Sweet Southern Nights (Home In Magnolia Bend Book 3)

by Liz Talley

  “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning away from her. “Stop making it something it’s not.”

  “You stupid, big-headed idiot,” she said, pushing off the couch, standing over him.

  “Come on, Eva. Calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down,” she growled.

  “God, you’re acting like a normal woman.”

  “I am a normal woman, you creep. You can’t do what you just did.”

  “Why?” he asked, his eyes focused on her hands.

  “Because.”

  “Because?”

  Eva backed away from him. “You and I both know why I’m pissed. Because you turned that into something. You…” She couldn’t say it.

  A few seconds ticked by.

  “I made you want me,” he finished, the teasing gone from his voice.

  “Yes. Why did you do that? God, Jake.” Eva backed away, shoving her glasses up her nose, feeling as if she wanted to run to her room, slam the door and lock him out. Physically she could do that, but that would be childish…and he’d still be in her head anyway. She’d still taste him on her lips.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying… I don’t know why I did that. I’ve been feeling strange when I’m around you lately.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. You’re Eva. I shouldn’t feel uncomfortable around you. I shouldn’t notice your lips, the way your boobs look in a tight T-shirt. I shouldn’t think about…” He stopped, his face registering that he hadn’t meant to be so honest.

  “What are you saying?”

  “Nothing. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and getting off the couch. “I’ll go.”

  She watched him, not knowing what to do. Things had gotten out of control.

  Jake set his hand on the doorknob, turning back to her. “I’ll see you Monday, right?”

  Eva shook her head. “Dutch is covering for me. I have to go to New Orleans for family business.”

  “Then tomorrow? Hilda’s birthday party?”

  “Maybe.” She wasn’t sure if she was going. She had to go to Baton Rouge and get some things for Charlie so she could turn her girly guest bedroom into something a little boy would feel comfy in. Plus, the lady from CPS was coming over to do an inspection and meet her.

  So much in her life was about to change, and to top it off, so had her relationship with Jake.

  And that scared her because now he knew…somewhere deep down he had to know how she felt. It had been in her kiss.

  “Don’t be mad at me, Eva. I didn’t know it would turn into that.”

  And then Jake slipped out the door into the fading day.

  Leaving her wanting…leaving her knowing that she could never be the same woman she’d been just days ago.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JAKE WALKED INTO his cousin Hilda’s house and nearly stepped on his sister, who looked to be hiding in the foyer’s coat closet.

  “What the hell?” he whispered, righting himself against the door frame of the closet.

  “Shh!” Abigail said, putting a finger to her lips. “Cal’s mother is in there—” she jabbed a finger toward the formal dining room Hilda rarely used “—telling Violet I was the one who made Cal leave in the first place.”

  “What?”

  “Shh!”

  “But—” he started before Abigail cupped a hand over his mouth.

  “I know, but I still want to hear the conversation since it’s about me.” Abigail cocked her left ear toward the dining room. Jake grew still and listened, too.

  “Well, after working on the Laurel Woods Art Fest committee with her, my opinion has certainly changed,” someone said. Jake was almost certain it was Violet Joyner, the Magnolia Bend First Baptist Church’s pastor’s wife. Sounded like someone with a stick up her ass, and Violet always fit that description.

  “What do you mean?” Minnie Orgeron, Abigail’s former motherin-law, asked.

  “Well, you’ll never believe how crassly Abigail behaved, running around with that hippie guy, acting positively like a heathen. Never would have thought it of the daughter of a minister, but you never know with people. Of course they are Presbyterian.”

  Abigail’s eyes widened and she stifled a laugh.

  Minnie sighed. “I agree, Violet. What a person sees on the surface is one thing, but the inside is quite another.”

  Jake whispered, “Jeez, don’t they know heathens have more fun?”

  “I thought that was blondes?” Abigail whispered back.

  “Yeah—blond heathens have double the fun.”

  “I know,” Abigail said, wiggling her eyebrows obviously because her new fiancé was very blond and quite possibly a heathen.

  “Why are you letting those old hussies get away with talking bad about you?” he whispered, trying to peer out behind the door.

