by Amie Stuart
“Don’t be late.”
Hips swinging and unfettered boobs bouncing, I took off for my car, listening to see if he’d come after me.
He didn’t.
I grinned in the darkened car all the way home.
I could do this.
And when I got home, I found an e-mail waiting on me.
You’re amazing. Feel free to drop by anytime. See you Wednesday night...Rowdy
REDNECK’S GIRL
ROWDY PICKED UP his guitar and beer bottle and headed inside, locking up after himself. He wasn’t sure what had changed, but there was no doubt Toenail Night and The Boudreaux Women had struck again.
He wasn’t sure what Skye’s game was either, what new tactic she might be using to get to him, but she was up to something. He opened his dresser drawer and folded the white cotton bra, preparing to tuck it in beside the black one when he caught a whiff of her perfume.
Rowdy lifted the bra to his nose and sniffed. Obsession. She wore Obsession. How fitting. Chuckling, he tucked her bra in his dresser drawer, and decided to play along and see what happened. He could play along a little longer. He wanted to play along a little longer, and she did have a point. He owed her a date.
What did he have to lose? Besides his heart.
He had work to do, but stopped to fire off another teasing e-mail to Skye first. With a grin, he sent it hurtling into cyberspace.
Rowdy turned the stereo on in the living room and eyed the computer parts scattered over the dining room table. He had to finish putting it together, so he could deliver it...and get paid.
Just over an hour later, he sat testing the computer, making sure the operating system he’d finished installing worked, while Eminem sang a cover of an old Aerosmith song.
His off-the-wall mood continued to hang over him. Rowdy finished up the computer, screwed the case on, and set it in a box by the front door with a wireless keyboard and mouse. He changed the CD to Montgomery Gentry and spent the night dusting, mopping, and catching up on laundry.
Rowdy fixed himself a snack around two in the morning and ate while checking his e-mail, but his eyes kept drifting back to the pile of letters from Charlene sitting on the desk. He shoved them in a drawer and turned his attention back to a reply from Skye.
You’re pretty amazing, yourself, Shy. I’m looking forward to Wednesday, so don’t be late.
Just one question, though, baby. Where in the world did you come up with a name like ShyCowboy? It doesn’t fit you at all.
He took a bite of his ham and Swiss and typed a quick reply, then finished off his sandwich and Kettle chips.
Still restless, and nowhere near ready for bed, Rowdy organized his unused parts and mopped the floors with wood soap. It was four in the morning, when he finally fell into bed, completely exhausted.
The next evening, after he delivered the promised computer, Rowdy headed out to Tim’s, ready to talk. Cleaning hadn’t solved his problem like it usually did.
And Toni always made plenty for dinner. Rowdy had long ago given up on cooking. Anything beyond the grill or Hamburger Helper always ended up burned.
He arrived at Tim’s to discover a pot luck in progress while everyone finalized plans for a Memorial Day weekend family reunion.
Rowdy kissed Delaney on her freckled cheek, took a plate from her and filled it with lasagna, grilled vegetables and Toni’s spicy Creole chicken.
“Keep eating like that,” Delaney teased, “and we’ll have to roll you home.”
“Keep eating like that—” he nodded at her own heaping plate and eyed her tall, angular frame, “—and I won't be the only one rolling home.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She handed him a full glass of sweet tea.
“Thanks. So what’s the plan?” He nodded toward the living room where most everyone else had gathered. When things settled down, he’d drag Tim outside to talk.
“Jessa’s family’s coming in.”
“Who else?” Rowdy asked as Ty entered the kitchen and refilled his plate.
“Nikki and the twins are driving in from Louisiana, too,” Ty answered between bites of chicken.
Toni’s biological daughter and twin brothers. “And John Thomas?”
“Nikki says Grandperé Jean is painting,” Rene muttered from where she’d been quietly eating at the table. “And we invited Granny Liv.”
He’d been about to crack a joke about Rene’s battered attempt at a French accent until he heard his mother’s name. Then his lungs constricted as a white hot anger filled him. It was all he could do not to howl or holler his next question. “Why?”
