Set the Night on Fire

by Laura Trentham

  His aunt’s eyes were still as sharp and calculating as ever. Age had drawn fine lines over her face and her hair was no longer dark, but a thick, fluffy white. Even so, the renowned beauty of her youth was visible.

  He sipped and waited, trying not to betray the tension tightening his muscles. Hazel wanted something from him. She would speak after she had her arrows notched and was sure she could run roughshod over any excuses he might make.

  “I expect you to do your daddy and your name proud, Mack Bolivar Abbott.”

  A youthful panic at hearing his full name had him racking his brain. Lord help him, what had he done? “I do my best for the garage every day, Aunt Hazel.”

  “You run a good honest business, but that’s not what I’m referring to. This”—she gestured toward the shop floor—“is concrete and metal. It’s not flesh and blood.”

  More guilt elbowed its way into his chest and settled in for a long stay. “Ford is the one who screwed up and left.”

  “Yes, he did.” She raised one eyebrow and let the silence burrow between them. It was an old ploy of hers and one he’d never been able to withstand.

  “What do you expect me to do?” He threw his hands up and knocked his coffee over. Muffling a curse that would get him yet another use of his full name, he grabbed a wad of used shop towels and sopped up the mess. Hazel sat and watched with eyes so like his pop’s, it was disconcerting.

  “Have you and Wyatt been talking?” He lobbed the accusation as he chunked the towels in the trash basket.

  “He’s my nephew, same as you, so yes, we do converse on occasion.” A dry humor coated her words.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I know that no matter what Ford has done, he’s still your brother. And whether you like him or not, you still love him.”

  Mack sighed and leaned his head back against the chair to stare at the ducts that lined the ceiling. She was right. He and Ford hadn’t always been adversaries. Ford was a year older, and Mack had followed him around like a puppy when they were young. When had things changed?

  Maybe when the twins came along? The four of them had vied for their pop’s attention even when he didn’t have enough to spare. The garage had been his wife and life and livelihood.

  The twins hadn’t seemed to mind. They had each other, after all, their bond a mystery of genetics. Mack was used to deferring to Ford and hadn’t minded any attention their pop gave his older brother. Things had taken a turn when Mack had showed an interest and aptitude for mechanics at a young age and garnered their pop’s admiration. Was he somehow to blame for that too?

  “I’m not saying you have to convince him to move back to Cottonbloom, although that would be a welcome development, but you need to make peace for his sake and yours. Make him understand he has a soft place to land.” His aunt’s voice was gentle.

  “I’ll think about it.” It was all he could give her.

  The flash in Hazel’s eyes was part anger and part disappointment. She stood and crossed her arms, her pocketbook dangling over her elbow. “You are the most stubborn, hardheaded Abbott that’s ever been born. If I could take you over my knee—”

  The door to the shop banged open on a gust of wind. Mack popped out of his chair. Pushing her hair out of face, Ella Boudreaux floated inside like Mary Poppins arriving. She shut the door with a backward kick of her foot and shook her hair over her shoulders.

  Twin columns of feelings squeezed him. Relief and frustration.

  “Thank God,” Mack whispered. His aunt’s gaze cut from Ella to him and narrowed. He cleared his throat and searched for something innocuous to say. “She’s late. You know how much I hate that.”

  Ella stopped in the doorway of his office. He did a quick inventory. Hair that begged for his hands, check. Breasts that made his mouth water, double check. Long legs that he’d dreamed about wrapped around him last night, check. Curves like his favorite back road, checkity-check. She appeared unharmed and perfectly fine.

  Worry that had built all morning tumbled out in his rough, sharp-edged voice. “Where have you been? You’re late.”

  “Am I clocking in these days?” She gestured to the antiquated time-stamp machine. It had been a way to keep track of how much or little Ford worked. Since he’d taken off, Mack had discontinued its use.

  “Maybe it’s the only way to teach you a decent work ethic.”

