by Macy Beckett
June looked over her shoulder and then shrugged. “Pauly? I don’t know. Awhile.”
“What’s he been drinking?”
“It’s dollar night. What do you think?”
“Shit.” Wasn’t Pauly supposed to be spending the weekend at his daughter’s house? He’d been writing to her for months trying to patch things up, and she’d finally invited him to visit. He’d gabbed nonstop about it yesterday morning. Things must not have gone very well. “He can’t drink. Parole violation. I’ve gotta get him sobered up before he goes back to the halfway house.”
Luke considered his untouched beer and sighed. Then he looked up at his half-naked Junebug and sighed again. “Be careful when you leave tonight, you hear me? Ask Burl to walk you to your car. And make sure it actually starts before he goes back inside.”
“I’ve done this before, Luke.” She flashed a condescending grin and tossed a wet dish towel under the bar. Then she was back in her zone: filling cups, taking money, flirting with drunk and dangerous men.
Luke hated to leave her there, but he couldn’t let Pauly go back to prison. After arranging for Trish to drive Trey home, Luke helped Pauly into the truck, and they went in search of some late-night coffee.
***
Once, when June was thirteen, Luke had found a stash of firecrackers left over from the Memorial Day parade. Together, they’d spent the afternoon lighting hundreds of bangers, and when it was over, her ears had rung for two days. Her ears rang like that now. She’d forgotten how loud a dive bar could get, and when her ears had finally adjusted to the clamor, Burl had announced last call and then the place cleared out. Now the silence almost hurt. But not quite as much as June’s lower back. Closing time didn’t mean the work was over. She’d just finished scrubbing down the bar and loading all the glassware in the back room dishwasher.
June pulled aside the cleanest looking chair she could find and plopped down next to Burl at a table in the back. “Ah,” she groaned loudly, as pinpricks of relief stung her spine. “It feels so good to sit down.”
Burl grinned and continued counting his loot. Tidy stacks of bills bound with rubber bands were heaped in front of him, and when he stopped and added another stack of twenties to the pile, the greedy cash-lust in his gaze reminded June of the old Scrooge McDuck cartoons she used to watch as a kid.
Not that June had anything against making money. She’d pulled in more than enough tips that night to repay Luke for fixing her engine. And, if he refused the money, like he’d said he would, she’d mail it to him when she returned to Austin.
Austin. When she imagined returning home, her chest tightened as if a blood pressure cuff were squeezing her ribs. Maybe she shouldn’t think about that right now.
“You did real good,” Burl said. “See ya next Saturday?”
June nodded and covered her mouth to yawn. “Actually, I have a proposition for you.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Monday’s Labor Day. Do you have a permit to sell at the fair?”
“You betcha.” Burl finished rolling a stack of quarters and folded down the brown paper tabs. “Lookin’ for an extra shift?”
“I’ll work for free.” That got his attention. His head snapped up and his brows reached for the sky. “I’ll even mix a batch of my famous sangria—I noticed you’ve got some fruit in the back room.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Here’s the deal.” June began helping Burl sort coins, starting with the dimes. “I’ll work the whole day—all shifts by myself—if you’ll donate half the profits.”
Burl made a face like he smelled something rotten. “Oh, I dunno—”
She cut him off with a raised hand. “Just hear me out. First off, you’ll save money on labor, because I’ll do everything myself. Second, you can write off the donation on your taxes. In the end, you’ll actually make more this way.”
Pursing his lips, Burl considered her offer. “I’ll think about it and let you know tomorrow.”
June shook her head. Nine times out of ten, I’ll think about it was just a preemptive no in disguise. The only way to get out of manning the church booth—a chore she’d always hated as a kid—was to raise a sizable donation from Shooters. “I need to know now. My sangria takes a full day to marinate.” She stared him down over a pile of cash and added, “If I can’t clear at least what you made last year, you can take it out of my tips next week.” If that didn’t sway the old tightwad, nothing would.
“Deal.”
