Sultry with a Twist

by Macy Beckett

  “Oh, right. I’ve heard of that,” June said. Was she batting her lashes at Trey, or did she have something in her eye? “You leave it in the fridge overnight, and all the vodka soaks in.”

  “Yeah. It was pretty good.” Trey rested one arm on the swing behind June’s neck in a covert wraparound move that every guy learned in high school. “You know, there’s a little bar in the next county. Nothing fancy, just a few pool tables, but the beer’s wet. I was thinking we could…”

  Uh-oh. Luke knew where this was heading, and he didn’t like it one damned bit, though he refused to examine why he felt that way.

  “…have a drink while you’re in town.” Trey sucked melon juice off his bottom lip, and not so innocently either. “Maybe the bartender can mix one of your special recipes.”

  “Time to go.” Luke stood and shouted to Pru through the screen door. “Thanks for supper.”

  Trey tilted his head and stared at Luke like he’d grown a third arm. Luke fished his keys out of his pocket and skipped down the front porch steps toward the truck. “See you around, Junebug.”

  Luke didn’t see June’s expression, but she told Trey thanks, but no thanks. She wasn’t allowed to cross the county line. For no reason at all, Luke’s chest felt ten pounds lighter.

  Once he and Trey were on the road headed back to town, his buddy switched off the radio.

  “What’s with you?” Trey asked. “I had a shot with her back there. And why don’t you want her help with the Jenkins place?”

  Luke tried to sound casual, but his voice came out ten decibels louder than he’d expected. “Can you imagine her working with Creepy Karl? Just forget about June. She’ll be gone again before you know it.”

  “What’s the harm in having a little fun while she’s here?”

  “A little fun?” He glared at Trey, and the truck swerved wildly into the left lane before Luke jerked it back again.

  “Whoa, chill the hell out! What’s your problem? If she’s not like your sister, then why can’t—” Trey sucked in a quick breath and turned to face him. “You’re into her, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Bullshit. You two have a history. What happened? Did you already…y’know?”

  Luke’s fist tightened against the wheel. Some things a man just kept private. “I want Jenkins’s roof finished before the next storm comes in. They deliver the shingles?”

  Trey hesitated a few seconds before he said, “Yeah.” His best friend wasn’t an idiot, so he let the subject drop, and they drove on in silence.

  Chapter 4

  Randy Travis crooned through one half-busted speaker in June’s car, promising to love her forever and ever, amen. The air-conditioning only worked on special occasions, and today wasn’t one of them, so she rolled the window down a little farther and let the warm breeze stir her ponytail. June squinted at the digital clock on the cracked gray dashboard. The faded display read nine-fifteen. If the temperature now was any indication, fall hadn’t decided to make an appearance yet. Another scorcher. But not even the lure of air-conditioning could convince her to spend one minute inside the Holy Baptism by Hellfire Church. She’d had her fill of all that as a child, thank you very much.

  June glanced out her window at a parched irrigation ditch running alongside an even more parched, withered cornfield. The filmy brown ditch water couldn’t compare to Luquos’s clear, clean aquariums. She sighed, imagining herself relaxed against a velvet-cushioned booth while watching three hundred graceful jellyfish float delicately inside a pink backlit wall. Her jellies would arrive next week, and she wouldn’t be there to greet them. Esteban had phoned that morning, and aside from an argument with the building inspector, things were going more smoothly than either of them expected. She’d tried to sound pleased on the phone, but truthfully, she missed feeling needed.

  A dull thunk sounded from the engine, and June eased up on the accelerator. Time to keep it below fifty.

  “Come on, Bruiser,” she whispered. “You can make it.”

  With only three hundred fifty dollars in the bank and no means of earning cash during the next month, June couldn’t afford another repair. And she’d ride a rusted unicycle before she’d ask Gram for money.

  She read the directions Gram had written for her. Only one more mile until the Jenkins house. June held her breath and tried to calm the nervous flutter inside her belly. What did she know about fixing things? Hopefully she’d find a useful way to contribute without making an idiot of herself in the process. She also hoped Luke had exaggerated about the critters.

