by Macy Beckett
June’s heart leapt up and sprinted inside her chest. Sweet mother of Stevie Ray, she couldn’t handle any more bad news. With trembling fingers, she tore open the envelope and pulled out two heavy sheets of paper bound with a small, red paper clip. She squinted in the dim light and scanned the first page.
Dear June,
Don’t worry, you haven’t been served. I just wanted to get your attention.
Remember the letters Mrs. Moore made us write to ourselves in senior English? I decided to repeat that assignment, and I’ve written another letter to my future self. It’s attached, and I’d like you to keep it and give it to me in ten years.
Thanks a bunch,
Luke
“What on earth?” June kicked off her shoes, code violations be damned, and pulled the second page free. She glanced around the bar, half expecting to see Luke wearing his old teasing grin. He wasn’t there, of course, and she felt like an idiot for getting her hopes up. She backed away from the bar and closer to the aquarium’s pink glow to read his letter.
Hey, you good-looking son of a biscuit-eater! (You’ve cut back on the swears since becoming a dad.)
I’ll try to keep this short. The kids are probably getting into something while your back is turned, and there’s not much time to read. You’re happily married to your best friend (Junebug, not Trey) and living with your three sons in the house you built behind the pond. June wants to try again for a girl, and you’re more than happy to keep practicing. She’s the most important person in your world, and if she wants a dozen babies, that’s fine by you.
You used to struggle with saying the L-word. I hope by now you can tell June how much you love her every day, but if not, I know you’re showing it. And that’s what matters. If actions speak louder than words, then you’re practically shouting your love from the rooftop with a bullhorn. You wake up each morning and kiss the birthmark on the side of her neck, then bring her coffee in bed. And speaking of bed, you’re always thinking of new ways to keep her swearing like a truck driver. Sometimes life is chaotic, but you’re living the dream, buddy. And, though you probably don’t like thinking about it, you almost ruined everything ten years ago.
No matter what June said back then, you couldn’t believe she loved you. You were so convinced she was better off without you that you pushed her away each time she got too close. In fact, you pushed her right out of Sultry Springs. It wasn’t until she gave up everything for your happiness that it finally sank in to your thick skull: she’s loved you since you were kids. And you’ve loved her half your life; you just couldn’t admit it.
So, here’s what you did to get her back. You paid some guy twenty bucks to give her a letter—the very same letter you’re holding in your hands right now—and you waited for her in the parking lot outside Luquos. Even if—
June gasped and stopped reading. She brought a hand to her heart, and the letter fluttered to the floor. Holy sugar, Luke was outside right now, waiting for her. Legs twitching to run, she inched away from the aquarium wall and toward the front entrance, but stopped herself. Should she make him wait a little longer, maybe until closing? Would rushing out there make her look “so damn needy” like he’d said weeks ago? Before June could answer her own questions, she’d ducked beneath the counter, sprinted across the lounge, and bolted out the front door.
The asphalt felt cool and gritty beneath her feet, and the night breeze lifted a strand of hair from her twist. She pushed it behind her ear and scanned the parking lot.
There he was, sitting on his truck’s tailgate with his denim-clad legs dangling over the edge. When he noticed her, he hopped down and gave a timid, sideways grin. The streetlight’s glow highlighted the auburn hues in his hair and cast shadows beneath his cheekbones. He stroked the strong edge of his jaw, widening that grin into a magnificent smile. God, he was breathtaking, just like always. June forced herself to hold back and not rush headlong into his arms.
“Hey,” he said softly, then nodded toward her bare feet. “No shoes? I guess you can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the—”
“You think this makes up for everything?” June shifted her weight to one hip and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “That one letter fixes it all?”
He raked a hand through his hair and moved closer. “No, I don’t think that.”
“Sure sounds that way to me.”
“I know I’ve been an ass—”
“You got that right.”
“But I’d planned on making it up to you.” Inching forward, as if approaching a wounded animal, he reached for her hand and took it in his warm grasp. “Every day for the rest of my life.” Slowly, tentatively, he placed a kiss inside her palm before adding, “You’ve given me so much, but I have to ask for more.”
