Leave the Night On

by Laura Trentham

  “Should we wait and see what happens?” Sutton asked.

  Mack crossed his arms over his chest and took a quick visual inventory. “I say we finish the floor, but leave everything we put in the storeroom. That way we minimize your loss if the worst should happen. I feel like we need to scoot over to the Louisiana side and provide muscle in the sandbagging effort.”

  “But if Sutton loses everything in the back then—”

  “Mack is right.” Sutton laid a hand on Wyatt’s arm. “With the Guard here, you boys could help save more than just my shop. Bree and I can finish the floor, right?”

  Bree had her hands planted on her waist. “You know it.”

  “We’ll stay and help too.” Hazel wrapped a hand around Sutton’s forearm, the softness of the old lady’s skin belying the strength underneath.

  Wyatt met her gaze and the fight went out of him. He gave a curt nod. As if that was the signal, the men moved in unison to grab rain slickers and ponchos and disappeared one-by-one through the gray curtain.

  She stopped Landrum Abbott before he headed out the door. “Thanks for coming. You barely know me, and I’m afraid I didn’t make the best impression at the Tavern.”

  Landrum winked, his laugh as smooth as the whiskey she overindulged in that night. “You were perfectly charming. Anyway, I know Wyatt’s taken with you, and when he calls in a favor, I answer. We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other. Maybe even at the next family reunion.”

  The implications set her heart off in a lope, but it was one of anticipation and hope.

  He disappeared, leaving Wyatt lingering at the door. “I should stay.”

  “Go. Everything was fine the second I walked in and saw you. All this can be replaced.” She waved a hand over the almost empty floor. “I’ve got hold of what’s important, and this time, I’m not letting go.”

  Wyatt bit his bottom lip. “I know I shouldn’t say it again, but damn, I love you. Not sure what I would have done if you’d told me you didn’t want me here.”

  She took a step toward him, but he matched her with a step backward. “Wyatt, I—”

  “Don’t say something you don’t mean. I’m good knowing we’re not over and done. We can talk later.” He too disappeared.

  It took the four of them another two hours to clear the floor of her shop. Hazel and Hyacinth piled into their Crown Victoria and headed home to dry out but not before both giving her a hug. Bree followed her to Mack’s house, and they unloaded the last of the boxes, stacking them on the last remaining floor space in the modest den.

  Bree retreated to the porch swing, pulled out her phone, and scrolled. After a moment’s hesitation, Sutton joined her.

  “Forecasters are saying that this front should clear by tomorrow, and we’ll dry out, but surge flooding will be a risk for a few days yet.” Bree turned her phone to display the yellow and green blobs spinning slowly on the map.

  “That’s good.”

  They swung in silence except for a rhythmic squawk of the chains. Mist covered everything and blew over them. She shivered, but stayed on the damp cushion. Bree obviously needed something else from her.

  Sutton glanced over at her from the corner of her eyes. “What’s going on with you and Andrew?”

  “Nothing. He called me after the gala and acted concerned because I was a no-show. I think that’s when he truly gave up on you.” Bree stared off toward the field of cotton across the road. “I won’t be someone’s second choice.”

  “You deserve better.”

  “That’s what I keep telling myself. Maybe I’ll eventually believe it.” Tears had thickened her voice.

  Sutton scooted a little closer so their shoulders touched. “I’ll remind you at regular intervals.”

  The rain seemed to cleanse their troubled friendship. As gray and gloomy as things appeared now, the sun would be back.

  Bree heaved a sigh and stood. “You going to wait for Wyatt here?”

  “Yep.” She had considered heading back down to help the sandbagging efforts but her arms were already sore and noodly from heaving boxes.

  Bree took off in a run toward her BMW, and Sutton watched her disappear down the road. She jogged to the barn and took the steps to his loft two at a time. A hot shower restored blood flow. She discarded her wet clothes and slipped on a pair of Wyatt’s boxers and a T-shirt with an Abbott Brothers Garage and Restoration emblem over her heart.

