Nash swallowed past a lump, his voice coming out craggy. “Is she … okay?”
“I guess. That thing came out of her stomach. It bawls all the time, but her and Daddy seem awful happy about it.”
“She had a baby.” Relief corkscrewed through him and unwound the bands around his chest.
“Yep. I have a brother. Asked if we could trade him for a sister, but Daddy said no can do.”
“Are you out here hiding?” Tally asked with a smile in her voice.
The little girl looked over her shoulder, her grin gone. “They didn’t even notice.”
“They will,” Nash said.
“Not for a while yet. I can walk with you if you want. Show you where I lost my two front teeth.”
Before he could answer, she jumped down, splashing in the water in front of them. The water was up to her knees, licking the hem of her dress.
“Your parents might not like you walking with us,” he said.
“They told me to never, ever go off with strangers, but you’re not a stranger, you’re Nash.” It was impossible to argue with the no-nonsense logic in the girl’s voice. She turned to face them by hopping, splashing and giggling, the bottom few inches of her yellow dress now soaked. She looked him up and down. “Thought you’d be shorter though. The tick marks stopped when you weren’t much taller than me.”
“Yeah, I moved when I was ten. I kept growing even though my mama couldn’t measure me anymore.” Sadness for an alternate future rocked him. He didn’t let himself dwell on ‘what-ifs’ often. What if his mother had lived? What if he and Tally had stayed friends?
“Did she not move with you?”
He squeezed Tally’s hand too tight, yet couldn’t seem to loosen his fingers. She squeezed him right back. “She passed away.”
The girl nodded sagely, her giggles gone. “Preacher says the best are taken too soon from the earth.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Margaret.” She made another face, able to stick her tongue through the gap in her missing two front teeth. “But everybody calls me Birdie.”
As if sadness could be shed as easily as a heavy coat, Birdie splashed and jumped her way ahead, keeping to the shallower part, close to the bank. He looked to Tally, but she just shrugged, a half smile on her face. They followed her, still hand in hand.
“Over here is where I lost my teeth.” Birdie patted the branch of a cottonwood that extended so low over the river, they had to duck underneath it. “My cousin Derek was out here with me, and we rigged up a tree branch with string. He pulled it back and then let it go and both teeth came out like a catapult. It was pretty awesome.”
“Sounds like it.” He fought a spurt of laughter and lost. Her good humor was infectious and drove away any lingering sorrow like the sun to fog.
Bubbles gurgled to the surface of the water at her feet. She poked at the mud with a three-foot-long stick she had acquired from the cottonwood tree. She dropped the stick to dig at the mud, coming up with a bullfrog the size of a small salad plate. It croaked and wiggled in her hands.
Nash offered up his net, and she plopped the frog inside. “I haven’t seen one this big in years.”
“My uncle brings me gigging with him. Says I’m the best frog spotter this side of the Mississippi.”
“What do you want to do with this one?”
“Let’s let him go,” Tally said softly.
Nash turned the net inside out and the frog swam back to the mud to burrow down. He would emerge when darkness fell to hunt and find a mate. They walked on, Birdie leading the way.
The river was the same yet different. Some landmarks were achingly familiar while others had been wiped away by time and nature. The trek to Tally’s old house seemed both longer and shorter.
Tally turned to the bank, the narrow trail up to her old backyard overtaken by vegetation. High grasses dominated the view. She pulled herself up the bank by grabbing handfuls of grass. The girl scrambled up to stand next to Tally, and Nash followed.
“Who lives here, Birdie?” Tally stared into the ocean of tall grass. The willow tree they had lain under so many afternoons had most certainly grown, yet seemed smaller to his adult eyes.
“No one now. Mama says it’s a cursed house. Like the ones in Naw’leans after Katrina came.”
“I used to live here. Years ago.”
Birdie slipped her hand into Tally’s. “It’s a good thing you left before something bad happened to you too.”