“Like what?”
“Like forgiveness.” He intertwined their fingers and lowered his head until they were eye-level. “I didn’t mean anything I said that day at the house. I swear it on my life. I didn’t mean one word. Can you forgive me?”
“Maybe.” Of course she could forgive him. She already had. “What else do you want?”
“You. All in. I want to give you my name.” He knelt at her feet, pressing his palm against her belly. “And my children. The land, the house—you can have it all—it doesn’t mean shit if you’re not there to share it with me. I’ll bet we can even talk Burl into retiring early if you want to buy Shooters. We belong together, Junebug. Tell me what I have to do to make that happen. I’ll do anything you want.” He knelt there in silence, lips pressed together and waiting for her response.
A warm flutter tickled the inside of her chest like parakeet wings. “You could start by asking.”
“Will you marry me?”
“I need to hear you say it.” June tugged on his hand, until he stood. Luke had never said he loved her, not out loud. After all these years, she deserved to hear the words. She closed the distance between them and took his cheek in her palm. “Tell me.”
His green eyes warmed, and his face broke into a genuine, no-holds-barred Luke smile—the one that sucked the air from her lungs each and every time. “June Augustine,” he whispered, “I’m so in love with you. I promise to love you every day until I die, and then some. Will you marry me?”
June nodded vigorously because words wouldn’t pass through her thickened airway. Luke pulled a ring from his back pocket and slid it onto her finger, but all she saw through the tears was a vague, blurry glimmer. She didn’t care if he’d given her a plastic twist tie. June’s heart swelled beneath her ribs as if it couldn’t hold any more joy.
Luke wrapped her in his strong embrace and brushed his lips tenderly against hers. “You know,” he said, “I never thanked you. For getting all those folks to help rebuild the house and for buying my land. When the house sells, we can use the money to buy back your share in Luquos.”
Laughter bubbled up from June’s chest. Technically, it still wasn’t a thank you, and technically, she didn’t give half a damn. She shook her head. “No. I want to go home, to Sultry Springs.”
“I think we should get your shoes first though.” Luke scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the front door. “Oh, and Junebug?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Epilogue
Prudence Foster shifted on her white folding chair and gazed at Gallagher pond, where hundreds of drifting, floating candles flickered in the twilight like bobbing fireflies. A slow, clumsy bumblebee drew her attention to clusters of lilac and honeysuckle, which hung in great waterfalls from the wood trellis at the end of the aisle. Their sweet, floral scent mingled with distant burning leaves to create a perfume no man could catch in a bottle. As much as she’d wanted June and Lucas to take their vows in The Lord’s house, she had to admit they’d done a right fair job transforming this overgrown lot.
Pastor McMahon caught her eye, smiling and tipping his bald head as he stepped beneath the wooden arch, a
nd she returned the greeting with a nod. She loved seeing Brother Mac in his long, white, ceremonial robe, complete with a red cross affixed over his heart to remind everyone who they should thank for this happy occasion.
“Hi-ya, hon.” Gerty Bicknocker nudged Pru’s arm from the row behind and settled into a seat beside her date, an old widower she’d nabbed a few weeks ago. More hair sprouted in the man’s ears than on his head, but at their age one couldn’t be too picky. “Saw June back at the house,” Gerty said with a slow, solemn shake of her head. “She looked so much like Becky it gave me chills.”
Goose bumps rose to the surface of Pru’s own skin, and she tugged a thick, wool sweater around her shoulders. “She’s wearin’ Becky’s old dress. Said she didn’t care if it was twenty years outta style; she wanted to feel her mama here today.”
A lump rose in Pru’s throat, and all the swallowing in the world wouldn’t push it down. She felt her daughter’s presence like a warm shawl, fresh from the dryer, an almost painful swelling in and around her rib cage, somehow crushing and caressing at the same time. Pru reached into her pocket and felt for Becky’s hair ribbon. It always made her feel close to her baby girl, and though she didn’t need it today, her fingers worked the frayed ends out of habit.