  An old, white colonial came into view, its roof half stripped of shingles and baring the faded plywood underneath. A shirtless man straddled the roof peak, pulling off tar sheets and tossing them behind the house. As June drove closer, she realized it was Trey. He must’ve recognized her too, because he paused to wave before returning to his work.

  Five other vehicles were parked in front of the house, including Luke’s big black Gallagher Contracting truck. Her heart gave a little quiver—what was he doing there? Taking a deep breath, June pulled Bruiser onto a shaded dirt path around the side. Her engine was more likely to start up again if it didn’t sit too long in direct sunlight.

  June smoothed her T-shirt, donned a wide-brimmed straw hat, and grabbed a bottle of water from her mini-cooler. Folding her community service time sheet, she pressed it between her lips while stepping out of the car.

  “Hey, I recognize that.” A chubby, dark-haired man with a few days’ growth on his face pointed to the paper in June’s mouth. “You servin’ hours?” He was a dead ringer for John Belushi, and she half expected him to don a toga and start a food fight. Flashing a wide, brilliant smile, he strolled forward and pulled her into a crushing hug, the sour, smoky tang of marijuana practically emanating from his pores.

  June stiffened and gave him a quick pat-pat-pat on the back before wriggling free. “Yeah.”

  “Me too!” he said with way, way too much excitement. “Give your sheet to the boss-man. What’s your name, mamacita?”

  “June.” She took a step back and leaned against her car, but the stoner didn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space. He eyed her up and down like she was a warm slice of cherry pie, or in his case, like she was an oversized bong with boobs. Then he placed one meaty hand on the car’s purple roof and leaned in close.

  “Giiiirl.” He shook his head. “You’re finer than a frog’s hair split three ways.”

  “Huh?”

  “Karl!” Luke’s voice boomed out, and June flinched in shock, clocking the stoner in the nose with the top of her head. She tugged off her hat and rubbed her throbbing scalp.

  The stoner—Karl, she guessed—cupped both hands over his nose and hopped in place. He hollered at Luke, pulling his red-stained hands away. “I think it’s broken!” Almost instantly, his nose had swollen to the size of a plum, a current of blood streaming over his lips and chin.

  “I’m sorry!” June cringed and shielded her eyes. She could handle the sight of all bodily fluids, with the exception of blood. And mucus, she didn’t like that either. Or vomit. Heck, to be honest, she wasn’t a fan of most bodily fluids.

  “Jimmy,” Luke’s voice called from nearby, but June kept her eyes covered and couldn’t see him. “Take Karl to Sultry Memorial. He busted his nose again.”

  June heard the slap of boots running on the dirt path and Karl’s retreating cries. Then a vehicle started and drove away, flinging gravel in its wake. From somewhere behind the house, the shrill buzz of a saw pierced the air, and she realized the drama was over. Everyone had already gone back to work.

  Slowly, she peered out from between her fingers at Luke’s moss-green eyes, which gleamed with amusement despite the firm set of his lips. From there, her gaze lowered to the hard curves of his bare chest and those broad shoulders. Sweet mother of Stevie Ray. June chewed the inside of her cheek and let her eyes wander to the trail of russet hair that encircled his navel and dipped below t
he waist of his jeans, which hung low—really low—on his lean hips. Off limits!

  “Hey,” he said, pointing to his face. “I’m up here.” He folded his muscled arms across his chest and smirked. “Nice job, Calamity June. In your first five minutes, you managed to send one of my men to the hospital.”

  “Wanna make it two? I’d be happy to push you off a ladder or something.” June smiled sweetly and held up her time sheet. “Who’s in charge?”

  “That’d be me.” He moved closer, bending near enough for June to feel the heat from his bare skin through her thin T-shirt. He smelled like warm leather and sawdust, and June’s heart thumped against her ribs. She closed her eyes and held her breath when Luke’s lips found her earlobe. “And if you’re not nice,” he whispered slowly, “I’ll send you to work for the Baptists.” His mouth caressed the helix of her ear as he breathed, “Junebug.”

  June stumbled back against her car and tried to forget the tingle of his hot breath in her ear. “You run Helping Hands?”

