Instead of pulling into the garage, she left her car in the driveway in case a quick getaway was in order. Clutching her cell phone in one hand and her keys in the other, she tiptoed along the stone path to her front door.
A woman popped up from the rocking chair on the porch. It took a few blinks to place Megan, Trevor’s current, if estranged, wife. She was dressed to kill—Ella hoped not literally—in sky-high heels, a tight gray pencil skirt, and a silky pink pussy-bow blouse.
“What are you doing here?” Ella’s voice was devoid of any warmth or welcome. The move from Jackson was meant to sever ties with her past, and Trevor’s affair with Megan had been one of the most painful parts.
“I didn’t know where else to go.” Megan took a step forward, her hands clasped together at her waist, her fingers white against her red manicure. Was she scared? Of Ella? She supposed facing down your husband’s ex would be nerve-wracking.
“Trevor stopped by a few nights ago and asked me to talk to you.” Ella walked past her, unlocked her front door, and gestured Megan inside.
A flash of surprise crossed Megan’s face. What did she expect? As distasteful as the situation was, Ella didn’t have the heart to tell Megan to hit the road. Mostly Ella felt sorry for the other woman. Ella had been in her designer shoes and it was not a comfortable place to be.
“He’s been calling me incessantly. I don’t know what to do.” Megan’s heels tapped on the floor as Ella led her into the kitchen.
“I tried to warn you.” Ella couldn’t help her “I told you so” tone even though it wasn’t helpful.
“Believe me, I’ve thought about that day more times than I can count.” Regret-infused tears cracked Megan’s voice. “If only I had listened.”
Ella understood regret but she also understood you couldn’t change the past as much as you wished you could. There were some things you had to let haunt you.
“I washed my hands of Trevor. Been there, done that, don’t want to ride that merry-go-round again,” Ella said briskly.
“I need somewhere to go,” Megan said. “Somewhere safe.”
An internal alert system blared. Ella recognized the expression and tone. It was fear, but not of her. “Has Trevor hurt you? Threatened you?”
“No. Not exactly. He’s actually been … nice. Too nice, if that makes any sense.”
Unfortunately, it did. After one of Trevor’s episodes, he’d tended to act overly solicitous, showering her with presents and attention.
“What about your parents?”
“With them, he’s never been anything but wonderful. They think I’m going through a phase since I married Trevor so young. A divorce would get messy. They’re threatening to cut me off unless I try to work things out.”
Ella understood messy divorces. Women who she’d thought were friends had walked away as if she’d ceased to exist. Still, their situations weren’t the same. Megan was from a well-entrenched old Jackson family and would survive any fallout.
“Surely you have friends in Jackson who—”
“They’re all friends with Trevor too. Or their husbands are. And no one believes me when I try to tell them the truth. They tell me to suck it up and enjoy the house and the trips and the clothes. They think I’m exaggerating.”
Ella glanced over at the faint red wine stain on her cabinet. If she agreed to let Megan stay even a night, the drama unleashed would be epic.
Megan clutched the counter and wobbled a little. Dark circles shaded her eyes and her mouth was pinched. “Weren’t we friends once?”
“I thought so until you slept with my husband.” The zinger didn’t contain too much zing, considering Ella was content and even flirting with happiness. She heaved a sigh. “For how long?”
Part of her wanted to stuff the offer back in her mouth. But if she’d had a safe place to land, would she have stuck it out with Trevor for as long as she had? All it took was one person reaching out a hand to change a life.
Megan’s shoulders rose toward her ears, and she clasped her hands under her chin like a little child. “Not too long. I promise I won’t be a bother.”
As if she didn’t have enough to worry about. The garage was starting to feel like home, and Mack was becoming more and more important to her. How long before Trevor came looking for Megan at Ella’s? This would be the start of a war. A war she didn’t want and couldn’t win.
“Trevor will come here looking for you sooner rather than later.”
“I know. I need a little bit of time to figure things out.” Megan closed her eyes and tilted her head back as if praying, her hands still under her chin. “I can’t leave him for good, can I? I’ve never had a real job. How will I support myself?”
