by Lucy Score
“She’s needy as fuck. Right up your alley,” I shot back.
“Then get out of my way.”
Tired of the conversation, I threw a jab to his jaw. He returned it with a shot to my ribs.
I don’t know how long we traded blows in the middle of the dirt lane, kicking up dust and hurling insults at each other. Somewhere in the midst of him calling me a fucking asshole and me putting him in a headlock so I could punch him in the forehead, I recognized my brother for the first time in a long-ass time.
“What in the holy hell are you doing? You can’t assault an officer of the law!”
Naomi floated into my line of sight, looking exactly like the high-class woman I didn’t want, exactly the type my brother did. Her hair was down now and daisy-free, draped over one shoulder, thick and sleek. Her eyes had lost the better part of the exhausted shadows. She was wearing one of those long sundresses that skimmed the tops of her feet and made men wonder what treasures lay beneath.
She was carrying a bouquet of flowers, and for a second, I wanted to know who the hell had given them to her so I could kick their ass.
Next to her was Waylay in shorts and a pink t-shirt, holding a plate covered in plastic wrap. She was grinning at us.
Nash used the distraction to throw an elbow to my gut. The wind went out of me, and I bent to catch my breath.
“Face’s bleedin’, Chief,” Waylay cheerfully observed. “Got it all over that nice clean shirt of yours.”
I grinned. The kid might have belonged to Tina, but she was funny as hell. And she was in my corner.
Waylon abandoned his perch on the porch and ambled back into the road to greet the newcomers.
“Thanks, Waylay,” Nash said, swiping at his bloody mouth again. “I was just coming to see you two.”
While Waylay squished my dog’s droopy jowls between her hands, Naomi peered around my brother at me.
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed. “You can’t just start a fight with a cop!”
I slowly straightened, rubbing a hand over my sternum. “Doesn’t count as a cop. He’s my brother.”
Waylon shoved his nose under the hem of Naomi’s dress and stepped on her foot. He was a needy bastard.
“Well, hello,” Naomi crooned, crouching down to pet him.
“His name’s Waylon,” Nash told her.
“Waylon and Waylay,” she mused. “That won’t get confusing.”
My nose burned. My face fucking hurt. My knuckles were bleeding. But looking at her petting my needy-ass dog with an arm full of flowers made everything else start to fade away.
Fuck me.
I knew what attraction felt like. Knew what to do with it too. But not with a woman like this. One who didn’t know it was smart to be afraid of me. One with a wedding dress and no ring. One with an eleven-year-old. This was the kind of situation that had me heading for the hills. But I couldn’t stop looking at her.
“You’re an idiot.”
Nash grinned, then winced.
“And you,” Naomi turned on him. “I can’t imagine you take that badge very seriously if you’re fighting in the street with your own brother.”
“He started it,” Nash and I both said at the same time.
“Then we’ll leave you to it,” she said primly, putting a hand on Waylay’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“Heading to Liza J’s?” Nash asked.
“We are. We were invited for dinner,” Naomi said.
Waylay raised the plate she was holding. “Brought cookies.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Nash said. “We can talk on the way.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said, moving my chair out of the road.
“You’re not invited,” he said.
“Oh, yes, I am. Seven sharp.”
My brother looked like he was going to haul off and hit me again, which suited me just fine. Tarnishing his “aww, shucks” hero vibe would only further my cause. But just as I was about to goad him into it, Naomi stepped between us. Waylon followed her and sat on her feet.
The woman couldn’t read signs. She was a danger to herself, trying to get between two bucks itching for a fight.
“Did you find my car?” she asked Nash.
“Did you find my mom?” Waylay asked.
“Maybe we should talk in private,” he suggested. “Knox, be a good neighbor and take Waylay up to the house while I have a few words with Naomi.”
“No way,” Waylay said, crossing her arms.
“Fuck no,” I agreed.
Our staredown lasted until Naomi rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with. Please tell me what you found.”
