“That boy was a wimp. That’s why he didn’t stick around.”
Ariana ignored Kingston, continuing with her rant. “If she’d taken my advice, she’d be married by now.”
“Maybe she didn’t want to marry him because you picked him out for her.”
Maybe she hadn’t wanted to marry Andrew. Maybe. Simone didn’t know. She’d never known. That was the problem.
“I know what’s best for her. I’m her mother.”
Kingston didn’t kowtow. He went at Ariana. “You decide what she wants because you can’t stand not having control. You decide what they both want. They’re adults. Let them make their own decisions.”
“How dare you, Kingston? May I remind you that you work for me? You are not part of this family. And you can be fired.”
“Stop it.” Simone shouted. She actually shouted at her mother. It was the only time Ariana had ever shut up when Simone spoke. “Do you want to know what I want? Do you really?”
“Of course, dear,” her mother said finally. “Tell us. We’ll help you get it.” But Simone knew there was a hook.
What did she really want? To stop letting what other people wanted be her guiding light.
“I want to buy my furniture at Salvation Army and my clothes at Goodwill.”
It was so quiet, she could hear a fly buzzing in the corner.
Della’s betrayal had ripped something away from her: safety, security, and yes, her sense of home. But Della couldn’t take that away unless Simone herself let it all go. Goldstone wasn’t The Emerald City or Munchkinland. It wasn’t even Kansas. It was people who cared about her and most of them were still right here.
Della could never take that away from her. Neither could Ariana.
Something powerful and wonderful rose up within Simone.
“I want a lot of things,” she said, her voice clear and strong. “I want to live in a trailer or a house or whatever I choose wherever I choose to buy it. And I want you to say you like it even if you hate it. I want you to visit, and I don’t want you to bring your fumigator.”
Her mother’s eyes widened, and a glob of mascara stuck to her upper eyelid.
“I want to make pots of money writing erotica on the Internet. Because I’m good at it. Very, very good at it. And I like writing it.”
“You write porn on the Internet?” Her mother looked close to expiring, her eyes wide and wild. A deep wrinkle marred her pristine forehead, and crow’s feet sprouted at the corners of her eyes.
“And I don’t want you to ever call it porn, because it’s classy and it’s well written.”
“But dear—”
“And I never ever want to own a pair of Barry Manilow shoes.”
Ariana Chandler gasped. “Not Barry Manilows, you silly girl. Manolo Blahniks.” Rolling her eyes heavenward, she added, “I cannot believe you came from my loins.”
“And you know what else, MOTHER? I don’t want you to ever send me size zero clothing again. I never want to fit into size zero clothing. Not ever. I want to have breasts and hips, and I want you to tell me I’m beautiful that way.”
“Of course, you’re beautiful.”
Just words. Her mother was so good with meaningless words. Simone didn’t bother rebuking her. “And I want to wear blue underwear with white pants no matter how bad you say it looks.”
Someone applauded. A slow, steady clap.
Brax held the screen door open with his shoulder and applauded.
She stopped breathing and her heart suddenly stilled in her chest.
“Is there anything else you want, Simone?” Brax looked at her as if she were the only person in the room. The only woman in the world. The door slammed as he stepped through and stood before her to whisper, “Tell me your heart’s desire.”
She’d stopped screaming with pleasure because her exuberance embarrassed Andrew. She’d run away from her Silicon Valley career because her mother called her a failure. She’d loved everyone in Goldstone because they hadn’t cared about her failures. Then she’d been about to throw away everything important to her because Della Montrose had betrayed them all.
She’d never fought for anything in her life. She’d always given up at someone else’s whim. Not this time. She would not throw away this chance because she was afraid Brax would reject her heart’s desire. If she did, then she deserved to crawl home after her mother with her tail between her legs.
“I know exactly what I want,” she started.
He put his fingers to her lips before she could get the next word out, then traced them with the pad of his thumb. “My turn.” He leaned in close, his heady male scent surrounding her. “I’ve loved your smile since the first moment I saw it.” He took his hand away to brush his lips to hers. “I love the skulls on your license plate and the bumper sticker on your truck. I love your pluck and your courage.” Then he whispered against her ear, for her alone. “I love the way you scream when I make you come.”
