In High Cotton

by Kelsey Browning

  Her heart full of satisfaction and hope, Lil smiled. Somehow, she knew this was only the beginning of what she and these women could accomplish together.

  She looked up from her pulled pork sandwich to find Angelina striding through the crowd directly toward the table. She stopped across from Lil, one hand on her hip and her toe tapping. “We have a little business to take care of.”

  Lord, this wouldn’t be easy. Lil had debated with herself for days about how to handle Angelina. Pride, nostalgia and responsibility had been duking it out inside her. But now it was time to make a decision and stand by it.

  She bumped Maggie with her hip, asking for her to scoot her chair over so Lil could get up from the table. Maggie wouldn’t budge. “You don’t have to do—”

  “I do, Mags. It’s time to deal with this.”

  Bruce pulled Maggie’s chair closer to his own, so Lil could get up. Standing next to Angelina, Lil barely came to the woman’s shoulder. Apparently, she’d lord over Lil one way or another.

  Lil walked outside with Angelina. “I must be honest with you,” she said. “My daddy’s car has ten times more sentimental value than anything else. I don’t understand why you’d want it. I mean you and your husband have fancy cars. New ones with sexy features. Have you ever driven a car this old? No power steering or brakes, and believe me, it’s not the easiest thing to park.”

  Angelina swung around and glared. “A deal is a deal, Lillian. Don’t you go trying to manipulate me. I want that car and you already promised it to me for fifty thousand dollars. I’ve got the cash right here.” She patted her garish animal-print purse.

  Still, Lil felt as though she needed to dissuade her. After all, the car wasn’t really a Tucker. “I don’t feel right about this.”

  “Don’t you back out on me now, or I’ll make quick business of spreading the word about your little time share location.” Angelina leaned in so close that Lil nearly choked on her perfume and glitter. “Do. Not. Try. Me.”

  Lil didn’t like to be threatened, but then Angelina wasn’t holding anything over her head anymore. If people had been talking about her the other night at the auction, the gossip about her being in prison had spread all over town by now.

  Maybe selling Angelina Daddy’s car was like all the karma stuff Sera always talked about. A way for the universe to even out the ebb and flow of energy. Of negativity and positivity.

  Lil’s momma would call it Angelina getting her just deserts.

  Lil pasted a sweet smile on her face. “You’re right. A Summer never goes back on her word.” Lil dangled the keys in front of Angelina.

  Her eyes turned sharp with greed. “Oh, the keychain matches the pretty blue paint!” She lunged for the keys and Lillian snatched them out of her reach.

  “But first, I must insist on the money.”

  Angelina’s mouth drooped, but she looked over one shoulder, then the other. Finally, she slipped a hand into her purse and pulled out a quart-sized baggie with two stacks of bills inside it. “All in hundreds.”

  Lil took the bag and unzipped it.

  “It’s all there. I wouldn’t cheat you.”

  Maybe not, but Lil had learned in prison that you couldn’t always take a person at her word. She flipped through the corners of each stack like one of those books that made it look as if a cartoon character were running. Excellent. Lots of zeroes running through both stacks. “It all looks in order. You can come by Summer Haven later, and I’ll sign over the title.”

  Lil slipped the baggie into her own pocketbook, then pressed the keychain into Angelina’s hand. “I hope this car brings you everything you deserve. It’s been a wonderful part of my family. The memories. They’re the most special thing about this car.”

  Then Lil simply turned away, walking back to join her friends in the celebratory meal. Even though Angelina was getting exactly what she deserved, Lil couldn’t bear to watch her drive off in a car that had been a part of the Summer family all these years.

  When she strolled back inside the tent, she paused for a moment to gaze at the table full of people—Maggie and Bruce, Sera, Teague. Even Abby Ruth. Full of her family. Blood or no blood, they were hers.

  And losing a car wasn’t going to change that.

  Before Lil could take her seat again, Darrell Holloway rushed over to the table and said in a voice that probably carried clear across the fairgrounds. “Lordy be, you will not believe what I just overheard. Some people are talking about you, Miss Lillian. Is it true, you being in Walter Stiles Prison Camp? That’s too much to believe.”