My brother suddenly looked uncomfortable, and my interest piqued.
“Guess I’ll just get right to it,” Nash said. “I didn’t find your car yet. But I did find something interesting when I ran the plates. It was reported stolen.”
“No, shit, Sherlock. Naomi did that this morning,” I reminded him.
Nash ignored me and continued. “It was reported stolen yesterday by one Warner Dennison III of Long Island, New York.”
Naomi looked like she wanted the earth to swallow her up.
“You stole a car?” Waylay asked her aunt, looking impressed. I had to admit that I hadn’t seen that one coming either.
“It’s my car, but my ex-fiancé bought it. His name was on the title with mine.”
She looked like the kind of woman a man would buy cars for, I decided.
“Don’t you mean ex-husband?” Waylay piped up.
“Ex-fiancé,” Naomi corrected. “We’re no longer together. And we didn’t get married.”
“‘Cause she left him at the altar,” the girl added knowledgeably. “Yesterday.”
“Waylay, I told you that in confidence,” Naomi hissed. Her cheeks turned a bright shade of scarlet.
“You’re the one being interrogated for grand theft auto.”
“No one is being interrogated,” Nash insisted. “I’ll talk to the office in charge and clear up any misunderstanding.”
“Thank you,” Naomi said. Her eyes were filling with what looked suspiciously like tears.
Fuck.
“I don’t know about you all, but I could sure use a drink. Let’s head up to the big house and solve this over alcohol,” I suggested.
I didn’t imagine the flicker of relief that flashed over her pretty face.
I spent the short walk to Liza J’s wondering when the hell I’d turned into a sundress guy. The women I dated wore jeans and leather and rocker t-shirts. They didn’t have prep school vocabularies or dresses that floated around their ankles like some summer fantasy.
I liked my women the way I liked my relationships—fast, dirty, and casual.
Naomi Witt was none of those, and I needed to remember that.
“You’re seriously going to dinner like that?” Naomi asked me as Waylon wandered off the drive to lift his leg on a dogwood.
Behind us, Waylay peppered Nash with questions about crime in Knockemout.
“Liza J’s seen worse,” I said, biting into a cookie.
“Where did you get that cookie?” she demanded.
“Waylay,” I said.
Naomi looked like she was going to slap it out of my hand, so I shoved the rest of it into my mouth.
“Those are for this mysterious Liza J I’m supposed to be making a good impression on,” she complained. “This isn’t a great way for me to meet a new potential landlord. ‘Hi, I’m Naomi. I’m squatting in your cottage, and these guys were fighting in your driveway. Please give me affordable rent.’”
I snorted, then winced when my nose started to throb again. “Relax. Liza J would be worried if Nash and I didn’t show up bleeding and pissed off at each other,” I assured her.
“Why are you pissed off at each other?”
“Baby, you haven’t got the time,” I drawled.
We reached the steps of the big house, and Naomi hesitated, looking up at the roughhewn tim
ber, the cedar shakes. Behind overgrown azaleas and boxwoods, the porch stretched nearly fifty feet along the front.
I tried to see it from her eyes. New in town, running from a wedding, no place to stay, thrown into a guardianship she hadn’t seen coming. To her, everything hinged on this meal.
“Don’t chicken shit out now,” I advised. “Liza J hates cowards.”
Those pretty hazel eyes narrowed to slits. “Thanks for the advice,” she said caustically.
“Nice place,” Waylay said, joining us at the foot of the steps.
I thought about the trailer. The chaos outside that little bedroom with the KEEP OUT sign on the door. She’d done her best to keep the chaos and unpredictability out of her little world. I could respect that.
“Used to be a lodge. Let’s go. I need that drink,” I said, climbing the three short steps and reaching for the doorknob.
“Don’t we need to knock or ring the bell?” Naomi hissed, grabbing my arm.
And there it was again. That electricity charging my blood, waking up my body like it had been exposed to some kind of threat. Some kind of danger.