“Because she’s my grandmother and lives four hours away, and I haven’t seen her in a dog’s age! Neither have you!” She set down her fork and stared at him, her icy blue eyes unreadable. It didn’t matter. He knew when he was being scolded, and he didn’t like being scolded by his niece.
Rowdy shoved his plate and glass of tea on the cluttered table and stormed out back, slamming the door behind him. Hands jammed in his pockets, he stalked the length of the fence, around the corner and down the road past Zack and Jessa’s pink house. And paced up and down a section of fence that surrounded the pasture where Eve and the other mares were kept.
The extent of his anger and his immediate need to lash out had frightened him. He’d never gotten so mad so fast, not even at Jade the other morning.
He was just good-natured Rowdy Yates, right?
He paced and watched the mares and yearlings until his anger had cooled to a dull orange warmth.
To his surprise, instead of Tim, it was Ty who came walking up the road to join him a few minutes later. “Relax.”
He automatically blew out a heavy breath and counted to ten. “Why do I feel like I’m being set up?” Again. First Jade, and now his mother.
“You are. You know those Boudreaux women. They always gotta be stickin’ their noses in everything,” Ty said with a chuckle.
Rowdy didn’t have the heart to join in. “They said something to Jade, too. This is about her.”
“I know she was over last night, but there’s no way in hell I’m stickin’ around a house full of women. I went to Tim’s.” Ty laughed again. “So, what’s so bad about seeing your mom?”
Rowdy blew out a deep breath and shook his head. “She let him press charges against me, and refused to tell the cops what the fight was about. She defended him over me and, if he hadn’t died, I would have gone to jail for assault.” While he talked, Rowdy moved until he was nearly nose to nose with Ty.
“Nine years is a long time,” Ty said softly. “People change.”
“And who gives a shit if he nearly killed her,” Rowdy snarled. He’d been sixteen when he’d found his father, Big Rob, banging Liv’s head on the living room floor. He’d gone after Rob with an iron skillet, and they’d ended up in a brawl.
“You did.”
“Yeah and look what it got me. No mom and a jailbird sister.” He threw his hands up and turned away, but before he could get more than a step, Ty’s next words stopped him in his tracks.
“Why are you so hard on poor Charlene? She was gone before your dad even died.”
“Poor Charlene? Poor Charlene?” He scowled over his shoulder at Ty, the dull orange glow of temper began to burn brighter and hotter in his chest. “Poor Charlene ran off and left her husband and kid!”
“And you,” Ty softly added.
“But first, Stupid Charlene got herself knocked up!” Rowdy turned to face Ty, his hands propped on his hips.
“To get away from Big Rob, you think?”
“Hell yeah!”
“And left you behind. Then left you behind again when she ran off and left Tim and Rene.” Ty threw an arm around his shoulder and turned him back toward the house.
“Fuck me! She ran off and left her husband and kid.” And him. Even though he’d been the one to hold a shotgun on Tim and demand he marry Charlene.
“Like your mom left you after Big Rob died, and didn’t even bot
her saying goodbye.”
“Jesus Christ! Are you still seein’ that fuckin’ therapist?”
“No.” Ty grinned at him and Rowdy shook his head in disgust.
“You sound like one. Talkin’ in fuckin’ circles.”
Ty gave him a friendly shake. “You know I’m right. Tim and Charlene made their peace. Why can't you do the same?”
Rowdy growled in frustration and searched for the words to explain himself. Tim and Charlene had made their peace. Why couldn’t he? Because Ty was right? Because she’d up and left him?
Before he could speak up, Ty started in again. “You love Jade?”
Ty might as well have poured a bucket of water on his temper. It evaporated to nothing and Rowdy’s heart slammed against his ribs as he stared at Ty. From nowhere, the word “yes” had almost flown out of Rowdy’s mouth. He shrugged instead and opted for painful honesty. “I’m not sure...I’m not sure what it is, so how can I be sure?”
“That you love her?” Ty asked softly, a frown on his sunburned face.