June thanked him and then dragged her sore, throbbing body into the storage room, where she had just enough energy to mix a cooler full of what she called “cheater’s sangria,” using extra juice, one bag of oranges, a couple of apples, and a bag of frozen fruit she’d add right before serving. She’d told Burl a small fib—this wasn’t her famous blend, but she didn’t have much to work with, and the indiscriminate crowd at the fair would hardly notice.
About half an hour later, she grabbed her purse and rejoined Burl at the table. In six short hours, she’d have to wake up for church, so if she left now, maybe she’d manage five hours of sleep. “Walk me out?” she asked.
“Sure thing. Lemme get my Louisville Slugger.”
That sounded like a wise move. While she’d rummaged behind the bar for her purse, June had peeked out the front window and noticed some stragglers in the parking lot. Stragglers always made her nervous. Nobody had a good reason for hanging around two hours after closing time. By then, all the patrons should have either found a ride home or found a new friend to take them someplace discreet. Anyone still lingering beyond that point was looking for trouble. Or planning to follow her home. June’s heartbeat quickened, and she wondered if she could lose a tail on these open back roads. Probably not. Feeble old Bruiser couldn’t outrun a deer, let alone another vehicle.
“Ready?” Burl held the back doorknob in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.
“Yep.”
Together, they crept into the dark parking lot, scanning the nearly empty space for anything—or anyone—suspicious. At first, nothing seemed amiss, but then male voices and barking laughter erupted from the side of the building, and from the corner of her eye, she noticed Burl stiffen and take a defensive stance. Tingles burned along the backs of her thighs. As much as she wanted to pretend the danger was all in her imagination, Burl’s reaction proved otherwise.
Just when she was about to suggest they go back inside and lock the door, red and blue flashing lights pierced the darkness, and a Sultry County Sheriff’s cruiser pulled to a stop beside June’s car. She placed one hand over her thumping heart and exhaled a shaky sigh of relief.
When the sheriff swaggered toward them, June recognized him immediately. If she lived to be a hundred, she’d never forget the look on Deputy Jenks’s face when he’d stumbled upon her and Luke naked as the truth on Gram’s patchwork quilt nine years ago. Obviously, he’d earned a promotion since then.
“Hello there, Mae-June.” Sheriff Jenks hitched up his pants and pulled a long, black Maglite from his utility belt.
“It’s just June.”
“Good to see you again.” He clicked on the Maglite and pointed it at her bare midriff. “Though it’d be nice to see a little less of you for a change.”
Burl relaxed and slung his baseball bat over one shoulder. “Trouble, Sheriff?”
“Not at all. Got a call from Luke Gallagher a couple hours ago. Said Mae-June requested a shadow home tonight.”
Like baking bread, June’s heart warmed, puffing up until it nearly bumped her ribs. Hot tears prickled behind her eyelids. No one had ever summoned the sheriff to escort her safely home. Heck, no one had even called to see if she’d made it there alive. One teardrop escaped, rolling down her cheek, and June brushed it away before either man noticed.
Resting his hand on the butt of his pistol, Jenks strolled to the other side of the building. June couldn’t see the men loitering there, but she heard the sheriff’s loud, firm voice.
“Which-a-you boys is fit to drive?”—then some indistinct muttering, followed by—“Best be on your way then.”
An engine started, and seconds later, the low rumble of a bad muffler began to fade into the distance.
She watched to make sure Burl made it back inside, then climbed into her car. The sheriff flashed his lights, and she pulled out onto the road with a smile tugging the corners of her mouth.
After June arrived at Grammy’s house, she waved a thank-you to Sheriff Jenks and crept upstairs to Luke’s bedroom. The digital clock beside his vacant bed read three in the morning, so either he’d driven back to his investment home, or he was still helping Pauly sober up. And based on his chivalrous actions that night, her money was on the latter.
June skimmed her fingers across Luke’s cool, cotton pillowcase. He’d changed. This wasn’t Luke-the-boy, who’d taken whatever he wanted without a care for anyone else. This was Luke-the-man, who gave second chances to downtrodden men and went out of his way to keep his friends—even the estranged ones—safe and protected.
