Set the Night on Fire

by Laura Trentham

  The rest of the day passed in relative calm, at least on the outside. Inside she was revisiting old memories of coming home from school to an empty house where the cabinets were almost bare. Or even worse, coming home to a house occupied by her mom and stepdad.

  She slipped out of the garage into her car without saying good-bye. She didn’t want to answer any more of Mack’s questions.

  Not that her house offered respite. Megan was camped out in the spare bedroom with no immediate plans to leave. Tonight was the night she would tell Megan that she needed to figure something out by the end of the week.

  She tensed on the approach to her house, always expecting to see Trevor’s BMW out front or in the driveway blocking Megan’s escape. Everything was blessedly normal. Except the aroma of fresh garlic and Italian spices that greeted her at the door.

  She was used to silence. In fact, she’d come to glory in her aloneness. But, the mouthwatering welcome wasn’t unpleasant.

  Megan skip-walked out of the kitchen wearing an apron. “I made dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Ella kicked off her shoes in the foyer. “It smells amazing. You didn’t have to cook.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” Megan said. “I hope you like spaghetti.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Ella’s stomach rumbled, reminding her she skipped lunch at the garage.

  As Ella headed toward the kitchen, Megan walked backward as excited as a little kid ready to show off a craft project for a grade.

  Megan had set two places including wineglasses in front of the barstools. Once they were served, Megan waited for Ella to take the first taste. The uncomfortableness of being stared at made Ella take a too-big bite and all she could manage was a nodding “mmm-mmm” and a thumbs-up signaling her approval.

  Megan’s smile contained no artifice, and Ella was struck by how young she seemed.

  “I’ll bet Trevor loved that you cooked for him,” Ella said between bites. “I was useless beyond the basics.”

  Megan’s smile lost some of its brilliance, and she poked the noodles. “Not really. He preferred more-sophisticated food. All I know how to cook are casseroles and pot roast and pasta.”

  Ella wiped her mouth on her napkin, took a sip of the red wine, and studied Megan from the corner of her eye. What went unsaid but understood was the fact Trevor could be cutting and cruel when things weren’t up to his standards. “This is absolutely delicious. You can cook for me anytime.”

  A portion of Megan’s earlier simple happiness glowed on her face, and Ella took another sip of wine, wondering how she had acquired the role of cheerleader for her ex-husband’s wife. Life was strange.

  “I’d be happy to cook for you every night to make up for letting me stay here. None of my other girlfriends understand.”

  “Yeah, well, Trevor puts on a good show.”

  “Exactly.” Megan swiveled in the chair, partway facing Ella. “Knowing you left him gave me the courage to do it.”

  Ella twirled spaghetti around her fork, not wanting to harsh the girl-power mood but needing to determine whether Megan had an exit strategy. “Have you thought about what’s next?

  “I was thinking about getting a job.”

  “Where?”

  “Maybe here?”

  “In Cottonbloom?”

  Ella rubbed at the sudden throb at her temple and took a bigger swallow of wine. Cottonbloom was her refuge. She didn’t want a reminder of what she’d escaped. Was it selfish to not want Megan in her new life?

  “My plan is to hit downtown Cottonbloom tomorrow and put in my resume at some of the shops along River Street. The Quilting Bee and the interior design shop. Everyone told me my house in Jackson was amazing.”

  It had been Ella’s house before it had been Megan’s house. It’s not like Ella wanted that life back, but she also couldn’t stop the prickle of resentment. Megan had invaded her old life and was now invading her new one too.

  The rest of dinner was taken up by small talk about mutual acquaintances in Jackson. Not something Ella was particularly interested in, but it was clear Megan was still entrenched in that world.

  Ella set the dishes in the sink and turned to her. “You’re still talking to all your old friends in Jackson, aren’t you?”

  “I’m texting some of them. The ones I can trust.” Megan rinsed the plates and loaded them into the dishwasher. “You go on, I’ll clean up.”

  Ella put her hand on Megan to still her. “Have you told anyone you’re staying with me?”

