A Perfect Mess

by Zoe Dawson

  “I know,” I said as more tears leaked from my eyes. He stood and rushed over to me, then curled his arm around my shoulders, pulled me gently against his side. “Hey, sugar,” he murmured, his lips brushing my temple. “Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  I resisted the urge to lean against him, straightening away instead, scrubbing at the embarrassment flushing my cheeks. “I’m not crying.” I sniffed and shook my head, smiling against the desire to cry. “That just kind of snuck up on me. I’m okay.” I nodded firmly, as if I had managed to convince myself at least, if not Booker.

  “Why is it she never mentioned you?” I asked him, giving in to my curiosity and taking the chance that I was treading on good manners.

  He met my look evenly, his dark eyes intense. “Do you mention everyone you’re acquainted with?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  He tipped his head boyishly, an irresistible smile canting his lips. “Did your aunt mention she’s sweet on the sheriff, for instance?”

  “What?” I stared up at him and he smirked.

  “She is, and I think he’s got a thing for her, too.” He waggled his brows.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Observation. She blushes when she talks to him, and touches his arm. I came right over to the hospital when I heard and he was here. He was…just staring at her, with all these regrets in his eyes. That’s when I figured it out.”

  I moved away from him, suddenly embarrassed, and went over to the bed to take my aunt’s hand. She was only in her late forties, still quite pretty. The red of her hair, exactly the same shade as mine, was still vibrant. I could easily see what the sheriff found attractive about her.

  My chest constricted and I squeezed her hand. “Come back to me Aunt Lottie,” I said softly. Don’t leave me all alone. That thought set off one of my most vivid memories. I was huddled in the corner, flush against the wall, afraid to move. My mother lay on the couch, and I had been unable to wake her up. I think my twelve-year-old brain knew she was dead, but I hadn’t wanted to accept it. The shock of knowing I was all alone in the world would have been too much. All of a sudden I was struck by the realization that I hadn’t loved my mother, but that the feeling of love was there for my aunt, welling up inside me from a warm, golden place that I’d forgotten.

  Booker came over to me. “You’re not alone, Aubree.”

  Startled by his insight, I looked at him. His sincere gaze met mine, reassuring and warm. “Thank you for saying that.” I appreciated his kindness, but all I had left of my family was here in this room. The loss of my aunt would be...devastating.

  I sat down, setting Einstein beside the chair. Booker pulled another chair over to the bed and sat down next to me.

  “You were reading to her?”

  “Yes, it’s her favorite book. I heard that it’s good to stimulate someone in a coma by touch and sound, so I thought reading her favorite book to her would be a good idea.”

  I smiled. He really was a contradiction. “It is a good idea. I had no idea that she loved Tolkien.”

  “She loves Gandalf.”

  It was both surreal and astonishing that Booker Outlaw, the guy that I had crushed on in high school, was sitting here telling me things about my aunt that I hadn’t known.

  “My aunt was a teacher before she got that inheritance from her family. She taught you English in grade school, right?”

  “That’s right. Sixth grade. She knew I was bored because it all came so easily to me. She gave me extra assignments. Reading and writing book reports. It was the best English class I ever had.”

  I sat back while Booker’s soft voice read aloud. After an hour, I looked at my watch and felt terrible that I had to go, but the work I had promised to do for Dr. Wells wasn’t going to get done by itself.

  “I’ve got to go. Work.”

  “You really do have to work?”

  “Yes. I hadn’t planned to come home this summer. I was hired to do some number-crunching for a professor in the medical school.”

  “Oh, so, the only reason you’re home is because of your aunt?”

  “Yes. That’s the only reason.”

  “Then my mission is clear.”

  I rose and picked up my bag. “What mission is that?”

  “To make sure that you have something substantial to put in your report. We can’t have you at a loss for something to say about what you did on your summer vacation.”

  I laughed. That felt good, too. “Booker you really are…”

  “Interesting?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Definitely.”

  #

  Trying like mad not to think about Booker, I drove home and changed out of my sundress. I wasn’t going to admit that I had dressed up on the off chance I would run into him.

