by Leger, Lori
“Didn’t you want pudding?” Red asked.
“I can make more of that,” she answered. “I don’t know how to make this stuff.”
He leaned in closer. “Can I have your share?”
She turned slowly to face him, their noses nearly touching. “I don’t know, Red. What’s it worth to you?”
Their gazes locked and Red caught his breath at the look in her eyes. “Name your price. I really love—your—banana pudding.”
Tiffany bit her lower lip and looked away. “Take it.”
He laughed and got up to get the last remaining bowl of pudding. He sat down again, grinning at the look on her face as she bit into a praline. “Good, huh?”
“Sugar is my only vice.”
“I can think of one other vice.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Careful, Tiffy. You’re getting older and it only gets harder to take off those unwanted pounds.”
“I guess I need to lower the speaker volume of my phone when you’re around,” she said dryly. “Who made these?”
“My mom always makes the candy. I’m sure she could give you some recipes.”
“Is it difficult?”
“I have no idea, but I’m thinking you could handle it.”
After dessert, everyone got up collectively to clean the kitchen. The adults were sitting in Red’s huge living room filling every spare seat including dining chairs brought in from around the table. Others chose to lounge on the thickly carpeted floor as the large group visited and drank coffee.
Before long, several of the men rose to get various instruments, including the fiddle and two guitars. Red went to his room and returned with one acoustical guitar and a banjo. He handed the latter to his dad then sat in a chair next to Tiffany.
“You play?” she asked.
“I can do lots of things you don’t know about … yet.” He sent her a look that suggested she was in for a treat of another kind.
She sat, fascinated, as Red began to play skillfully, his long fingers picking, strumming, and warming up until the rest of the men were ready.
Red addressed his sisters. “What are we singing today, ladies?”
“Something we can sing harmony to,” Melissa suggested.
Tiffany suggested Little Big Town, her favorite mixed gender country group and Red kicked off Boondocks, a snappy tune with lots of harmony parts. By the end of the song, nearly everyone in the room was singing along, including Giselle and Jackson. With Melissa’s encouragement, even Tiffany had joined in.
She’d always had a decent voice, although she’d never felt comfortable singing around other people. Somehow, in the midst of this family, it didn’t seem to bother her.
For the second selection, Brandon and Bailey treated everyone to a duet, a stirring rendition of their favorite Michael Buble song, Home. Tiffany watched the muscles in Red’s forearms strain and bulge as he rhythmically picked, plucked, and strummed the strings of the guitar. She watched his long fingers as they moved gracefully from string to string—chord to chord—nearly embarrassed herself wondering what other talents those fingers held. She’d moved to the floor in front of him with her head leaned back against the arm of the sofa. Sated from the food, and relaxed from the swell of music, her lids drifted closed of their own accord. As he strummed the last chords, Tiffany opened her eyes to find him watching her. She sucked in her breath, surprised at the intensity of Red’s gaze from just a few feet away.
“That was beautiful,” Vivienne said, of her daughter and son-in-law’s performance.
“It was,” Tiffany agreed, brushing aside her self-consciousness long enough to address Red. “I’ve never seen a family this large where everyone is so musically inclined. Does everyone sing or play an instrument?”
He looked around the room and nodded, lowering his guitar for the moment. “Pretty much. Annie plays the piano, but I don’t have one yet. Chad plays the drums, and has a good voice, but he’s got a terrible case of stage fright.” He cocked his head at her. “Speaking of singing, I heard some pretty sweet sounds coming out of those pipes of yours. Is there anything in particular you’d care to perform for us today?”
She thought on it for several seconds. “I’m not—”
“Unless you’re too intimidated to sing solo,” he said, loud enough for everyone else to hear.
She narrowed her eyes to slits at the obvious challenge. “I was just going to say I’m not sure if you can handle the guitar part in the song I had in mind. It seems pretty complicated.” A few ‘burn’ comments made their way around the room.