Becky’d had her faults, but she’d loved June something fierce. Yes, she was here all right, and June didn’t need a dress to make that happen. Pru didn’t trust herself to speak without breaking down, so she turned to watch the wedding party join Pastor Mac.
Trey limped into place, so handsome despite one gray trouser leg bunched above his plaster cast. It seemed that thing would never come off. He was such a sweet boy, much too good for the floozy cocktail waitress he was dating now. What he needed was a nice girl like June. Pru decided to get right to work on that, tilting her head and considering June’s bridesmaid, a bartender from Austin whose name she couldn’t recall. No, she wasn’t right either. A pretty young lady, but she wouldn’t quit making eyes at that Esteban character, June’s former business partner. Pru had met him earlier that evening, and he reminded her of a lecherous old man the way his gaze followed every pair of breasts in the room. Anyone interested in a man like him probably wasn’t a nice girl at all.
When Lucas stepped into view, Pru forgot all about matchmaking. Praise Jesus, he looked so striking in his creased, black suit that she brought a hand to her heart. He’d even gotten a haircut, shearing off the reddish tips that used to curl against his shirt collar. His freshly shaved face beamed with nervous pride, like a man on top of the world with nowhere to go but up. This was the man she’d prayed Lucas would become, the potential she’d seen in the angry and broken twelve-year-old boy.
She’d never told anyone, but Lucas and June had saved her life. When her beloved Jacob was called home after forty-seven years of marriage, she didn’t know how to keep on living. And then, just when she’d thought God’s test was behind her, she’d lost her only child, her sweet Becky.
Caring for little June had seemed too much to bear, but Pru couldn’t send her off to live with those trash Augustines in East Texas, so she’d pushed aside her grief and focused on raising that grandbaby. And Lord have mercy, when Lucas came along, he was so wild she didn’t have two minutes to think about her loss. Those kids tried her patience—heck, they tried, convicted, and hanged her patience—pushing her sanity to the limit, but they filled her once empty home with the sounds of family again: laughter, tears, clattering plastic toys, cartoons, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor.
Now, all these years later, Pru finally understood God’s plan. Those children had needed her—and each other—and Becky’s loss was a part of that. It didn’t take away the pain, but it softened the edges a good bit.
“Would everyone please rise?” When Pastor Mac lifted his leather Bible, chitchat turned to light shushing, and then half of Sultry County stood from their plastic seats and turned to behold June, the most beautiful bride ever to walk God’s earth.
June really did favor her mama, light brown ringlets spilling free and brushing her shoulders, her only veil a circlet of daisies. Even from the front row, Pru noticed a deep pink blush dust the apples of June’s cheeks. She’d never looked happier, and Pru offered yet another silent prayer of thanks for this bounty of joy. The dress really was twenty years out of fashion: a white, knee-length, baby doll sheath so typical of the age of free love Becky had idolized, but somehow it worked, blending with the natural elements around her. Linking her arm through Judge Bea’s, June leaned in to whisper something in his ear, and they both laughed before gliding forward. Though every person in attendance watched June, she only had eyes for Lucas, the man she’d loved since the days of mud pies and hopscotch.
Instead of an organ, June and Bea marched slowly to the music of buzzing cicadas, dried leaves tossing in the breeze, and crickets’ love calls punctuated by the occasional croak of a bullfrog. When they reached the end of the aisle, Bea lifted June’s hand to his lips before placing it in Lucas’s eager grasp. With a wide grin stretching his thin mouth, Bea backed away and took the seat beside Pru. His usual white, bushy hair was slicked into submission with pomade, and she noticed its biting scent when his sleeve brushed hers.
“We done good, didn’t we?” he whispered while the pastor began his sermon. “I told you it’d work out in the end.” After a light chuckle, he added, “Mae-June and Lucas together for life. God bless Texas—we’re gonna need divine protection!”
“Ten years ago, I’d’ve never dreamed it.”
