Sweet Mercy

by Jean Brashear

  Darrell paused beside her, still stiff with outrage. “Jez, I will gladly kick his tail from here to South Carolina for you. I can’t stand seeing you look so defeated. That ain’t like you. The man’s bad news. He comes in this door again, and I will make him pay, I assure you.” He crouched beside her. “Why don’t you go home. Take the night off. You’re beat. I can run things, and if I get too busy, I’ll recruit Louie to help.”

  “Oh, my word.” She shoved to her feet. “Now you’re trying to scare me.” He stood, too, and she found a smile for him. “You’re a good friend, Darrell. The big brother I never had.” She squeezed his arm. “I’m all right, I promise. And working’s the best thing for me now.” She moved past him and paused. “As for Gamble Smith, he won’t be around here anymore, but I thank you for volunteering to be my champion.”

  “Three Pines ain’t big enough for him to hide. I will have words with him, Jezebel.”

  “You will not. I forbid you.”

  His eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Shirley would tell you that giving me orders seldom pans out.”

  Jezebel found a grin. “Want me to ask her about that?”

  He waved her off. “I’m just saying. But I don’t suppose you gonna listen to me any better than she does.” He snagged his apron from the nearby table and stalked into the kitchen, muttering.

  Jezebel found her heart a little lighter from the simple fact of his caring. She’d been alone and drifting for years now, and the idea of having friends rally around warmed her. Every once in a while, she got restless from sheer habit, probably, but what a luxury it was to have people with whom you had a history. She would soon begin her second year of knowing people like Darrell and Louie and others, and she still got a little thrill each time she experienced a small echo of a past and a future in the same place. The simplest things, such as having a memory of last Thanksgiving and anticipating what would be the same this November and what might not…that resonance of past with future, that unbroken thread leading from then to now—she had the urge to seize each connection and hold on tight, lest it be snatched away.

  She stood in the middle of Skeeter’s bar and realized that soon the space would be crowded with people she knew, with laughter and stories and irritation and, God willing, curses to fill her jar…and she would be there tonight as she had been last night…as she would tomorrow night—

  Jezebel squared her shoulders and rubbed at a smudge on the tabletop. Maybe she would never get that cottage, though she certainly hadn’t given up yet…even so, she would be here tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow—

  And Gamble Smith would be long gone. Back in New York and faded from memory. She would never have to see him again, if she was lucky.

  But what if I’m pregnant?

  She wasn’t. She couldn’t be.

  But if you are?

  “Hey, Jez.” The front door opened, and Louie stepped inside. Right behind him was Chappy. “Can a man get a cold beer around here after a long day’s work?”

  “Get real.” Chappy snorted. “Last time you did a day’s work I was in diapers.”

  The affectionate bickering began, and Jezebel had no more opportunity for thoughts of Gamble or babies or cottages.

  She threw her arms around Louie’s neck and gave him a big, smacking kiss on the cheek, leaving a vivid red imprint from her lipstick.

  “What was that for?” But his face glowed with pleasure.

  “Just for fun,” she responded as she rounded the bar to get them their drinks.

  * * *

  GAMBLE FINISHED CLEANING the kitchen after supper. As he loaded the dishwasher, he stared out the window, lost in thought.

  It was so quiet here; he’d forgotten that. Had to, or Manhattan and its constant din would have driven him out of his mind.

  Lily was gone; he prowled the house where he’d grown up, picking up a photo here, a knickknack there. Reminders of a life that seemed both real and distant. New York felt as faraway as if it had never happened.

  Then he spied a clipping his mother kept beside her chair: Kat, in all her blazing glory, the night she’d tried to lure him to her bed to celebrate the stupendously successful opening of his show.

  And he beside her, his insides a mess. He’d been sick to death of the simpering crowd, all eager to discuss the deeper meanings of his art, the message beneath.

  While he’d been ready to rip every painting off the wall or howl at the moon because all he could think was how empty the victory was without Charlotte beside him. That he was doing exactly what she’d always dreamed for him hadn’t helped.

  That he was alive and she was dead—he hadn’t been able to see beyond that. He’d been half-blind with the need to escape and run back—

  Gamble tossed the clipping on the table. There’d been nothing to run back to. He grabbed the remote and flipped through channels and channels of nothing. He turned off the television. Propelled himself to standing and paced again.

  Wished Noah hadn’t had to return to Dallas on business.

  Go with me out there this evening. Take her measure.

  I can’t believe that hussy had the nerve to take advantage of you.

  He paused, hands on hips, and tried to square the many faces of Jezebel Hart. A schemer or just out for a good time? But he remembered her affection for Louie and Chappy and others at the bar. They come for family.

  Who was she, beneath it all?

  Then Gamble knew exactly where he was going tonight.

  * * *

  THE NOISE HIT HIM before he opened the door—boisterous laughter, affectionate jeers. The click of pool balls barely heard above a raucous country song on the jukebox.

  He shoved open the wood and entered.

  And there she was.

  Sultry was the first word that leaped to mind. She was in jeans again, tight enough to have been painted on those hips that were meant to be held in a man’s hands.

  He could still feel them in his.

