“Everything okay?” He kept his voice low.
Her gaze darted to the side, and Mack shifted to look over her shoulder into the house. A man was outlined in the light from the kitchen.
“I appreciate you coming by to talk about the accounting programs. I even have a pros-and-cons list for each one we can discuss.” Her voice had brightened, but her smile was brittle. “Come on in.”
She stepped back, and he took a step into her home, never taking his eyes off the man. This man had scared Ella. Un-effing-acceptable.
Without waiting for her to perform introductions, he closed the distance and offered the man a hand. “Mack Abbott. And you are?”
“Trevor Boudreaux.” The man took Mack’s hand. Their shake was less about social niceties and more about a test of strength. Mack won. After breaking free from Mack’s bruising grip, Trevor rubbed his hands together. “Surely you can discuss accounting matters tomorrow during working hours, Ella?”
Ella’s ex-husband was in her house, and she obviously didn’t want to be alone with him. Well, Mack could be an obtuse pain in the ass. In fact, according to her hurled insults earlier that afternoon, he was an expert.
“Actually, I have a car that will keep me occupied all day tomorrow. Tonight’s the only free time I have.” He shrugged and smiled a very non-apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
“I’m sure you are.” Trevor straightened his tie and smoothed it down his white shirt.
The poster child for an aging frat boy, Trevor was handsome and sophisticated, but an air of dissipation hung on him like the expensive suit he wore. He was older than Mack would have suspected, though. A good decade or more older than Ella if the lines at his eyes and mouth and neck and his thinning hair were any indication.
“I should be getting home anyway. I have an early showing in the morning.” Trevor squared off with Ella at the door, and whether the intimidation was intentional or not, it was there. “We’re not done. I’ll be in touch.”
He trotted down the front steps. Ella slammed the door and latched it. For a moment she stood facing the door. Slowly, she turned. “I guess you’re wondering what that was all about.”
“I’m a mite curious.”
One corner of her mouth quirked up, but mostly she looked sad. “Actually, I’m not even a hundred percent sure what that was about. He hasn’t bothered me since the divorce was final, and I moved to Cottonbloom. Then he turns up on my doorstep wanting help or advice about his current wife. The last woman he had an affair with while we were married, if you’re keeping score. You want a drink? Beer or wine?”
“I’ll take a beer. I’ve never been able to appreciate the finer points of wine.” The kitchen was bright and airy and welcoming. He stopped short. “I guess your ex doesn’t appreciate wine either, huh?”
“It was an accident. Let me get the broom.” She went around the corner and came back with a broom and dustpan. Six feet from the carnage, she dropped the broom, pulled up, and hopped on one foot. “Ouch.”
Mack was used to taking charge. It chafed some people, but letting a situation descend into chaos wasn’t in his DNA. He picked Ella up at the waist and set her on the island countertop. She wobbled and grabbed his shoulders.
He circled her ankle and raised her foot. “A shard is stuck pretty deep. You got a first aid kit?”
“In the cabinet to the right of the microwave.” She pointed over his shoulder.
He retrieved the kit, tucked it under his arms, and washed his hands. Coming back to her, he set the kit at her hip and flipped it open. The shard of glass was big enough for him to pull out with his fingers. He pressed a thick piece of gauze against the welling blood. Propping her heel up on his chest, he applied pressure with both thumbs.
The position forced her back onto her elbows, the front of her shirt taut. She was a business partner. One he disliked and wanted to get rid of as soon as possible. He shouldn’t be noticing things like the way the fabric gaped enough at the button to see the color of her bra. Pink, like her toes. Was that a thing? Did women match underwear with toe polish? Or was it just this woman?
He forced his gaze to the mottled grays and blacks of the granite countertop but not before his brain registered the red marks on her arm where her sleeve had risen.
“What the—?” He kept pressure on her foot with one hand and reached to touch the marks on her arm with his other.
“It’s nothing.” She tugged at the sleeve. The fact she didn’t meet his eye was a red flag. The woman usually couldn’t help but challenge him with her eyes.