Oh. Oh. He loved her exuberance and excess.
Still for her ears only, he added, “And I especially love the way you told your mother to go to hell.”
He knew. He knew how hard that was. How long she’d dreamed of it, but never had the courage to even admit she’d wanted to.
He tucked a stray lock behind her ear, then stroked her cheek. “I died a thousand deaths when I thought you’d be hurt up there today. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, probably half of them since I came to Goldstone. But this is one mistake I won’t make. I won’t leave here without telling you that I love you.”
He loved her. He really honest-to-God loved her. “So what’s your heart’s desire?” she whispered.
Clasping his hands at the small of her back, he held her close and met her gaze, his eyes a deep true blue. “That you’ll come home to Cottonmouth with me. Home, Simone. I want to be your home wherever you are.”
His face blurred through a sheen of tears. She lost her voice. Home. With that one word, he proved he knew everything that was important to her.
“I think I’m going to vomit. Kingston, get me a paper bag. Quickly.”
Simone didn’t care if her mother threw up all over the orange shag. “Does your house have a foundation, Brax?” she asked.
“Hell, yes, even made it through the last earthquake without a crack.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “But can you leave Goldstone?”
She would always love Mr. Doodle and Whitey and Sheriff Teesdale and Maggie and Chloe and the chickens, and she would never leave that love behind like a forgotten memory. Home wasn’t a place. It was a feeling. It was where you were warm and cherished. It was where you were accepted for exactly who you were instead of what someone else thought you should be. And a person could have more than one home. In fact, the more, the better.
“Goldstone will always be in my heart, Brax, but I want to come home with you.”
He sighed, then cupped her face in one big hand. “Aren’t you forgetting one big thing?”
What? Maybe: “I love you?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
She hugged him. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Then she jumped back. “Oh my God, I forgot to ask about Maggie. Is she okay?”
“There’s another thing I love about you that I forgot to mention.”
She cocked her head. “What’s that?”
“The way you care about your friends.” He stroked her cheek. “Maggie’s gonna be fine. It’ll be hard, but we’ll see her through.” Then he squeezed the breath out of her with a tight hug. “God, I love you.”
“Kingston, where is that vomit bag?”
Simone turned her head.
Her mother fanned herself dramatically. “And Jackie, are you done packing?” she called. “We simply have to get out of here. Simone has lost her mind.”
Thump. The trailer vibrated beneath their feet. Jackie stood in the hallway, Ariana’s suitcases dumped on the floor beside her. “Your bags are packed.”
“Where are yours?” Ari
ana huffed. “I specifically told you to pack your bags.”
Jackie tipped her chin, and a small smile creased her mouth. “I’m not going.”
Ariana’s mouth opened and closed, then finally, she gasped. “What do you mean you’re not going?”
“I’m not going back home with you. If Simone’s going to Cottonmouth, then I’m going to ask her if she’ll let me stay in her trailer for a while.”
“Of course, you can stay in the trailer,” Simone said, her heart bursting. For Jackie. For herself. For the warmth of Brax’s arm around her shoulders and his body next to hers.
“She cannot,” Ariana stated.
“I can. And I will. MOTHER, go home.”
Ariana stared. Her perfectly applied cosmetics started to crack. Then she found her voice. “You two ungrateful...after everything I’ve done...I can’t believe I could raise daughters who would treat their mother...Kingston, we’re leaving. Get my bags.”
Kingston didn’t move. “I thought I was fired.”
“I said you could be fired. I didn’t actually fire you. Now drive me home.”
Jackie took a step closer to Kingston. “He isn’t going home with you, MOTHER.”
Ariana gaped, then recovered herself. She could never be silent for long. “Whatever do you mean, Jackie? Of course, Kingston’s driving me home.”
Jackie shook her head slowly. “He’s staying here with me.”
Ariana stared down her nose. “Why on earth would he stay with you?”