  Her blouse, a royal blue this time, plunged to a vee between those stunning breasts, wrapped across her midriff and tied at the waist in a big floppy bow. Every time she moved, a slice of ivory skin taunted him. She moved a lot.

  Blue-and-silver dangles winked at her ears amid the profusion of black curls tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. She’d caught some of her hair up to reveal the curve of one perfect ear and an enticing sweep of throat.

  On her arms, bangles sparkled. The long line of her endless legs topped feet encased in black high-heeled sandals, revealing carmine toenail polish.

  Man, she made his mouth water.

  “You get the hell out now, you hear me?” Darrell broke into Gamble’s line of sight, fury on his face. “Your money’s no good here, not after what you did to her.”

  Gamble blinked. “Me? I didn’t—” Then his gaze fell on the table of the booth where he’d spread her out like a feast.

  Darrell shoved him. “You turn around and walk away, or I throw your ass out in the dirt.”

  Gamble’s hands clenched. “Maybe you should ask her what really happened.”

  Darrell’s nostrils flared. His frame tensed, his arm cocked to—

  “Darrell, please go back to the bar.” Jezebel stepped between them, her voice low. In her heels, she was nearly as tall as the two men she was trying to part. Gamble couldn’t peer past the wild mane to tell how Darrell was reacting, but he didn’t appreciate the interruption.

  “Jez, step aside,” Darrell said.

  Around them a crowd was gathering.

  “Darrell, I know you mean well, but everything’s already too rowdy tonight. Skeeter can’t afford any broken furniture, and if you two start fighting, it will escalate. I’ll just escort Mr. Smith to the door, and everything will settle down.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Please.”

  Darrell cast Gamble a glare that promised retribution. “Don’t waste your time on this lowlife, Jez. He ain’t worth one more tear.”

  Startled, Gamble peered a
t Jezebel. She’d cried?

  Her body language said that she was displeased with the revelation. “One round on the house,” she called out. A small cheer rose.

  Darrell backed off reluctantly and made for the bar.

  Jezebel’s features were schooled into neutrality. “I would appreciate it if you’d go.”

  “We have to talk first.” He noted an instant of panic and wondered at it.

  “We have nothing to discuss.”

  So close to her, he could smell her perfume, something spicy and floral mixed with the scent he already recognized as solely hers: lush, ripe woman. He scanned her figure, and his body responded powerfully.

  He should leave now. But he couldn’t.

  Was she doing this on purpose? Scrambling his brains with sex? Sweet mercy, she exuded clouds of it, blurring his ability to recall why he was here.

  Except that he’d had to.

  “Please leave.” Her tone was flat.

  Gamble shook his head to clear it and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “My mother’s awake.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m glad. How is she?”

  “Fragile. So small it scares you to death.”

  She warmed a bit. “She’s a strong lady.”

  Someone bumped her, and Gamble steadied her. He didn’t remove his arm.

  “She always has been, but now—”

  Sympathy bloomed in her expression. “I understand. Some days Skeeter breaks my heart.” She hesitated. “Look—” She glanced around, then seemed to reach a reluctant decision. “Let’s step outside. It’s too noisy in here.”

  She surveyed the group. “I’ll be in the parking lot. No swearing while I’m gone. Chappy, you collect the money for me if there is.”

  Chappy perked up. Louie grumbled.

  But nobody argued.

  Gamble caught Darrell’s scowl but ignored it and followed her.

  But once outside, it was too quiet. Too dark and… intimate. He didn’t know why he was here anymore.

  She rescued him. “What do the doctors say?”

  “That’s it’s going to be a long haul for her. She should recover, and her mind seems intact, despite the coma.”

  “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” He swiped a hand over his hair. “But she’s got months of physical therapy ahead, and Lily can’t run the nursery by herself.”

  He saw the shadow sweep over her features. “Lily told me what she said to you. I’m sorry. She’s…feisty.”

  She shrugged. “She’s protective.”

  “I’m her big brother.And practically twice her size.”

  “I never had any siblings, but I don’t think size matters.You stick together. That’s what family is for.”

  “It is. So…I’m staying.”

  She recoiled. “In Three Pines?”

  “Mom can’t afford to hire extra help while she heals, and Lily already works too hard. Noah can’t leave his job, and Levi’s got his hands full.” He turned up his palms. “That leaves me, at least for a while.”

  Her shoulders sank. “You’ll need the cottage, then.”

  Gamble had never thought you could actually watch dreams die, but grief was in her face. “I don’t know.”

  “You’d stay at your mother’s?”

  “For now. When she’s home…I’ll have to see.” He found himself driven to explain. “I haven’t been inside the cottage yet.”

  She studied him silently, and he felt awkward and foolish. She was being nicer than he deserved.

  He’d made her cry.

  “Jezebel, it’s—I—” He paused. “I was out of line when I said you weren’t fit to wipe your shoes on her mat.” He forced himself to meet her gaze. “You were right. Charlotte would have behaved better.” Suddenly, he was weary to the bone. “I’m keeping you from your customers.”