  She searched his cabinets and put together a meal of canned soup and crackers. After having a bowl herself, she covered the rest, ready to reheat once Wyatt made it home. Three hours later, boots on the stairs had her sitting up and smoothing her hair.

  He burst through the door, his gaze sweeping the room until snaring her.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I’m here.” Even though he was the one who’d declared himself—twice—nerves trembled her voice.

  “Coming home to you is a dream come true.” None of his usual tease lurked in his voice or face.

  “Where’s Jackson?”

  “Crashing at Mack’s.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved.” Longing shaded the word, and she thought for a moment he might toss her on the bed and feast on her. Which actually seemed like an excellent plan. Until she noticed a shiver run through his body that was born of a chill.

  “First up is a shower. A long hot one. Then food.”

  He was already halfway to the bathroom when he asked, “And then?”

  “Then we can discuss what’s next. In bed.”

  He disappeared, but not before she noted the relief that smoothed the crinkle between his eyes. By the time he emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist, she was ladling out the rest of the soup and trying to avoid first degree burns when her gaze wouldn’t unstick from his body.

  The towel dropped to the floor, revealing the hard muscles of his butt through the open door of his room. The ladle slipped from her fingers and clanged against the pot. He pulled on a pair of boxer-briefs and looked over his shoulder with a naughty half-smile.

  He didn’t bother with pants or a shirt. His amble to join her in the kitchen took seconds, but it was enough time to drive her desire past her good intentions of seeing him fed. As soon as he got within striking distance, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought their bodies together. Only the thin T-shirt she wore separated his hard chest from her sensitive breasts.

  He swooped down to capture her lips in a kiss so full of frantic desperation, she moaned and clutched him closer, wordlessly asking for more. Except she knew how much he liked her asking for what she wanted.

  “The soup will keep. Will you take me to bed?”

  He acted as needy as she felt, stripping them naked with an expediency that lacked his usual grace. Something that seemed lost forever had been found, and a new appreciation for each nuance bloomed and carved itself in her memories.

  The tickling roughness of the hair on his legs to the hard length of him between her legs to the flexing muscles of his biceps as he held himself over her. It had only been a week since they’d been together, but the moment felt pivotal.

  The head of his erection pushed at her entrance. “I need you.”

  “I’m ready.” She grasped his buttocks and egged him on.

  He buried himself in one thrust, his husky moan one of deep satisfaction. The sex was quick and dirty and hard. The niceties of lovemaking had been supplanted by something more primal.

  She reached her climax first, writhing underneath him and biting his shoulder, the intensity overwhelming. He followed soon after, shuddering and collapsing on top of her.

  She ran her fingernails down his back, and he reared up as if she’d applied an electric shock. He flopped next to her, still breathing hard. A wellspring of emotion threatened to burst out of her mouth.

  She came up on her side and propped herself over him. His eyes were closed, and she wondered for a moment whether he’d fallen asleep. She laid her hand flat over his heart, reass
ured by the steady rhythm.

  One eye opened. “Everything good?” His voice was husky.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  Both eyes were open now and narrowed on her face. “I’m a patient man. You don’t need to tell me something because you think I expect it. I only want the truth from you.”

  How could he see straight to the heart of the matter like that? “Here’s the truth. After everything went down with Andrew and Bree, I wondered if there was something wrong with me.”

  He snaked a hand into her hair and played. “There’s not a damn thing wrong with you.”

  She leaned in to give him a quick kiss. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I should’ve been more upset. My heart should’ve been in pieces. It wasn’t.”

  “That’s because you never really loved that jackhole.” The mix of confidence and doubt in his voice made her want to blurt out what he needed to hear.

  “You’re right, I didn’t. Because after the gala, I understood what a broken heart felt like. I couldn’t think about anything or anyone but you. I went over and over everything we’d said and done together. I wasn’t sure how or if I could move on with my life without you in it. I realized then how much I loved you.”

