Home Again with You

by Liza Kendall

  Unfortunately, Jules didn’t look too receptive when she appeared in the doorway, her hands on her waist and her cheeks flushed red. “Aunt Sue just told me you went and had the saddlery business and property appraised! You promised you would try to keep it. You promised. Are you going behind my back and selling the business?”

  “Having something valued is about gathering information, Jules. I wouldn’t sell anything without discussing my reasons with you first.”

  She made a sound of disgust. “Not that what I’d have to say would stop—” Her gaze shot straight to his hands on the pile of her father’s tax envelopes and that shade of red in her cheeks turned a touch brighter. “What do you think you’re doing, Rhett Braddock? Those are private! Who gave you permission to look at those?!”

  He opened his mouth to explain, but she overrode him.

  “Unbelievable! Give me those, and get out from behind my desk.”

  “Jules, I figured I could take a look and maybe help—”

  “You figured? How would you feel if I figured I should look at your private bank statements or stock portfolio?” Her voice was shaking with anger.

  “There are certain deductions that your dad hasn’t been taking.”

  “I don’t want to hear it. You shouldn’t have looked at his private papers.”

  “They pertain to this business, which I just bought, so—”

  “Did you ask him first?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Rhett admitted. “Because he’s ill, and I just wanted to see if I could help.”

  “We don’t need your help.” Her tone was low and deadly. “Especially when it involves you snooping and taking advantage of the situation.”

  That pissed him off. “How do you figure I’m taking advantage? Please explain that one to me, Holt.”

  “You just showed up here and bought this place out from under me, and now you’re trying to change everything and you’re poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong and you’re making me completely crazy!”

  Rhett wasn’t used to being yelled at—not by anyone. He was, frankly, used to a lot of ingratiation and brownnosing because of his net worth and the fact that he was the boss. Because people wanted to “get in good” with him and take advantage of any opportunities he might be able to give them.

  In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d been yelled at since high school, by Declan—until recently when he’d had the pleasure via Jules in the stables. He didn’t take kindly to it, and especially not when he was trying to help the individual raising her voice to him. So his next words were ice-cold.

  “Number one,” Rhett said, “I didn’t buy the place out from under you. Number two: My nose does belong in this business, since I now own it. Number three: Consider the concept that you were already completely crazy—long before I came along.”

  “How dare you?”

  He just raised his eyebrows.

  “Get out!”

  “Ejecting me from my own property again, Jules? This is getting old.”

  “Out!”

  “Fine. When I return, I hope you’ll have gotten over your tantrum. I don’t want to bother your dad at the moment, so I’m going to go talk to Grady regarding those returns, and maybe he and your dad can get with—who’s the tax accountant downtown?”

  “Pullman Duff.”

  “Get with him and get some money back from the IRS. Money that your dad needs.”

  Jules stood there, seething. “Admit that you didn’t have the right to look at those.”

  Rhett sighed. “I didn’t have the right to look at them.”

  She glared at him for a long moment. He noted with concern that she was looking pale. “You getting enough sleep?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. There’s a lot going on in my life, is all,” she said pointedly.

  “I am trying to help . . . Do you want to go to the accountant with me instead of Grady? I mean, I figured you’d prefer the stables by a long stretch, but I’m not trying to leave you out of it.”

  “Thanks,” Jules said reluctantly. “But I think I might be coming down with something.” Then she gasped, turned on her heel, and ran.

  Rhett chuckled. “Girl’s allergic to me.” Sure enough, when he knocked on the bathroom door to ask if she needed any help she told him in no uncertain terms to get lost.

  * * *

  Pullman Duff’s office was, weirdly enough, housed in the old town jail, and still had the iron bars to prove it. Even weirder was Pullman’s catfish collection, which was wired onto the bars. There were painted, stuffed, wire-sculpted, and wooden catfish everywhere, in every color combination imaginable. There were also wildlife photographs of catfish, in color.