“Divorce him. Get your fair share.” Her words had a mercenary bent, but it was the way men like Trevor played and lived their lives.
“He’s almost bankrupt, Ella. There’s not enough to take.”
Shock rippled through her. Bankrupt? Her divorce settlement had been substantial but not enough to break him. She should know, considering she’d managed their properties. “What happened?”
“Bad investments. Real estate mostly. Tried to flip some houses, but the cost overrun ate up any profit. And there was some hunting land down in Texas he invested in to turn into a resort. That went belly-up last fall.”
Ella shook her head and clamped her mouth shut so hard her jaw ached. She’d told him it was a poor investment. Her last piece of advice to him before their divorce. That explained his desperation the night he confronted her. “He needs your money.”
“Yes. My money, not me.” Tears shimmered in Megan’s eyes, and she sniffed.
His desperation to change for Megan had nothing to do with becoming a better person. Ella chuffed. She’d almost believed him. Almost. Helping Megan escape him, with her money, would be a huge F-U to Trevor.
“Do you have a bag in the car? I’ll show you where you can stay.”
* * *
The next morning, Megan didn’t pick up any of the hints Ella dropped. It was Saturday and her plan was to head to downtown Cottonbloom and explore all the nooks and crannies of both sides of River Street and beyond. Alone. Or at least not accompanied by her ex-husband’s current, albeit estranged, wife. It was too weird even for her.
“Let me grab my purse in case I see something I can’t deny myself,” Megan said.
“I thought you were trying to make it on your own,” Ella muttered.
Megan had already hustled into the guest room. Ella threw up her hands and headed toward her car. Megan slid in with a smile, banishing the worry that had hovered over her like a black cloud the previous evening. She chattered throughout the ten-minute drive to River Street. It was relaxing in its own way.
Side by side, they wandered down an offshoot of River Street, stopping in Regan Fournette’s interior design shop before moving on to Sutton’s boutique, Abigail’s. The bell on the door chimed, and Sutton came out from a back room, her smile welcoming.
“Hello there, Ella. Nice to see you somewhere besides the shop. How’re are things going?”
“No more oil changes, thank goodness. This is Megan”—Ella balked on the last name considering they shared the same one—“a friend down from Jackson for a short—very short—visit.”
“Hi, Megan. Nice to meet you.” Sutton approached with an outstretched hand, and she and Megan shook.
“Can I help you find anything in particular?” Sutton turned to the nearest rack and straightened hangers.
“Just browsing.” Ella moved a few feet away to flip through summer dresses.
Megan made an oohing sound and headed toward a rack of evening gowns near the back.
A sense that Sutton was studying Ella like a specimen under a microscope had Ella shifting to a rack of pants. She cleared her throat. “This is my first time checking out downtown Cottonbloom. Don’t know why I waited so long.”
“You make it sound so fancy. Downtown Cottonbloom.” Sutton affected a posh a
ccent and joined her at the rack, the contemplative look in her eyes belying her simple smile.
Ella searched for a safe topic. “How’s the wedding planning coming along?”
“Mother’s driving Wyatt insane. She wants something big and bold with everyone in Cottonbloom in attendance. Not exactly Wyatt’s style.”
Ella pinched back her smile and shook her head. Already the Abbotts had grown on her. “No, I can’t see Wyatt standing at the front of the church gussied up in a tuxedo like a performing monkey.”
“It’s going to be a spectacle, that’s for certain.” Sutton laughed ruefully. “I hope you’re planning to attend?”
“If you send an invitation, I’ll be there.”
“You can count on it.” Something in Sutton’s smile hinted at deeper motivations than a simple invitation, but before Ella could tease them out, the bell over the door chimed and Sutton moved away with another greeting and smile for the new customer.
Partly to support Sutton and Wyatt and partly because the clothes were fabulous, Ella selected a silky scoop-neck T-shirt and fitted cigarette pants to try on.
