“I remember him. You would have never thought he had as much money as he did. He was a nice guy. Zell was named after him, right?”
“They name every other generation’s son Zelwig, some kind of family thing.”
“Do you know about the loan Zell made to Elva?” she asked.
“Yep. She was lucky Zell didn’t charge her interest. I told her that was a big responsibility to get into, them orchids, but she doesn’t listen to anyone when she’s got her headset on something.” The smile on his face faded. “Sometimes she didn’t say anything about it until it was a done deal. Like with the orchids. And other things…” He’d faded off and gone to some unpleasant place.
“Do you happen to know anyone who might want to buy the orchids at cost?”
“Not right off hand. Your best bet is to sell them off piecemeal.”
She’d started rolling the paper again and realized what it was she’d been rolling: the ledger with the mysterious payments. “Do you know anything about these five hundred-dollar payments?”
He didn’t even look at the ledger. “Elva did all the paperwork and finances. I helped out, that’s all I did.”
He was clearly uncomfortable with the line of questioning, and she realized that’s what she’d been doing—questioning him. She held back the next question, which was who he thought might want to buy the bar.
She pushed to her feet. “It seems to me that you need the money you make here as much as I need you to help me out. I know, I know,” she said when he opened his mouth. “Loyalties. Can’t you look at it as a job and not a betrayal?”
“Things get tricky, and you know how the Macgregors are with holding grudges. I don’t want to cause my daughter any problems either. But there might be a way—”
“What?” She braced her palms on the table. “What way?”
He scrubbed his fingers through his mess of hair. “If Zell said it’d be all right, I reckon it’d be all right. People around here respect him.” Before she could digest that, he added, “The thing is, my asking him would put me in an uncomfortable position. So, you’ll have to ask him.” He got to his feet, gathered his pack of papers and bag of tobacco and stuffed them in his pocket.
“Me?” The word came out as a squeak. “I can’t—”
“That’s the only way it’ll work, young’un. You let me know what he says. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
He shuffled out into the bright day, and she dropped her head to the table and groaned.
CHAPTER 6
By the time people started trickling into Southern Comfort, Kim had decided that she’d do whatever it took to keep the place running. She didn’t have to like it, but she’d do it. She needed to figure out what to do, and there was no point letting it run into the ground in the meantime. Finding Zell was going to be the tricky part.
The first customers were Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, an older couple Kim remembered living one street away from her childhood home.
“We wanted to give our condolences,” the tiny woman said after ordering a bucket of the kick-ass wings. “We’ll miss Elva something fierce.” She patted Kim’s hand. “We’ve missed you, too.”
She swallowed hard. She wanted to thank them, but the words would have come out all soft and mush. She simply smiled and went to put the wings in the fryer.
Surprisingly, a few people came in over the next two hours. They either asked about Smitty or looked for him, but they didn’t leave when she said he wasn’t there. The Palmers left Kim with a warm feeling. Well, at least not everyone hated that she was back.
It wasn’t until the place was over half full that she began to wonder if something was going on. First, it was half full. Second, an air of expectancy hovered thicker than the smoke. Third, nobody was playing the jukebox. Between taking orders and making food, Kim dashed over and bought some music. When her selections played out, no one picked up the gauntlet. Unless times had changed, that was very strange. The place rarely went without music for longer than a few minutes.
She suspected it had something to do with the expectant air, and it made her uneasy. Not helping was that some of the folks watched her with glowering expressions that reminded her of Buck Waddell. Sometimes she caught a mention of Zell’s name, and inevitably the people at the table would look her way.
They couldn’t know that she had to ask Zell’s permission for Smitty to continue on there, could they? This was a small town, no doubt, but still….
Like everyone else, Kim glanced at the door whenever it opened. She felt an odd shift in her chest when Zell sauntered in. When several people broke into applause, he lifted his arms to the side and turned around to show off his eye-popping orange Hawaiian surf-at-sunset shirt. It was buttoned and hung over the waistband of his blue jeans. Alligator boots were the final touch. Somehow it worked, though she wasn’t sure why.
“Dang, Zell, that’s the brightest one yet,” one guy said.
“I like the teal blue one you had on yesterday better,” a woman said with a gleam that indicated she’d probably prefer him without a shirt at all.
Zell took the gawking in stride as he made his way to the bar. People tried to get his attention along the way, asking him for a minute of his time later as though he were the mayor. Kim was surprised when he walked directly to the bar and took one of the stools with an ease that said he did that quite often.
“Heard you wanted to talk to me,” he said, leaning against the bar.
She blinked, trying to pull her thoughts together. “Well, yeah, I did. Did Smitty tell you that?”
“Yep. He’s outside. Said you had to ask me about something.”
Had Smitty set her up for this? When she shifted her gaze to the small crowd beyond, they were all watching. They reminded her of the time her dad took her out into the mangroves. Several hungry gators were assembled beneath a rookery full of egret nests waiting for a hatchling to fall out. Since she hated gators and loved egrets, that moment had stuck with her. Just like, perhaps, this one would. Dammit, that was why they’d all come out tonight, to watch her grovel to her former foe—and from the hungry expressions on their faces, they clearly expected Zell to turn her down.