  Only the look on Darrell’s face wasn’t horrified. More like surprise and interest.

  Lil glanced around at the surrounding tables. It was true people were looking her way, but no one seemed to mind one bit that she’d gone to jail. There were no snarls or gasps. People were smiling and nodding, looking right darned impressed.

  She’d paid her dues after all and been released early. Now it didn’t seem like such a scandal anymore. Good manners never went out of style. And lying was far worse than the truth.

  Regardless of whether or not Angelina had spilled the beans, Lillian’s time in prison was public record. And it was time to not only be honest with others but with herself as well. “A Summer always pays their debts. I did wrong, and I paid for it.”

  Darrell dragged a chair over and sat right down. “Have you seen that show Orange is the New Black? Did you have to wear orange? I can’t imagine it was a good color on you. And have mercy, I bet prison was so dangerous and scary. You probably saw some fights.” Darrell’s mouth and eyes rounded. “Maybe you were in some. I’m sorry, but it’s just so darned exciting. I mean, someone I know. A lady like you, a member of the Summer family, in a place like that!”

  Lil’s first instinct was to lift her chin or deflect the conversation, but she wasn’t that woman anymore. “I wouldn’t say it was exciting—” although it had been at times, “—but I will say it was educational.”

  “You should write a book.”

  Her, write a book? Such a thing had never crossed Lil’s mind.

  “He’s right, Lil,” Maggie said. “I can only imagine the stories.”

  Darrell rocked back and nodded. “If Miss Lillian wrote a book like that, she’d totally be sitting in high cotton.”

  A slow grin spread across Lil’s face. “In high cotton? Now that sounds like a pretty good place to be.”

  THE END

  of this adventure…

  What’s Next?

  Find out in book 4, UNDER THE GUN.

  Books in the Series

  Book 1 - IN FOR A PENNY

  Book 2 - FIT TO BE TIED

  Book 3 - IN HIGH COTTON

  Book 4 - UNDER THE GUN

  Book 5 - GIMME SOME SUGAR

  Jenny & Teague Novella 1 - ALWAYS ON MY MIND

  Jenny & Teague Novella 2 - COME A LITTLE CLOSER

  Wonder which granny you’re the most like?

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  Excerpt from Book 4, Under the Gun

  Chapter One

  The six-shooter was pointed right at Sera, momentarily jolting her out of her sorrow.

  Thank goodness it wasn’t a real gun, but a float-size wreath in the shape of a revolver, which might’ve looked right at home had she been back in California for the Rose Parade, rather than in Georgia with Lil and Maggie.

  As Sera and her friends walked closer to the massive building looming in front of them, Holy Innocence Mausoleum looked anything but innocent today. A crowd was growing in the area surrounding the cannon-size handgun wreath. So lowbrow. Besides, hadn’t these people been taught never to point a gun? Even one made of flowers.

  Sera lifted a handkerchief graced with tiny, hand-stitched humming
birds on one corner to dab at a tear beneath her Miu Miu sunglasses. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “I hate that these terrible circumstances brought you back to us.” Maggie grabbed Sera’s hand. “But it’s good to see you.”

  Lil tugged at the peplum of her yellow suit jacket. “Look at all these people. I’ve never seen so many Western hats in one place. She was obviously loved by many. Bless her heart.”

  “My goodness. Would you look at that wreath over there?” Maggie pointed toward a spray of all-white carnations with a fringed cowboy boot in the center. “Wish Abby Ruth was here to see this. She’d have loved it.”

  Sera sniffed back a tear. “Only Abby Ruth would have expected that boot to be blazing red.”

  Lil and Maggie both nodded, the tender thought lightening the heavy mood.

  “It’s odd not to have her here,” Sera said. Standing tall and strong, Abby Ruth was always the one anchoring their foursome. Instead, Sera’s husband, Marcus, made up the fourth today. Well, he would be once he parked the car and caught up to them.