  Now the house was silent, the shades drawn. I opened them and let in the gray day and wished for a bit of sunshine to lift my spirits. With the worry over my aunt’s well-being beating in time with my heart, I forced myself to power up my laptop and open my email. Dr. Wells had sent all the clinical trial data sets for me to analyze. Before my counselor steered me toward statistics, I’d had the crazy notion that I wanted to be a doctor. But Mrs. Daily was a professional, and she told me to live up to my potential, and that math was it, namely stats. She obviously knew best.

  It took some doing, but I finally found a rhythm that allowed me to ignore my fears for my aunt for a while, and before I knew it, it was dark outside. I looked up from my computer, blinking like an owl, and realizing I had a slight headache. I rubbed at my temples and then leaned back into the couch, suddenly also aware of my tense, tight shoulders. I still had more analyses to run, but my stomach grumbled. No wonder. I’d barely eaten anything during my unplanned breakfast date with Booker.

  I moved the laptop to the coffee table in my aunt’s very comfortable sitting room. I especially loved the huge fieldstone fireplace across from the couch, and the fact that there was no television in here. It was a place to unwind quietly and relax.

  I could see out over the new landscaped lawn and patio as it stretched from one end of the house to the other. The far wall was a bank of French doors that extended from this room to the kitchen. Booker’s brother was clearly quite talented. That made me think of Ashley, because she was enrolled in landscape architecture. Picking my phone up from the coffee table, I walked to the French doors and pushed one of them open. There was enough light to take several pictures, so I snapped a few and then texted them to her. All this landscaping was done by an amateur our age.

  I went back inside and closed the door, heading to the kitchen. I hoped my aunt had something I could eat. I pulled open the refrigerator just as my phone chimed.

  These are amazing! Simply wow! Is it a he or a she?

  I texted back. A he.

  I found leftover meatloaf. Oh my god, I loved my aunt’s meatloaf. As a child I couldn’t wait until Friday nights, meatloaf night. We’d eat dinner, rent a movie, and crunch popcorn. They were some of my fondest memories of living with my aunt. A pang stabbed at my heart. Please let her be okay.

  I took out the meatloaf and some ketchup and mayonnaise, my mouth watering, just as I got another text. Is he cute?

  Well, Boone looked exactly like Booker and Braxton. The three of them a force of nature. They’d prowled through my high school like rogue adolescent lions, all confident and dangerous, looking for a pride to usurp. A band of dangerous brothers. Rebellious, with a reputation that had been blackened by the deeds of one terrible, murderous, long-ago relative, and carried forward through the years, infecting all his line with the taint of what he’d done. I always felt they’d been shafted.

  Boone was the reckless one, the charismatic party animal. He liked living fast, almost as if he was afraid to slow down. Braxton was the skirt-chaser, the sweet-talker. He always had a string of girls after him, but never settled on one. I always wondered if it was because the one he wanted was unobtainable. He kept many a daddy
up at night worrying. Booker was quiet, unpredictable, but he could draw you in with those deep, expressive eyes. He was a poet and a noble philosopher, using his humor like a shield. Elusive, I’d always thought. Even though he was a carbon copy of his brothers, he was the one who intrigued me.

  A broad-shouldered rebel with electric blue eyes, a ripped body, shaggy black hair and gorgeous features. He might be more than even you can handle. I laughed after I sent it. Ashley loved a challenge and I liked pushing her buttons. I couldn’t wait for her response.

  I found bread in the breadbox and started to make myself a meatloaf sandwich. A pop and chips would round out my meal quite nicely. My stomach grumbled again. Keep your shirt on.

  When I heard my phone chime, I smiled, anticipating her snarky answer. My heart stalled in my chest. The smile faded from my face and my appetite disappeared. Your feet are bare, but are your hands red?

  I dropped my phone, and it made a horrible noise as it hit the tiled floor. I clamped a hand over my mouth as my stomach heaved. I bent over, putting my head between my knees, and gagged as terrible images flashed behind my eyes. Blood. Pain. So much blood.