  “Truth?”

  “Nothing but.”

  He pulled her down to him, both arms coming around her in a hold that stole her breath—literally. She laid kisses on any inch of his skin within reach of her lips while whispering the three words over and over.

  “Love you too,” he whispered back, his mouth at her temple.

  The romantic moment was ruined by a loud rumble from Wyatt’s stomach. Laughing, Sutton pulled his T-shirt back on and reheated the soup. While he ate, they talked about practical matters—the rain, the river, her boutique.

  “You seem awfully calm about the possibility your shop could flood.” His bowl was empty, and he was working his way through the entire sleeve of crackers.

  “I’m worried sick, but thanks to you and your family, I’ve done everything I can do. It’s a building and some boxes of clothes. I’ve already saved what’s important.”

  He linked his hands with hers.

  “I’m glad the garage isn’t in any danger,” she added.

  His eyes hardened from warm wool to cutting slate. “Maybe not from the river.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shook his head. “Let’s enjoy tonight. Tomorrow we’ll be forced to deal with families and floods.”

  “But we’ll do it together, right?” Her bones already knew the answer. In Wyatt, she’d found a champion, protector, lover, and friend.

  “Always.” He kissed the palm of her hand. “Always and forever.”

  Epilogue

  FOUR MONTHS LATER, TWO DAYS BEFORE

  CHRISTMAS …

  Wyatt looked up from under the dash of Vera Carson’s Olds 442. Sutton paced in front of the closed bay door and peeked through the fogged windows every few seconds. A cold front had moved in, bringing with it a rare chance of snow. Children on both sides of Cottonbloom were hoping for a Christmas miracle.

  He was smack dab in the middle of his Christmas miracle. While he and Sutton weren’t officially living together, they hadn’t spent a night apart since the flood. More often than not, they ended up at her house, giving Jackson the run of the loft.

  She’d told him she’d loved him so long ago that it was no longer a shock, but still provided a zing to his heart every time she whispered it in his ear at night after they’d made love.

  He left the tangle of wires and joined her at the door. A quick check outside revealed a fallow cotton field across the road and no snow.

  “Thought you had to work this afternoon,” he said.

  “Maggie is covering for me.”

  He narrowed his eyes on her, surprised she was skipping out during their busiest time of the year. The sandbagging effort had minimized damage to both sides of Cottonbloom during the rains. The boutique had suffered the worst damage due to its proximity to the river. It had required new carpeting and fresh paint, but had been back in business within two weeks. He knew Sutton was hoping to make up lost profits during the holiday season.

  “Did you sit in a mess of fire ants?” he asked after watching her stare outside while shifting back and forth on her feet.

  “What?” Her confusion faded into a little laugh. “Ants in my pants? Ha, ha.”

  “Are you this excited about the chance of snow? It’ll melt before the sun comes up. Ground’s too warm.”

  “I’m not waiting for it to snow.” A secretive smile curled her lips and made her eyes dance. “I’m waiting on your Christmas present.”

  “Are you trying to intercept and hide it before I catch a glimpse?” He was too nervous about the present he got her to wonder too much about what she got him.

  A ring was burning a hole in his pocket. He couldn’t decide whether to end his torture early and ask her now or wrap it and put it under the small tree they’d decorated together at her house.

  “It’s a little too big to fit under the tree, so I might have to give it to you early. Is that okay?”

  “Only if I can give you your present early.” The mishmash of nerves and anticipation made him nauseous. Although he was confident about the strength of her feelings, she was supposed to have been getting married to someone else right about now.

  But life had a funny way of turning expectations on their head. It was ironic considering how many years he’d been treading water, focused on the garage and nothing else, to have his life change so drastically in such a short amount of time.

  One thing was certain, if Wyatt and Sutton ever had kids, they’d have to come up with a different story of how’d they met. He laughed. Well, son, I met your mother when I pulled another woman’s panties from under the seat of her fiancé’s car.