He looked toward the door. The urge to chase Trevor Boudreaux down, pull him out of his car, and beat the crap out of him was almost too much, but the man was long gone. “I get that your ex is an a-hole, but how big of one are we talking?”
“Sizable.” Her lips twitched. How could she possibly find the situation amusing?
“What’s so damn funny? Your ex coming in here and knocking you around?”
The ghost of her smile vanished. “He was not knocking me around.” The knee-jerk defensiveness of her voice was telling.
“What would have happened if I hadn’t shown up?”
“I was showing Trevor out when you arrived actually.”
“You’re not to allow him back in this house.”
She jerked her foot out of his hands. “Excuse me? You’re not my boss, Mack Abbott. Here or at the garage. Speaking of showing people out, you know where the door is.”
She grabbed a Band-Aid from the kit, hopped off the counter, and did a weird heel walk out of the kitchen and into a large family room, disappearing on the other side of an overstuffed comfortable-looking couch.
Mack smoothed a hand down his beard. He had managed to piss her off again before he’d even been able to apologize for his behavior at the garage. Yet, she’d been in danger and if he hadn’t turned up on her doorstep … it didn’t bear thinking about.
Instead of showing himself the door, he took up the broom and dustpan, swept up the broken glass, and wiped up the spilled wine.
Rubbing his hands down the front of his jeans, he stepped cautiously into the family room. Built-in bookshelves flanked a massive fireplace and hearth. A flat screen TV was mounted above the mantle. Books and knickknacks lined the shelves of the bookcases, and magazines were strewn on a coffee table. It was a cozy, lived-in room, warmer and more casual than he’d expected.
He stopped by the back of the couch and propped his hands on a cushion. Ella was lying on her back with one arm flung over her eyes and her foot propped up on her knee so she could press a tissue against the puncture.
“I’m sorry.” The words emerged like the apology came from rusted-out gears in his psyche.
She moved her arm up an inch and pinned him with her eviscerating blue eyes. “You don’t sound sorry; you sound like a grumpy bear whose porridge is too hot.”
Had she seriously compared him to a fairytale bear? “Look, I realize I can be a little … high-handed.”
She snort-laughed.
He rolled his eyes. “A lot high-handed when it comes to the garage. I suppose it sometimes spills over. That’s why I came here in the first place. To apologize for today. For the oil change thing. I didn’t mean to humiliate you or hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t hurt my feelings.” The faint mocking tone in her voice unsettled him.
“You weren’t teary-eyed?”
“Teary?” She shot to her knees on the couch and put them face-to-face. “Your little temper tantrum this morning didn’t hurt my feelings or intimidate me, Mack Abbott. You made me so mad I was ready to break something. Preferably something precious. Like your balls.”
Sly humor snuck into her eyes and made him lean in. He forced his lips not to curl. “Your shoe made a pretty good start if that was your goal.”
“That was actually an accident. If I wanted to bust your balls, I would have made a more concerted effort.”
“Noted.” He couldn’t stem a small smile
this time.
“If that’s how you treated Ford, I get why he was so eager to quit and sell out.” Her words were like a Molotov cocktail to whatever ease they were constructing.
It was true that his temper had gotten the best of him too many times since his pop had died. The expectations and stress of suddenly taking over the garage and being responsible if the restoration side of the business collapsed around their ears were overwhelming some days. His reoccurring nightmare was the bank coming to foreclose on them.
Ford was responsible for his own decisions, but had Mack had a hand in pushing him over the edge? He didn’t like to think so.
“Wyatt and Jackson—”
“Put up with your BS instead of calling you out on it.” She raised her eyebrows to go along with the challenge in her voice.
He dropped his head between his arms. Why did Ella Boudreaux make him question his very purpose and existence? The mental vertigo she roused only got worse the more he was around her.
This time it was him turning on his heel and walking out the door. She didn’t come after him and he didn’t expect her to. He wasn’t hurt or angry as much as he was confused. Part of him wished everything at the garage could return to the way it was before she smashed her way into their lives. At least then his discontent and anxiety were contained to a box he could keep taped shut.
