“What?”
“’Cause the way you came barreling outa there, a fella would think the devil himself was right on your heels.”
“More like a she-devil.” As in red-hot and on fire, and the last type of woman Austin needed in his life right now.
“I think I need to sit down.” Uncle Spur stumbled toward the porch swing.
“It’s not your heart, is it?”
“My stomach.”
Austin frowned. “I gave your stomach a start?”
“Marshalyn did that. You just scared the bejeesus out of me.”
“I don’t think I’m following you.”
“You like pie, boy?”
“I’m from Texas, aren’t I?”
“Well, so do I. That is, until I just tasted Marshalyn Simmons’s famous fudge pie. See, I thought I’d mosey on over to the ladies’ choir practice at the church and she was there with this good-looking dish. Said it was her prize-winning recipe and I believed her. Women,” he shook his head. “You think they would just admit their shortcomings.”
“You ate a slice of that pie?”
“Damn straight I did. It was okay going down, but then it had this funny little aftertaste. Come to find out, she mistook a bottle of cod-liver oil for her vanilla. I tell you, it was god-awful, and I ain’t a religious man. I told her as much and you know what she had the nerve to tell me? That I was an insensitive old coot and she deserved an apology. When I said she should be the one apologizing for upsetting my digestive system, she busted out crying and locked herself in the ladies’ room.”
“You really said that?”
“’Course I said it. I always speak the truth. Insensitive,” he muttered. “Why, I should be so lucky. As it is, I swear I dropped ten pounds before I managed to leave the church’s rec building. If that ain’t sensitive, at least in the stomach area, I don’t know what is. Speaking of which—” he bolted to his feet “—I think I’d better get inside before the weight starts coming off again.
“An apology, of all things,” he grumbled as he reached for the screen door. “If she’s expecting one from me she’ll be waiting till the cows come home ’cause I ain’t done a cotton-pickin’ thing. She should be the one calling and begging my forgiveness.”
“MARSHALYN WON’T TAKE any of my phone calls,” Uncle Spur announced three days later as he eyed Madeline over a bowl of Cheerios.
“You told her she was a rotten cook.” Madeline took a long drink of her diet cola and ate a bite of whole-wheat toast.
“She is.”
“But you didn’t have to say it.”
“I call ’em like I see ’em, is all. I’m an honest man. Ain’t women always yackin’ about how they want an honest man?”
“Honest as in ‘Honey, I’m going to the store,’ and that’s where you actually go. Not honest as in ‘Yes, dear, your butt looks monumental in those orange capri pants.’”
He glanced under the table. “You ain’t wearin’ orange capri pants—not that I know what capris are, but you ain’t in pants—and your butt still looks—”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Uncle Spur.” She waved her piece of toast at him. “I know my butt isn’t the smallest in the state. Everyone else knows it, too. But there’s no reason for you to constantly point it out.”
“If you know it, then what’s the big deal if I point it out?”
“You can’t spit tobacco near as well as your brothers, right?”
“What are you talking about?”
“About the fact that you used to chew and spit tobacco all the time. You spit on Janice’s shoe that time when we were kids.”
“I don’t spit anymore. It’s bad for you.”
“True, but that’s not why you gave it up. You gave it up because you came in third to your two brothers in the Waller County Spit-Off that time, right?”
His gaze narrowed. “And your point is?”
“You don’t spit because you don’t want to be reminded that you’re third-rate.” At his sharp look, she added, “Not that third is anything to be ashamed of. There were over fifty men in that competition and you put forty-seven of them to shame.”
“Damn straight I did.”
“That’s an accomplishment, but at the same time, it wasn’t your shining moment. Rather, one you would more than likely like to forget. But what if everybody kept reminding you of your shortcoming?”
“My brothers still rib me.”
“And it doesn’t make you feel very good, does it? Even though it’s old news, it still bothers you.”
“Ain’t nothin’ bothers old Spur, little gal,” he muttered, but she could tell that he was thinking about what she’d said. “I don’t mean to hurt nobody,” he finally added. “Still, Marshalyn damn well knows she cain’t cook anymore. I didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know.”
“True, but maybe she thinks the effort should count for something. Whether it was good or bad, she still spent all day slaving away near a hot oven. I’d say, good or bad, the fact that a woman would go to so much trouble should show what a good woman she is.”
“She does have a good heart. A little loudmouthed at times, but nothing I cain’t handle. I like to talk myself. She noticed it, too. She said she enjoyed talking to me at choir practice. Said she was surprised since she didn’t think she liked me, but after jawing a little, she said I wasn’t all that bad. Then I told her she was just the kind of woman I’d like to scoot up next to on a cold winter’s night. Before I tasted her pie, that is.”
“Does it really matter if she can cook?”
“Somebody has to.”
“You do it. This is the new millenium. Men cook, too.”
“I know that. Thought of it myself just last night, but it was too late. She’s as mad as a misplaced hornet.”
“I’d be mad myself.”
“She wants an apology.”
“I’d want one myself. A big one.”
