by Liz Talley
“What?” she asked, coming up on the group. Her sunglasses shielded her eyes, but she still could not make out the item causing such sensation.
“Boys! I swear!” Cathy declared. “Logan will be pulling these kinds of stunts before I can blink.”
Nellie headed closer to the flagpole where everyone stood peering up.
At her thong. Blowing in the Texas wind.
Dear God. That bastard. He had run her white lace thong with the cute ribbon ties up the library flagpole. She’d known Jack had her wispy thong; she’d left it in the cabana the day they went swimming and had dropped it when she’d fetched her clothes. He had even made funny jokes about how he’d found it floating in the pool and thought it was a jellyfish. He’d said he would return it to her the night they had the cookout. But she had stormed out, left it. Tried to forget about the white lace thong and all it signified.
Now here it flew—a blatant reminder of her night of sin.
Right in her face.
Hadn’t the man ever heard of sending flowers?
She stared at her thong. “Well, I guess it’s not exactly patriotic.”
Rita giggled. “Not unless it was red, white and blue.”
Fred just clicked with his camera. Of course, there was no way Max Settler would let him put any such photo in the Oak Stand Gazette.
“Who do you think did it?” Miss Taylor asked in a near whisper. She lived next to the library and studied the comings and goings of the town as if it was a full-time job. “Is it aimed at you, Nellie?”
“Why would it be aimed at me?” Nellie hoped she didn’t look guilty.
“Well, you’ve gone and gotten…well, you know.”
“Hot as a firecracker!” Mr. Harp, the eighty-two-year-old retired mail carrier cackled. “Nellie’s looking good.”
“Well, what’s that supposed to mean?” Cathy propped her hands on her hips. “Does that mean Rita and I are chopped liver?”
Mr. Harp’s mustache twitched. “Well, I didn’t mean to offend.”
Nellie ignored Cathy and started lowering the thong. Everyone’s eyes followed its descent until she finally tugged it free. There was no note, but Jack didn’t need one to get his message across, did he?
Except she wasn’t really certain of the message. What did a guy mean when he strung your thong up a flagpole for everyone to see?
“What size is it?” Rita asked, peering down at the wisp of lace in her hand.
“What does that matter?” Cathy huffed. “You think it can’t be mine just because I’m still fat? I could have worn that before I had a baby.”
Rita rolled her eyes. “No. I thought I’d wear it tonight for Bill.”
Everyone laughed and finally started moving on. Nellie wanted to tuck the thong in her purse but was afraid doing so would show ownership. She really didn’t want Cathy or Rita knowing it belonged to her, so she just let it dangle at her side as she climbed the steps of the library.
Rita and Cathy tagged behind, concocting crazy scenarios about who the thong belonged to and who had strung it up the pole.
“Yeah, it could be aliens, but it’s probably just some high school boy who got laid for the first time and wanted all his friends to know about it.” Cathy laughed. Nellie glanced down at the scrap of material still dangling from her hand. If only it were as simple as aliens.
“Well, if those teenagers would just go to church,” Rita said. “I mean, there’s just too much premarital sex in this world. People don’t give a fig whether they’re married or not and don’t get me started on the teenagers. They’re like rabbits to hear Jolene tell it.” She slid behind the checkout desk and powered up the computer.
Nellie rolled her eyes. Rita’s sister-in-law was a counselor at Oak Stand High. Her tales could curl toes, according to Rita, who was sworn to secrecy and couldn’t reveal anything Jolene told her. Rita reveled in the secret knowledge and dropped hints like bread crumbs.
“What are you going to do with it?” asked Rita.
Nellie tried to deliver a nonchalant shrug. “Throw it out, I guess.”
“Oh,” said Rita.
“Why? Did you really want it?” She couldn’t imagine Rita wearing such a sexy piece of clothing. Her coworker was a nervous little bird of a woman whose idea of sexy involved a turtleneck.
“Of course not.” Rita’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Gross. It belonged to someone else. Plus, I’m a Christian.”
Nellie laughed. “I’m pretty sure you can be a Christian and wear a thong. I don’t think there’s a commandment, ‘Thou shalt not wear a thong.’”
