chapter Ten
The start of a new week meant a new plan of action for Jake, and that plan of action was working himself out of the doghouse he knew he had to be in with Sugar. There was no way a woman appreciated being left on a first date—even if it hadn’t been a date in anyone’s mind but his.
Since he didn’t want to become a footnote to Kel’s unhappiness, Jake planned to take his own advice and fix what needed to be fixed.
He rang the doorbell, holding a bouquet of flowers hopefully appropriate to melt a woman’s heart. Lucy opened the door, eyeing his offering with a jaundiced eye guaranteed to wilt the blooms.
“What do you want?” Lucy demanded.
“To sleep with your sister. What do you think?” Jake said.
Lucy sniffed. “Tell me something I don’t know.” She started to edge the door shut. He stuck his boot toe in the doorway.
“Hang on a minute. Please.”
Lucy relinquished some of the pressure on his foot. He removed his boot, ceding ground, hoping a truce could be called. “I want to apologize to Sugar.”
“You should,” Lucy said. “You certainly should.”
“And I certainly will,” Jake said, “if you quit guarding the door like a dragon and let me in.”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “My sister isn’t really prepared for your kind of games, Jake. My guess is you’ve nursed at the adder’s bosom, and there’s probably a lot of mean in you. Sugar’s already been disappointed. Why should I let you in?”
He could see he’d made an error by not bringing something to soften up Lucifer—Lucy—with. “Lucy, I swear I have no nefarious designs on your sister.”
“Define nefarious. I don’t think it’s possible you know where the lines are drawn, Jake.” She looked at his bouquet. “Do you really think those weeds you probably dug out of a field or snatched from someone’s grave are a decent apology?”
Jake grimaced. “Do I have to show you the florist’s receipt to get past the door?”
“Let me think,” Lucy said. “Yes.”
She started to close the door, then thought better of it. Glancing over her shoulder—he guessed to make certain no one was listening—she snatched the flowers from him. “Look, Jake. I’ve decided Bentleys are poison, okay? So buzz off. Leave my sister to her nuts. She’s happy now, happier than she’s been in a few years, and she doesn’t need a guy like you whose girlfriend is still jerking him around on a chain.”
A thought occurred to him. “Lucy.”
She stopped in the act of closing the door. “What?”
“Have you talked to my mother lately?”
She hesitated, then closed the door.
“And that was a yes,” Jake said. “This is not good.”
He stood on the porch for a moment, perplexed as to his next move. How did he dislodge himself from the doghouse?
The door opened, and Jake straightened.
“Hi,” Sugar said.
“Hi!” Jake felt his face split into the world’s biggest grin. “I didn’t think, I mean, Lucy—”
“She’s protective. Thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful. And no, I don’t need to see the receipt.”
“Good,” Jake said, “because I was kind of bluffing on that one. You don’t get a receipt at our town flower shop. It kind of works on the honor system of the owner’s memory. She rings you up on her hand-crank Monroe, and you walk out with your purchase, and everyone hopes everyone is happy.”
Sugar smiled. “You didn’t have to bring flowers. I’m not upset. I assume that’s why you brought them.”
“Well, yeah. I’m hoping for another da—I mean, another friendly outing with you,” Jake said.
Sugar looked at him. “Are you trying to date me, Jake?”
“I’m trying, but it’s not going too well,” he admitted. “For example, I’d love to take you out to dinner tonight, someplace where my knuckleheaded friends can’t find us.”
“I like your friends. They’re fun.”
“Okay, then, I’d like to go where my ex-girlfriend can’t find us.”
Sugar’s gaze leveled on him. Her eyes searched his face, probably for honesty—she seemed like the kind of woman for whom honesty mattered a whole heckuva lot—so he hoped she saw what she needed to convince her. She looked so pretty in blue jean cutoffs, her hair pulled through a visor and a white eyelet blouse with fluttery sleeves that blew a little bit in the breeze, that he had to concentrate on not staring at her.