  His aunt gasped and whispered his name—his full name—for the second time in less than ten minutes. A new record. “Mack Bolivar Abbott.”

  “Teach me…?” Ella propped her tight fists on her hips. “At least that’s something that can be learned. Kindness can’t be taught. Too bad you got the short end of the stick where that’s concerned.”

  He and Ella held gazes. Damn, the fire in her eyes threatened to singe him. His entire body was aware of her in the way of predator and prey. Trouble was he wasn’t sure which he was. Right now, she looked like she might maim him. But something else thrummed under the surface of the antipathy. Deep and chaotic.

  Lust.

  He’d felt it the first time she’d sashayed into his life at Sutton’s New Year’s Eve party. She’d been sophisticated and uptown, yet an earthiness had upended his ability to successfully counteract her claim on the garage. He’d fallen back on intimidation by size and gruffness, which worked against men at a bar, but hadn’t dented Ella’s self-assured amusement that night.

  The same thing was happening now. All his defense mechanisms seemed to bounce off her like rubber. What else was there to do but give her what she was owed?

  “I’m … sorry for being an ass.”

  Chapter Six

  If Mack had sprouted wings or horns, Ella couldn’t have been more surprised. The kicker was he sounded a hundred and ten percent sincere. He even looked sincere. And tough. And altogether too attractive for her sanity.

  His size and dark beard lent him a menace before he even said a word. And, when he did speak, his gruff, deep voice only added to the impression. But then there were his eyes. The seething emotions in their depths drew her like a bug to a zapper.

  He was more complex than his demeanor might indicate. The previous night had confirmed her theory. He’d been alternately kind and high-handed. The weight of her accusation regarding Ford had hurt him and settled heavily around his shoulders. She’d regretted the way they’d parted, but all she’d seen were his taillights by the time she’d hobbled outside to apologize.

  Now, here he was apologizing to her. Did she even deserve one?

  “You were kind of a butthead, but I wasn’t exactly sweetness and sunshine either. And I didn’t thank you for cleaning up the mess last night … and stuff. Truce?”

  She stuck out her hand because that’s what one did to seal a peace treaty, right? His hesitation sent a tremor through her, but before she could snatch her hand back and unload on him, his hand enveloped hers.

  “Truce.”

  Time slowed and noises ceased to register. His hand was big and rough in a way that sent a tingle up her arm and electrified her body. She sensed danger like a hare approaching a snare. Her heart rate accelerated, and she needed a fan. Not a dainty Southern belle fan, but an industrial-strength one.

  She tugged on her hand. He loosened his grip but didn’t fully release her. Her hand kept contact with his until it was just their fingertips. When the connection broke, time stumbled over itself to catch up, and she was dimly aware of Mack’s aunt speaking.

  “—finally meet you. I’m Hazel Abbott.” His aunt’s expression wasn’t unfriendly. But her eyes—a mirror image of Mack’s—roiled with curiosity. This woman wasn’t a warm, fuzzy relation who brought in cookies, but a matriarch who could both eviscerate and protect her nephews even though they were grown.

  “I’m Ella Boudreaux. I haven’t made the best first impression, I’m afraid.”

  “Nonsense. I admire any woman who can stand toe-to-toe with my nephew.” Hazel Abbott made a shooing motion toward said nephew. “I’
m sure you have work to do, Mack. Run along so Ms. Boudreaux and I can chat.”

  Mack’s lips moved as if an argument was simmering, but he only nodded and murmured, “Yes, ma’am,” before retreating.

  “There now. Mack is a good boy, but too wont to control everything and everybody. Come and join me.” Hazel took a chair and, not having a ready excuse, Ella did as she was told, squirming on the edge of her seat. This felt too much like a visit to the principal’s office.

  “What brought you to Cottonbloom, Ms. Boudreaux?”

  After last night, Ella’s married name grated on her nerves worse than usual. “Call me Ella, please.”

  “Then you’re to call me Hazel or Miss Hazel, whichever you’re most comfortable with.”