Though June tried to block it out, Gram’s voice repeated inside her head: He needs someone to teach him to love. Think on that. Maybe June needed to learn a thing or two as well.
Chapter 12
June awoke with a gasp and bolted upright in bed. Then, as the slow, dizzying fog of slumber began to lift, she relaxed against her headboard and realized it was only a dream. Luke wasn’t really dead at the bottom of Gallagher pond. Just a dream. She checked the clock and then turned away from the window’s soft, early glow to catch one more hour of sleep.
But a few minutes later, the same persistent cloud of dread needled her stomach, refusing to dissipate. June glanced into the dim hallway. If she could see Luke in the flesh—know beyond a doubt he was all right—maybe she could relax enough to fall asleep.
June padded carefully on the balls of her feet, avoiding the creakiest floorboards. Only Gram’s gentle snores and a distant ticking from the grandfather clock disrupted the silence. Stealthy as a thief, June pushed Luke’s door open one quiet inch at a time, before slipping inside.
There he was, safe and sound, sprawled on his bare belly across the double bed with one arm dangling off the side of the mattress. June couldn’t help smiling—some things never changed. Long, red-brown locks of hair swept over his eyes, and he’d curled one leg out from beneath the comforter. He looked so peaceful, and June felt a little tug at her stomach. She knew she should return to her room, but she wasn’t tired anymore, so instead, she crouched down and knelt on the wood floor beside Luke’s bed to watch him sleep.
Before long, June realized she’d unconsciously matched her breathing to his deep, slow rhythm. Leaning forward, she pressed her cheek lightly against his shoulder and closed her eyes to savor his warmth, his smell. She wanted to pull back the covers and slip inside with him, to share his body heat and surround herself with the scents of leather and soap and Luke. What if she did? Would he pull her tightly against him and bury his face in the curve of her neck? Would he smooth his hot palms up the length of her thighs and make love to her with Grammy in the next room? June had a feeling he would, and although she grew warm and aching just thinking about it, she’d lose the last bit of her heart to him that way. So, for now, she felt content to watch. And maybe to touch, just a little.
Using one finger to lift a section of hair away from Luke’s face, she cupped his cheek in her palm, smiling at the scratchy tickle of his whiskers against her skin. God help her, he was so magnificent. Sometimes the sight of his face made her breath catch, even after all these years. And now, when he seemed so childlike and innocent, she wondered if his mother had watched him sleep like this. How could she have left such a spirited, beautiful boy behind? June simply couldn’t comprehend it. She wanted to gather him against her breast and hold him there forever.
Luke’s bedroom window faced east, and the rising sun cast a pink radiance over the skin along his upper back. June knew she’d stayed too long, but she couldn’t make herself return to her empty bed yet. She peeled down the black comforter a few inches and rested her palm against Luke’s strong, broad back.
“Harder, and to the left,” Luke mumbled.
June gasped and yanked her hand away like she’d touched a hot stove. Then she placed that hand over her pounding heart. “You scared the sugar out of me,” she whispered.
Luke’s quiet laughter shook the mattress. “I bet you still taste plenty sweet.” He rolled onto his back and stretched his body like a lean tomcat, drawing her attention to his steely, lithe torso. Hot buttered biscuits. Then he rested one arm behind his head and blinked at June with sleepy eyes. “Here to take advantage of me?”
“I had a bad dream.” She pushed against the mattress and stood to leave, but he curled his long fingers around her wrist and tugged her down to sit on the edge of his bed.
“Tell me about it.” He took a handful of her white nightgown and rubbed the fabric between his fingers, whispering to himself, “This thing’s sexy as hell.”
Pulling her gown away, June scooted to the foot of his bed, out of his reach. “It’s no big deal. I didn’t mean to wake you. But since you’re up—”
“You have no idea how up I am, Junebug.”
“Stop thinking about sex for a second and listen.”
“Says the woman feeling me up in my sleep.”