  “True.” She turned to go. Paused with one hand on the door. Faced him again, her shoulders stiff. “I probably can guess your answer, but I have to ask. If you find that you can’t live there but aren’t interested in selling, would you consider renting it to me?”

  He flinched, but she rushed on before he could speak. “For Skeeter’s sake. I’m aware that you don’t want me there, but he isn’t able to live alone, and he’s a good man. He deserves to spend his declining years in someplace besides the nursing home. He’s withering in that place, and I just can’t stand by and let that happen.” Her expression was all about challenge.

  “I don’t—”

  Hurt vied with determination. “You don’t have to answer now. Just think about it, okay?”

  “Jezebel, don’t take this the wrong way, but—”

  “What else am I to understand? You don’t consider me good enough to live in the house you built for the wife you still love. I don’t claim to be a saint like her, but I’m not as bad as you make me out to be. There were two of us in that bed, Gamble Smith, and neither one of us had a gun to his head.”

  She stared at him. “You’d like me to tell you to forget it and just go away, but I can’t do that. Skeeter is the closest thing to family I’ve had since I was five, and I’m not letting him down without fighting to the last second, even if you believe, as your sister obviously does, that I have no conscience.”

  She whirled away, then back. “She’s right, you know, but not about seducing you. I felt sorry for you and wanted to help, long before I had any idea who you were. And maybe I was a little lonely myself. What happened that night shouldn’t have, but it did, and we just move on. But when it comes to that old man’s life, you betcha I’ll be a shark. I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep him alive and as happy as I can possibly make him. If you aren’t willing to help me, that’s your privilege, even if it’s wrong and selfish.” Tears glittered in her eyes as she took the first step away from him.

  In that moment, she was no longer only a siren, more than a bombshell whose allure he found tough to resist. Behind her outrageous beauty beat a heart that was passionate and courageous.

  That generosity made her dangerous, but it also merited more respect than he’d given her. “Thank you.”

  She frowned. “For what?”

  “Wishing to buy my mom flowers.”

  “Oh.” Her vibrancy faded. “You’re welcome.” She opened the door.

  “Jezebel.”

  She halted but remained facing away.

  “I’ll consider it,” he said. “But I can’t promise.”

  She nodded. “That’s all I can ask.” An awkward silence ensued. “Well…get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Yeah.” He pulled the keys from his pocket and began to walk to the car.

  “Gamble?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You should consult your mom about your roses. I suspect they need pruning.”

  Then she was gone, leaving him shaking his head.

  * * *

  INSIDE, JEZEBEL plastered a big smile on her face for the benefit of Darrell and the rest of her protectors, as she made haste toward the ladies’ room. So much of her clientele was male that it might as well have been her own private retreat, one more reliably sacrosanct than her office.

  Once there, she locked the door and collapsed against it. Let her head fall back while panic reared and bucked like some half-wild stallion.

  He was staying. Indefinitely.

  Holy cow. How would she ever hide a pregnancy now?

  You don’t know, Jezebel. You can’t be sure yet.

  She had to leave. Run again. But where? Until Russ Bollinger was tried and convicted, she was at risk. But what about Skeeter?

  Her thoughts staggered like a wino.

  Okay. She made herself walk to the sink, splash some water on her face.

  Maybe her inner certainty was just wishful thinking, the result of these months when she’d begun to settle in and send roots into the rich soil of Three Pines. The legacy of all the hours she’d spent dreaming about Gamble’s cottage, the epitome of a life as o
pposite to the one she’d lived as she ever expected to see.

  One more fantasy, this baby, one she’d cherished too long. She had no business trying to raise a child—what did she know about how a mother was supposed to act? Her memories of her own mother were rosy, yes, but was that reality or the blessing of time’s patina?

  She’d sure seen her share of bad mothers since.

  Maybe she should go back to the cottage and assess it with critical eyes. Look for flaws instead of falling for the romance of it. Perhaps she could argue herself out of it. Find someplace else to go and take Skeeter with her.

  And how, exactly, do you plan to support both of you?

  She could still dance and make a good living.

  But she didn’t want to.

  And if she was pregnant, that option was out anyway.

  Okay. Okay. Calm down. Think clearly.

  The facts were these: three more days until she could test. A trial scheduled soon, she hoped. She wouldn’t show for some period after that, and by then, with luck Gamble might have returned to New York, and she’d be home free.

  And if he doesn’t?

  “Shut up,” she told the woman in the mirror. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  With a deep breath, she unlocked the door and steeled herself for a bravura performance as a woman with no worries.

  CHAPTER NINE

  LILY WAS UP and out the door at five-thirty, determined to visit with her mother before the myriad morning chores at the nursery began. If her mother was still asleep, she’d just sit with her, but she was willing to bet that Mama, even more of an early riser by nature, would be awake.

  Others were stirring, she could see as she walked down the corridor to her mother’s room. Very soon, the level of activity would be at full force, with breakfast and baths and doctors making rounds, but she had a sense of the world holding its breath just yet.

  She didn’t knock on her mother’s partly opened door, just in case. Mama was still very weak and would sleep a great deal, the floor nurse assigned to her had said yesterday. Lily gave a gentle push and peeked inside.

  Her mother’s eyes opened. She smiled.