“Let me deliver this whiskey and I’ll be right back.” When she returned, she asked, “Want something?”
“Captain Morgan and root beer.”
She lifted her eyebrow. “Spiced rum and root beer? Interesting combination. I doubt we have root beer, though. I’ve never worked at a bar that carried it.”
He leaned over the bar, leaving his jean-clad rear sticking up in the air, and pointed to a shelf next to the icemaker. Root beer. His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Elva kept some on hand for me.”
She squelched a comment about how often he must get his way. Even back when they were young, girls went out of their way to do things for him. She bought time while making his drink, hoping the hungry gators would lose interest. Of course, they didn’t. When she set the drink on the bar, she said, “I’m supposed to ask you if Smitty can continue to work here until I figure out what I’m doing with the place.”
He sat there for a long minute, giving away nothing. Was he going to ignore her question? Oh, she got it. She hadn’t exactly asked, and that’s what he was going to make her do. Just perfect.
“Can Smitty continue to work here for the time being?” Forced meekness filled her voice.
“I heard you the first time.”
All right, fine, he wasn’t that big of a jerk. Still, he didn’t answer. Conflict shadowed his expression, something akin to what she’d seen on Smitty’s face when he’d talked about his loyalties. She didn’t dare look at the folks also waiting for his answer, probably hoping she’d cry or beg. They didn’t know her very well. Kim Lyons never cried and she never begged. But she was impatient.
“Well?”
“I’m thinking about it. Never rush a man while he’s thinking.”
She wanted to tell him, go on and say no, get it over with. She folded
a napkin to within an inch of its life. She noticed that he hadn’t once glanced at their audience. She couldn’t tell if he was enjoying his power position over her, but she figured he was.
He took a long sip of his drink and set it squarely in the center of the bar napkin, taking care to line it up just so. Finally, he said, “You understand your request puts me in an awkward situation.”
“Wasn’t great for me either.” She swallowed her pride and added, “I do understand. Believe me, you’re the last person I wanted to ask.” Her face flushed hot. “I mean—”
He waved off her fumbling. “I know, but Smitty’s thinking of family, of family honor and loyalties. It’s good to consider things like that.”
Her stomach twisted at his words. She knew exactly what he was talking about. She said, “I’m not here to make a war or to dredge up the past. I’m fine to let sleeping dogs lie. I just want to keep things going while I decide what to do. If someone’s going to buy this place, they ought to have a successful business to go with it, don’t you think?”
“You gonna sell it?”
She could barely push out the words, “What else can I do?” That’s when it hit her how hard it was going to be, how selling seemed a betrayal of her own family. “And there’s Smitty to consider. He needs the money. It’s not fair to keep him from working.” She glanced at the crowd now. “Obviously this place means a lot to the locals. If Smitty’s not here and they don’t come to drink, I have to close it. Where will they go?”
Was that the slightest glow of admiration in his eyes as he took in her argument? She kept going in case it was. “I know this puts you in a tough place, but I’m in a tough place, too.” What she’d meant to say was I’m sorry I put you in a tough place, but that was too hard to say.
She figured he’d turn to look at the folks waiting for his answer and see what their temperature was. He hadn’t taken his gaze off her, though.
“All right, he can keep working here.” He grabbed his drink and wandered through the tables to the jukebox.
She stared after him. People murmured, taking in first her, then Zell. He slid a dollar bill into the slot and chose a track from the Kenny Wayne Shepherd CD. Then he walked to the door and leaned out to say something to Smitty, who ambled in with a grin. Kim hoped she didn’t look as shell-shocked as she felt. Smitty took three orders as he made his way to the bar while Zell settled in at the small table in the corner beside the jukebox and stretched out his legs.
She wanted to thank him, as hard as that would be, but he hadn’t given her a chance. One of the men who’d wanted his time took the chair at Zell’s table and started bending his ear. While he listened, his gaze slid to her before going back to the man.
“Two Miller Lights and a pitcher of Budweiser,” Smitty said as he approached the service end of the bar.
Now that music filled the room, less attention was on her, which was perfectly fine. She pulled her gaze from Zell. “Did you happen to tell the whole town that I was going to ask Zell about you working here?”
He lifted a shoulder, not looking the least bit sheepish. “May have mentioned it to someone. Why?”
She shook her head. “Well, maybe because half the town showed up to watch.”
Seeing the bar full of people probably wasn’t unusual to him. “It is Friday night, you know. Busy night usually.”
Usually, but not when the pariah of Cypress owned the bar. “Whatever. What was that order again?”
While she filled the order, Smitty flipped a switch that started a fan somewhere above. The smoke disappeared through a vent in the ceiling. “Elva had it installed last year. She told the non-smokers she done it for them, but she really done it for Oscar. He’d started to wheeze a bit. Didn’t care about her own health, but she didn’t want her pig getting emphysema.”
“That sure sounds like my grandma.” Kim set Smitty’s order on the tray. “What’s Zell doing over there, anyway? Holding court?”
Smitty chuckled. “In a manner of speaking. Ever’body goes to him for advice. He’s got a good head for it. They call him the Sage, after another fella who used to dispense advice a long time ago.”