Tally’s face reflected an old wound uncovered and exposed to salt. She was the strong one, the one who had held him together when his mother was sick. Maybe that strength was a façade. No, not a façade. She was strong, but more complicated than he’d imagined. The night they’d spent together had peeled back layers, and today was exposing more of her to him. All of it was a surprise.
A whistle pierced the sounds of the river and the rustling of leaves in the trees. “Uh-oh. That’s Daddy. I’d best skedaddle. Bye, y’all.”
Birdie jumped off the bank and landed on her knees in the river. Popping up, she took off at a run, her pretty sundress wet and muddy.
“Bye, Birdie!” Nash hollered before she cleared the first bend and disappeared out of sight. Somehow he wouldn’t be surprised to discover Birdie was a ghost. Old Southern gothics had left their indelible mark on him.
“You okay?” he whispered into the silence that crashed around them.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’ve avoided coming back here. It’s been years since I’ve had cause to drive down our old street.”
She walked through the thigh-high grass and weeds toward the house. He stayed on her heels. The grass absorbed their footsteps as if they were the ghosts. Once the back of the house came into view, she stopped. One shutter hung askew while its mate was absent. This time, he slipped his hand around hers.
“Do you remember Mama’s flowers? They were so wild and pretty. And Daddy was proud of his grass.”
“I remember. Looks like Sawyer inherited your mama’s way with a garden.” The wildflowers Sawyer had planted along the bank on the Louisiana side of Cottonbloom were amazing. They had drawn him over the bridge to join Cade’s welcome-home party a few weeks earlier. He’d kept a lookout for Tally that evening but left disappointed.
“Sometimes I dream about my parents. Like they’re still here. Waiting for me. Then I wake up.” Her words came out choppy and cold, but a mishmash of emotions were vying for dominance over her face.
Nash understood every one. “When I look at old pictures of my mother, it’s like seeing someone I vaguely recognize but can’t recall from where. I can’t remember her smile or laugh or touch.”
They stood in silence until a blue jay squawked overhead. He tugged her back toward their tree. The ground around the trunk was shadowed and mossy. “Are you hungry?”
“I guess.”
He shrugged off the backpack and unloaded sandwiches, oranges, and two Cokes from an icepack. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, she tossed an orange between her hands. He leaned against the trunk, stretched his legs out, and popped the top of the Coke, the can already sweating.
She dug a thumb into the orange and pulled off the skin piece by piece. The tangy scent drifted to him on the breeze, and he closed his eyes.
“Have you ever seen a ghost through all your crypt wanderings?”
“Like in The Mummy or something?” He smiled.
“You don’t believe in them?”
He opened his eyes, and her intense stare seared his smile away. She was serious. “I’ve never seen one. Or felt the presence of one for that matter, and I’ve been in some creepy places. Do you believe in ghosts?”
“No.” She popped an orange section in her mouth. “But it’s almost as if this place is haunted by us. The old us. As if time stopped before both our families were destroyed, and we both left something of ourselves here. Does that sound crazy?”
It did a little, but the feeling also rang true somewher
e deep inside of him. Maybe that was the source of his melancholy. Maybe he’d come out here to find the part of himself he’d left behind. His heart hitched, and he closed his eyes again to get a hold on his breathing. It was rarely the physical, but the emotional that triggered an asthma attack these days.
Her heat radiated into him as she scooted next to him. His arm came up automatically to circle her shoulders and hug her close. She notched her head under his chin and snaked an arm across his chest to lay on his shoulder.
The careening between past and present was giving him emotional whiplash. The past grew distant, and he became aware of the woman in his arms, her breasts pressed into his side, her long, bare legs beside his, the scent of her surrounding him. Her hand snuck over to his neck, her fingers playing in the hair at his nape.
He was usually careful and methodical with his decisions, yet he stood at the edge of the cliff, contemplating jumping. A kiss would change everything. Or would a kiss change nothing? He wasn’t sure which outcome scared him the most.
