When the Stars Come Out--A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  Jackson motioned Hazel forward, and she edged into the bay in a series of starts and stops. He offered a hand out of the car. She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. The opening was there for him to ask about his mother, yet he bypassed it, knowing blasting through that door would leave painful marks.

  “What seems to be the problem this time?” It was difficult to keep his sarcasm at bay when it came to the Crown Vic’s frequent trips into the garage. At some point there really would be something wrong, and they were likely to overlook it.

  “A funny noise at idle.”

  Jackson slipped around her to start the engine. Instead of retreating to the waiting room for coffee, Hazel followed him to the front where he found the latch and propped the hood up. Engine noise filled the space, yet an uncomfortable vibe had Jackson glancing over at his aunt.

  “I’ll replace your air filter and see if that fixes things.”

  She wasn’t looking into the engine compartment but at him. The questions he needed to ask her built like a pressure cooker until they were all he could focus on. He turned the ignition off and half sat on the front seat of the car. She followed him and waited, her eyes almost level with his.

  “Wyatt said you know how to get in contact with our mother.” He put it out as a statement, but needed confirmation.

  “I do.”

  “Do you talk every Sunday or something?” Resentment seeped through his usually rock-solid defenses like river mud through a sieve.

  “Nothing like that.” She shifted on her low-heeled sensible black shoes, the lines around her eyes deepening. “She contacted me about ten years ago.”

  “Ten years?” An agitated energy popped him up and got him pacing beside the car.

  He would have been graduating high school. The day he’d donned the cap and gown and walked the stage in front of his best friend-slash-brother, he’d scanned the crowd and wondered if she would show up. Every birthday and seminal event in his life, he’d done the same. It was an instinct or compulsion he’d never admitted to and couldn’t seem to stop.

  Hazel didn’t answer him.

  He stopped and faced her, feeling for a moment as if they were enemies instead of allies. “What did you tell her about us? What did she want?”

  “She wanted to see you.”

  “Then why didn’t she?”

  “Your father, of course. Hobart was a good daddy to you boys, but the man was stubborn as all get out and held on to too much hate where your mama was concerned.”

  That much was true. He’d gotten rid of any evidence their mother had existed—minus them, of course. Not a single picture remained to stoke even vague memories of her. “What’s she after? A cut of the garage? I’m surprised she didn’t roll up the day after Pop died with her hands out.”

  “Have you never made a mistake, Jackson Elkanah Abbott?” Hazel shook her head, the use of his full name a sure sign of her disappointment. And, like when he was six and a Hot Wheels car had found its way into his pocket at the store, he felt it keenly.

  Easier to avoid her grenade of a question. “She abandoned us by choice.”

  “All right then, have you never done something you regretted?”

  He glanced toward the barn as if he had X-ray vision and could see Willa. What was she doing? Wrestling with her own regrets?

  “Regrets have a way of growing deeper roots every year,” Hazel said gently, as if sensing his softening.

  “When’s the last time you talked with her?”

  “Late this summer. I had hoped Wyatt would reach out to her, but he’s too wrapped up in Sutton.”

  He would let Wyatt share the happy news with their aunts. “Does Ford know where she is?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “We’re wondering if maybe he’s with her.”

  Hazel made a throaty sound of surprise. “It’s possible, I suppose.” She opened her pocketbook and removed a folded piece of stationery. When he reached out, she pulled it away. “Are you only contacting her because of Ford?”

  With his aunt staring at him with the same eyes that stared back at him from the mirror, he could only be truthful. “Yes.”

  She gave a sharp nod. “Promise me you’ll hear her out and give her a chance.”

  A chance to what? Reenter their lives and play a happy family after being gone for twenty-plus years? His resentment ebbed as quickly as it flared. Before Willa, he would have never given his mother a second chance. His black-and-white world view had been blurred to gray by Willa.

  “I promise,” he said gruffly.

  She extended the paper, and he took it. With fingers that felt too clumsy to even tighten a bolt, he unfolded the sheet. Belinda. Oak Grove, Louisiana. She hadn’t gone far. Oak Grove sat a few hours away, close to the Arkansas border.

  Did he have a passel of half brothers or sisters running around? “Did she remarry? Have more kids?”

  “Nope. She pined for you boys and Hobart too.”

  He wasn’t sure how to reply, and Hazel’s knowing, too-wise eyes weren’t helping. He turned to the nearest supply bin. “Let me get a new air filter.”

  When in doubt, he always changed the filter. The air circulation in the Crown Vic was the cleanest in Cottonbloom Parish. It took him a scant ten minutes to button everything up and drop the hood. He followed his aunt to the driver’s side.

  She fired the car up and rolled down her window. “When are you going to call?”

  “Soon.” After he had a chance to mull over every implication and write his playbook.

  “I’ll see you at church and for Christmas Day lunch, won’t I?”

  “Of course.” He bussed her cheek, and she rolled up her window, seemingly satisfied.

  He waved her out of the garage, locked everything back up, and took the stairs to the loft two at a time, anxious to verify Willa hadn’t magically disappeared.