  There was nothing in my stomach to come up, leaving me choking, coughing, as my body did its best to reject the implications that had ambushed me.

  Cold sweat slicked over my face and body, sour with the scent of fear. I dragged a hand across my forehead and into the damp tendrils of my hair as I ran for the French door in a panic, my bare feet slapping against tile and wood. Reaching it, I quickly locked it and backed away, my eyes scanning the darkness for any kind of threat.

  I felt trapped, just like in my mother’s house, just like on Wild Magnolia Road.

  Nerves trilled at the base of my neck. Memory stirred. The feel of a gaze in the dark. Eyes watching with satisfaction. As my skin crawled and pebbled with goose bumps, I turned in a full circle, my breathing increasing with each second.

  I had to get ahold of myself. I couldn’t lose control. It was all I had in the sea of panic, a lifeline to my sanity.

  My phone chimed again. I rushed back to the kitchen and looked at it like it was a viper waiting to strike. But when I checked, it was Ashley’s response. Sweetie, that boy sounds just like a new plot of land to me, something I want to get my hands on and work it until I get all dirty and sweaty!

  I closed my eyes and tried to breathe, tried to find a calm place to go. This is what my life should be. School, work, girl talk about hot boys, and my hot boy wrapped around me. Not this…this dark secret that had made the last nine months of my life a living hell.

  But reality intruded with a stark truth that was like a battering ram. I put everything back in the fridge that I had taken out. I couldn’t eat now. I was much too sick to my stomach.

  The knock on the door made my already jangling nerves jump.

  I stood there, my indecision warring with my rational mind telling me firmly that a stalker wasn’t going to knock politely on my door.

  Then I heard Booker’s voice and I ran to the door, to safety, and flung it open.

  “Booker,” I whispered, my throat raw. “Someone knows!”

  Chapter Four

  Booker

  “Whoa, slow down,” I said. Aubree’s eyes were wild, like they had been that night. And it looked like she was going to lose it. I would have been better off minding my own fucking business, but because it was Aubree, I fucking couldn’t.

  I pulled my cell out of my back pocket and dialed.

  She grabbed my wrist and tightened her grip. “What are you doing? You’re not calling the sheriff, are you? No, Booker. I can’t…”

  “It’s not the sheriff. Cool your jets.” I reached out and pulled her against me. She didn’t struggle, but didn’t relax entirely against me, either. It was as if she was prepared to spring into action at any moment. Damn, she was such an uptight little beauty.

  “If you got the dime, I got the time,” the deep, flippant voice answered.

  “Boone.”

  “Yeah, man. What’s up?” My brother’s voice lost its flippancy in response to my serious tone.

  “I need you to get over here to Aubree Walker’s house. Call Brax. He’s at the bar, cooking tonight.”

  “You in trouble? ‘Cause, my bro, that is one uptight Southern belle. A real ball-buster. You getting your balls busted?” The flippancy was back, along with a good dose of snark. My brother couldn’t waste an opportunity to give me a hard time. But I wasn’t in the mood.

  “Cut it out.”

  Her eyes widened and she punched me in the ribs. “Your brothers! Why are you calling your brothers!?!?”

  I rubbed my side and gave her a quelling look. She was not fazed one bit. Her eyes were giving me green sass, the kind that only a Southern woman knew how to do. Normal Southern boys and men knew not to press it. I wasn’t normal.

  “Oops, looks like I was right. Calling Brax. Heading out.”

  I closed and locked the door, dragging her into the fancy room with the fireplace. I pulled the shades. “Okay, tell me what’s going on. Why are you so spooked?”

  “I got this text.”

  I looked down at the screen and my brows furrowed. “This is the text you’re worried about?” I read aloud. “Sweetie, that boy sounds just like a new plot of land to me, something I want to get my hands on and work it until I get all dirty and sweaty!”

  She smacked her forehead and flushed until her face was the same color as her hair. “Oh, geez. Not that one.”

  I smirked. “Were you talkin’ about me, sugar?”