He set his Coke down. Whispering her name, he cupped her cheek and tilted her face to his. Her green eyes blinked languorously as if she were caught in a spell. He’d always known her eyes were pretty, but with her face dappled in sunlight, he could see the shades of brown and blue that hid in the green. Beautiful eyes. Complicated eyes.
She was why none of his relationships had ever lasted. He hadn’t left part of himself on the river, he’d left part of himself with her.
Chapter Seven
Dear Lord, Nash was going to kiss her. The intent in his eyes was clear. His lips parted, and it was all she could do not to jerk him closer, faster. The pure animal in her wanted him to take control and drive her crazy—if she didn’t already qualify—but the part of her that this jaunt down the river had uncovered cowed in fear, already overwhelmed by a flurry of emotions.
Nash was her anchor—solid and logical and dependable … and sexy as all get out. She’d always thought of herself as a daredevil. She’d done things without thought to the consequences her whole life—jumped off bridges, climbed water towers, smoked pot. Even once she was grown, she wasn’t afraid to take chances. Starting her gym business had been a huge risk, but she’d approached it with total determination and no fear.
His lips were a whisper away. She could almost taste the tangy orange on his tongue. Her blood fired and sped through her veins like a rain-swollen river.
Kissing Nash was too scary to contemplate.
A noise came from her throat as she pulled away and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her body’s protest. It longed to stay pressed against his hard, hot body. She rocked on the mossy ground for a moment before standing. Facing the river, she brushed her hands down her shorts, blowing out a long, slow breath. “We should head back.”
“Tally—”
“It’s been a strange morning, hasn’t it? We should head back.”
“If that’s what you really want.”
The rustling of him packing everything up came from behind her. She didn’t look over her shoulder, but felt his eyes on her nonetheless. If she stared into those deep, brown eyes again, she’d be a goner. She might do something totally insane like throw herself on top of him.
She didn’t want to be just a way for him to connect with his past. She wanted to be something more. The realization was like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. Too risky, even for her.
Their trek downriver was made in silence. Birdie’s backyard was deserted. Tally hoped the girl didn’t get in too much trouble for messing up her pretty dress or walking off with two strangers.
She led the way to his Defender, but his hand hit the passenger door handle the instant before hers, leaving their fingers tangled.
“Tallulah.” The way he whispered her name added to her confusion. Exasperation, amusement, worry, but she couldn’t discern anger or the hint of a shattered ego. “I don’t want things to be weird between us.”
“They’re not weird.”
Things were weird. Even her voice sounded weird, all high-pitched and squeaky. The fact she hadn’t taken her hand off his was weird. The wish he’d turn her around and press her up against the cab launched things beyond weird. Thank goodness he wasn’t telepathic.
“Sure, not weird at all.” His hand flexed under hers as the door unlatched.
She hopped into the cab and pulled the heavy door shut. In the five seconds it took him to circle around and join her, she cast around for something normal to say. Before he even got the truck started, the words poured out. “Saturday should be fun. Delmar’s band is surprisingly good, and Old Rufus will pull his smoker out. His barbeque is still the best in the parish. Sawyer even said something about the church ladies selling pies.”
The engine rumbled to life. “I got used to hot tea, but never stopped craving a good pulled pork sandwich. What time?”
“People start gathering around five, but the sun goes behind the trees around six and cools things down. That’s when I’ll close up and head down.”
“Sounds like fun. I’ll meet you at the gym, and we can walk down together.” Nash backed out, and she almost asked him to drive down their old street, but it would only make her sad. They turned onto the parish road that led toward her apartment.
Once there, she didn’t immediately hop out, but took a careful look around the parking lot. It was instinctive now. Seeing nothing, she heaved a sigh and opened the door. He caught her arm.
“Let me see your phone.” He dropped her arm and held his hand out.
“Why?”