Rita frowned. Cathy smirked and disappeared into her office. Nellie followed suit, unlocking the door to her own office and placing the thong on her desk.
What now?
Was the next move hers?
Should she be the girl he’d met in Vegas? Bold, sassy and uninhibited? Put on the thong, slip on some stilettos and parade in front of Jack, daring him to take her? Sounded right for the girl she’d pretended to be in Vegas. But she wasn’t that girl. Not really.
Or should she just ignore his gesture?
No.
Jack wasn’t going away.
And it was time she stopped trying to wish her Vegas escapade away. The man would likely show up sometime today. She’d deal with him then.
But before she could face Jack, she had children to take care of. Nellie tucked a few strands of hair behind her ears and stood. She pressed the creases from her skirt and dug her lip gloss from her bag.
The children’s section of the Howard County Library never failed to thrill her. Formerly the mansion’s conservatory, the area contained a huge wall of amazing beveled windows that allowed sunshine to tumble inside. Huge prints inspired by A.A. Milne and Lewis Carroll hung along the honey-oak-paneled walls. Comfy, kid-friendly chairs dotted the Wedgwood-blue carpet, creating an elegant, magical gathering spot. Nellie always felt as if she were stepping into the world of Lemony Snicket or perhaps just falling down the rabbit hole.
“Miss Hughes!” shrieked Lucy Reeves, leaping from her mother’s lap as Nellie entered the children’s section. Lucy pirouetted. “Look at my piggy tails. Mommy did them special just like Pippi Longstocking.”
Nellie squatted and studied the four-year-old. Lucy never stayed still. “Wow. You look just like Pippi. If I didn’t know you were Lucy, I’d say you were Pippi!”
Lucy glowed.
“You wook piddy,” said Jefferson Hyde, the three-year-old with enviably long lashes and a perpetually runny nose.
“Thank you, Jefferson.” She smiled at him and then turned her attention to the other children waiting for story time. “Is everyone ready to hear a story?”
A chorus of yays rang out. They were always ready.
She herded all of the children towards the rug. Five minutes later after they’d shaken the wiggles out and sung the book song, she began reading Skippyjon Jones. The giggles and whispers never bothered her; most of the children listened with rapture at the tale of the kitten turned sword-swinging Chihuahua. After she finished the story, she passed out small bags of jelly beans. Since Skippy had saved the beans, the children might as well share in the bounty.
Nellie mingled with the parents and children, making recommendations for books the children might enjoy. Her neighbor Hunter Todd had insisted she show everyone the purpling lump on his forehead and little Mary Grace sounded out the word cat four times to Nellie’s delight. She loved all the children and made a huge fuss over them, but she couldn’t stop her eyes wandering to the entrance of the room, looking for Jack. Surely, after sending such a flagrant signal, he’d show up.
By four o’clock she had started growing annoyed. She had waited nearly all day. Where was he?
She’d looked up so often, seeking a pair of gorgeous blue eyes, that Cathy had finally asked, “What’s up with you? You expecting someone?”
“No,” said Nellie. “No one.”
But she lied.
“Well, you’re maki
ng me dizzy. Wanna shelve some of these books?”
She didn’t, but she took them anyway. She had plenty of work to do in her office, but didn’t want to be holed up back there. Just in case.
Romance books. Great. She sighed. Just what she needed—to be surrounded by illustrated covers of half-dressed beauties cradled by strapping earls and knights. She already felt keyed up. If he would just appear, she could confront him. Figure out what she should do.
But as five o’clock struck on the massive grandfather clock in the center of the library, he hadn’t come.
Cathy locked the front door and snapped her fingers. “Oh, Nellie. I almost forgot!”
“What?” Nellie said.
“I have something here for you….” She disappeared behind the main desk, rummaging around before finally pulling a brown paper sack from the depths of the shelves. “Here it is. That good-looking guy who bought the Henderson place came by and left it for you while you were reading to the children. Do you know him?”
She handed it to Nellie.
It was flat and very obviously a book.