  “What’s so funny? Did you get me a gag gift?” she asked.

  “Hypothetically, would you be mad if I got you a whoopee cushion?”

  A metal trailer clacked as it turned into their parking lot. “Oh my goodness, it’s here.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him through the side door.

  The oversized tow truck parked straight on, blocking the view of the flatbed. Shaking his head and wondering what on earth Sutton was up to, Wyatt walked around the cab of the truck. His head grew swimmy, and he touched the fender with a shaky hand to confirm his imagination wasn’t playing tricks on him. A 1970 Plymouth Hemi Barracuda.

  It was his car. Not the exact car, of course. That one had long ago been crushed into a cube of metal at the salvage yard, but one so similar, Wyatt felt like he’d reverted into his sixteen-year-old self.

  “Where? How?” His mouth seemed capable of uttering only monosyllabic questions, even though a million more complicated ones circled his head.

  “We found it in Natchez, Tennessee.”

  “We?”

  “I knew the make and model, but finding one that wasn’t too expensive, yet wasn’t so far gone to make it worthless was hard. I needed help.” She pointed toward the doorway of the shop. Jackson stood with his shoulder propped against the jamb, a huge smile on his face.

  He wanted to go give his brother a hug and a sloppy kiss. He wanted to give Sutton a hug and a less-sloppy kiss. Hell, he even wanted to give the ’Cuda a hug.

  He looked from his brother to Sutton to the car and back to the woman who knew everything about him and loved him anyway.

  “If you don’t like it—”

  “This is amazing. Far and away the best present ever.”

  “You don’t mind that she’s a project car?” Sutton laid her hand next to his on the fender and put some tease into her smile.

  “She won’t be a project car. She’ll be a labor of love, and I’m never letting her go.”

  Sutton’s expression softened. He hoped she understood his clumsy analogy. There was no time to find out. The tow truck driver came around the side with a clipboard of papers for Sutton to sign, breakin
g their solitude.

  Jackson had disappeared. Wyatt would find him later. He didn’t have to tell Jackson how much the gesture meant. Not only the car itself, but the fact his brother had accepted Sutton like a sister, watching out for her and offering help.

  Weeks after the fact, Wyatt learned the extent of Jackson’s meddling. Wyatt couldn’t do anything but thank his brother for it. Jackson’s interference had brought him and Sutton back together.

  The events of the fall had torn at the fabric of his life, leaving gashes he wasn’t sure anyone could mend. Ford was MIA, the future of his share of the garage in question, but Christmas was upon them, and the aunts at least held out hope he’d limp back home like the prodigal son. Wyatt wasn’t so sure. Mack’s stress level was on simmer, and Wyatt dreaded the day Ford walked back into the shop making demands.

  Uncertainty hung over the garage, but the bond between him, Jackson, and Mack had only strengthened through the tribulations. Somehow they would survive. Hopefully, mostly intact.

  Although Jackson was being tight-lipped, Wyatt had sensed a dynamic shift between his brother and Willa’s working relationship and not for the better. Asking only sent Jackson further into silence. Wyatt would sit back and observe and meddle as needed. That’s what brothers did.

  And Ford … worry warred with fury. Wyatt shook his head. He didn’t want to think about Ford right now. Not with a redo of his past being lowered to the ground and his future standing by his side. Once the tow truck drove off, Wyatt walked around the Barracuda, his mind making lists and cataloguing the tasks.

  A look under the hood confirmed his assessment. Jackson had done good. Real good. Yes, it needed work, but the engine would only require an overhaul, not a replacement. He couldn’t wait to get started. Sunday drives down all of Cottonbloom Parish’s back roads would be in the cards by summer.

  Sutton had followed him around on his inspection and picked at one of the numerous rusty spots in the paint. That’s what turned most people off, but the outside damage was superficial and easily fixable. It was the inside that counted.

  He gripped the cold metal of the hood and turned to Sutton. “Do you want your present now?”