“So I can put my number in it.” She handed it over. His thumbs worked with dexterity, considering how big his hands were. “If you won’t call the police, I want you to call me if you see Heath lurking or if you get scared. You can even give me a call if you get bored or lonely. Promise me.”
He held her phone between two fingers, but when she went to grab it, he jerked it out of her reach. “Promise me.”
“Fine. I promise.” It was a promise she didn’t intend on keeping. She would handle Heath on her own.
His eyes narrowed as if he were actually telepathic, but he let her pull the phone from his fingers. She slid out of the truck and kept her head down on the jog up the stairs to her apartment. He had backed up but idled at the curb. He wouldn’t leave until she was safely inside. Her annoyance disappeared under the flooding warmth.
She unlocked her door and went straight to her front window, peeling the curtains back and waving. After waiting for a few more heartbeats, he drove off and she watched until his taillights disappeared. She stepped back out her front door, walked the few paces across the breezeway, and knocked on the opposite door. A woman in old-school Jane Fonda workout gear answered.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your workout, Ms. Effie.”
“I was finishing up my stretching. Come on in, young lady. I’ll fix us some refreshment.”
Before she could protest, Ms. Effie was off to the kitchen. The woman was a marvel. Seventy-seven and a whirlwind of energy. She was diligent about keeping in shape and taking care of herself. She knew that as soon as she was unable to climb the steps to her apartment, her son would insist she move into a nursing home. He worried about her and wanted her somewhere she would be taken care of. A burden taken off his plate.
She came out of the kitchen balancing a tray with two tall glasses and a plateful of cookies. Nudging her chin toward a flowered couch, she set the tray down on a low-slung coffee table polished to a shine.
Tally sank down onto the springy cushion and took a bite of a cookie. Peanut butter. Her father’s favorite, which meant her mother had made lots of batches of peanut-butter cookies.
“Tell me what’s going on between you and Nash. I didn’t realize the two of you were acquainted.” Waggling her eyebrows, Ms. Effie leaned into the corner of the couch and crossed her legs at the knee, a striped leg warmer bunched around her calf. Tally prayed her legs looked half as good as Ms. Effie’s w
hen she hit seventy.
“He’s an old friend, is all. We grew up on the river together. How do you know Nash?”
“Goodness, I’ve known Nash for ages. His aunt would bring him to quilting circle on occasion. Nose always in a book as a young man as I recall, but so polite. Not like some of the young’uns today.”
Tally hadn’t considered Ms. Effie’s friendship with Nash’s aunt through the Quilting Bee. “His aunt…” She took a bite of cookie.
“Leora’s a character, that’s for certain, but a good woman. Loves Nash like he was her own.” Ms. Effie took a sip of tea and tilted her head as if waiting for something.
“Maybe so, but she doesn’t hold much stock in me. In fact, I think she hates me.”
Ms. Effie made a humming sound. “You can blame your family name for that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not my story to tell.”
“But what—”
“I want to hear about Nash. What’s he like now? He dropped Leora off at the Quilting Bee the other morning and had half the ladies reaching for their blood-pressure medicine. The other half needs new glasses.”
A laugh welled up and out, like the top of a pressure cooker releasing steam. The hours of the morning had been packed with a gamut of emotions—all intense.
“Nash is—” How to describe him? One word wouldn’t suffice. She shrugged. “Nice. And funny. And sweet. And smart. And, really, really, really good-looking.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” Ms. Effie held her hands up to the heavens revival-style. A grin drew her face into a myriad of crinkles. While she had the body of a fifty-year-old, her face bore the damage of too many years spent sun worshipping. “You’re finally pursuing a man who sounds worthy of you.”
“I’m not pursuing Nash. We’re childhood friends.”
“So this really, really, really good-looking guy is just an old friend.”
“Exactly.” Tally pulled at a loose thread at a seam of the couch. “Except he tried to kiss me. Or maybe I tried to kiss him. Either way, it would have been a huge mistake.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. So you wanted him to kiss you?”
Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel Page 8