Rita stood behind her. “Is it a donation to the library?”
Nellie didn’t want to open it in front of the two women. After the thong, what else would the man come up with?
“Open it,” Rita said, moving closer.
“Maybe I better save this for later.” Nellie dropped the bag to her side.
“Why? You think it’s something more perverted than the thong this morning?” Cathy asked, maneuvering the mouse on the computer in order to shut it down. Nellie frowned. It might very well be. Visions of the Kama Sutra danced in her head.
Rita pulled the bag from her fingers before she could grab it back. Which was really rude for a Bible study leader.
Rita tore open the bag. “A book on baseball?”
Nellie looked at the book in Rita’s hands. My first Book of Baseball: The St. Louis Cardinals. Her mind flashed back to the airport bar and the game he’d chosen over noticing her.
For some reason tears pricked her eyes.
Rita flipped open the book. “It’s for kids. Why would he give you a kids’ book on baseball?”
Cathy narrowed her eyes, noting the dampness in Nellie’s eyes. Her mom radar had already kicked in. “Wait. Who’s this guy to you, Nellie?”
“Did you meet him in Vegas?” Rita asked.
Nellie just stared at the book Rita held. He’d given her a book on the Cardinals. And it meant…. what? He was sorry about ignoring her in the airport bar? Or he wanted her to learn to love what he loved?
She swallowed and took the book from Rita. “Yes.”
She walked away from them. She really didn’t have anything else to say. They could think what they wanted.
Because she didn’t know what to think herself. At first she wondered if Jack had come to punish her. Showing up at the Dairy Barn, then her church, as if he meant to embarrass her, needle her into admitting what she’d done in Vegas. The panties up the flagpole seemed like a slap in the face. She might have thought his motives a bit spiteful if not for the incident with Hunter Todd, and now the book.
The book was very subtle. Very Jack.
Made her think about Bubba and his fishing analogy. Definite nibbles.
Time to find out exactly why the hell Jack had come to Oak Stand, Texas. She just wasn’t sure if she needed a knife to cut bait or a net.
“WHOA!” Jack yelled to Bubba over the chug of the old John Deere. “That ought to do it.”
The tractor lurched to a stop and Bubba twisted himself in the seat. “Man, I didn’t think we’d do it. I guess nothing does stop a Deere.”Jack grinned, sweat pouring down his face. Damn, but it felt good to work. He hadn’t done so much manual labor since…well, honestly, he didn’t think he’d ever done as much work as he had today. At first, he thought the job would be easy—hell, the barn looked like a good wind could bring it down. But those big beams supporting the rotten timber were a bitch to topple. Last one and the tractor had pushed it down steadily till it fell with an earsplitting crash.
The tractor’s engine died with a belch and a fart.
“’Scuse me,” Bubba said, hopping down. Jack swore he could feel the ground vibrate as the man landed. It was as if another beam had fallen. He and Bubba grabbed the chains lying by the metal gate and latched them to the chain encircling the beam. They’d learned the hard way to place the chain around the beam before they pulled it down. Each beam weighed over 700 pounds. Jack took the other end of the chain and hooked it to the tractor.
Bubba strolled over to the ice chest and brought out a cold beer, popped the tab and took four big gulps. He tossed Jack one of the icy cans.
Man, nothing tasted better than an ice-cold beer after a long day’s work. Of course the day wasn’t over. They still needed to maneuver the last beam over to the pile. He would salvage them for the new barn being raised on the other side of the house. Plus, debris needed to be hauled away.
“With the burn ban in effect, we can’t burn none of this. Gonna have to haul it over to Linden. I got some fellows that can help us out. They’ll work for pretty cheap.”
Jack wiped the sweat dripping in his eyes. His shirt was sopping wet, so he peeled it off and dropped it over the scrawny bush beside the metal corral. “Good. I appreciate your finding some folks for me.”
Bubba nodded. “I’m gonna haul this last beam over to the new site. We need to get started by next Monday.”
Jack nodded and Bubba clambered up the side of the tractor. Jack took another swig of his beer.