“I’m free tonight,” she said.
He got a rush of pure adrenaline he hadn’t had since he left the military. “What time, doll? Just say the word and I’ll be here.”
“Where are you taking me?”
He thought fast. “Want to go canoeing?”
She smiled. “I would love that.”
“Then we can go whenever you want to.”
She stepped out the door. “Like now?”
Thank God he had bug spray in the truck—the skeets were going to be all over those delicious legs and those sweet— Jake nearly blacked out thinking about what the mosquitos would feast on that he probably never would. “Here’s the deal. We’re going to wear a lot of bug spray.”
“Mm. Date night,” Sugar said. “Guess that means no sex for you.”
A circuit felt like it blew in his brain. He was pretty certain he wore one of Kel’s poleaxed expressions, the kind Kel got every time he thought about Lucy. “I wasn’t aware sex was a possibility.”
Sugar shook her head. “It’s not. Sex and bug spray just doesn’t seem healthy.”
Okay, it was light banter, didn’t mean a thing, but then again, Sugar didn’t know how hot she made him. Jake walked her to his truck, thinking that a nice, cooling day in the canoe was just what he needed. But the shorts she was wearing were just short enough to practically make his heart stop. Thankfully, she had on little navy eyelet tennis shoe things instead of sandals. At least her feet would be protected from the bugs.
Yeah, focus on practical thoughts. Like that’s going to help.
Jake helped Sugar into his truck, giving her a friendly, no-strings-attached smile as he waited for her to buckle herself in, all the time thinking he’d be the luckiest man on earth if Sugar ever let him pour her sweetness all over him. Just like the song said.
I’m so much like Kel I scare myself.
But he’d never touch her, not if she didn’t want him to. Not even one accidental was-that-my-hand-on-your-ass? pass.
No, sir. If he was fortunate enough to get out of the doghouse, he was never again getting back in it.
“Thank you for meeting us here, Lucy.” Minda Hernandez, Dodie Myers and Charlotte Dawson smiled at her, and Lucy wondered if she’d stepped into a trap. She’d usually have her snark on, but Charlotte was here, so maybe this wasn’t a case of the town biddies deciding it was finally time to lure her to the midnight offering of Lucy Cassavechia to their specterly goddess.
Best of all, Vivian Bentley was in absentia. Lucy shifted, waiting for the elderly women who’d invited her to Minda’s house, just a couple of blocks over from Azalea Street, to get to their little white-haired agenda. This was Mimosa Street, but there were no mimosa trees growing anywhere, which seemed ominous to Lucy.
Maybe the street was named for the alcoholic beverage. Lucy wished she had a mimosa right now. Or any kind of spine-stiffener. “So what’s up, ladies? I assume I was invited here for a reason, especially since secrecy was specified on the phone by Mrs. Dawson.”
“We’re just trying to keep you off of Vivian’s naughty list,” Charlotte explained.
“Yes, we’re aware the two of you had a bit of a run-in,” sweet-faced Minda said. “We want to help.”
Dodie handed her a flowered teacup and a plate with cookies on it. Lucy accepted both warily.
“Vivian’s run us all around long enough. It’s time we stop letting her be the proverbial queen bee of this small hive.” Dodie looked satisfied with her assessment.
“Yeah, well, if you’re looking for a leader, I’m not her.” Lucy slid the cookies and tea onto the table they were grouped around. “I’m just lying low in this town until something beneficial happens.”
“Like what, dear?” Dodie asked, her gaze curious.
“I’ll know it when it happens.” She looked at Charlotte. “So what’s cooking around here?”
They giggled as if she’d told the world’s best joke.
“Come downstairs with us, and we’ll show you,” Minda said.
The dingbats in Arsenic and Old Lace had run their death parlor belowstairs. Of course, Bette Davis had ruled her trapped sister upstairs in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Lucy swallowed, thinking that she’d really prefer it if she could stay on the main floor where there were plenty of windows and doors to the outside. “Is it absolutely necessary to go downstairs?”