“An apology she ain’t gettin’.” At her pointed stare, he added, “How the heck am I supposed to apologize if she won’t take my calls? It’s too damned late, is what it is. I blew my chance.”
“Maybe.” Madeline took a bite of her dry toast. Ugh. While she’d been content with the same old breakfast for the past several years, lately she’d been thinking that it just didn’t taste all that great. Her senses were alive, especially after her failed seduction attempt with Austin a few nights ago. She craved some real gratification.
Something to ease the hunger deep inside her. Something sweet and loaded with fat and…comforting. Something bigger and a heck of a lot more mouthwatering than a measly Oreo cookie.
“And maybe not,” she said as an idea struck.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s obviously going to take more from you than a simple ‘I’m sorry.’ Words are just words. Actions speak much louder if you want to get her back to thinking that you’re not so bad.”
“I still ain’t following you.”
“It’s time for you to show her how you really feel about her. Reveal your romantic side.”
“I ain’t blowing some ungodly amount on some fancy schmancy flower bouquet from the Piggly Wiggly. That’s a total waste of hard-earned money.”
“It’s not about buying her something, Uncle Spur. It’s about effort. You need to make a grand effort to do something that’s important to her. Cooking is obviously important to Miss Marshalyn or she wouldn’t be so hurt that you insulted hers.”
“True enough, but I’m still not following you.”
“She likes sweets.”
“So?”
“So make her something sweet.”
“I ain’t ever baked anything in my life. I can cook—stuff like Shit on the Shingles and Anything Goes Stew. But a pie?”
“Not a pie.” She smiled, making a mental list of ingredients. “I think we can manage something a lot more impressive than a pie.”
“We? As in you and me?”
/> “I wasn’t talking about my two-butt cheeks.” When he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. “Say one word, just one, and you’ll be crawling into bed with Twinkles tonight.”
“I wasn’t going to say a word.”
She grinned. “Maybe you’re not such a lost cause, after all.”
10
“THAT MAN IS A LOST CAUSE.” Miss Marshalyn pulled the seat belt across her and snapped it into place. “Imagine him telling me that I can’t cook.”
“He told you that, huh?” Austin arched an eyebrow at her as he backed the truck out of her driveway and started toward town.
“His exact words were ‘Damn, Marshalyn, but you couldn’t cook your way out of a brown paper bag’.” She shook her head. “Why, I’ve been cooking longer than most folks around here have been alive. It’s not my cooking that’s the problem. I can cook just fine. I just can’t—” Her words stumbled to a halt and she gave him a sideways glance. “I can see just fine,” she huffed.
“I’m not saying a word.”
“It was an honest mistake. People make them all the time, not to mention that cod-liver-oil bottle looked exactly like my vanilla. Why, somebody ought to bring it to that vanilla company’s attention. The whole situation screams lawsuit to me. Somebody could come along and be in desperate need of a good cleaning and they take the vanilla and get so stopped up that their head blows off.”
“Or the opposite end.” He grinned, but she didn’t seem to share his amusement.
Guilt rushed across her face. “Spur needed a good cleaning out anyway. The man is full of crap. I’m the best cook this county has ever seen.”
“I’m sure he knows that. I don’t think he was talking about your reputation so much as last night, in particular. Hell, everybody has a bad day once in a while. Sometimes I can’t rope a calf to save my life and my foreman is all too quick to point it out.”
“Because he’s ribbing you. Spur was not ribbing me, and if he was, it wasn’t the least bit funny.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“My feelings are perfectly fine. I don’t care what that old coot has to say. He isn’t worth the cow dung I scraped off the bottom of my shoe this morning. He’s stubborn and insensitive and ornery. Why, I’ve never met a more difficult man in my entire life.”
“I seem to recall you huffing and puffing about someone else way back when.”
“Jim wasn’t that bad.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she shook her head. “Okay, so he was that bad, but I was married to the man. I had to put up with him. Spur Tucker means absolutely nothing to me and I don’t have to listen to his lame apologies.”
“Oh, he tried to apologize, did he?”
“He’s called and left several messages on the answering machine.”
“Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
“Because I didn’t want to. I have nothing to say to him except good riddance. I hope he takes the next feed plane back to that decaying old house he calls a ranch because I’m not interested.”
“I hear his place is pretty respectable.”
“He’s seventy-three and never been married. I dread to even think what the inside of the place looks like.”
He wanted to point out that at the rate she was going it wouldn’t matter because she wouldn’t be able to see it with those eyes of hers, but he kept his mouth shut. As much as he wanted to toss her over his shoulder and cart her over to Austin Medical himself, he could only sit back and let her make her own decision. She was a grown woman and she was afraid. He didn’t share her fear, but he understood it, and it was something she would have to deal with in her own time.
Or face the consequences.
“Whatever would I do out in the middle of nowhere? Why, I must have been crazy even to think that Spur Tucker might be worth his salt. I’m an exciting, vivacious woman. I’ve got too much to offer a man who gets excited over celebrity Wheel of Fortune. I need people. A social life. I bet the nearest church choir is two hours away.”
“I thought you quit choir.”