Rowdy solemnly nodded.
They started walking again and Ty talked.
“When you can't stop thinkin’ about her. When you think about her and you can't stop smilin’, when she’s all big and pregnant—” Ty chuckled, “—and grouchy and you still wanna make love to her because she’s the sexiest thing in the world. When you look at her and can't imagine not wakin’ up next to her every day for the next hundred years or so. When you can cry in front of her and she cries with you.”
Rowdy nodded, eyes downcast, his head still spinning while he tried to figure out if he truly loved Jade.
“Rene feels bad she pissed you off, but she really wants to see Liv. And Jessa wants the band to play at the Memorial Day party.”
“Which means I have to see my mom.” Whether he wanted to or not. Talk about being backed into a corner. He gulped and pursed his lips.
“Face your past; embrace your future.”
Rowdy snorted and shook his head. “Where the hell do you find that stupid shit?”
“Delaney’s psychology books.”
WEDNESDAY EVENING ROWDY stood on Skye’s doorstep, her very belated birthday present in hand. She answered the door with a smile on her pretty face and dressed in the same black and red outfit she’d worn on their aborted date. The same one that had taken his breath away. The red off-the-shoulder blouse caressed every curve, and not one tan line marked her smooth, bare shoulders.
Her own smile faded as she blinked a few times. “Are you okay?”
“Huh? I’m fine. Happy birthday.” He held out the tiny box with it’s now wrinkled silver paper and smiled.
“Can I open it now?” she asked, taking the box from him.
“Sure.” Why were his hands clammy?
She led the way into the living room and flicked on a table lamp. He followed her, remembering the first time he’d spotted her at the Riverwalk. How cute she’d looked from behind, the fingers of one hand playing with the fringe on her skirt, one shapely leg teasing him.
God, she had great legs!
Those same pale shoulders teased him now as she turned to face him. Just like the first time she’d turned around, Rowdy’s eyes were immediately drawn to her cleavage.
Skye sat on the couch, ripping the paper off her gift while he studied how the clingy red top accented the curves of her breasts and the teasing hint of cleavage. The pearls, with a huge garnet teardrop that rested against her chest, were as classy as they’d been the first time. She smiled up at him and patted the spot beside her. “You can sit.”
He’d rather pull her top down and see if the pearls could hold a candle to her breasts.
But he sat, watching her face as she snapped open the tiny jeweler’s box. “Oh, Rowdy.” She grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged his head down to hers. The sweet taste of her lips and the warm exotic scent of perfume nearly did him in.
He returned her kiss, his blood warming at the feel of her pressed up against him, as he wrapped his arms around her and gently explored her mouth with his tongue. Once they came up for air and she released her grip on his shirt, Rowdy freed the anklet from the box, the lamplight bouncing off the little clef note. Where before he’d felt pleased at his selection, now it didn’t seem like much compared to her pearls. Maybe even a little cheesy. “Which foot?”
She leaned back and propped her right leg on his knee.
“You don’t have to wear this if you don’t want to.”
“Of course I want to wear it. I love it.”
“Sure it doesn’t clash with your pearls?” He could have bitten his tongue for that.
She stared at him for a minute before reaching up and unhooking her pearl necklace, dropping it on the sofa table behind her. “Better?”
“You didn’t have to do that...I’m sorry.”
“No need to be.”
He forced himself to concentrate on hooking the slender chain, instead of the feel of her skin under his fingers. She wasn’t wearing nylons. He wanted to lean down and kiss her shapely ankle.
“And I know I didn’t.” She leaned back against the cushions and twisted her foot back and forth before standing and straddling one of his legs. He dragged her against him and studied her.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered. One fingertip glided over his eyebrow.
“What are you doing Memorial Day?” he asked, coming to a sudden decision. He wanted her to meet Liv. Even more, he wanted her there with him when he had to face Liv.
She shrugged, her fingers lightly tracing his moustache. “I don’t have anything planned.”