Like a little kid studying a black widow spider, he was dimly aware of the danger she posed, but couldn’t help being fascinated by her. Even after the push-pull of their confrontation tonight, he was already anticipating her arrival in the morning.
Chapter Five
Mack checked the clock. Ten o’clock. Where the hell was Ella? Had she quit the garage? Because of him? Granted they hadn’t settled things the night before, but he’d interpreted the challenge in her eyes as a refusal to back down or give up.
“I thought you apologized to Ella last night?” Wyatt propped a shoulder against the jamb and slouched in the doorway, rubbing grease off his hands with a blue shop towel.
“I did.” Mack shrugged. “Sort of.”
Wyatt looked to the ceiling, maybe to God, and sighed before taking a seat across from the desk. “Dare I ask what ‘sort of’ means?”
“It means I got distracted from my initial apology when I arrived. Her ex was there.”
“What’s he like?”
“Older than I expected. Typical straight-laced business type. Drives a 5 Series.” Mack sent Wyatt a side-eye. While he tried not to judge a book by its cover, Mack couldn’t help but judge a man by his car.
Wyatt cocked his head. “Entitled jerk?”
“Even worse, I’d guess.” For some reason, he didn’t share the broken wine glass or finger marks on Ella’s arm with Wyatt. Those were her secrets to share. “After he left, I said some things. She said some things. My simple apology didn’t go quite as planned.”
Wyatt drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “What if she’s at Tarwater’s telling him to sell her share? I get that this situation isn’t ideal and that you don’t like her, but I do. She’s nice and more down-to-earth than I would have guessed. Plus, she has some good ideas if you weren’t too stubborn to hear them. We could get a part owner who’s a bigger thorn in our sides than her. You get that, right?”
Mack straightened. “What makes you think I don’t like her?”
Wyatt’s eyes widened comically as he gestured around them. “All the yelling and assholery is a pretty big indication.”
“Do you put up with my BS?” Mack slouched back in the chair.
Wyatt propped his feet up on the edge of the desk. “I feel like we’re having a Dr. Freud moment here. Are you feeling the urge to lie down and describe your dreams?”
“I’m feeling the urge to put you in a headlock until you cry uncle.” Mack bared his teeth.
“What’s brought on the sudden self-examination?” Before Mack could locate an answer, Wyatt continued. “Ah! It’s Ella. Well, well, well.” He steepled his fingers like a cartoon villain. “She’s gotten under your skin.”
“Only insofar as she’s trying to change things in the garage.” Mack looked to the clock, then the door again.
“Do Jackson and I put up with your BS? The short answer is, yes.”
Wyatt’s gray eyes were clear and nonjudgmental, but Mack still felt like he’d let his brothers down. “Why don’t you tell me to eff off?”
“We would if you got out of hand. But, you’re like a pressure cooker. All the stress builds up and then bam.” Wyatt smacked his hands together.
Mack pulled at his chin hairs. “I haven’t always been a pressure cooker.”
“The last couple of years have been tough. Tougher for you than anyone. We get it.”
“We all miss Pop.”
“Of course. But you shouldered more of the responsibility of the garage.” Wyatt swung his feet off the desk. “Jackson and I could take on more, you know.”
“You’re already doing more by going to the trade shows and drumming up business in Mississippi. Plus, you and Sutton have a wedding to plan.”
“All I have to do is show up, according to Sutton. Her mom is going a little crazy. She has mentioned a harp player and doves.”
“Good Lord, one of the Abbott cousins might pull out a shotgun and shoot a dove if they’re in season.” Mack found a chuckle, and Wyatt joined him, his laugh lighter and closer to the surface than Mack’s.
Wyatt got up and headed back to the shop floor.
“Hey, bro?” Mack called.
Wyatt turned in the door, a smile still on his face.
“You think I drove Ford to gamble and give up on the family?” The question belly-flopped in the middle of the room.