  “Because I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Abigail said with a giggle. Then she stepped out of the closet and shut the door loudly before sashaying into the dining room.

  “Oh, hello, ladies,” Abigail trilled. “Have either of you seen Hilda? My mama wants to cut the cake soon.”

  Jake could almost feel the two old gossips’ guilt slink past him. Five seconds later the ladies themselves slunk past him, giving him a quick hello, before trotting off toward the back patio, where Hilda’s seventieth birthday party was in full swing. Of course, no one would mention that they’d been celebrating her seventieth birthday for the past three years.

  Abigail sauntered by, slapping him on the butt and giving him a knowing grin. Jake laughed.

  To think his once socially conscious, uptight sister got a thrill about being gossiped about made his heart warm. Yeah, Leif Lively and love had made Abigail a lot more pleasurable to be around.

  “Hey, there, Jakey,” his father said, coming around the corner, holding a glass of fizzing, fussy punch. “Your mama’s been looking for you. She said something about Eva.”

  His stomach fluttered. “Is Eva here?”

  “No, she sent her apologies and a gift for Hilda. She already opened it. One of those kinky firefighter calendars. Eva sure has a strange sense of humor.”

  And beautiful eyes. And soft lips. And breasts that would… Jake stopped right there. Because that’s where his thoughts had kept tripping for the past twenty hours. Okay, seven of those he’d been sleeping, but still. He was in trouble.

  ’Cause he’d upset the apple cart.

  He’d lifted the rock and looked beneath to find the creepy crawlies.

  He’d spun the chamber and pulled the trigger.

  Too late now because every shade of gray muddled his thoughts. Yeah, no more black-and-white with him and Eva. And it was his own damn fault.

  Or at least most of it was.

  “Son?”

  “Oh, sorry. My mind went somewhere it shouldn’t.”

  His father frowned. “Everything okay? You haven’t been yourself these past couple of months.”

  “Nah, I’m fine. Did Mom say where Eva is?”

  “I think she had to go to Baton Rouge. No, maybe it was New Orleans.”

  Jake didn’t know whether he was sorry Eva wasn’t there or relieved. He had to get his feelings under control, and as of 3:11 p.m., which was the current time reflected on Hilda’s antique clock, he’d failed to get a grasp on that damn kiss.

  He had thought it would be funny to kiss Eva like he’d kissed almost half of the eligible female population in Magnolia Bend, but it had backfired and blew up in his face.

  Because it hadn’t been amusing in the least.

  On the contrary—the kiss had been hot.

  And it had rocked him to his core, even though afterward he’d pretended it hadn’t.

  Three years ago when Eva had strolled into the station with her no-nonsense braid and her chin jutted in determination, he’d drawn the line. Black-and-white. But now everything was gray. Like concrete. Slam-his-head-against-concrete gray. That should be a new Sherw
in Williams paint color.

  Hilda appeared at his elbow. “Hello, Jake, dear. Something to drink?”

  Jake dutifully kissed her cheek. She smelled like Paris…the expensive part with the fancy perfumeries. “Happy seventieth, cuz.”

  Hilda blinked and then smiled. “Yes, I can’t believe that many years have already passed. I feel positively twenty years younger.”

  Dan barked out a laugh. “I hear seventy-five is the new twenty-five, right?”

  Hilda sniffed. “As if I’d know.”

  Jake looked over Hilda’s shoulder for his mother. He had no idea why Eva would be in either New Orleans or Baton Rouge. She was a homebody and hated the traffic that plagued both cities. Must have something to do with her brother Chris. Or maybe something else in her past? Worry wriggled into his gut. She’d been secretive over the past few days. Could have to do with her mother. Eva’s mom was in a constant state of fragile health paired with financial ruin. But why would Chris be involved? They shared a father, not a mother.

  Maybe it was something to do with their father’s estate.

  Or not.

  “Now, Jake, since your brothers and sister have found love and marriage, it’s time to work on you,” Hilda said with a gleam in her eye.

  “No, thank you,” Jake said, stepping away from Hilda’s long fingers as they grazed his forearm.