“There’s a big family reunion. Jessa’s family is coming all the way from Montana, and Toni’s from Louisiana. I’m sure Betti’s sister will drive up from College Station. And they invited my mom.” He swallowed the lump he’d nearly choked on and resisted the urge to close his eyes and relax at her soft touch.
Her fingers gently combed through his hair. “You...want me...to go with you?”
“I have to play, but yeah. Please. I’d like that.”
A little frown marred the pale skin between her eyebrows, and her lips were pursed. He also saw what looked like understanding in her eyes.
“Mothers can be real pains in the ass sometimes, huh?” She kept smoothing his hair back from his forehead, and he found himself blinking and suddenly unable to meet her eyes. Rowdy settled on a nod and a deep cleansing breath. He recognized her touch as the unspoken offer of comfort it was and pulled her closer with a sigh. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had played with his hair like that, petted him, and not wanting sex.
“We have reservations,” he whispered, then planted a kiss on her collarbone. Even he heard the regret in his voice. Rowdy wanted nothing more than to drag her upstairs and curl up in bed with her, cuddle and kiss, and maybe let her play with his hair some more.
“Then I guess we better get going.” But she didn’t move, and he didn’t have the heart to make her. Not for a few more minutes. Eventually, he slowly pushed her off his lap and stood, watching her straighten her skirt and blouse.
DINNER WAS...NICE, and even that didn’t do it justice. The one thing that had always set Skye above every other woman he’d known was that she talked to him. Or maybe it was all those months they’d spent getting to know one another via e-mail; where she’d never been afraid to ask questions and test his boundaries. Or tease and sass him. He saw more of that over dinner as she gently probed, pulling some of his better childhood memories out of him.
They spent the evening talking about everything but his family and hers. Food. And how she liked to cook, but didn’t bother since she had no one to cook for. And how he was stuck eating sandwiches or mooching from Toni. Art. He promised to take her to Zack’s next art show. Music. She made him promise to teach her to play the guitar and, in exchange, she’d teach him to play the piano.
“You still play the piano much?” he asked over dessert—a chocolate mousse they’d de
cided to share.
“I had to leave my piano at Mom and Dad’s, so I haven’t played in three years.”
He fought her for the last bite, won, then offered it to her.
“Sure?”
“You’re the birthday girl. Now, open up.” She did, and he slid the spoon past her lips. She swallowed the last bite, and then licked her lips, completely unaware what a pretty picture she made. He leaned over and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, glad the booth gave them some privacy.
She looked up at him, her eyes a little sleepy and something else. Something soft and sweet that made him want to kiss her again. That same look he’d seen the morning she’d read Charlene’s letter.
OUTSIDE, THEY STROLLED through the evening throng toward Louie’s, a deep saxophone wail drawing them in. Rowdy felt restless but calm. Expectant.
Music would cure what bothered him. Always had. And maybe Jade, too? Maybe Jade could cure him.
He kissed her, wrapped her arm in his and led her into Louie’s. The bar was nothing fancy. A cement floor, a black bar, dark walls and tables scattered around a dance floor. Even the front windows were darkened with black paint. Or shoe polish. Not that it mattered, people didn’t come for the décor, but music, and the band was going full swing. Playing something deep and heavy with a lot of guitar.
They stopped at the bar, beer for him and a Lemon Drop for her, then found a small table for two down front, right beside the dance floor.
He scooted his chair as close to hers as possible and draped an arm around her shoulder.
The music washed over him. Washed him clean. Made him forget everything but Skye. No Mom, no Judge, no Boudreauxes. Just the two of them. The sax and guitars sang along in harmony with each other, and an older woman in a red dress who occasionally joined in.
He tucked her head under his chin, rubbing his lips in her hair and she snuggled close, one hand on his thigh. Half a beer and half an hour later, he’d decompressed. Rowdy finally reached the point he could feel his blood flowing in time to the music. He stood and pulled her to her feet. Out on the tiny dance floor, he pulled her into his arms and cupped her hips. She snuggled closer and they swayed to an old Etta James tune—“At Last”. He leaned over, his lips against her ear. “You feel so good.”