  More floral arrangements stood nearly eight-feet deep along each side of the mausoleum’s entrance, giving the otherwise cold, harsh facade an inappropriately festive look.

  “I know folks are trying to show their love and appreciation.” The words caught in Sera’s throat. “But she’d have hated the waste of all of these flowers. The money could’ve been spent on something that would help others.”

  “Even if they were cheap sunflowers and alstroemeria, with so many, the money adds up quickly,” Maggie agreed.

  “More than Summer Shoals raised at the last High on the Hog event,” Lil said with a quick tsk.

  “Easily, and they’ll all be wilting and dying before sunrise,” Sera said. One more dreary sign of death, which seemed to be the subtitle in every direction.

  The tiny pillbox hat balancing atop Lil’s freshly dyed blue-blond curls—a combo not too many people could pull off—gave the matriarch of Summer Shoals a look of royalty. A thin man with a bad highlight job darted out in front of them and snapped pictures, clearly focused on Lil, who looked like a Hollywood A-lister today.

  “No pictures,” Sera said, waving the skinny guy away, a habit she fell back into so easily. “How are we supposed to mourn with these vultures all over the place? What was her family thinking with all this fanfare?” If she had to guess, they’d probably tipped off the paparazzi themselves.

  Once the photographer moved on to another victim, Maggie said, “Everyone shows their love in a different way. Can’t really judge that, can we?”

  Sera, Lil, and Maggie walked in lockstep. Three styles. Three sizes. But three women equally affected by today’s sad affair for their own reasons.

  True friends.

  Sera was thankful that Lil and the other girls hadn’t pitched a hissy fit and thrown her out on her fanny when they’d found out the truth about her life in California. During the time she lived with them here in Georgia, she’d omitted the tidbit that she was the wife of Marcus Johanneson, one of the most influential men in the Hollywood film industry. A triple threat, Marcus had been an actor first, then he began directing and producing his own movies. Only a few people had a résumé as impressive as his. He had the magic touch when it came to selecting blockbuster movies, and everyone who was anyone wanted to be considered for one of his projects.

  “There are so many people here.” Lil’s head swiveled right and left. “I think I saw Michael Douglas over there. Sera, tell me you’ve met him. Or even better, his daddy.”

  “We’ve met.” Although Sera had told herself she’d never keep anything from her friends again, elaborating on the fact that Michael and Kirk were much more than business acquaintances didn’t feel appropriate.

  Lil touched her heart. “I do love those men. I swear, I think they could wake up my last working hormone.”

  Maggie nudged her best friend. “Lil, we’re not that old.”

  Lil’s eyebrows danced. “That might be true, because I do believe that I’d be tempted to rise from the dead if all these folks showed up at my funeral.”

  Sera would’ve never expected anything less than a standing-room-only, Hollywood-style full house for Jessie Wyatt. Even in death. Jessie might’ve been one of the most famous movie stars of her time, but to Sera, she’d been a dear friend. Since the day they’d met on one of Marcus’s movie sets, Jessie had been Sera’s lifeline and advisor during the tumultuous tides of her marriage.

  Sera wished Finn, could’ve made it for the funeral. She would’ve simply said, “Lil, Maggie, Abby Ruth, please meet my son.” Then they would’ve been so taken with his good looks and charm that they would’ve easily forgiven her. And it would’ve kept her from having to explain yet one more thing that she’d hidden from her friends.

  She shook back her long hair, chasing away the nostalgia and past mistakes to focus on today.

  Although the interment would be inside the mausoleum, the family had opted to have the service outside. Probably a good decision with this many people in attendance, and the May weather was perfect for it. The crowd of thousands mingled close to the building. The mourners’ muted wardrobes were occasionally punctuated by a bright spot of white and fringe. One that couldn’t be ignored, because an entire group of women were dressed up like Jessie, in all-white cowgirl costumes.

  “Mrs. Johanneson, excuse me.”