“Uh-oh. Here comes Nellie.” Bubba pointed toward a cloud of dust coming up the driveway.
Jack blinked against the setting sun. Sure enough, an ugly silver car bumped up the driveway.
“You’re on your own, bud.” Bubba cranked the old tractor. It burbled and coughed, and finally started crawling. The time-scarred beam bounced behind it.
Nellie.
Well, he’d gotten a reaction. Wonder what she thought about her panties flying over great-granddaddy’s statue? Or the book he’d left her? He knew she’d be unhappy about the thong, but what about the book? He’d find out. No more pleasantries or polite little smiles. It was time to get it on. But not in the way he wanted.
He didn’t bother with his shirt. He was a man who knew how to choose his weapons. Instead he grabbed another beer, popped the top off and waited. Liquid fortification.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Nellie came along the path like an eagle swooping down on a defenseless mouse—direct and with purpose. As best he could tell, she carried the thong, balled up in her hand. Perspiration glistened on her forehead. She skidded to a halt in front of him and launched the scrap of lace his way.
The thong hit him square in the chest and stuck there.
Jack peeled the flimsy fabric off his sweaty chest and dangled it between two fingers. “Guess you got your thong. Sorry it took me so long to get it back to you.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I swear men do the damnedest things.
—Grandmother Tucker to Nellie as she watched grown men race lawn mowers around a track on TV.
NELLIE WATCHED as a slow, sexy smile crept across Jack’s face. He looked so damned good leaning up against the rusted railing of the livestock pen, one foot perched on the lower rail, chest glistening like a model for Playgirl. Not that she’d ever seen that particular magazine. Okay, once at a bachelorette party. But Jack Darby could’ve posed in it. His muscles gleamed as the softening sunlight sculpted him against the dusty backdrop. Tight, worn jeans and work boots only heightened the fantasy.
Her mouth went dry and her eyes ate him up.Jack waited. Damn him. He knew what he was doing to her. She tried to remember what he’d just said. Oh, yeah. The thong. He still held it aloft, looking even naughtier with the wisp of lingerie in his hand.
He cocked his head. “You didn’t want this back?”
She forgot all about how sexy he was. Wha
t a smart-ass! “Okay, time to talk. What are you doing here, Jack?”
He tucked the thong into his back pocket and dropped his foot from the rail. “Well, now let’s see. We just knocked this barn down. We’re going to move it—”
“You know damned well I don’t mean out here,” Nellie interrupted, waving one hand around the nearly barren site. “I mean in Oak Stand. Are you playing games with me?”
His aw-shucks smile disappeared. His eyes darkened. “No games, Nellie.”
She propped her hands on her hips. “You invade my town without asking, sit in my pew, run my underwear up the town flagpole and don’t call it ‘playing games’?”
He took a step toward her. “Just wanted to see if the passionate woman I met in Vegas is still under that stiff exterior you’ve built around yourself here. Since you’re here and pissed, I’d say she is.”
She shot him her best go-to-hell look. “Really? And I thought I was just another notch on your bedpost.”
A shutter closed in his eyes, but not before she saw the glimmer of pain.
“Oh, so you’ve figured it all out, have you? Figured me all out too, huh?” he said, a little too flippantly.
“Go back to Vegas and stop playing cowboy.”
His eyes flickered. Was it hurt? She wasn’t sure. The man was probably a crackerjack poker player. He didn’t give much away. “I’m not playing cowboy. I’m building a horse farm, little Miss Tight-Assed Librarian. I’d already been looking in Texas before you dumped your drink in my lap. This was happening before you tore apart my life with your lies.”
“Tore apart your life? With lies? You must be joking. Everything in Vegas was a lie.”
Jack stared hard. “So that’s what you think?”
Nellie hesitated. She knew what she’d felt when they were together—the actual friendship and the incredible sex were as real as her grandmother’s three-carat diamond ring. “I don’t know what to think.”
They stared at each other.
“Jack, everything I thought about myself…I mean, ugh…I don’t even know what I mean.” She fell silent. She’d never been good in an argument, always thought about what she should have said three days later.