“Nonsense. I need stimulation. Speaking of which, you’d better step on the gas and hurry it up before the line gets too long at the Toss-n-Tease. I’ve been suffering all week with this gray mess and I’m not about to go another minute. I thought Friday would never get here.”
“Were they all booked up during the week?”
“No.”
“So why didn’t you just go in sooner?”
“Friday is half-off all hair services.”
“Miss Marshalyn, you’ve got Fort Knox stashed in your sofa cushions, not to mention I can’t even imagine what your bank balance looks like. Money’s not a problem for you. Of course, if it is, I’d be glad to write you a check this very minute for that one hundred acres.”
“I just bet you would.” She shook her head. “I’ve got plenty of money. Jim saw to that. Not to mention, my work at the library and my baking over the years have helped me accumulate a nice little nest egg.” She cut him a sly glance. “And nobody’s supposed to know about my sofa cushions.”
“I hate to break it to you, but everybody knows.”
“Why, that loudmouth Gwen—”
“Don’t get all ruffled. Everybody knows and nobody cares. It’s your money.”
“Exactly. Which brings us back to half-off Friday. Why should I pay full price when I can save a nice little chunk? Besides, Friday is also food and friends day for the ladies’ auxiliary who meet at the Toss-n-Tease.” At his questioning glance, she added, “We kill three birds with one stone. In between the coloring and the perms, we’re giving Camille Skeeter a get-well party. She’s been feeling a little under the weather and so Dr. Blake is sending her to Austin for some routine testing. Merline says it’s probably bronchitis. I think it’s more allergies, myself. Margaret Winchester swears it’s a virus and I think Camille herself is leaning toward that. Whatever it is, a party is just what she needs. And a new haircut. That always perks me right up.”
“What’s the third bird?”
“It’s Bonnie Hanover’s last week in Cadillac, so today will also be her going-away party.”
“Food and friends, huh?”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t make anything. I’ve got two containers of store-bought dip in my purse.”
“I’m sure Miss Hanover will be mighty grateful.”
“Smart mouth,” she snapped. “Forget grateful. Bonnie’s just excited. She’s moving to one of those retirement colonies outside of Austin. They have daily bingo and weekly casino bus trips and a monthly trip to the movies. Now there’s a way to spend your glory years.”
“I think plenty of sunshine and a beach full of hunky boy toys would be better for a vital, red-blooded female with a lot of years left under her belt.”
Marshalyn frowned. “I get plenty of sunshine here and I can’t stand those tight little swimming trunks some men wear. Why, they leave nothing to the imagination. A woman like me enjoys pondering a bit.”
“Sounds like you’re having second thoughts about moving to Miami.”
“I’m having no such thing. It’s just that Florida isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and I’m not afraid to say so, not to mention while I love my sister, she can be a bit loose at times. But then, she is younger.”
“So don’t go.”
“And stay here so that you don’t have to fulfill your promise? Not on your life, Austin Elijah Jericho. You’re settling down if I have to spend twenty-four/seven until my dying breath sipping Bloody Marys poolside and watching a bunch of men shake their barely concealed assets right in my face. It’s a small price to pay for my peace of mind.”
“Yep, it sounds rough. Hey, I wonder what kind of swimming trunks Spur wears?”
“Do not try to change the subject.”
“I’m not. We were talking about you and Tucker and last night.”
“We were not. We were talking about your promise. Speaking of which, do you have anyone
in mind for my party? It’s only a week away, you know.”
“Still a whole week?” The question earned him a glare and he grinned.
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Have a date.”
“No.”
“Not even with sweet little Maddie Hale?” She smiled. “I heard from Della who heard from Gretchen that you’ve been going over to her place here lately.”
“I’m helping her on one of her work projects, and she’s not sweet.”
“She was always such a nice girl. So thoughtful and sweet. She brought me chicken soup one time at the library when I had a terrible cold, not to mention she showed up every morning when I opened the doors with a nice, big, warm muffin in her hands.”
“Trust me, she’s changed. She’s not the same woman.” And he had the hard-on to prove it.
He flipped the air conditioner on high and adjusted the vents. The cool relief blasted him, but it wasn’t enough to lower his already raging body temperature.
If only she had been the same Maddie, then maybe things between them could have been different.
“Her daddy made the best muffins in town,” Marshalyn went on. “Well, almost. My strudel muffins did win at the county fair that one year for best breakfast cake. But Walter did have the market cornered when it came to blueberry and he taught Madeline every secret he knew. Why, toward the end of high school, I couldn’t even tell a difference when she started bringing me her own muffins instead of his. You like muffins.”
“Trust me, she’s not making muffins anymore.” She was making mischief with her sultry glances and her edible body lotions. “She hates to cook. In fact, she vowed off cooking when she left Cadillac.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Maddie I knew.”
“That’s what I keep telling you.”
“Maybe you’re wrong.”
“And maybe I’ll actually be able to find a parking place right in front of the beauty salon,” he said as he steered the truck onto a very busy Main Street.
“Where’s your faith, Austin?” Miss Marshalyn asked as they crept past the hair shop, the street lined on either side with cars.
The Sex Solution Page 14