  “No. Trey runs it for me. I founded it.” Luke pulled off his faded blue baseball cap and raked a hand through his hair. “I come around twice a week to check on everyone and do paperwork.”

  “You?” June felt her eyebrows rise. “The same Luke Gallagher who used to climb out his bedroom window and pee off the roof started a charity?”

  “Technically, it’s a nonprofit, not a charity. We need fund-raising and donations to pay for supplies, licenses, and Trey’s salary.” His gaze shifted beyond her to focus on Bruiser. “Jesus, that thing’s older than sin. And twice as ugly.”

  “Well, it’s paid for and cheap to insure, which I think is beautiful.”

  “Your cooling fan’s been running too long. God only knows what’s going on under the hood. I’ll come by Pru’s tomorrow morning and check it out.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  As if on cue, the fan sputtered, rattled, and clunked to a stop. Luke shook his head and pulled his cap back on. “This isn’t Austin. You break down, it might take half a day before someone else drives along and finds you. I’ll be there at seven.” He turned and walked toward the backyard. “Come on, I’ll get you started. You already met Karl. He’s a criminal like you.”

  “I’m not a criminal.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  “Hey.” June grabbed his rounded bicep and the corded muscle bunched beneath her fingers. Off limits! “That reminds me.”

  Luke stopped and his eyes darted from hers down to her hand, which still gripped his warm, damp skin. “Of what?” An emotion she couldn’t quite place crossed his face, and she pulled her hand back.

  “Did the prosecutor charge you for what happened that day? At the pond?”

  “Nope.” He picked up a hammer from the dusty ground and continued walking.

  “Why not?”

  “Your conduct must’ve been lewder and more indecent than mine.”

  Not the way she remembered it. Not at all. Luke had done things to her that afternoon she’d never known existed. Things she couldn’t think about without feeling heat rise from her chest into her face. The heat spread to other places too.

  “Trey’s on the roof,” Luke said. “I’m sure you remember him.” June thought she heard a faint sneer of jealousy in his voice. Probably just her imagination. He pointed the hammer to a middle-aged balding man wearing protective goggles and cutting two-by-fours with a motorized saw, then to a group of five men standing nearby who sanded and applied wood stain to the freshly cut boards. “That’s Pauly. He’s okay, but stay away from the rest of the halfway house guys. They’re fresh out of prison, and not because they got busted skinny-dipping. You hear me?”

  June nodded.

  “Just watch out for yourself. Trey keeps a close eye on the workers, but he can’t see everything.”

  “You don’t get paid for this?” June regarded the man she’d known nearly all her life, yet didn’t know at all. “Why do you do it?”

  The bill of Luke’s baseball cap cast a shadow over his eyes, but intensity still simmered there, like he had something unpleasant to say, but didn’t know how much to reveal. “Everyone deserves a second chance. Most of these guys need the experience. They’re not fit for anything else.” He watched the men in silence for a moment, then admitted, “Five years ago someone gave me a second chance. I’m just giving it back.”

  Did he mean Grammy? June wanted to ask Luke to spill everything—explain what ended his military career and his marriage—but after the way she’d avoided him the last nine years, she didn’t have the right to ask what he ate for breakfast.

  ***

  The Holy Baptism by Hellfire Church was looking better with each passing minute. June had never been a violent woman, but she couldn’t stop fantasizing about breaking Karl’s nose again, this time on purpose. There were so many ways to do it. Her favorite option involved the use of a discarded toilet seat protruding from the temporary Dumpster out back.

  “Hoo!” Karl said in a nasally voice. “It’s hotter’n the devil’s bunghole out here.”

  He’d been treated and released from the hospital and had returned two hours ago with his nose packed with gauze. Either he’d toked up again, or he was just a freakishly upbeat man, because he’d been following June around to “help” while singing bad reggae, telling lame jokes, and offering compliments like, “Giiiiirl, your body’s like an hourglass that went Bam!” then smacking his hands together to mimic an atomic blast. June knew her hips were too wide, and she didn’t appreciate Karl-the-Kook pointing it out. She’d finally stopped trying to squeeze into ill-fitting jeans a couple years ago and started buying a size too big and having the waist taken in.