We both looked down at her hand, and she quickly dropped it.
“Not necessary around here,” Nash assured her, unaware that my blood was on fire and Naomi was blushing again.
“Liza J,” I bellowed.
The response was a fevered fit of barking.
“Oh, my,” Naomi whispered, putting herself between Waylay and the fur circus.
Waylon shoved himself between my leg and the door frame just as two dogs raced into the foyer. Randy the beagle had earned his name by humping everything in sight for the first year of his life. Kitty was a one-eyed, fifty-pound pit bull who thought she was a lapdog. Both kept Liza J entertained in her solitude.
It was cooler inside. Darker too. The blinds stayed closed these days. Liza J said it was so no one could snoop on her business. But I knew the truth and I didn’t blame her for it.
“Quit your hollerin’,” a voice came from the direction of the kitchen. “What’s the matter with you? Your mama raise you in a barn?”
“No, but our grandma did,” Nash called back.
Elizabeth Jane Persimmon, all five feet one inch of her, clomped out to greet us. She wore her hair cut short around her face as she had for as long as I could remember. Never missed a trim. Her rubber gardening clogs squeaked on the floor. She was in her typical uniform of cargo pants and a blue t-shirt. She wore the same thing nearly every day. If it was hot, she wore the pants with the zippered legs. If it was cold, she added a sweatshirt in the same color as the tee.
“Shoulda drowned you in the creek when I had the chance,” she said, stopping in front of us and crossing her arms expectantly.
“Liza J.” Nash dutifully pressed a kiss to her cheek.
I repeated the greeting.
She nodded her satisfaction. Warm and fuzzy time was over. “So, what the hell kind of mess did you bring me?” Her gaze slid to Naomi and Waylay, who were being skeptically sniffed by the dogs.
Kitty broke first and headbutted Naomi in the legs in a bid for affection. Waylon, not to be left out, muscled his way in, knocking her off balance. I reached out, but Nash got there first and steadied her.
“Put the disaster dogs out. Let ’em run off the devil for a bit,” Liza J ordered.
Nash let go of Naomi and opened the front door. Three streaks of fur took off.
“Liza J, this is Naomi and her niece, Waylay,” I said. “They’ll be staying at the cottage.”
“They will, will they?”
She didn’t like being told what to do any more than I did. Neither one of us ever understood why Nash had gone all law and order. “Unless of course you want to throw them out on the street,” I added.
“I remembered where I know you from,” my grandmother announced, peering at Waylay through her bifocals. “Been buggin’ me since I dropped off the bikes. You fixed my iPad at the library.”
“You did?” Naomi asked the girl.
Waylay shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I go in there sometimes. And sometimes old folks have me fix stuff.”
“And you look like that one’s trouble-making mother.” Liza J pointed at Naomi.
“That would be my sister,” she said, smiling weakly.
“Twins,” I interjected.
Naomi held out the bouquet. “We brought you flowers and cookies to thank you for inviting us to dinner.”
“Flowers, cookies, and two bleeding men,” Liza J observed. “Might as well come on back. Dinner’s about done.”
“About done” in Liza J’s house meant she hadn’t started it yet.
We trooped into the kitchen, where all the fixings for sloppy joes and salad awaited.
“Meat,” I called.
“Salad,” Nash conceded.
“Not before you both clean yourselves up,” Liza J said, pointing to the kitchen sink.
Nash did as he was told and turned on the water. I headed to the fridge and cracked open a beer first.
“Got some treats from the bakery today,” Liza J said. She looked at Waylay, who was eyeing the salad ingredients with suspicion. “Why don’t you put ’em on a plate with whatever cookies my grandsons didn’t eat and maybe taste a couple to make sure they’re fit for eatin’.”
“Cool,” Waylay said, making a beeline for the bakery box on the counter.
I peered over the kid’s shoulder and helped myself to a lemon cookie. My favorite.