“Because he loves me.” Jackie smiled and looked at Kingston with the brightest gaze, brighter than anything Simone had ever seen up on the movie screen.
Oh my God. Kingston and Jackie?
“And we’re going to get married,” Jackie added.
Ariana laughed. “Kingston, do you know anything about this child’s delusions?”
Kingston put his arm around Jackie and tucked her close to his side. “As a matter of fact, I do. I was actually present last night when I asked her to marry me.”
Ariana snorted. “This is a joke, right?”
“I’ve been in love with Jackie for a long time.” Kingston looked down at Jackie with something far more than the fond gaze Simone was used to. “She only figured out how much she adores me a few months ago.” Then he turned back to his so-called employer. “We don’t feel like wasting any more time before getting married.”
Ariana’s jaw dropped. She’d hate the expression if she saw it in the mirror. “That’s perverted. You’re old enough to be her father.”
Jackie leaned on Kingston’s shoulder. “You can’t say anything that will ruin this for us, MOTHER.”
“He’s deserting me for you. He’s always got to attach himself to a star. He’s nothing without it.” She threw out her arm in Kingston’s direction. “He’s not even much of a man.”
Jackie turned her face up adoringly. “I assure you, he’s very much a man.”
After a quick nuzzle to Simone’s ear, Brax crossed the short distance and picked up the two forgotten bags. “I’ll carry these out to the car for you, Mrs. Chandler.”
“It’s Miss. Miss Chandler.” Ariana refused to be anybody’s anything, even somebody’s wife.
“If you hurry,” Brax said, “you can make it to Las Vegas before it gets dark. Stay at the Venetian. I’ve heard the rooms are luxurious. You won’t even need your fumigator.”
Ariana looked at her daughters. Then she looked at her manager. She didn’t even bother looking at Brax. Finally, she lifted her head regally. Then exited the small trailer.
Silence reigned for exactly three seconds. “Shit, the car keys.” Kingston dug in his pocket.
Simone took Jackie’s hand in hers and smiled all the way from her heart. “I’m very, very happy for you both. Now give me the keys, Kingston, and I’ll take them to her.” Her last hurrah.
Her mother did not lower herself to acknowledge either the man who carried her bags or the woman who offered the keys, even if it was her daughter. She did not say goodbye. Nor did she leave them a tip.
“I didn’t even know she knew how to drive,” Simone murmured as Brax hugged her.
Together, they watched the car disappear around the corner.
Brax rubbed his nose in her hair. “You know, my mother’s gonna love you as much as I do.”
She slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh my God, I forgot. I’m going to have to meet your mother.” But she could do anything if she put her mind to it. Especially with Brax at her side. “You’re right,” she murmured, letting a smile grow. “She’s going to love me. And I’m going to love her.”
Epilogue
Crepe paper streamers looped the tables set along the back wall. Paper tablecloths festooned with flowers hung almost to the floor. Helium balloons had been set free to drift lazily along the ceiling while cardboard angels floated across the white walls. The aroma of freshly perked coffee wafted to every corner.
The dining hall of Our Manor of the Ladies was decorated more for a party than a wake. Brax didn’t think Maggie—or Carl—would be unhappy with that.
“I made three trifles. Carl loved my trifle. Maggie always took home the center piece for him, where all the sherry soaks into the ladyfingers.” Rowena dug out a large portion of whipped cream, bananas, and sherry-laced cake. Then her smile suddenly drooped. “She is all right, isn’t she?”
Brax had escorted Maggie, his mother, and Simone to the funeral while Rockie the gigolo opted to stay at home. After the service, Brax drove them to the Manor, where they’d all piled into the home’s small ladies’ room, where Maggie could wipe her tears and receive a few much-needed hugs. They were still there, as far as he knew.
All right? No. Maggie wouldn’t be all right for a long time. But she had her mother, her brother, and her future sister-in-law to help her through.
“She’s going home with my mother for a while,” he told Rowena. “Then she’ll come to Cottonmouth. We’ll take care of her.”