When Zell glanced her way, she realized she’d been caught watching him again. She turned back to Smitty. “The Sage, huh? What does he give advice on?”
“Oh, just about ever’thing. Love, money, family relations, whatever’s on your mind.”
She pictured herself sitting in that chair across from him, asking what she should do about the bar, Elva’s house…her life. Turmoil bubbled inside her. Simon didn’t understand her love for this place. Though he’d never been there, he knew it was swampland and rednecks that made their hard-living from a hard land. She couldn’t tell him how the sight of a rookery made white by egrets could stir her soul, how going out to the middle of the marshland and watching stars and listening to the silence was better than taking a vacation to anywhere else in the world. Or how leaning against her own bar, the same bar her grandma had sanded and stained herself, could mean more than inheriting a million dollars. How one place could stir guilt, fear, awe, and belonging.
Would Zell understand? She pushed the thought from her mind and headed over to take an order. All he wanted—all most of these people wanted—was to see her leave. That thought simply tore her apart.
Zell had enough troubles of his own, but he listened to Angus’s woes about how he thought his wife was cheating on him.
“Go on home, grab her, and throw her on the bed,” Zell said. “Tell her you’re gonna make love to her all night long, and see how she acts. If she’s smiling, she’s not cheating. Then make sure it does last all night. That means giving her hers for a good long time before the finale. There’s plenty on a woman’s body to keep you occupied.” At Angus’s questioning look, he added, “Just make sure you do something to every inch of her body, and spend extra time on the important parts. And make no mistake, my friend, they’re all important.”
Angus nodded vigorously, as if storing this in memory.
“Now, if she makes excuses, well then, you’ll want to have a sit-down with her.” As Angus balked, Zell added, “It’s better than wondering. Confront her and see what she has to say.” Strange words from a man who hated confrontation.
“All right, Zell, that’s what I’ll do. Your next drink is on me.”
He waved that away as Angus got to his feet. “Don’t worry about it.”
Still, Angus wandered to the bar and tilted his head toward him as he paid his tab. Kim glanced his way again and nodded as she took his money. She’d been looking at him a lot, probably surprised he’d said okay.
He wanted to think it was for Smitty, though the guy didn’t need much money to live on. He wanted to think it was for himself or even for the folks around here who called Southern Comfort their second home. The truth was, it couldn’t have been easy for her to ask him, and that had been the deciding factor. As far as his family went, though, he was sticking to the self-centered reason—he’d done it for himself. Nothing was more important to the Macgregors than family honor. Didn’t he know that well enough.
Smitty had wiped down one of the tables and then ended up joining the men who were sitting there for a few minutes. The man hid his grief over Elva’s death as well as Zell hid his. The town wouldn’t be the same without her.
He watched Kim as she carried a pitcher and frosty mugs to one of the tables. She knew what she was doing. She carried the six mugs with her fingers wrapped around the handles and poured each one with nary a trace of head or spillage. She glanced his way before heading back to the bar, this time checking his drink in the quick way an expert had.
Back behind the bar, she dug a spoon into a jar of peanut butter and stuck it in her mouth. Did she know how damned provocative she looked as she slowly drew the spoon out and then lathed the bowl with her tongue? A minute later, he watched her sling the bottle of Captain Morgan with a flourish before adding root beer.
He especially enjoyed watc
hing her walk toward him with his drink. She wore black jeans and an off-the-shoulder top that reminded him of a white handkerchief. A sliver of her stomach showed, and even more interestingly, a belly button ring caught the light. It was a simple gold ring with a small diamond chip. She was long in the torso, long all over, really. She’d had a boyish figure growing up, and though she hadn’t filled in all that much, there was nothing boyish about her nowadays. Her choker was made of tiny shells. Instead of the country gunk someone had chosen on the juke, the Cheap Trick song, “She’s Tight,” flowed through his mind as a soundtrack to her trek toward him.
She set the drink on his table. “That one’s courtesy of your friend who just left. Something about giving him advice on his cheating wife.” When he only nodded in both thanks and acknowledgment, she added, “I think he was confused about the ‘important parts’ thing.”
Zell shook his head. “I thought I’d made it pretty clear.”
“What do you consider the important parts?”
He leaned back, completely enjoying her curiosity. “From a woman’s point of view, you mean.”
“Yeah, well, I know what men focus on: T, A, and P.”
He laughed at her succinct statement. “Yeah, well, the uneducated man maybe. Angus is a pretty basic kind of guy. I was trying to enlighten him.”
“Okay, so let’s hear it.”
He was trying not to let on how much he was enjoying this exchange. “Her feet, particularly the arch of her feet and her toes, which make for great sucking. The backs of her knees, which respond wonderfully to a flick of the tongue.”
She rocked forward then, as though his tongue were flicking the backs of her knees as they spoke. “Okay,” she said, a squeak in her voice.
“Her inner thighs, that soft, white skin that probably gets neglected due to close proximity of, er, P, which can be distracting.”
She made a sound in her throat, but kept her expression passive. “Very true.” The complete focus of her eyes gave away her interest.
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