A half hour later both Ella and Megan walked out with new clothes.
“Goodness me,” Megan said. “I never would’ve thought a store like Abagail’s would be in a town this tiny.”
“Cottonbloom has a lot to offer.” The need to defend her new home freaked her out. After leaving Dry Gulch, Mississippi, for Jackson and never looking back, she’d learned not to become sentimental over places.
They wandered farther down River Street to the Quilting Bee. Her first step over the threshold brought an array of sensations. Quilts hung along the back wall. Some new, some with the aged, frayed appearance of antiques. A selection of candles on a rack inside the door lent an aroma that was strong but pleasant.
Another wall was taken up by framed artwork, mostly landscapes, many of them of Cottonbloom. She imagined the visitors scooped up the paintings of the quaint downtown with its gazebo, footbridge, and river. The far corner was taken up by quilting supplies and swatches of fabric in color-coordinated bins.
Hand-thrown pottery of various colors covered the nearest table in an irresistible display. She picked up a bowl with swirls of blue and green and brown. It reminded her of Mack’s eyes.
“That bowl was thrown by a local artist.” A woman’s voice at Ella’s elbow made her bobble the bowl. She clutched it to her chest.
“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” Ella said in an obvious lie.
“My name’s Ms. Effie. I haven’t seen you around before. Are you from out of town?” The curiosity in the woman’s eyes was something she’d gotten used to after she’d moved to Cottonbloom, and she didn’t take offense.
“I’m Ella Boudreaux.”
The woman’s eyes widened and her mouth drew into an O.
“I take it you’ve heard of me?” An edge sharpened her voice even as she maintained a smile.
“Indeed, I have. Leora told me Delmar met you this week at the hardware store. With Mack Abbott no less. He said you were awfully pretty. And you certainly are.” The delight and good humor in the older woman’s voice set Ella back on her heels. “He went on and on about you. Leora threatened to stitch his mouth shut.” Effie’s laugh was big and boisterous and infectious.
“I’m working at Abbott Brothers Garage. In fact, I own part of it.”
“I heard about that too.” Effie straightened the pottery on the table.
“Is there anything you haven’t heard that you’d like to know about me?” Ella hoped her smile tempered her sarcasm.
“I was sweet on Mack’s daddy, you know.”
“I … didn’t know.” The switch from inquisition to confession threw Ella.
“He only had eyes for that darn garage.” Regret that could never be righted weighed on the old woman’s voice. She cut a glance toward Ella. “Mack’s a good man.”
Ella swallowed. Did the woman have second sight? How could she know Mack had set up house in her head? He was a good man, even if he let his temper and stubbornness drag him down on occasion. Who was without faults? Not her, that was for certain. Not that she planned to admit anything to a woman she’d known for five minutes.
“Mack Abbott is my business partner.”
“Oh really? That’s not the impression Delmar got.” Ms. Effie patted Ella’s arm. “Are you browsing or can I help you with something?”
“Browsing.” Ella followed the lady when she wandered toward Megan, who was examining the quilts. “What gave Mr. Delmar the impression Mack and I are anything more than business partners?”
“He said Mack couldn’t take his eyes off you at the hardware store. And something about the way you looked like you wanted to eat Mack up.”
“I don’t want to eat Mack.” An evil little voice whispered in her head, But you do want to jump him.
Ms. Effie raised her eyebrows, her smiling knowing. Could she know what Ella was thinking about? Because now that the thought was planted, she couldn’t shake the image of falling to her knees in front of Mack and devouring him. Heat spread like a spark in a dry forest.
“Will you tell us about your quilts?” Flapping her shirt, Ella walked past the older lady to where Megan flipped through quilts.
While Ms. Effie rattled on about the symbolism behind the placement of the squares, the possibility that Mack couldn’t take his eyes off her rattled around her head. He had probably been worried she’d do something to embarrass the garage, is all.
Nevertheless, she left with the bowl that reminded her of Mack’s eyes.