  “No one.”

  Ella heaved a sigh.

  “Except for Courtney, but she’d never rat me out to Trevor.”

  Ella’s relief turned to frustration. She didn’t know Courtney well, but her husband and Trevor were golfing buddies. “Let’s hope not.”

  Frustration at Megan’s naïveté drove Ella to seek solitude before she said something she would regret. In her bedroom, Ella paced. She hated having to shut herself off in her own house. Maybe driving the back roads of Cottonbloom would provide some clarity.

  Returning to the den, she stopped at the couch where Megan was laid out and watching a reality TV show. “I’ve got a couple of things to take care of. Don’t answer the door after I leave.”

  Megan popped up on her elbow, a flash of disquiet thinning her mouth. “I won’t. Promise.”

  Ella locked the door on the way out and stopped on her front walkway, listening. For what, she wasn’t even sure. A dark harbinger? The rumble of a BMW? Only the nighttime call of birds and the hum of insects accompanied the gloaming.

  Without conscious thought, the roads she travelled took her over the river into Louisiana. Her destination became clear in her head, like a thick fog dissipating. She wanted to see Mack. At best, it was ill advised; at worst, it was just plain dumb.

  What did he have to offer? Certainly not protection from whatever storm brewed in the north. In fact, he was more dangerous to her than Megan and Trevor and all of Jackson, Mississippi, combined.

  As the garage came into sight around the bend, her heart stuttered. What if he wasn’t even here? What if he was on a date? Or worse still, what if he had a woman over? The tension vibrating her body eased when his black truck came into view. Only Jackson’s and Willa’s cars were parked in the lot, which meant he was probably alone. Like her.

  She parked and crept by the magnolia tree in his front yard. Anyone watching might assume she was there to rob the place. Before she could knock, the unmistakable sound of metal being hammered broke the quiet night. The noise came from the back of his house.

  She tiptoed along the brick wall and peeked around the corner. Luckily, the banging mallet masked her not-so-whispered “Dear God in heaven.”

  Mack’s back was to her, and he was shirtless. A standing work light threw a circle around him like he was onstage, and whatever he was doing to the plate of metal made the muscles along his shoulders and arms ripple like he was the star of a male revue.

  Ella pressed her cheek against the rough bricks of the house, but they were still warm from the heat of the sun and didn’t help cool the fire raging in her body. He wiped an arm over his forehead and propped his hands on his hips, looking over his work. With supreme effort she transferred her attention from him to the twisty, graceful-looking lengths of metal in front of him. It seemed a shame to hide such beauty under the hood of a car.

  When Mack shifted to the other side of the entwined metal, she caught her first glimpse of his chest. Perfection. Thick and solid with more than a dusting of dark hair, his chest was worthy of a stone carving.

  Her gaze followed the trail of hair into the waistband of his well-worn jeans. Apparently, more than her gaze reached for him, because she lost her balance and took a step forward to catch herself. The movement swung his attention from his project to her.

  Now that she was caught, she had better roll her tongue back into her mouth and come up with a good reason for why she had shown up at his house unannounced and was spying on him.<
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  “Hi there. Sorry for dropping by like this.” She thumbed over her shoulder as she approached him. “I went to the front door, but I heard you working back here. What kind of car is that for?”

  He grabbed a black Abbott Brothers T-shirt off the rail of his deck and pulled it on, the cotton sticking in places where he’d worked up a sweat.

  “It’s not for a car. What are you doing here?”

  When he made no move to invite her inside, she prepared to beat a hasty retreat. “I wanted to talk about … Marigold.”

  Although Marigold hadn’t been on her mind as she’d driven across the river as if Mack had cast a spell on her, the woman was a better reason than the truth. The truth was a tangle of incoherent feelings.

  She took a step backward. “It can wait until tomorrow. I’m interrupting.”

  “Wait. Stay. Come on in.” The shortness of his words made her feel a little like a dog taking commands. Yet, she padded after him up the stairs onto a recently stained wooden porch and through a sliding glass door that let into an eating nook in a retro kitchen.