  “Oh, don’t be silly. You’ve played around long enough. I’m very happy to help you out. After all, I practically gave your sister that delicious man on a silver platter.” She nodded toward Leif, who stood next to Abigail, absentmindedly rubbing the small of his sister’s back.

  Dan could hardly hold in his laughter. He slapped Jake on the back and choked out “good luck” before slinking off toward the kitchen and the no doubt elegant cake bought at Swiss Confectionary in New Orleans. Jake’s father was known for his enormous sweet tooth. In fact, his mother always told people she’d landed the handsome new Presbyterian preacher after he’d tasted her caramel cake she’d baked for the Ladies’ Auxiliary fund-raiser.

  “Now, let’s start with your clothing. You canter about town wearing sloppy T-shirts and gym shorts that should have seen the bottom of the rubbish pile years ago. I have some lovely catalogs I will loan you. Don’t worry, I’ll mark up the selections I think will suit you best. You’re a handsome man beneath all that scruffiness.”

  Jake bristled. “I’m not scruffy.” He rubbed his recently shaved face.

  “Darling, it’s not just about your hygiene, it’s the whole look.”

  “I like my look. I don’t want to come across like—”

  “Jamison French,” Hilda said, pointing toward the dapper man chatting with Shelby and John. Jamison wore a pair of pressed trousers and a long-sleeved shirt with a blue sweater vest. He looked like a rich prissy pants. “Now, that’s a man who knows how to play up his best assets.”

  “He looks like a guy who waxes his brows.” Jake wrinkled his nose. “He probably gets manicures and moisturizes.”

  “And what is wrong with that?” Hilda asked, taking in Jake’s jeans, boots and short-sleeved polo shirt that may or may not have been clean. Hell, he was a dude. He bathed, put on deodorant and smelled his shirts before he pulled them on.

  “I’m not moisturizing.”

  Hilda laughed. “I see. You like all that maleness, huh?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Okay, so sexy lumberjack.” Hilda tapped her chin and stared out into space. She seemed to be serious about the new makeover project. He needed to get away from her. Fast.

  “I see my mother. Better say hi.” Jake didn’t exactly run from Hilda, but he did frighten his mother when he rolled up on her as she was cutting cake in the kitchen.

  “Oh, Jake,” she said, clutching her chest, nearly dropping the cake she’d been about to place on a plate.

  He kissed her cheek. “Hey, Mama.”

  “Missed you in church this morning,” she said. Like she always said. Jake rarely went to church unless it was Christmas or Easter. He was a charter member of the C and E crowd.

  “Thanks. Uh, why’s Eva in Baton Rouge?”

  Fancy shrugged one shoulder. “Well, she had to get some things. Charlie will be here tomorrow.”

  Charlie? Who the hell was he? Jake racked his brain, trying to remember her mentioning a Charlie. Sounded familiar. Maybe it was an ex-boyfriend? Or a friend who needed a place to crash? “Who’s Charlie?”

  His mother frowned. “You still don’t know about Charlie?”

  “Is this some guy she’s been seeing? Someone I don’t know about?” Jake didn’t want the jealousy stealing up his spine to seize him, but it did anyway.

  “If you don’t know what’s going on with Eva, there’s a reason. And it’s not mine to tell, Jake. Talk to Eva,” Fancy said, handing him a plate with cake on it before patting him on the shoulder and walking toward Matt, who sat with his boys at the kitchen table. She put down the cake and pulled out a chair, effectively dismissing her youngest child.

  Jake made a grumpy face and stared at the piece of cake she’d handed him before turning and nearly tripping over Clint, who’d rolled up, holding his own piece of cake.

  “Who pooped in your punch?” Clint cracked sarcastically.

  Jake actually looked down at the glass of punch he held in his other hand. “Nobody. Just trying to figure out what’s going on with Eva.”

  “Eva? Thought you were her biggest confidant,” Clint said, his voice holding a trace of…something. Clint and Eva had been spending more time together since she broke up with the cop. She said Clint needed her help to train for an upcoming parasport race, but Jake wondered if there was something more to it.