“You just call it, Doc,” he said, beaming as she applauded when he began to play her choice.
Tiffany stood in front of him and turned to her audience. “I’d like to dedicate this song to my missing in action fiancé, Tanner Collins.” The room erupted in boos and hisses.
Red’s voice rose above the jeers. “Hmmm—he may be missing in action, but I doubt seriously he’s missing any action.”
She shot him an icy glare.
“What?” he asked, all too innocently.
Deciding the best revenge would be to show him what she could do, she belted out the song about a doomed relationship. If Red seemed impressed with her delivery of lyrics, she was equally impressed with his guitar skills.
At the end of the song, she took an exaggerated bow before turning to Red. “You play that thing pretty well.”
Red bowed his head. “Thank you. You have a nice voice. That was real good for a ‘bitter bitch’ sing along, but can you sing something with substance?”
“Excuse me?” She fisted her hands on her hips.
“I said, can you sing something like—oh—I don’t know—a ballad? Can you, Tiffy?”
Tiffany knew he was goading her, hoping she’d accept the challenge. She suspected it was so he could hear her range, which she didn’t particularly mind. Wanting to show him he wasn’t entirely in control of the situation, she leaned forward, resting her hands on his knees so she could look him in the eye. To the man’s credit, his eyes never dipped lower to the hint of cleavage created from her position, but remained on her own gaze—steadfast in its commitment—unwavering from its target. “Red McAllister,” she breathed, inches from his face. “Are you picking on me?”
Red stared into the depths of luminous brown eyes sparkling with amusement. Eyes that only hinted at the fire they hid. His heart thudded heavily in his chest as he made an effort to swallow. “Maybe.”
“I’ll tell your mother.”
He frowned. “Mom can’t abide tattle tales. Besides, you think she’d take your side over mine?”
“In a second.” A sweet smile accompanied her quick comeback.
“She only just met you,” he snorted. “I’ve been her favorite for thirty-eight years.”
“Spoiled brat.”
“Look who’s talking.” He swallowed audibly.
She took a deep breath and stepped back. “So you want a ballad, huh?”
He cleared his throat nervously. “Only because I think you’re capable of more.”
Tiffany laughed softly. “Oh, is that what this is?” Once more, she leaned in, getting nose to nose with him. “And here I thought you were just being … you.” She breathed the last word seductively at him.
Red froze, transfixed by this confident, sexy as hell lady before him, and uncomfortably aware of an inherent heat stirring in his lower regions. The sudden image of two giant chess pieces, alone on a board, came to mind. Her queen approached expectantly, looking satisfied with the check mate as his king fell forward with a resounding thud. Damn.
She straightened, wearing a ‘don’t mess with me’ expression, obviously pleased with herself.
“So, is there anything in particular you’d like to hear, Mr. McAllister?”
Red cleared his throat again, feeling the heat as he stammered like a teenager. “No—no ma’am—um—entirely your choice.”
“What if I choose a song you don’t know?”
He stopped, su
ddenly fully confident in this particular challenge, and stared her down. “Don’t you worry, Doc. I’ll know it.”
She flipped her hair casually behind her shoulder. “Mighty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
He shrugged and gave her what he hoped was a cocky grin. For some reason, once he heard a song, it stuck with him. But, if truth be told, there was something about this woman that instantly deflated all the cockiness right out of him. Hell, he’d be following her around like a puppy if it wouldn’t completely null and void his ‘man-card’ into a useless scrap of paper. He took a deep breath and steeled himself against her understated, though totally effective signals. “Name your tune, Ms. LeBlanc.”
Tiffany’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit as she pursed her lips at him. He knew instinctively that she was out to prove something. He also recognized her look of determination to wipe any and all traces of smug cockiness from his face.
“There’s a song from LeAnn Rimes that means a lot to me. It’s older and never got any radio play, so I doubt you’ve ever heard of it. It’s called What I Cannot Change.”