Pru patted her old friend on the knee and remembered the day June had dropped out of college, particularly the fight that’d followed. They’d both said hurtful things, and June had sworn never to return home. Once Pru’s anger had simmered down, the new silence in her house had worn on her nerves like an ulcer, and she’d wondered how she’d manage without those kids around to drive her crazy. She’d written to Lucas and apologized, but making things right with June hadn’t been as simple. A true friend, Bea had offered a shoulder to cry on and a way to get June back in Sultry Springs. It might take years, he’d said, but this bench warrant’ll get her home again, and then I’ll manage to keep her here awhile. Just be patient, and put it in The Lord’s hands, Prudence.
She’d never expected nine years to pass before her granddaughter returned, but thank God for every long minute. Had June come back any sooner, Lucas wouldn’t have been ready to give his heart—it was still too hardened. Providence had ensured everything happened just as it should.
Pru dipped her head in prayer along with the congregation. After “amen,” she leaned forward to hear the vows.
“I, Lucas Jonathan Gallagher, take you, Mae-June July Augustine, to be my wife…” With a smile bright enough to blind the archangels of heaven, Lucas took June’s face in his hands and kissed her before saying another word.
“Hey now, Luke,” Pastor Mac chided while laughter broke out among the guests. “You’re jumpin’ the gun.”
A few seconds passed before Lucas released his bride and resumed the vows. When June’s turn came, her voice trembled with unshed tears.
“…to love and honor you all the days of my life,” she said, her voice cracking on the last word. “And after that too. Because one lifetime’s not enough.”
Lucas gathered June into his arms and held her close, only releasing her long enough to exchange rings—six inches of space between them seemed too much to bear. It brought moisture to Pru’s eyes, and she used her sweater’s sleeve to dab at her cheeks.
After the closing prayer, Pastor Mac invited Lucas to officially kiss the bride. With a whoop of pure joy, Lucas wrapped both arms around June’s waist and lifted her off the ground while they kissed for what seemed like an hour.
“Okay, buddy.” Trey tugged on Lucas’s sleeve. “Save somethin’ for later. She’s not goin’ anywhere.”
“No,” Pru whispered to herself. “She’s not goin’ anywhere.” After the honeymoon, her family would return home
, filling her walls once again with love and laughter, until Lucas built a house of their own on the land right here behind the pond, where they’d just promised to share one life. She’d been blessed beyond her greatest dreams. What more could she want? Well, maybe some great-grandchildren to keep her young, but that could wait. After all, you couldn’t rush providence, and Pru was mighty good at waiting.
Acknowledgments
Sultry with a Twist would probably be sitting on my hard drive if it weren’t for the support of several dedicated guides who helped me navigate the winding road to publication.
First, to my amazing agent, Nicole Resciniti, thank you for falling in love with my characters and for taking a chance on their creator—a slightly neurotic newbie with no pub credits. I’m still in awe of the way you “finessed” me into bringing this book from category-length to single title. You’re a genius—literally!—and I’m so grateful to have found you.
A huge thanks to my editor, Leah Hultenschmidt, for giving June and Luke a loving home, and for making their story shine. Additional thanks to assistant editor Aubrey Poole and publicist Danielle Jackson. Big, squishy hugs to my critique partners, Carey Corp, who promised to never let me fail, and Lorie Langdon, who talked me down from the ledge by continually reminding me, “These are good problems to have.” Girls, I’m not sure I would’ve even made it to the query stage without your encouragement. More hugs to my sisters at the Ohio Valley Romance Writers of America for their advice and cheerleading along the way. As Linda Keller said, “You’ll come for the writing, but you’ll stay for the writers.”
I’m grateful to my online buds at The Nest—the NBC Writers—for helping me with everything from plot brainstorming to query critiques. Our weekly check-ins and your pompom-waving motivated me more than you know. You ladies rock. Another thank you to my awesome “agency sisters.” I’m so glad we found each other.
Much appreciation to my friends—you continue to amaze me with the depth of your support, especially you, Heather. Sometimes I think you’re happier for me than I am, and I love you for it. Donna, I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done. Next time we get together, drinks are on me!