“I’ll get the wine,” Liza J said. “You look like you know your way around a wine opener.”
She was addressing Naomi, who looked like she couldn’t decide if it was a compliment or a judgment.
“Go on,” I told her when Liza J headed out of the room.
She took a step closer, and I caught the scent of lavender. “Do not under any circumstances start another fight in front of my niece,” she hissed.
“Can’t promise anything.”
If eyes could shoot actual fire, I would have had a need to regrow my eyebrows.
“Chief, I trust you can keep the order for a few minutes,” she said.
Nash flashed her one of his stupid charming grins. “You can count on me.”
“Kiss-ass,” I coughed into my fist.
Waylay snickered.
“I’ll be right back,” Naomi promised Waylay. “Chief Morgan is in charge.”
The kid looked confused. I guessed no one had ever bothered to tell her they were leaving, let alone when they’d be back.
Naomi straightened her shoulders and followed my grandmother out of the room, that damn dress floating around her like she was some kind of fairy tale princess about to face a dragon.
EIGHT
THE MYSTERIOUS LIZA J
Naomi
Unsure how I felt leaving Waylay in a room with two grown men who had been grappling in the road mere minutes earlier, I reluctantly followed Liza into a dark dining room.
The wallpaper was a deep green in a pattern I couldn’t quite make out. The furniture was heavy and rustic. The wide plank table stretched on for nearly twelve feet and was buried under boxes and stacks of papers. Instead of chafing dishes or family photos, the walnut buffet was stacked high with bottles of wine and liquor. Bar glasses were crammed into a nearby hutch so full the doors didn’t close.
I itched to dig into the mess.
The only light in the room came from the far wall where an arched opening led into what looked like a sun porch with floor-to-ceiling glass that needed a good scrubbing.
“You have a beautiful home,” I ventured, gently shifting a half-dozen china plates stacked precariously on the corner of the table. From what I’d seen so far, the house had buckets of potential. It was just buried under dusty drapes and piles of stuff.
Liza straightened from the buffet, a bottle of wine in each hand. She was short and soft on the outside, like anyone’s favorite grandma. But Liza greeted her grandsons with chores and gruffness.
I was curious what was said about the Morgans that family relationships didn’t make it into introductions. If anyone had a right to avoid claiming their family in this town, it was me.
“Used to run it as a small lodge,” she began, setting the bottles on top of the buffet. “Don’t anymore. Guess you’ll be wanting to stay for a while.”
Okay, not big on small talk. Got it.
I nodded. “It’s a lovely cottage. But I understand if it’s an inconvenience. I’m sure I could come up with an alternative soon.” That wasn’t exactly a truth so much as a hope. The woman before me was my best chance of creating a little stability in the short term for my niece.
Liza swiped a cloth napkin over the dust on the wine label. “Don’t bother. It was just sittin’ there, goin’ unused.”
Her accent ventured a little farther south than the Mid-Atlantic tone of Northern Virginia.
I prayed that there was a dash of Southern hospitality mixed in there somewhere.
“That’s very kind of you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss the rent and security deposit.”
She shoved the first bottle at me. “Opener’s in the drawer.”
I opened the top drawer of the buffet and found a tangle of napkin rings, coasters, candlesticks, matches, and finally a corkscrew.
I went to work on the cork. “As I was saying, money’s a little bit tight.”
“That’s what happens when you got yourself a sister who steals from you and a new mouth to feed,” Liza said, arms crossed.
Knox or Nash had a very big mouth.
I said nothing and popped the cork free.
“Guessin’ you’ll need work too,” she predicted. “Unless you work from home or something.”
“I recently left my job,” I said carefully.
And my home. My fiancé. And everything else in that life.
“How recently?”
People in Knockemout were not shy about sticking their noses into other people’s business.
“Yesterday.”
“Heard my grandson drove you out here with a wedding dress flying like a flag out the window. You a runaway bride?” She set two glasses next to the open bottle and nodded.