He grinned at his extreme luck—Angelique, an old girlfriend, had loved the cut from her CD years back. He nodded as melody and lyrics flooded his mind. “As a matter of fact, I do know that one, Doc. It’s pretty deep. Are you—uh—are you sure you can handle it?” As it happened, he chose a particularly quiet moment to voice his challenge, resulting in the complete halt of commotion in the room. Its occupants seemed to hold their collective breaths.
Tiffany took it all in stride, sending him a single wink as she nodded. “Bring it on, McAllister.”
The room buzzed with excitement and sounds of approval as everyone settled down for Tiffany’s ballad.
Red plucked his strings softly until he found the chord she could live with, then sat back and waited. At her nod, he closed his eyes and began picking the intro, practically seeing notes and haunting melody float through the air waves. Everything was visual with him, especially music. She skipped the first intro as though needing a little more time. He continued without pausing, replayed the intro. He heard her deep intake of breath and braced for impact.
His head fell forward as Doc’s voice filled the room. In an instant he knew he was in big—really big—trouble.
It was agony, hearing the heart wrenching lyrics crooned by that angelic voice. He lifted his gaze once during her soul stirring rendition, and paid for his foolishness. He nearly lost control as she gazed tearfully at his mom while singing of the heartbreak of not being able to talk to her own parents.
Red succumbed to the feelings of sadness her tortured words evoked in him. He lowered his head again, listening as she lamented over not being able to change what was wrong in her life. His heart broke for her as she sang of letting go, forgiving, loving what she could not change, and changing what she could.
Her sweet voice, perfectly pitched, and in turns, strong then soft as an infant’s coo… . stirred a part of him deep inside. A place he didn’t allow others.
His sisters and mother sang well, and so did Giselle, but there was a pureness and clarity to Tiffany’s voice that the others didn’t possess.
He’d not lost many challenges in his lifetime, but this day she would claim victory over an epic failure on his part—the failure to recognize the seriousness of a challenge that had completely blown up in his face.
She finally ended his torture, singing the last of the lyrics, and he struggled to close out the song he knew he’d always think of as her song.
Red took a deep breath and met her gaze. She stood, her eyes glistening with the slightest hint of tears, proof that the words truly meant something to her. His heart ached for her, longed to reach out to her as she wiped at one corner of her eye. He sensed his family waiting for him to speak—to say or do something other than sit there, zombie-like and silent.
Red finally managed to blink several times before giving her a slow nod in the heavy silence of the room. He gazed up at her again and cleared his throat, feeling like a fool when the only thing he could manage to say came out sounding so lame.
“Well done, Doc.”
His family seemed to come to life suddenly, moving as one to surround her, lavishing her with praise. The commotion cut into the mind numbing trance that had him imprisoned. The vision of her, surrounded by members of his own family caused an unfamiliar tightening in his chest. He rose from his chair and laid his guitar down across it. He wiped sweaty palms on his jeans as he watched, thinking how well she fit, how easily she could be a part of his family.
And just like that—he knew.
Red turned tail and ran from the situation—maybe not in the literal sense of the word—he forced himself to walk slowly, steadily, with purpose, into his kitchen. But metaphorically, he ran his ass off. He grabbed two bottles of beer from his fridge and hit the back door. By the time he closed the pool house door behind him, he was in full retreat mode. He sucked downed the first beer in a few gulps, slamming the empty bottle on one of the tables. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he opened up the second beer and took another long swig from it. The creak of the door had him swinging around, mentally unprepared for speech of any kind, but most certainly to Doc. His father stood there, wearing a sympathetic grin.
Red turned away, wishing just for once he could be left alone with his feelings. But alone time in this family wasn’t an option. Not now. Not ever. He didn’t realize his father had crossed the room to meet him until he felt a calming touch on his shoulder.
“It’s overwhelming, isn’t it, son? Realizing that first time you’re in love?”