  “Can I get you something to drink? No wine, but I have beer and whiskey.” He opened the refrigerator, and she peered around the door, wanting a hint as to what made the man tick. An enormous jar of mayonnaise was visible on the top shelf, but he and the door blocked the rest.

  “A beer sounds great.”

  To her surprise, he pulled out two bottles of microbrews—she’d pegged him for an old-school domestic kind of guy—uncapped them, and handed one over before taking a long pull off his. She brought the cold bottle to her lips, but instead of taking a sip, she watched his throat work with each swallow.

  “You mind if I take a quick shower? I’m pretty gross from working on … the stuff outside.” He gestured vaguely, then rubbed the back of his neck and didn’t meet her eyes. If she had to guess, she would say the tinge of color in his cheeks was embarrassment.

  “Sure, go for it.” She spun in a slow circle and pulled out a seat at the table.

  “You can hang out in the den. It’ll be more comfortable.” He gestured down a short hall and led the way. The room was on the small side, which fit the age of the house, but was neat and comfortable looking. A couch took up one wall and faced a flat screen TV mounted above a fireplace.

  He collected a shirt tossed across the back of a recliner and straightened the magazines strewn over a beautiful rustic coffee table.

  “You know … make yourself at home. Or whatever.” He stopped in the doorway looking like more words hovered on his tongue, but only gave a brisk nod and disappeared. Two minutes later, the sound of a shower running unscrunched her shoulders and sent her on a trek around the room to investigate while drinking the hoppy, delicious beer.

  A couple of nondescript watercolors hung on the wall, and Ella guessed they were left over from his childhood as nothing about them was as unique as Mack himself. Car magazines mixed with copies of National Geographic on the table. There were no books, but Mack didn’t seem the type to sit and read. He was a doer.

  Several pictures on the mantle took Ella on a trip from Mack’s youth to before his father died. She was equally as fascinated by the picture of a young Mack with his arms around two squalling babies that could only be Wyatt and Jackson as she was with the picture of a teenage version of him in a baseball uniform with a bat propped on his shoulder. Unsmiling, he looked like he wanted to be somewhere else, probably under a car.

  The last picture on the mantle was of all the brothers, Ford included, with their father, standing in front of the shop. They looked happy and untroubled. A deception she was only too familiar with. She’d put on a happy face for too long.

  By the time the shower cut off, she’d finished her beer and had a relaxing buzz on. Until he stepped into the doorway of the den swirling a cloud of male, mouthwatering scents around her. Her buzz took on a more urgent quality.

  Her breathing shallowed and picked up pace. He was in jeans and a T-shirt, nothing she hadn’t seen him in before, but the vibe pulsing between them was different. Maybe it was because they weren’t in the garage. Something intangible drew her to him—the same instinct had guided her across the river tonight—and it cut deeper than a sexy chest. It cut right to her heart.

  He must have sensed the shifting tides, because he took a step back. “Let me grab another couple of beers.”

  As if she needed something else to muddle her senses and throw her off-balance. Yet, when he returned, she took the beer and drank. He slipped by her and sat in the recliner. She took the corner of the couch nearest him.

  “I assume you’re ready to share your evil plan regarding Marigold?” His eyebrows rose as he took a sip.

  She sputtered a laugh around the rim of her beer. “Try brilliant.”

  “I’m intrigued. Talk to me.”

  She’d wanted to have something on paper before she shared with Mack, but if fumbling through her idea was the price for her spontaneous visit, then she’d gladly pay. “What about a fundraiser for Marigold and Dave?”

  “Like selling stuff from the shop or on the website?”

  “That could be a small part of it, but I’m thinking something bigger. Something that would get the town involved. Both sides.”

  Mack leaned forward and braced his forearms on his knees. “Like what though? A pancake breakfast?”

  The faint memory of her school hosting a breakfast surfaced. “That’s not a bad idea, but I’m thinking bigger.”

