “Are you okay with this?” she asked.

  “If you’re okay, I’m light-years beyond okay. This is a dream come true, actually. Like literally, I’ve dreamed about this many, many times. I can’t believe it’s actually happening. I never thought you’d—” He clamped his mouth shut.

  Far from being offended, she smiled. “You’re right. I never would have. In fact, I should warn you that I never have. How pathetic is that?”

  “Not pathetic.”

  She chuffed and looked to the ground so she wouldn’t see the pity in his eyes. He had probably been on the receiving end of dozens—hundreds?—of blow jobs. How was she supposed to measure up?

  “I’m a beginner, but I watched some how-to videos.” A simple internet search had yielded a varied and very educational list of videos, and she’d watched several from start to the grand finish. If anyone in her immediate family checked her internet history, her embarrassment would probably cause her to spontaneously combust, taking out a mile radius, which would thankfully include her hard drive.