  June picked up another cracked shingle and tossed it in her black trash bag. Before Luke had left to work on a house he was flipping in the next county, he’d assigned her to cleanup detail. Shingles tossed off the roof, tar paper, old nails, paper cups—the brown lawn was littered with junk, and cleaning it up was boring as a sermon. And painful. She winced and massaged her lower back, stiff from hours of bending. She’d volunteered to clean the gutters—at least she’d get away from Karl that way—but Luke had expressly forbidden her from using the forty-foot ladder.

  “Hey, mamacita.” Karl had turned on the garden hose and stuck it down the front of his pants. “Best way to cool off. Wanna try?”

  Oh, sweet mercy. “No thanks, I’m going to clean the gutters. Give me a hand with the ladder, will you?”

  Karl pulled the hose out and waddled over with his jeans soaked and clinging to his chunky thighs. He looked like a stoned, bowlegged cowboy taking ten paces before a showdown at high noon. Between the two of them, they extended the heavy aluminum ladder and pushed it into position against the chipped siding near the roof.

  The metal rungs burned her palms as she climbed, and she stopped halfway up to give a little bounce and make sure they’d secured the adjustable lock. When June reached the roof, she peeked at the ground, her hands automatically tightening against the top rung. Holy sugar, it was a lot higher than she’d thought. Best not to look down. She focused on watching Trey nail a sheet of new, jet black shingles in place. A battered cowboy hat shaded his face, but his bare back glistened with sweat and had started to turn pink near the shoulders.

  “Hey,” she called, continuing to grip the ladder instead of waving.

  Trey glanced up and smiled, then hammered one last nail in place before joining her. “Fancy meeting you here.” He knelt on the exposed wood and grinned, revealing a pair of deep dimples. “How’s it goin’?”

  June kept one hand on the sturdy aluminum and used the other to scoop dried leaves from the gutter. “Karl’s driving me to drink, but there’s no alcohol in Sultry County.”

  “Sounds like a regular day, then.” The tan skin around his bright blue eyes crinkled when he smiled, and June felt relaxed. Calm. Not all knotted up and squirmy like when she met Luke’s intense gaze. It was kind of nice for a chang
e.

  “You can help, you know,” she said.

  Trey glanced at the gutter and reached out to curl his fingers around it.

  “No, not with that.” June tipped back her straw hat. “You can help preserve my sanity. I can’t leave the county to visit that bar, but if you bring back supplies, I can mix up my favorite drink recipes for you. Maybe at your place?”

  A flicker of excitement sparked behind those cerulean eyes, but it was gone in an instant. He chewed his bottom lip and concentrated on pulling clumps of dark debris from the gutter. “Uh, that’s a mighty tempting offer, but I’m gonna have to pass. I’m seeing someone.”

  What? He wasn’t seeing someone last night when he’d asked her out for drinks. There was no way she’d misinterpreted his signals—all those flirty looks and the way he’d practically tripped over himself to act like a gentleman. She must’ve done something since then to change his opinion. Did she have tar on her face? Food between her teeth?

  “Oh, sure.” She reached in to scoop another handful of leaves. “No problem.”

  A heavy, awkward silence hung between them like a force field. Trey leaned down to dislodge an old mud dauber nest inside the gutter, and then a loud metallic noise clanked from below and shook the ladder. Stomach dropping, June gasped and grabbed on to the gutter near Trey’s hand. It separated from the siding with a dry crack.

  Trey toppled forward, panic flashing in his eyes as he lurched sideways, trying to steady himself. She reached out to grab his arm, but the sweaty flesh slipped from her fingers, and he went down, feet first. People always said tragedies seemed to happen in slow motion, but that wasn’t true. June didn’t even have time to blink before Trey was on the dusty ground, curled up and groaning in pain.

  June didn’t know how she got down the ladder so fast, and she didn’t remember tearing inside the Jenkins house to call an ambulance. But she recalled running outside and identifying the only person she knew besides Karl.