  Grady had warned Rhett before they went in, but that didn’t prepare anyone for quite how quirky Pullman was, either. Duff himself looked like a catfish in steel-rimmed spectacles, with wide-set eyes, a broad, thin-lipped mouth, and long gray mustachios that drifted down to embrace his chin.

  Grady nudged Rhett when they encountered the bar Pullman kept under the window. It was made out of an old meat smoker and held various decanters of alcohol that Grady promised were the cheapest brands found on planet earth and would scorch a man’s throat before rendering him speechless. It was rumored that Pullman was, in fact, so cheap that he poured Thunderbird into a wine decanter for dinner guests at home.

  But he was a damn fine accountant and could make a nickel crap a dollar bill, according to Old Kingston Nash, a frenemy of Rhett’s brother Jake—and his fiancée’s grandfather.

  “Hiya, folks!” said Pullman, welcoming them into his office. “Well, I’ll be danged. Everett Braddock, home after all these years. Never thought I’d see the day. You coming home to settle down like your brother Jake?”

  Grady snorted. “Rhett’s not the settling-down type.”

  Rhett rolled his eyes. “Speak for yourself.”

  “Oh yeah?” Grady asked, a little too amused for Rhett’s taste. “You got someone in mind?”

  “I’m just saying I don’t need you to speak for me,” Rhett said, his heart pounding a little too fast. Yeah, I have someone on my mind, and I wish I didn’t.

  “Uptight much?” Grady asked.

  Pullman Duff looked between the two men, clearly delighted by the building tension. “What about Julianna?” he asked.

  “What about her?” Rhett and Grady asked at the same time.

  “Girl’s a looker, even if she’s not one for a comb.”

  Grady choked. “She’s, uh, cute, I guess,” he allowed.

  Rhett kept his mouth shut, unwilling to risk arguing that cute was selling Jules short—by a lot.

  Unfortunately, Pullman didn’t have any such qualms. “Cute? She’s all grown up. I hear tell your Rafael at the firehouse has a thing for her—”

  “What?!” Both Rhett and Grady growled at the same time.

  Grady looked at Rhett in surprise.

  Pullman shrugged. “Hey, hey. Don’t jump down my throat, boys. Just repeating what I overheard in Schweitz’s.”

  Grady glared at him. “Rafi’d better stay away from my sister, or he’s gonna lose a length of hose.”

  “You don’t like Rafi, then how about Rhett?” Duff asked, ramping up Grady.

  “Rhett and Jules?” Grady scoffed. “Now that would be a total mismatch. And Rhett knows better.”

  Rhett released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding too long.

  “Well, the Braddocks are full of surprises.” Duff leaned forward and slapped Grady’s shoulder, a huge grin on his face. “Remember little Lila dancing on the bar at Schweitz’s a few weeks back? Aw, Rhett, that was a sight; your mama woulda spun in her grave.”

  Rhett couldn’t believe his ears. “Excuse me?”

  “Ha! Didn’t hear about that all the way in Dallas, didja?”

  “No.�
�� Rhett frowned. “When was this?”

  “A few weeks back. She led Jake and Charlie and the F and R boys on a merry chase, she did . . . cartwheeling on the bar! Had Tommy proposing before the night was over.”

  “Cartwheeling?” Rhett turned to Grady. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

  Grady shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah, no . . . they got her down. No harm, no foul.”

  Rhett didn’t like it at all—imagining his little sis being ogled by a crowd.

  Grady knew him well enough to put the kibosh on Rhett’s welling fury. “How about we get down to business?” he suggested hastily.

  “Yup, yup,” Pullman said, clapping his hands together. “You blew back into town with some bright ideas, I hear?” He glanced at Rhett, who left the next step up to Grady.

  Grady nodded. “Yes, I think so. You know Rhett’s bought the stables from Dad. And”—Grady winked at Rhett—“Jules asked him to take a look at Dad’s tax returns to see if, well, he’s been overpaying our sainted Uncle Sam.”

  “That right? I’ve offered to do his taxes for him before, but he said he could handle ’em. Well, slide ’em over here, son, and lemme take a look.”