  He slowed at the top and eased the door open. She was lying on the couch, her eyes closed and a book tented over her chest. River lifted her head from where she was curled at her feet, but otherwise seemed as loath to disturb Willa as he was.

  He sat in the armchair close to her head and watched her sleep. Did she feel safe with him? He hoped so. Even more, he hoped she considered him as more than a protector or friend, although he wanted to be both those things for her too.

  But if she woke up to find him staring at her like this, she might decide he was a creepy weirdo. He picked up the top book of the stack she’d brought from the trailer. The fact her most precious possessions included borrowed library books said a lot.

  He turned to the first page. It was set in the Wild West. He read a page and then another and another, going slow and running his finger along each line until he was caught up in another time and place.

  “Do you like it?”

  His gaze shot off the page to meet hers. Her eyes were soft and sleepy and sexy in a way that made him want to take her back to bed. He nodded, unable to knit together letters to form coherent words.

  She spun her legs to the floor and stretched her arms above her head. The thin cotton T-shirt emphasized the curves of her body. He swallowed and forced his gaze off her breasts and back to the pages of the book, but the black-and-white text ceased making sense.

  “I should go.” Her voice lilted on the edge of a statement and question.

  “No, you shouldn’t.” His voice emerged too harsh, and he forced a coaxing tone. “It’s not snowing anymore, but it’s still bitter cold out. You’d be miserable in your trailer.”

  “I’ve survived worse.” The rawness of the admission had him closing his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her.

  “I know,” he whispered. “But this isn’t about surviving, okay?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve.”

  “So?”

  “Aren’t you going to spend it with your brothers?”

  Christmas Eve had never been a huge holiday for the Abbotts even before his pop had died. It had been up to the boy
s to get down the artificial tree and decorate it. Eventually, they had outgrown the magic and had stopped celebrating it at all. Except, Hazel and Hyacinth made sure they went to church Christmas morning, followed by a big supper and a present apiece.

  Jackson assumed that tonight Wyatt would be with Sutton, and Mack would be asleep before eight. “We’ll go over to the aunts’ house for Christmas Day supper, but I’ve got nothing going on tonight. Stay.”

  When she didn’t answer right away or even look at him, he took her hand in his. She turned her hand and skimmed her fingers over his wrist. His heart thumped faster and harder against his ribs. He massaged his thumb down the middle of her palm. His body was asking a question he couldn’t verbalize.

  He could back away now and pretend the sexual currents sizzling between them didn’t exist. Time and inattention would squash whatever struggled to break ground between them. He could go back to his tidy half-life. Or could he?

  If she stayed the night, they would be burning bridges and altering their relationship forever. Change was bearing down on him like the sharp corner in a race he was sure to lose yet was determined to see to the finish line.

  His hand tightened around hers and the words welled up from his chest. “Please stay.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Willa was taken aback at the almost begging tone of his voice. He wasn’t being polite. Need and want and desire were naked in his eyes. Her lips formed her answer before her brain could process the implications. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

  In the split second after the words left her mouth, her brain caught up. She understood exactly what her answer meant. She was terrified, but the past few weeks had unlocked a part of her that craved his touch and attention and wanted him no matter the consequences.

  It reminded her too much of her teenage self, but she wasn’t that naïve, stupid girl anymore. Could she have Jackson and protect herself at the same time? As impossible a task as it seemed, she would try.

  The first step in self-protection was to break contact before he read the depth of her desire in her eyes. She disentangled their hands and stepped to the window.

  She glanced over her shoulder. He sat and watched her like a hunter waiting for his prey to exhibit a sign of weakness. With the silent declarations hanging between them, a constant thrum of arousal vibrated the air.

  “Want to watch a movie?” His smile was so slight his dimples remained hidden, but it was enough to settle her nerves.

  “Sure.” She forced a casual stroll back toward the couch and plucked the remote from the coffee table. “But I get to pick.”

  His groan was good-natured and eased the intensity of the mood. She flipped on the TV and found a funny holiday movie she remembered as a kid. The promise of what was to come simmered underneath their laughter, but a budding excitement overtook her earlier trepidation.

  This was Jackson. The man she’d worked side by side with for two years. She’d confessed the worst about herself the night before and yet he was here and still wanted her. He was honest to a fault, honorable, and sexy as hell with his perfect stubble and dimples and jacked biceps. The sexual energy heated up a notch.

  “You’re not watching the movie.” His face remained in profile.

  She cleared her throat and tried to focus on the grown man in an elf costume on the big screen, but her gaze kept finding its way back to him.

  “Have I grown an extra head?” This time a dimple creased his cheek with his smile.

  “Yep. You sure have.” She smiled back even though he wasn’t looking.

  She swallowed, gathered her courage, and ran her fingers over his lips. His bottom lip was fuller than his top, but both were masculine to the extreme. A little hard, a little unforgiving, but they’d been unbearably gentle on hers the night before.