  She rolled her eyes and, damn, she had the softest-looking, most perfect skin I’d ever seen on a woman. Following the curve of her shoulder, the tank top was stretchy white lace. Her shoulders were bare, the right one practically touching me—a silky soft, creamy-smooth shoulder, with a slinky little pink bra strap running over the top curve. On her lower half, plastered to her tight butt and hips, was a pair of barely-there shorts with numbers all over them. I knew the numbered sequence to get those off her, and I was trying not to think about it.

  “No. I was talking about Boone,” she said absently while she manipulated her phone.

  WTF! It was like someone kicked me in the balls. “Boone?”

  She flushed again and closed her eyes. “Could we focus here? This is the text I got.”

  “All right. This isn’t so bad,” I said, but my mind was reeling. She had the hots for Boone? Boone?

  “What are you saying? This is bad. Someone knows.”

  “No. That’s not what it says. It asks if your hands are red. The part that’s pissing me off is that he had eyes on you.” My hands were shaking at the idea of anyone hurting her. The concern set everything inside me shuddering. I never should have gotten involved with her. Of all the women I could have had, I’d fallen for the one who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Plus, she was interested in my freaking brother. “He’s just guessing. Obviously he has no proof, because there isn’t any,” I said.

  “Asks, tells, what difference does it make? Someone suspects. Did you tell anyone?”

  The knock at the door made her jump, and I reached out and steadied her. Damn, her skin was soft. When I opened the door, it was like looking into a mirror twice over. But I’m used to it.

  I glared at Boone.

  “Hey, I had to pick up Brax. No need to give me a death stare there, huckleberry.”

  Aubree came up next to me. She smiled at my brothers. “Thank you for coming. It wasn’t necessary.” She said through her teeth and elbowed me. I grunted and she gave me a death stare. It was pretty good, but I wasn’t intimidated. I love that green fire. I just felt like someone had ripped my heart out of my chest.

  Boone? Seriously?

  He grinned at her and sidled into the house, Brax on his tail. Brax clapped me on the shoulder and grinned, too. Then nudged me. I nudged him back. “Way to go, bro,” he murmured.

  I gave him a disgusted look and he just laughed. “Check
out the area. Some perv is texting Aubree.”

  Both my brothers stiffened and their eyes narrowed. “Seriously?” Boone asked. “Let’s go, Brax. Don’t worry, Aubree, we’ve got our ass-kicking boots on, right Brax?” He grinned an unholy grin, his eyes shining liked polished sapphires in the light.

  Brax nodded.

  “Ahhhh…thanks, Boone,” she said tentatively, looking from Brax to Boone and back again. “Did I get that right?”

  He laughed, the bastard, “Yeah, that’s right.”

  When she smiled at him, my jaw tightened and my fists clenched. They went out the back way, and I locked the door behind them.

  “Holy cow, that’s a lot of testosterone in one room. You guys are…wow.”

  “Maybe you’d prefer Boone stayed with you.” Man, could my voice sound any sulkier.

  She frowned. “What? No. Why would you…” She eyed me, then she looked down at her phone, then back at me. “Oh, the text message. Hey, are you jealous?”

  “No,” I snapped.

  “Oh, okay. Boone and Braxton look so much like you it’s a bit daunting. Although Boone looks like he works out. Does he?”

  “Yeah, we’re interchangeable, and yeah, the muscle goes all the way to his head.” My sarcasm was thick. I’d perfected it as a teenager.

  “You are adorable when you’re jealous. Here.” She thrust the phone at me. “The whole conversation. So you can quit worrying your pretty lil’ ol’ head about it.”

  I had been so into my possessiveness, I’d missed that she was teasing me. I didn’t want to take her phone, but I snatched it when she went to pull it away with a shrug. After reading, I said, “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh. I was going to call you.”

  I looked down into her face, reading vulnerability in her wide green eyes, and it tugged at my heart. So fiery, so sure of herself in other ways, but when it came to me…

  “You were?” I smiled what felt like a loopy grin. I was such a besotted idiot.

  “Yeah. Why did you show up here, anyway?” She set her hands on her hips.