  Sera turned to face another reporter with a cameraman hovering behind him. “Jessie starred in several of your husband’s films. Someone said that you two were very close. Could you comment?”

  She sucked in a breath. “Jessie Wyatt was one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. She was not only a friend but also a mentor. I’ll miss her terribly.” She lowered her head after her statement. Once, she and Jessie had spent three weeks together when Marcus was shooting in the wilds of Zimbabwe. If anything could bring two women from different generations close together, it was sharing toiletries in the jungle. And Jessie had been generous with not only hard-to-attain supplies but also advice and encouragement. A gift that had changed Sera’s life in so many ways.

  The excited reporter closed in on her again. “Wasn’t Jessie from Macon? Why did they decide to bury her here in Myrtle Knolls?”

  “Someone in her family can answer that. We’re here to honor the woman, not the location. No more questions, please. This is a difficult day for us all.” Sera raised her hand politely, and the reporter backed off. Automatically, she scanned the crowd for security. She’d learned to be sure she knew where help was in case the reporters got out of control. Happened all the time with Marcus.

  Off to the far side of the funeral area, Teague Castro stood tall, wearing his Bartell County Sheriff uniform. His dark good looks and muscular build fit right in with this attractive Hollywood crowd. Myrtle Knolls wasn’t his jurisdiction, but that was the cool thing about small towns. The attitude of the residents was one of community and goodwill. Teague and his men were here to help keep things under control because it was the neighborly thing to do, something that would never happen in Hollywood.

  Lil’s fingers dug into Sera’s hand. “Is that Luke Bryan?”

  The reporter who’d still been hovering around must have heard Lil because he took off in Luke’s direction, waving over his shoulder for the cameraman to follow.

  Whoomp-whoomp-whoomp. One look at the helicopter circling overheard told Sera the bottom-feeders who couldn’t score a press pass to the funeral weren’t letting that stop them. Paparazzi. Those fools would crash any event if they thought it would tantalize the public. The funeral location should’ve been kept under wraps, but with this many attendees and Jessie’s family’s propensity to blab, that had probably been unrealistic.

  Sera and her little group finally made it close enough to get a glimpse of Jessie’s casket through the throng of family, fans, and A-listers, where a young preacher stood holding a leather folio.

  “The deceased has often been described
as a force of nature,” he said, his gentle but strong voice calming the crowd to an eerie silence. “She will be sorely missed by many, including the NRA, which she supported generously throughout her lifetime.”

  A smile touched the corner of Sera’s lips. She should’ve thought to introduce Abby Ruth and Jessie. Those two would’ve gotten along like a house on fire. Then again, together they might’ve set the house on fire.

  On her left, Lil squeezed closer to her. The older woman looked like a tiny Vienna sausage among a tall package of frankfurters.

  Sera tapped the huge man in front of Lil on the shoulder. “Mr. Hogan, would you mind giving us a bit more room?”

  He pulled his massive arms into his body and smiled down at Lil, his bushy blond mustache twitching to one side. “You want to climb up on my shoulders?”

  “Lord have mercy,” she breathed, that little hat hanging on by a bobby pin. “No, thank you.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  Lil gave him a vague, star-struck nod.

  The huge tan man turned to the side and ushered all three of them in front of him. A front-row view.

  “If you’ll bow your heads and join me in blessing Jessie Wyatt’s soul so she may pass peacefully to the other side,” the preacher said. At the end of his prayer, multiple words rippled through the gathering.

  “Amen.”

  “Blessed Be.”

  “Namaste.”

  Finally, the crowd pulled back, and Lil and Maggie worked their way closer to the casket.

  Before Sera could move to join them, a warm hand brushed the small of her back. Marcus. There was a time when he’d led her into a crowded room with that gesture and she’d felt as if she was the most special woman in the world. Today, she wasn’t sure what his touch made her feel.

  Still, she smiled up at her husband—as handsome as ever with his lean build and million-dollar smile. He’d aged gracefully with sexy silver lacing his hairline now. Had she caused those grays? He’d have worried about her even though he’d left her alone to find her way. He was like that.