  Her bones turned to taffy, and her breathing bottomed out, her lungs working faster but pulling in less and less oxygen. His gaze roved her face and he raised a hand. She flinched slightly, and his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak. He cupped her jaw, his thumb stroking across her cheekbone while his strong fingers massaged the back of her neck.

  Had she ever felt anything so amazing? She hadn’t until his mouth dropped to hers, and he worked his magic. This time, though, she wasn’t planning on running—unless the destination was his bed. He set the pace of the kiss. Slow and devastating to all the defenses she’d spent years perfecting. A languid sensuality filled the space that caution had vacated.

  He pulled back and the loss of his lips had her prying her eyes open. He looked at her like she was special and precious and her heart felt like a fragile ornament he could easily break.

  “How blind was I?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” Her tingly lips formed words with difficulty.

  “To have you by my side all this time and not notice how beautiful you are.”

  “I’m not.”

  His smile held a hint of sadness but she wasn’t sure why. He tucked a piece of her butchered hair behind one of her ears. “It took you threatening to leave to open my eyes. Promise me you won’t run away.”

  Guarantees and promises were useless. “I’m scared.”

  “Of me?” He speared his hands into her hair, his fingers working her scalp and sending waves of sensation through her body. He hadn’t even touched her below her neck yet her body was impatient for more.

  His eyes demanded the truth, and she swore she would give him as much truth as she was able. “Of how you make me feel and what we’re getting ready to do. I haven’t gotten close, you know, physically, with anyone since I ran away from home.”

  He blinked and tilted his head as if rolling the fact around in his brain. “Five years?”

  “Five years and three months, but who’s counting?” A strained laugh escaped.

  He didn’t show any signs of amusement. Dropping his face to nuzzle his nose next to hers, he whispered, “I won’t hurt you, darlin’.”

  The endearment sparked a fire in her chest. She’d been called darlin’ and sweetheart and sugar but never by a lover and never in a rough, honeyed voice. But she wasn’t fooled. He might well break her heart.

  “Will you make me feel good?”

  “I’ll make you feel better than good.” With his declaration ringing in her ears, he stood and held out his hand, waiting for her to choose.

  She chose him. No matter what happened tomorrow or down the road, she would never regret this moment and hoped he wouldn’t either. Maybe she was undeserving, but luck didn’t bend her way often, and she would grab hold of whatever good the universe offered.

  She slipped her hand into his and stood. He smiled and scooped her into a cradle hold. Tucking her face into his neck, she laid kisses on his hot skin as his stubble scraped pleasurably against her lips.

  He set her down on the bed. With her legs dangling over the side, she propped herself up on her elbows. What was next? Should she get naked so they could get down to business?

  She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her yoga pants, but froze when he grabbed the back of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. Her head went swimmy, everything but his chest a blur.

  He’d been shirtless the night before, but it had been dark and she’d been trapped in her nightmare. And the morning had been both super awkward and arousing. Enough light filtered through the windows to emphasize every ridge and plane of his hair-covered chest. He grabbed her knees, pulled them apart, and stepped in between, the muscles along his chest and arms popping.

  “Dear Lord.” The words registered in her ears as her own. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

  “Doing what?”

  Before she had a chance to answer, her T-shirt was gone. She was in the same cheap white bra as the night before, its shabbiness highlighted. Embarrassment flushed through her. Yet what could she do except own who she was and what she had? If he laughed or teased her, then so be it. Forcing her hands to her sides, she raised her chin and looked him in the eyes.

&
nbsp; Except his gaze was lower, his smile appreciative. He traced over the edge of the bra with the rough pad of his finger. Her nipples were visible and peaked against the thin fabric. In a lightning-fast movement, he dropped to nip at the tip of one breast with his teeth. Her hands came to the back of his head without conscious direction, but once there she tightened her hold in his hair.

  He moved to her other breast to give that nipple the same attention, and she arched closer. He slipped a hand behind her and fumbled with the clasp. It took three tries before the fabric loosened, and he brushed it aside to cup her breast.

  His gentle, sure handling of her was something unexpected and unfamiliar. He rose over her, drew her bra off, and tugged her pants down her legs, leaving her panties in place. She was exposed physically and emotionally, without anything to hide behind.

  He unbuckled his belt and made short work of his pants and underwear, not experiencing the same level of shyness she battled. A dark cloud of wariness joined her modesty.

  “Wait a second.” She scooted back on the bed and pointed. “You didn’t warn me about Goliath.”

  He glanced down and grinned, his dimples creasing his face. “I’m not one for naming body parts but I could get on board with that one.” He crawled toward her, Goliath bobbing.

  “You promised not to hurt me.” She protested even as foolishness joined the disorienting stew of emotions battering her chest.

  He dropped to her side, spread his hand over her rib cage, and pushed her flat, his fingers caressing the underside of her breasts. His erection was pressed against her hip, and her intimidation pivoted to curiosity and arousal muted her wariness. She squirmed and parted her legs a few inches.

  He laid a soft kiss on her lips and moved his hand down until his fingertips slipped under the waistband of her panties. “Trust me?”