  Grady slid the pile of envelopes across Pullman’s desk, which was, in fact, a massive oak door set over two sawhorses. It wasn’t fancy, but it fit the old jail setting to a T, for taxes.

  “Care for a drink, fellas? Got some mighty fine bourbon, or some genuwine Ta-Kill-Ya, ha-ha!”

  “Oh, gee, thanks, Pullman,” said Rhett. “But we’ll take a pass. Lots to do today.”

  “Ya sure, now?”

  “Yeah, yeah, rain check on that,” Grady put in. “For sure.”

  Rhett had a hard time not laughing as Johnny Cash’s “After Taxes” came on over the sound system, and Grady kicked him under the desk. It was all they could do not to sing the lyrics.

  Duff was a classic index-finger licker, and he hummed along as he paged through the returns and glanced at Rhett’s notes.

  “Um-huuum,” he said while they waited.

  This was followed by a pursing of the lips and a decisive nod.

  “Dag jiggety,” he said next.

  Rhett looked at Grady, who shrugged.

  “Hot dog with relish,” he mused, next.

  He flipped through the following set, and the one after that, while Rhett decided that aside from grouper, catfish were the creepiest fish he’d ever laid eyes on. Especially when 139 of them, all at once, had their eyes laid on him.

  Finally Pullman Duff was ready to pronounce his opinion. He stood up, took off his steel-rimmed spectacles, laid his hands flat on the desk in front of him, and winked at Rhett. “Boy, they always did make a fuss of how smart you were. I think you get it from your mama’s side of the family—though she wasn’t smart enough to marry me.”

  Rhett said a quick but silent thank-you to the good Lord for that.

  “By my calculations, you are one hundred and seventeen percent co-rrect.” He turned to Grady. “We got a good case here for your pop to get a six-figure refund.”

  Grady let out a whoop. “Six figures?!”

  “Yes, indeed. And given his condition, I ain’t gonna charge ’im for makin’ the case to the IRS. We’ll get ’er done for free.”

  Given his condition . . . and the fact that I did all the work for you, sir. But Rhett didn’t say it aloud. “That’s awfully nice of you, Mr. Duff.”

  “It is,” agreed Grady. “I really can’t thank you enough. My dad doesn’t have great insurance, so this is the very best news possible—aside from total remission.”

  “Well, son. Molly and I will pray for that to happen, too.”

  They both thanked Pullman profusely, turned down another offer of “mighty fine bourbon” off the meat-smoker bar, and saluted all the squinting catfish.

  Outside, Rhett asked, “So Molly is Pullman’s wife?”

  Grady nodded. “She teaches nursery school and is the only woman in town who owns exactly two pairs of shoes: an everyday pair and a Sunday pair. Her frugality is something of a legend, I guess. Even my sister owns more shoes than that.”

  Rhett laughed.

  “Pullman Duff is probably richer than Kingston Nash, though, if you ask me.”

  “Then, where’s all his money go? It’s certainly not invested in his office decor.”

  “Couldn’t tell you. There are rumors he gives a lot to charity—or is planning to.”

  “Kids?”

  Grady shook his head. “Just catfish.”

  “Well, you don’t have to put those through college or save for their retirement.”

  Grady laughed.

  “I haven’t participated in Fool Fest in a long time, but I think we should put white beards and Santa hats on every single one of those catfish. What d’you say?”

  “Brilliant! I’ll get the Fire and Rescue squad’s help.”

  “It’s a plan.”

  “Listen, man—thank you. I’m going to go give Dad and Mom the good news. This is much appreciated. Really. We owe you.”

  “You owe me nothing,” Rhett said. “I’m heading to the saddlery, and then back to the barn. Maybe your sister will speak to me now that my ‘snooping’ paid off.”

  Grady shot him a sympathetic glance from his superior six-foot-six height. “Maybe. She’s always been a pistol, but I’ve never seen her like this. Ornery as all get-out.”