Handing the plate to him along with a flower-flocked napkin and a plastic fork, Rowena gasped. “I didn’t make the trifle that last time. I baked scones instead. Maybe that’s what went wrong. I always saved the last piece for Carl.”
Brax didn’t say that Carl was already dead before the last tea party. Nothing could have helped him then. “I’m sure he’s enjoying this one from above. Just keep remembering that.”
The little woman beamed. “You’re right. Can’t spoil the mood with crappy regrets. Carl would have wanted us to remember him with happy thoughts. Right, girls?” Rowena called across the room.
Standing like a welcoming committee at the door, Nonnie, Divine, and Agnes tucked into their own plates of trifle.
“That boy always did love a party,” Agnes intoned.
“So we’re giving him a proper send-off,” Divine added.
“Do you know he used to dress up every year as Santa Claus and bring us gifts?” Rowena asked. “He always brought me lavender perfume.” She savored a bite of trifle. “I never did tell him I hate lavender.” Her small nose wrinkled. “Smells like bug repellant.” She quickly covered her mouth with a dainty hand. “Oh, you don’t think he heard, do you?” she whispered, then raised her voice. “Carl, I love lavender. It’s my favorite. Always made the men gather round like tomcats.” She batted almost nonexistent eyelashes, then her features drooped once more. “I am so going to miss that boy. Whatever will we do next Christmas?”
Brax threw a glance at Teesdale standing between a tall woman with fading red hair and a young lady sporting enchanting dimples at the corners of her mouth. His wife and daughter. His pride and joy. His beloved Goldstone roots.
“Santa would never desert such lovely ladies as yourselves.” He’d toss a hint at Teesdale before he left, though he was sure the sheriff would think of it on his own come Christmas.
“Oh look, the chickens.” Rowena bounced and bubbled. “Yoo-hoo girls, get some trifle before the whipped cream gets soggy.”
The c
hickens had attended Carl’s graveside draped in black. Without their distinguishing colors, Brax couldn’t tell them apart. Of course, necklines plunged to reveal too much cleavage and matching skirts barely covered their rumps. Chloe had said Carl wouldn’t have it any other way. Maggie had hugged each of them with trembling arms.
“Mumsy, did you make any tarts?”
Brax raised an eyebrow and mouthed Mumsy? with a question mark at the end.
Rowena rose on her tiptoes and whispered to his shoulder, which was all she could reach. “I give them pointers. So they sort of think of me as their mumsy.”
Brax didn’t ask what kind of pointers.
“I made tarts, of course, but they won’t be coming out until all the trifle is gone.” She raised a snowy white brow at Brax. “Except for the last piece.”
The chickens surrounded him then, pecking his cheeks with tiny kisses, then swiping at the lipstick prints left behind.
“Ooh, we can’t let Simone see the evidence. She’ll rip my lips right off my face and stuff them up my—”
“Chocolate. Behave yourself.”
“Yes, Mumsy.” But she smiled and simpered and batted her eyelashes at him.
Chocolate, of course. The thirstiest among the bloodthirsty.
“We were going to give you a bachelor party.” Peppermint—maybe—smiled lasciviously.
“But Rowena and Chloe said it would be in bad taste.” Cotton Candy—perhaps—batted her eyelashes.
“Do you think it’s in bad taste, Brax?” Caramel—the only remaining choice—seductively bit her lower lip.
“It would be an honor, ladies. But Simone’s planned my bachelor party.”
“The bride-to-be can’t plan the bachelor party. It just isn’t done.”
He liked Simone’s plans. In fact, he loved Simone’s plans. She was going to show him The Wizard of Oz. Because they’d missed most of it the first time, and they still had a bet. Simone threatened to make him watch the whole thing, but he had a few plans of his own.
Then Chocolate did an odd thing. She wiped the lipstick from her mouth on her flowery napkin, rose up on the toes of her spike-heeled shoes, and kissed his cheek gently. “We already bought a robot,” she whispered.
Fool's Gold (A sexy funny mystery/romance, Cottonmouth Book 2) Page 30