  Since she had been raised never to call her elders by their given name, Ella couldn’t imagine calling her plain “Hazel.” But how much to reveal to this woman with the scalpel-sharp eyes?

  “I was living in Jackson, but after my divorce, I wanted a fresh start. I ran across an article in Heart of Dixie about the Labor Day festival competition and the tornado that damaged the downtown.”

  During some of her darkest days with Trevor, she’d pulled out the article and read it time and again. Imagining an alternate future in Cottonbloom had made her life with Trevor bearable, and when she’d finally broken free, her destination was not in question even though the decision to move to Cottonbloom defied logic.

  Life in Cottonbloom had seemed simple and charming in black and white on the pages of Heart of Dixie. She shrugged. “The town seemed idyllic.”

  “And is that how you’ve found it now that you’re a resident? Idyllic?”

  “It’s … quaint.” It wasn’t a lie, but an evasion. Cottonbloom’s split over the river was complicated. Each side of Cottonbloom had its own personality—and problems. Still, she didn’t regret the move. “And complicated.”

  Hazel’s chuckle was more carefree than her appearance. “Aptly put. I was a little girl when the town split in two and I remember the pain and anger that festered—on both sides. Things are mended now, but tensions can fray at the oddest time.”

  “I like the duality. Part of me is drawn to both sides.”

  Hazel’s gaze zeroed in on her, and Ella looked to the floor. It was more than she’d admitted to anyone in Cottonbloom. More than she’d admitted to herself even. But it was true. Later she might examine the whys and wherefores, or maybe she’d lock the thought away along with all the other tangles of her life.

  “Hobart, my brother, started this garage. He worked day and night to turn it into a success. He—”

  “I’m not trying to destroy or change what your brother built, Miss Hazel.” Ella held her hands up.

  “No. I don’t think you are.” Miss Hazel stood and clutched the handles of her black purse in both hands, her head tilting. “My brother ignored his sons and his wife to build this place. I don’t want the same thing to happen to Mack.”

  Ella startled. “But he’s not married.”

  Was he divorced? Or even worse, did he have a girlfriend? Why hadn’t she thought to find out before now? And why did the possibility bother her so much? Ella found him with her eyes, propped under the hood of the 240Z, his arms braced apart, his profile stoic. As if sensing her, he turned his head. She couldn’t separate her gaze from his.

  Hazel’s voice contained more than a hint of laughter. “I need to round up my sister. No doubt she’s talked Wyatt’s ear off about that reality show they both watch. For the life of me, I can’t understand why two strangers would want to live outside naked. Nice to meet you, Ella.”

  With more effort than it should have cost, Ella peeled her attention away from Mack. “Likewise, ma’am.”

  Hazel gathered her twin sister from the corner of the garage where Wyatt was working on the brakes of an old Camaro. Their laughter drifted over the music, good natured and open.

  Hazel leaned in to whisper in Hyacinth’s ear. When Hyacinth’s gaze cut to where she stood in the doorway of Mack’s office, Ella tensed. It was obvious they were discussing her, but instead of coming over to introduce herself, Hyacinth gave Wyatt a hug and waved toward Ella. She raised her hand in response, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder. The sisters left together with their heads close.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Mack ambled over as only a man one hundred percent comfortable in his body could do. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s fine. Fine.” Ella retreated to the office in search of solitude and silence, but he followed. And why shouldn’t he, considering it was technically his.

  Her conversation with Hazel had left her rattled. She stopped short and spun around. Mack bumped into her. It was like hitting a wall, not of concrete, but of warm, strong flesh and blood. He grabbed her upper arms, his touch firm but gentle. Heartbeats after she regained her balance, he still held her.

  “Do you have an ex-wife stashed away somewhere?” The question bypassed her brain’s filter.

  His eyes roved her face, close enough for her to admire the gold around his irises. It reminded her of the sparks from the welding machine. “Not a single one.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Why are you interested all of a sudden?” His voice held more curiosity than defensiveness.