  Rhett sighed. “She’ll get over it.”

  “Hope so, man. I really hope so, for your sake.”

  Chapter 15

  Rhett had a double motive for going to the Holt Saddlery, where he knew Jules’s aunt Sue had nice boots. She was putting a hammered silver necklace into a Lucite display case when he pulled up, and she took in the sight of Scarlett without comment.

  “Mr. Braddock,” she said as he came into the shop with a tinkle of the bells on the door. “How’s our Julianna been treatin’ you?”

  He gave her a tight smile. “Great. I’d like to get a decent pair of western boots. And then I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Miz Holt.”

  Sue shot him a knowing look and compressed her lips as she locked the Lucite case. “How can I help you, boss?”

  “Boots first,” he said.

  “Sure thing. You want Lucchese? Tony Lama? Justin?”

  “I’ll try whatever you’ve got.”

  “What happened to your shoes?” She looked at the stains.

  “Your niece happened to them.”

  “Ah.” Her mouth worked. “She can be . . . headstrong.”

  “No, really?”

  “I’m afraid I taught her to be that way. I taught her not to take any crap from men.” Sue led him over to the wall of boots and gestured for him to take a seat. “And I told her not to delude herself with romantic fairy tales.”

  “Not all romance is a fairy tale,” he commented.

  She ignored that. “What size are you, hon?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Lucky thirteen. Big feet.” She smiled and raised an eyebrow as she handed him a pair of brown ostrich boots with elaborate, hand-tooled shanks.

  He refused to blush. “Nice,” he said as he slipped off his shoes.

  “Lucchese. I happen to think they’re the best in the business. A lot of folks will argue for Tony Lama, though, and Justins are a classic. Just depends on what you’re looking for.”

  “Comfort. Style. And watertight,” he added ruefully. He eased the boot on over his sock, then put on its mate and stood up. “Incredibly comfortable, just as I remembered.”

  Sue nodded.

  “Got ’em in black?”

  “I believe so. You want to try on any of the others?”

  He shook his head. “No. These in black. Perfect.”

  “Be back in two shakes.”

  He d
idn’t employ Jules’s cheesy joke about chocolate or vanilla. Just waited for her to come back. As he tried on this pair, too, just to make sure, he asked casually, “So why did you teach Jules to be headstrong and not take any crap from men?”

  “Let’s see. You’ve been in town now, for what? Three days? You’ll have heard my story. Don’t pretend you haven’t.”

  “Okay, I won’t.” He met her gaze in the shop’s full-length mirror. “Any regrets?”

  “Yes, of course. I wish I hadn’t had to do it. But he broke my cheekbone, three of my ribs, and—”

  “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “I’m sorry, too. Sorry I ever met him. Sorry I blew him right out the wall of the cabin. But if I hadn’t killed him, he would’ve killed me.” She noted the question in his eyes. “Yes, the same cabin Jules lives in now. I couldn’t go back to it. Never stepped foot in there again. But walls can be repaired and painted, and new lives can be lived in an old space. It’s not haunted. He wouldn’t dare.”

  “Where do you live now?”

  “Got a little cottage over on Birch and Fourth. Cute place.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Most of the time.” She smiled and didn’t elaborate.

  “You’re not . . . afraid to be on your own?”

  “No, darlin’, I’m not. Truth to tell, I’m more afraid to be with somebody.” She got to her feet and put her hands on her hips. “So. You gonna take those Lucchese’s, Mr. Nosy?”

  “I am. How much?”

  They were not cheap. Then again, Rhett wanted Holt Saddlery to start making a profit. So out came the Amex Black Card again, and in one swipe, he became the owner of the boots. “I’ll wear them out,” he said.

  “No problem. Just don’t let Jules wear you out.” She chuckled. “I’m tellin’ you, I taught her well.”

  Rhett sighed. “So it’s you I have to blame, is it?”

  “You bet your sweet ass it is. If she’d turned out like her mama, you’d be buried in casseroles and pies and cookies.”