  “How big?”

  “An entire-day event. The garage would spearhead.”

  “Sounds expensive. And time consuming.” He rubbed and pulled at the hair on his chin. A mannerism she associated with him turning over troubles.

  “Perhaps. But, along with helping Marigold, we’ll get something out of it too.”

  “We?” He raised his gaze to hers.

  “Yes, ‘we’ of Abbott Brothers Garage. Until you raise the money and I agree to a sale, then I’m as much part of the business as you are. And believe it or not, I want it to prosper.” She refused to balk at the intensity of his stare.

  “Okay, fine. What would we get out of it that wouldn’t make it seem like we were taking advantage?”

  “The event itself will be a classic car show. Pull in classic car owners from all over Louisiana and Mississippi to show off their rides. Charge an entry fee and give out prizes for different categories. Isn’t that the reason they have them restored? Recognition and admiration? Some might need more work done or have another project car, and that’s where Abbott Brothers will lure them in.”

  Mack sat back, the chair rocking with the movement. He smoothed a hand down his beard. What did it feel like? Soft or scratchy?

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Shockingly, I do come up with them on occasion.” Self-depreciating was a natural state for her, but at least since her divorce, she’d learned to inject humor.

  “More often than not, I’d say. You’re dragging the garage into the twenty-first century.” The admiration and sincerity in his voice echoed in her head, the reverberations reaching her heart.

  She’d been underestimated or, even worse, dismissed more often than not in Jackson as a trophy wife. And, she’d let it happen. She’d let everyone believe it was Trevor with the business acumen and not her, because of his pride. Mack didn’t need to put her down to make himself feel big.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He sat forward and stared off into the distance. “It will be a huge undertaking. I’ll need to talk to both mayors and the police departments and—”

  “Let me plan it.”

  “What?” He returned his focus to her.

  “I planned parties quite often in Jackson.” She’d hated playing hostess next to Trevor. After the last guests left, she’d felt like glass ready to shatter. But this would be different. She had a cause and a job. “I’m good at organizing. Anyway, you have actual work to do in the garage. As soon the new accounting prog
ram is up and running, what will I do?”

  “Are you sure you want to tackle this?”

  “It’s going to be awesome. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “We need to discuss scope. And, of course, we can’t pull the trigger until we have a meeting about it to make sure Jackson and Wyatt are on board.”

  “Tomorrow morning, then?”

  He nodded and a silence filled with furtive, awkward-feeling glances at each other persisted to the point of uncomfortableness. There was no reason for her to still be sitting in his den peeling the label off her beer.

  “What were you working on outside?”

  He rubbed at the nape of his neck where his still-damp hair curled slightly. Was that a blush? It was hard to tell under his beard. “It’s … private.”

  “Of course, I shouldn’t have presumed—”

  “I’ll show you. If you promise not to laugh.” His usual confidence had done a vanishing act, and the reason hit her like a slap upside the head. He was nervous about her opinion.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Working metal is my favorite part of the restoration process.” He stared at his bare feet. “After Pop died and the boys got otherwise occupied with Sutton and Willa, I got an itch to try something different.”

  As much as Mack was surrounded by family, he was as alone as she was. A slug of tears worked themselves up her throat, but a swig of beer helped to push them back down. Pity was not a sentiment he would welcome.

  She pictured the graceful, intertwining arcs of pipe from outside, and her voice filled with wonder. “It’s not for a car at all, is it? It’s a work of art.”

  He made a scoffing sound and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “That makes it sound pretentious as hell.”

  “What else have you done?”

  “A few animals. Not very good ones.”

  “Can I see?”

  “I don’t want to bore you.”

  “To find out Mack Abbott has a hidden artistic side is the most exciting thing to happen since the discovery the earth orbits the sun.” It was only a slight exaggeration.

  “You’re crazy.” He shook his head, but a smile took up residence and his sparkling eyes did a crinkle thing that tied her stomach in knots. “I have some older stuff stored in the spare room.”