Wyatt’s smile flipped into a frown. “That’s a question without a simple answer.”
“But did I have a part?” He’d always regarded himself as, not a hero exactly, but worthy of the garage while Ford was not. Ford had never put in the sweat and tears and occasionally even the blood that was required. Mack, on the other hand, had sacrificed everything.
Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck. “I think Ford wanted to want the garage, if that makes sense, but deep down he didn’t, and it bothered him how much you did want it. Your skills outshone his, and he couldn’t handle it. Of course, your attitude of rubbing his nose in it every time he came around wasn’t helpful. Then again, none of us had much patience for him.” What Mack saw in Wyatt’s face was regret.
“You feel bad about how it went down.”
“Yeah, a little. I’m not sure what we could have done differently, but Pop would hate the way it’s turned out. We don’t even know if Ford is okay. Who does he have to lean on in Memphis?”
A shudder went through Mack. He couldn’t imagine not having his brothers there to prop him up when his doubts and worries got too heavy. Ford’s plans had included starting over in Memphis where he knew no one, as far as Mack was aware. With Ford’s pride smashed and the acrimony that had flourished between them, would he call home if he needed help?
“Our mother is close. He’d fall back on her if he got into trouble, don’t you think?” Mack asked. “Although, I don’t know how obligated she’d feel to help.”
Mack hadn’t come to terms with the fact the mother who had abandoned them when he was six had turned up. Or more accurately, Wyatt had tracked her down. She had made a life in north Louisiana, only a few hours’ drive away. Mack was the only one who hadn’t bridged the gaping chasm of years between them.
She had taken in Ford for a time and given him money out of motherly duty or guilt or maybe even love. Mack didn’t trust her, not after she’d walked out and never looked back. He was older than Jackson and Wyatt, and unlike them, he possessed fuzzy but intact memories of her tucking him into bed and making him pancakes and holding his hand. Then, one morning, she was gone. He hadn’t understood. He still didn’t.
“Mother would help him if he asked.” Wyatt gave Mack a look that settled something uncomfort
able in his chest. “You should call her.”
“I’m thirty-two. I’ve outgrown any need for a mother.”
“It’s not about needing someone to wipe your butt, bro. It’s about family.”
“I have you boys and the aunts and more cousins than we can shake a stick at. I don’t need more family.” He and Wyatt had had this discussion-argument multiple times, and it always ended the same.
Wyatt shook his head. “Okay, whatever. But, if anyone knows where Ford is and how he’s doing, it would be her. If you’re really worried about him, then call her.”
As Wyatt retreated, Mack stared a hole through the back of his head. Wyatt could easily call and ask about Ford, but even if he did, he wouldn’t tell Mack. This was Wyatt’s way of prodding Mack into taking action. He refused to be the first to flinch in their game of chicken. He wouldn’t call. Decision made.
The clock ticked off another minute. Dammit. Where was Ella?
What if her ex had been waiting for Mack to leave and returned to finish whatever Mack had interrupted? What if she was hurt and needed his help? His heart sputtered like an engine without the proper air-fuel ratio. He took a deep breath and reached for his truck keys.
The door opened and relief rushed him. Except, instead of a sassy-mouthed black-haired hellcat, his aunts strolled in. Aunt Hyacinth was in tennis shoes and a tracksuit while Hazel looked like she was headed to church. A normal Friday.
Aunt Hazel performed a right turn with military precision and entered his office while Hyacinth picked her way over to where Wyatt was working.
“Did you bring the Crown Vic in?”
“It’s outside and needs some wiper fluid.” She sounded slightly defensive with such a flimsy excuse. “Wanted to check on you boys before heading to sort boxes for the church rummage sale.”
“You’re welcome anytime, you know that. Can I get you some coffee?”
“A small cup of black would be nice. There’s a chill wind outside.”
Mack released his keys, and they fell onto the desk with a jangle. His death grip had carved indentations into his palm. He tamped down his impatience and worry. Returning with two cups, he handed one to Hazel and took a seat, sipping his own.
Set the Night on Fire Page 5