Charlotte smiled at her. “It’s all right, Lucy.”
Lucy stiffened. “Of course it’s all right. I didn’t say I was afraid.”
Charlotte smiled. “Are you agoraphobic?”
“I don’t have any phobias.” She did, but she wasn’t going to show her weak flank to this crowd. “Who’s got the flashlight? You nursing-home candidates shouldn’t be going downstairs without a flashlight. It’s not safe.”
“I have state-of-the-art lighting,” Minda said. “And in a moment, you’ll see why.”
She locked the front door, drew the curtains. Lucy’s blood pressure rose to thunder in her ears, but she followed the women down the stairs. Nancy Drew and the Hidden Staircase I’m so not. I’m more Bess the sidekick.
Minda wasn’t kidding; the place was lit like a science laboratory. “Holy cow,” Lucy said. “This is the size of a car showroom. You could fit a football team down here.”
Minda giggled. “We have bigger plans. This is our new business location. And we want to hire you.”
Lucy stared at the assortment of chocolates shaped like delicately beautiful, erotic body parts. Boobs lay perkily topped with cherries or other delicacies; penises sat pointy and erect in flesh-colored glory. It should have been tacky, but the renderings were so artistically achieved she wanted to bite into one in the worst way. She walked around long worktables, looking up at a clothesline, where she recognized Charlotte’s handiwork hanging in bedazzled display. Another table held various bottles of oils that glistened in the bright light, each with labels specifying some kind of unearthly delight associated with the use of the sparkling liquid. “Oh my God. You three are crazy.”
They looked at her.
“Not crazy in the medical sense,” Lucy said hurriedly, realizing she might have erred. “I can’t believe the three of you are running home businesses catering to the pleasure side of life. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. What’s my role?”
They beamed. “Charlotte says you’re a hard worker,” Dodie said. “We decided that if we pooled our resources and hid our businesses down here, no one would ever find out. And we want you to be our secret helper!”
Lucy looked at Charlotte. “Wouldn’t that violate the wishes of the wicked witch?”
“No,” Charlotte said. “You’ll be down here with us. Vivian won’t see you riding up to my house, and what she doesn’t know won’t condemn us. Vivian won’t know where our secret location is. She thinks we’re all still operating out of our kitchens and parlors. But it was getting cramped, and we’re all in a growth phase. We need help we can trust.”
“And you want me to keep your sexy secrets.” Lucy walked around the tables one more time, checking out the wares. “Well, I need a job, and the only other thing I figured I could do was have a phone-sex business.”
They drew back as if she’d struck them, blinking at her with horrified bright eyes. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Dear child,” Charlotte said, “that would be dirty. Unseemly. It just isn’t done in polite circles.”
Lucy gazed around at the lovely chocolate boobs and ornate penises, the jeweled man mittens, and the sex potions designed to make Aphrodite scream with mind-bending pleasure. “Oh, I get it. No talking about s-e-x.”
They beamed at her, suddenly the smartest student in the room. Lucy glowed under their approbation. “I get it. Thank you for the opportunity of working for your estimable businesses. I’m pleased to accept your offer of employment, and may the profit be with us.”
They shook on it, and that was how Lucy Cassavechia knew she finally fit into the fabric of Pecan Creek.
She had found her calling.
Sex. Ladylike and calm, and always on the down low.
Maggie swung in the hammock lazily, enjoying the late September sunshine and the warmth of Lassiter’s big body against her back. “I love it here.”
“I love you here,” Lassiter told her, kissing her temple. Tiny white puffy clouds scudded overhead. Mockingbirds sang their copycat calls, beautiful and haunting, in the overgrown, native live oak trees. Maggie didn’t think she’d ever been this happy, except when her daughters were born.
“Do you ever tell them where you are?”