* * *
Mack shimmied underneath the car as carefully as possible, but rocks along the cracked pavement dug into his shoulders and along his back. Trying to fix a car on the side of the street in downtown Cottonbloom wasn’t ideal, but Marigold was in tears and didn’t want him to tow it back to the shop if at all possible.
The sickly sweet smell of transmission fluid pinpointed the problem if not the root cause. It could be something simple like a loose connection or more serious like a failing part. His instincts did not leave him feeling positive about the prognosis.
He lay underneath the car debating his next move. The car needed work. Likely expensive work. Marigold and Dave were strapped for money and too proud for their own good.
A foot prodded his knee, and he raised his head. A pair of legs only too familiar were clad in tight jeans and flat shoes. A slow breath exited his lungs. She was not the wrench he needed.
She squatted and leaned down, her hair spilling over his knee. Even though he had on thick canvas work pants, he could imagine how soft her hair would feel. His grip tightened on the hose he was fiddling with to keep from wrapping his fingers in her hair like he had in the woods.
“Can I help?” Ella asked.
“How are you at breaking bad news?” He kept his voice low.
Ella glanced over her shoulder and back at him, then before he could do or say anything else, she shimmed under the car with him until they were shoulder to shoulder, face to face. It felt shockingly intimate.
“How bad? Because Marigold doesn’t look like she can take more than a three on a scale of ten.”
“Could be the entire transmission has failed.”
Ella seemed to understand the gravitas of the diagnosis. “Do you have a loaner she can use?”
“Of course. Trouble is getting her to accept the help. I’ve offered before but she turned me down flat.”
“Let me handle it.” She scooted out.
By the time he’d hauled himself from under the car, Ella had drawn Marigold aside and was conducting a low conversation with her. Another woman, thin and blonde and looking bored stood off to the side, holding bags that bore the stamps of various businesses on the other side of the river.
Trusting that Ella had Marigold in hand, Mack called Jackson’s cell and explained the situation. While he was on the phone, he stared at Ella and
Marigold. Ella had a streak of dirt over and down the right butt and leg of her jeans. He got distracted with the notion of helping her brush it off.
“Ella,” the woman off to the side said in a childishly high-pitched voice, “how much longer?”
Ella shot the woman an impatient look and returned her attention to Marigold.
“Do we have any loaners ready to go?” Mack asked Jackson.
“A four-door Ford sedan. Would that work?”
“Yep. Plan to take Marigold back and get her set up. Leave everything vague as to return date and cost.”
“Will do. I’m ready to roll. See you in a sec.”
Mack disconnected and approached Ella and Marigold. “Everything is going to be fine, Marigold.”
Marigold gave him a watered-down smile. “I certainly don’t mind if my car is the guinea pig.”
Mack cleared his throat and side-eyed Ella. He had no clue what Marigold was talking about, but he trusted Ella to handle the situation with a deft touch. He trusted Ella. The thought ripped through him with the speed and ferocity of a tornado, but he didn’t have the time and space to inspect the damage.
“It’s good of you to offer it up for our experiment.” He raised his brows, hoping Ella planned to give him some guidance.
Ella tittered a laugh that was equal parts nervous and uncomfortable. “Mack’s a stickler about me learning how to work on transmissions. I already passed the basics with flying colors, right Mack?”
“Yep. Colors flying everywhere.” Right now, the color would be red like the flush on her cheeks, and blue like her wide eyes begging him to play along. “Your car will be perfect, Marigold. As long as you don’t mind a novice working on it. Of course, it’s only right to give you a deep discount.”
“I really appreciate this.” A deep breath helped draw Marigold’s shoulders back and return some of her natural lightness.
The distinctive rattling sound of the shop’s tow truck pulled Mack’s attention away from Ella. It took less than ten minutes to hook up Marigold’s car. Ella walked her to the passenger side of the tow truck, gave her a hug, and whispered something that made Marigold smile. Ella could eviscerate him with a handful of words yet seemed to possess the ability to charm and put others at ease. He teetered between resentment and admiration.
Set the Night on Fire Page 10