“You called the sheriff last night,” she said softly.
“Ah, hell.” Luke groaned and pushed into a sitting position. “You’re not pissed about that, are you?”
“Thank you.” June touched his leg through the blanket and gave the side of his calf a gentle squeeze. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
For a long moment, Luke said nothing. Then he raked his fingers through his hair and glanced across the room at the window shade. “Then you need nicer friends.”
“And I made enough to pay you back for all those parts.”
Luke’s brows lowered over his drowsy, green eyes. “That better not be why you took the job. I told you not to worry about—”
“If you don’t want the cash,” June said with a shrug, “put it in the offering.”
“What offering?”
“Since you’re awake, you can come to church with us.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no.” Luke held up one palm and laughed, shaking his head frantically, like a kid who didn’t want to take his medicine. “Since when do you go to church?”
“Since you kicked me off the Jenkins project.” She took his large, rough hand in both of hers and tried to pull him out of bed. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“Yeah, it is. My ass twitches when I see those hard pews.”
“But think how happy it’ll make Gram.” June lifted the back of his hand against her cheek and made her best pleading, pouty face, the one she hadn’t used since high school. “It’ll be just like old times.”
“In that case, I should expect Pru to beat my ass with the wooden spoon before lunch.”
“Only if you make rude noises with your armpit during the sermon again. Or reach under Beth Caldwell’s skirt. Or flop on the ground and pretend to speak in tongues.” A series of giggles bubbled up from June’s chest, and she squeezed Luke’s fingers while struggling to get the next sentence out. “Or steal the letter S off the sign in the lobby, so it says, ‘Ushers will eat latecomers.’”
An impish grin brightened Luke’s face. “God only knows how many years I shaved off your grandma’s life. Fine, I’ll go.” When he freed his hand and threw back the covers, June caught a fleeting glimpse of everything, before she gasped and turned away. And he wasn’t lying about being up. “What?” he asked in a teasing voice. “Think you’re the only one who sleeps commando?” Then his warm breath tickled the back of her neck. “Unless you plan on leading me into temptation, get out of here so I can get dressed.”
June scurried out the door and pulled it closed behind her as Luke shouted, “And
don’t use all the hot water!”
Thirty minutes later, when Gram was out of the bathroom and dressed, June indulged in an extra long, hot bath, refilling the tub twice and making sure to drain the water heater. She grinned to herself, figuring a cold shower would do Luke some good.
***
Instead of singing the opening hymn—“Brethren, We Have Come to Worship”—June shivered and rubbed her palms briskly over her upper arms to generate some heat. Maybe God was punishing her for that cold shower incident, because within ten minutes of leaving the house, the outside temperature had dropped twenty degrees. Not exactly sleeveless dress weather. And since fall’s abrupt arrival also took the church custodian by surprise, he’d run the air conditioner all night long in anticipation of another scorching Texas morning.
“I should let you suffer,” Luke whispered, while shaking out of his suit jacket and then shoving it in June’s lap. “Lucky for you, I’m full of Christian charity today.”
“You’re full of something, all right,” June whispered back, sliding her arms into the warm, satiny-lined sleeves and surrounding herself in his scent. Without thinking, she lifted the suit lapel to her nose and inhaled Luke’s spicy aftershave, then caught herself, and tried to pretend she was just scratching her cheek.
When the song ended and the shiny, silver collection plate came around, Luke tossed a bulging envelope inside—all June’s tip money from last night. Grammy pressed her lips together like she might cry from pride, and June mused at the irony of donating cash she’d earned in a bar to a church vehemently opposed to alcohol consumption. But like her daddy had once said, all money was green, and it all spent the same way. June had served most of her hours in God’s Cupboard, a food donation program, and she knew they needed the cash.
Before gearing up for the sermon, Pastor McMahon reminded his congregation to join the Labor Day Celebration at the tri-county fairgrounds tomorrow. “Bring a lawn chair and a smile,” he said. “There’s onsite camping for those who’d like to join our revival bonfire and make a night of it.”