“No,” Maggie said, settling more comfortably against his chest. “Sugar’s too busy with her business and with Jake and what she calls the gang of good ol’ boys. And I don’t really know what Lucy does. I think she’s working at the library. Whatever it is, she seems very happy.”
“Not as happy as I am to have you all to myself.”
Maggie was happy too. The only problem marring her happiness was that she felt like she’d deserted Sugar’s fledgling business. But she had nothing to contribute, because she simply couldn’t recall a single ingredient properly. As the days went on, and she became more worried, the recipes became jumbled in her mind. The day she realized she was adding ingredients from her father’s favorite chili recipe to the list for her grandmother’s famous pecans, Maggie gave up.
She didn’t dare tell Sugar that the dream was over.
The very thought made her so sad she wanted to cry. Sugar had brought them all the way here to start over, to help Maggie recuperate and get well. But there wasn’t anything to start—no business, no anything—because Maggie couldn’t remember.
She was not being a supportive mother, which she’d so badly wanted to be this time. “I’m supposed to be keeping a journal,” Maggie said. “But I don’t ever write in it.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Maggie began. She sighed. “I don’t know. I think I don’t care. Coming here wasn’t my dream. It was what Sugar thought was best. And I understood that. But I don’t want to write about it.”
“Well,” Lassiter said, “I’m not a very good writer myself.”
“I knew you’d understand.” Maggie smiled.
“I hope you’re glad you’re here now,” Lassiter said. “I’m getting just a bit fond of my redhead.”
Maggie closed her eyes, absolutely charmed by his words. She didn’t dare tell him that if she couldn’t remember the recipes, then the dream was lost.
They’d be packing up the blue Oldsmobile and heading back to Florida right after she took off the mayor’s top hat and ribbon, and following the parade right out of town.
“I thought maybe you were kidding about bug spray.” Sugar waited on Jake, practically sprayed within an inch of her life with chemicals guaranteed to keep all insect, animal life and mankind away.
Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. Jake dragged his canoe from the back of his truck, which they’d picked up on the way. He wore what he called a muscle shirt, so she had a great view of muscular arms as he carried the canoe to the creek. He’d changed into khaki shorts, eschewing jeans, saying that if her legs were bare for skeets, he’d man up.
He had a really great set of nice, athletic legs. When he’d pulled off his shirt and changed, she noticed the marks of the military: ripped, strong chest muscles, corded back. A dragon tattoo on his right shoulder.
“Does Vivian know about the tat?”
“Hell, no.” Jake began fumigating himself with bug spray. “Not that I care if she does. She wouldn’t approve, mind you, but Vivian and I understand that approval isn’t part of our relationship.” He studied her legs. “Now, I want you to close your nose and hold your breath and spray the bejesus out of yourself one more time. Pretend you’re in a windstorm, and the goal is to keep the toxins from penetrating your nostrils.”
“You’re scaring me.” Sugar studied the can. “This is just plain ol’ garden-variety Off, isn’t it?”
“No. This stuff is powerful. The goal is to keep from getting insectus problemus.” He watched her as she began to spray. “You have no idea how bad you do not want mosquito-borne crap.”
“We get an occasional bite at our house,” Sugar said.
“Yeah,” Jake said, “but notice it’s only occasional. I get the area sprayed regularly with garlic.”
“Very eco-friendly of you. And yet now I’m covered in toxins.”
“Only for a few hours. Here’s your paddle.”
She took it from him. “I’ve never done this before.”
“It’s not that hard.” They got in, she more gingerly than he, conscious of trying not to tip before she got her first canoe ride. Jake shoved off, and they floated downstream. “Just paddle opposite me, so the boat moves smoothly.”
“It’s beautiful here,” Sugar said, soothed by the overhanging willows on the banks. She mimicked Jake’s paddling motions, and soon they had the canoe moving through the water.
She had a great view of his back, much of which the white muscle shirt didn’t conceal.
This is the best day of my life, Sugar thought. I love it here in Pecan Creek.
I think I might be falling for Jake.