  “Guess not. My mom said a Charlie is coming to stay with her.”

  Clint made a face. “Charlie? Huh. The name sounds familiar. Maybe an old boyfriend?” He didn’t look any happier than Jake. Which made Jake wonder again what was going on in that department.

  Which was strange, because Eva hanging around his best bud wasn’t something new. She’d been dropping by to visit the Cochrans ever since Clint’s mother, Ruthie, had passed. Clint’s father, Murphy, owned a manufacturing company specializing in tires for construction equipment. At one point Bayou Bengal Tires had supplied most of the Southeast US, but production had fallen off with Clint’s health crises and Ruthie’s death. Both Murphy and Clint were lonely in the rambling lake house, either sniping at each other or silently resenting each other. Eva’s weekly visits to bring muffins or a pie had always been a godsend to Clint. Or at least that’s what he said.

  Just another reason why kissing Eva had been a bad idea.

  “Wanna go out back? It’s freezing in here,” Clint said, jerking his head toward the back patio, where only a few stragglers sat, one smoking a cigarette, one tapping on his phone. Clint had to reverse his chair a few times to clear the door’s threshold, but they eventually made it out into the Louisiana sunshine. Jake felt the sweat break out on his lip after only a few seconds outside.

  “So how are things?” Jake asked out of habit.

  “Fine.” Always Clint’s response. Even when things weren’t fine. Jake knew this week would be tough. Anniversary of the wreck, anniversary of Angela’s death and anniversary of the day everything changed in both their lives. Every year this awkward thing sat between them until eventually they both silently tucked the memories away and soldiered on yet again.

  “Good,” Jake said, sipping the punch, watching his friend take a few bites of the cake. Clint had added a lot of upper-body bulk, and his movements were more fluid now—a relief, since for a while he’d been unable to use his left arm after the accident. A deep gash had severed a number of nerves in the arm and atrophy had set in, necessitating intensive therapy. Jake looked away. “You watch the LSU game last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Looks like we finally got a quarterback.”

  “He looks good. Uses his legs,” Clint said before adding a faux-chee
rful, “I remember what that was like.”

  Wasn’t funny. Jake knew it. Clint knew it. The first time Clint had tried to make light of his disability, Jake had nearly choked on his beer before rushing from the table at Ray-Ray’s. He’d said he needed a smoke.

  Jake rarely smoked anymore, but that night he’d needed something. Something to help him forget that he’d been responsible for all that had happened on that parish back road. Something to make him forget how badly he’d failed his friends. How badly he’d failed himself. The nicotine had soothed him, made his hands steadier. He’d returned to the table where Clint nursed his beer and said, “Don’t ever do that again.”

  And Clint rarely did. But here lately he used jokes about being disabled to needle Jake, to get the opening he needed.

  “Don’t,” Jake said.

  Clint set his half-eaten cake on the concrete balustrade of Hilda’s elegant patio. “Why not? Shit, I’m tired of tiptoeing around you. Tired of pretending I’m not a damn cripple.”

  Jake looked down at his friend, his heart aching, his gut clenched with guilt. Ever-present guilt that never flipping went away. “I know what you are, Clint.”

  “So you want to carry me around, huh? Just won’t effing let it go.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Ten years, man, and you still can’t face the truth. You pretend it away. I know what you do, Jake. I know the reason you pick me up and carry me to Ray-Ray’s. It’s not so I can drink, man. It’s ’cause you like the guilt. But it’s a shitty thing, brother. So stop. Okay? Stop making me your albatross.”

  “I don’t,” Jake said, even as part of him knew he was lying. He loved Clint. The dude had been his best friend for as long as he remembered, but too often their “guys’ night out” approached with a sense of dread these days. For the first few years after the accident, it had been easier, but here lately, Jake couldn’t wait to drop Clint back off at his house. Their conversations were stagnant, almost rehearsed, and when he finally lifted Clint from the passenger seat, settling him into his chair in front of the ramp to his house, Jake felt he could finally take a deep breath. Wasn’t fair to Clint, but Jake didn’t know how to stop it.