  An excellent question. She’d rather endure a hundred fire ant bites than answer. She hadn’t been worried about the state of his personal life until Miss Hazel had planted the question, and now like kudzu, the worry spread until it consumed her.

  His fingers moved along her arms. Not an obvious caress, but enough for her sensitized skin to drink in his touch like parched ground getting rain for the first time in forever. This was a Mack she didn’t know, one whose gentleness tempered everything that was hard about him. She could fall into this man and get entirely lost.

  She’d done that once before, and once was enough. She shook his hands off and put the desk between them. “I’m not interested. Not at all. Only curious how much time you spend ignoring a woman in favor of a bunch of inanimate metal parts.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, all softness gone as if she’d imagined it. But she hadn’t. Her skin still tingled where he’d touched her.

  “Did you come in this morning to work or to quit?”

  “Puh-lease. What do you think?” She met his steely stare with one of her own.

  Was that lip twitch the start of a smile or did he have an itch near his unmentionables? “If you want to install the new accounting software, go ahead. I’ll be on the shop floor the rest of the day.”

  He turned to walk out, leaving her mouth unhinged this time. She rushed around the desk. “Mack, wait.”

  He half-turned, an eyebrow raised.

  “You didn’t pick a program.”

  “Install what you think is best. The business credit card is in the top drawer.” He disappeared into the pit under the Camaro Wyatt had been working on earlier.

  She made a little sound of exasperation even though there was no one around to hear her. After everything, he didn’t even care. Or else, he trusted her judgment.

  No, not possible. Was it? She returned to his office and glanced over at him through her lashes while she pretended to leaf through some papers. Mack’s shoulders and head were visible in the pit, his bare arms working a wrench at the underbelly of the Camaro. Had she ruined his coveralls?

  Blowing out a breath, she walked behind his desk out of visible range. But as if she had special powers, she could sense him on the other side of the concrete wall, making it difficult to concentrate.

  By the time she had the new program installed, she had bitten her thumbnail down to a nub—an old habit she’d thought she’d broken years ago.

  Wyatt popped his head around the doorframe and, upon seeing her sitting at the computer, said, “Glad our Mack truck didn’t turn you into road kill.”

  She snorted at the very apropos nickname for Mack. He was a giant truck running obstacles off the road wi
th the sheer force of his personality and stubbornness. “Not a chance.”

  Wyatt smiled, tapped his fist on the doorjamb, and pointed. “By the way, if you’re going to be around the garage most days, I’ll add you into the rotation.”

  “The rotation for what?” Suspicion crept into her bones.

  “Picking what we listen to. Today is my choice.”

  She cocked her head to listen to the low sounds of Patsy Cline’s dulcet voice cutting through the noise of someone welding. Patsy had been a favorite of her mother’s. The only emotion that surfaced was something akin to regret.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a classic country kind of guy. You’re more modern and easy.”

  Jackson’s arm streaked around Wyatt’s neck and a noogie session ensued before Wyatt elbowed him away with a laugh. He smoothed his hair down and made room for his twin. They stood with their bodies angled toward each other, and even though they weren’t identical, something inexplicable linked them.

  “Wyatt is redneck country to the bone,” Jackson said.

  “I’m not the one who risks life and limb racing around in a circle like a mouse chasing cheese. Are you ever going to hit the track again? You’ve lost your edge since you and Willa got together.”

  Ella could tell their teasing was born from love. Her heart stung like riling up a nest of yellow-jackets. Her brother had loved to tickle her until she cried uncle through tears of laughter.

  “When is my day? I’ll have to really think about what to play.”

  “Mack is up next, then you can pick,” Jackson said. “Want us to grab you some of Rufus’s barbeque for lunch?”

  “Okay. I’ve never eaten there though. Do you have a menu I can look at?”

  Wyatt clutched his chest, staggered over to a chair, and plopped down. “Tell me that was a joke.”

  Neither he nor Jackson cracked a smile. Ella bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning and shrugged. “I keep meaning to stop in and give it a shot, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”