Red swung around to gape at his dad, prepared to deny it—defend his actions—or at the very least glower at the man for making fun of him. But his father stood steady and solemn, no trace of laughter in his voice, no hint of it on his features. Just more proof of the seriousness of his situation.
Red released the huge breath he’d been holding and shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell’s happening here.” He lifted one clammy hand and clenched it to stop the shaking. When that didn’t work he downed the rest of the beer, wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve. “I’ve never been afraid of a damn thing, Pop, but I’m not gonna lie to you. This scares the ever-loving shit out of me.”
Pete nodded, crossed his arms across his barrel chest, and finally chuckled. “That’s a common reaction for most men.”
Red shook his head. “I’m not ready for this.”
“Scott, you’re thirty-eight years old. Besides, from what I see, you don’t have much choice in the matter.”
Red clapped his palms over his eyes and groaned, then froze as another thought overtook him. “Do you think I have a chance with her?”
Pete McAllister laughed and slapped him on the back. “I don’t know, Son, but I’d sure hate to see you lose a chance because you’re too scared to ask.”
“Isn’t that what Paw Paw told you?”
“Yep, now come on back inside. Your mother sent me to remind you that you’re the host of this party. Besides,” he said, nodding at the two empty beer bottles. “Two beers won’t change a damn thing. Hell, I stayed drunk for a week, and when I sobered up, I was still in love with your mother.”
Red tailed his father back into the kitchen, where his attention was immediately dominated by the beauty his family still surrounded.
His gaze clashed with Tiffany’s. Her initial smile turned into a look of worry. After addressing Bailey they both turned in his direction, as though studying him.
“Oh, great,” Red mumbled to no one in particular. He tried to shake it off and busied himself strapping his guitar onto his shoulders. He made small talk with Jackson, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans several times, all the while praying his act was convincing enough to throw his nosy sisters off the scent. The women in this family were like a pack of wolves—one sign of weakness and they pounced, determined to discover the cause.
Within seconds Red knew his half-assed attem
pt to hide his discomfort lacked the ability to keep said wolves at bay. He turned to his left and nearly ran over Bailey, who immediately tried to put a hand to his sweaty brow.
“Scottie, are you okay? You look a little pale, and you’re sweating.” Her brow furrowed with concern.
He batted her hand away irritably. “I’m fine. I just ate too much.”
She didn’t look convinced. “Do you need something? I practically travel with a pharmacy.”
He pushed her hand away as she tried to feel his forehead again. “For crying out loud, would you stop? I don’t have a temperature, Miss Nurse Practitioner.”
Jackson leaned in close to Bailey so that only she and Red could hear him. “Besides, why would he settle for a nurse practitioner when can have a bona fide doctor?”
Red glared at his friend, who was, at that very second, sharing a meaningful look with his sister. He grunted, indicating his disgust with the two of them, and reseated himself. “Are there any requests?” He kept his head lowered, feeling a heated flush suffuse his face. He glanced up, just in time to see Bailey and Melissa, their heads together, whispering and staring at him. He watched, horrified, as one by one, the women in his family gathered, the veritable pack of she-wolves in one corner of the room. Tiffany stood at his left elbow, talking animatedly to Jackson and Giselle, seemingly oblivious to his sister’s actions, thank God.
“Any more requests?” Red repeated, more to escape his sisters’ scrutiny, than anything else. He knew better. There would be no escape, this day, or any other.
Annie looked up with a wicked gleam in her eye. “I’d like to hear When a Man Loves a Woman.”
Red sent her a dark look. “No, pick something else.”
“Gary Allan’s Loving You Against My Will,” Melissa threw in, chuckling.
He shook his head. “Something else.”
“The One by Gary Allan?” Bailey asked as he continued to shake his head and send his sisters looks that could kill.
“Jake Owen’s Don’t Think I Can’t Love You,” Rebecca added.
“Or maybe James Otto’s Just Got Started Loving You,” Kathleen chimed in.