“You aren’t far from it,” he muttered.
She dropped the book onto the chaise as she rose. His shoulders tensed when she stepped closer. She ran her hands over the taut muscle, pressing her thumbs into the knot at the base of his neck. He groaned, his hands falling to his lap in surrender.
She began to knead, leaning into him and using her weight as leverage. “You didn’t seem worried when you crawled into the tub with me this morning.”
“You looked like a mermaid.”
She brushed a kiss to his exposed nape then smiled, gratified by the shiver vibrating beneath her hands. “But you’re worried now.”
“I just… It wasn’t the smartest thing a guy could do.”
Pressing her thumbs to the top of his spine, she let her fingers slide into his hair. “She helped make you who you are.”
He reached up, covering her hand with his and giving it a tight squeeze. “You’re too good to be true.”
“I might like you.” She bent to kiss his neck again. “An awful lot.”
Bram chuckled. “That’s my line.”
“It worked.”
“If you don’t sit down I’ll never finish this bowl.”
She circled the chair and slid into his lap, straddling his thighs. The bowl and chisel clattered to the floor. “I told you, I'm not in a hurry.”
Her lips covered his. His hands closed on her hips. Chaste, playful pecks quickly melted into slow, sensuous explorations. Lynne clutched his hair with her hands, tipping his head back and demanding more.
He groaned and cupped her bottom in his palms, humming his approval when she kissed her way along his jaw. She teased the pulse in his throat with the tip of her tongue. “I’m never gonna get these damn bowls done.”
“You worry too much about getting things done.” Her teeth sank into his earlobe, and he lunged, pressing her down on the burgeoning bulge in his jeans. “There’s only one thing you need to worry about doing.”
She was rewarded with a deep chuckle. “We’re in my shop. Anyone could walk in. Dad…Willene…”
“Shh.” Her fingernails rasped the threadbare t-shirt he wore. “Stop worrying.”
“Stop trying to turn me into a horny teenager.”
“Is it working?”
He slipped his hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “What do you think?”
She grinned and pulled back. “Good.” Her smile only widened when she slithered from his lap. He gaped at her and she pressed a pert kiss to the tip of his nose. “Get back to work. I’m still three bowls short.”
“Tease.”
“Preview.” The metal legs of the chaise scraped the concrete floor as she dropped onto the chair. She brushed her hair back from her face and fanned herself with the romance novel. “I needed a shot of courage.”
“Courage?”
“I’ll be up for inspection tonight, remember?”
“It’s not an inspection,” he grumbled, bending to gather the bowl and chisel from the floor.
“It is.” She ruffled the pages of the book with her thumb. “Any tips?”
“Don’t try to eat fried chicken with a knife and fork,” he said without missing a beat.
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks. I never would have figured that out on my own.”
He shrugged. “Mama likes to feed people. Dad will like you because you’re a flirt. Abe’s easy, but you have to make the effort to get him to talk, as he’s a bit shy. His wife Jenny’s as sweet as can be, and smart as a whip. Their boy A.J. will chatter your head off.”
Her smiled faltered. “And Willie?”
Bram blew out a tired breath and met her gaze. “Don’t worry about Willie.”
“My, that didn’t sound ominous.”
Gripping the bowl, he traced one of the pansies with the edge of his chisel. “Bob will probably be there. He’s a level-headed boy. He’ll keep her in check.”
“Bram….”
“She’ll be fine. It takes her a while to process things. She’ll be fine,” he repeated.
“I can’t wait,” she mumbled, fanning the paperback’s pages.
He reached out and ran his fingers lightly over her hair. Nodding to the book, he returned his attention to the bowl in his hand. “Read the naughty parts to me. I might need a little courage myself.”
****
Anna scowled at the peeling paint on the old Burdock house as she bailed from the driver’s seat, tugging a large black case behind her. It banged against her thigh as she clattered up the warped porch steps. She replaced the frown with a sunny smile and rapped on the door.
“Yoo-hoo! Ms. Prescott?”
Craning her neck, she sneaked a peek around the sheer curtain covering the glass. The interior of the house was dim and still. She placed the case on a decrepit wicker chair and tiptoed to the window.
“I have some fabulous new eye cream,” she called. “Works wonders—reduces puffiness and smooths those pesky wrinkles.”
She stared through the glass into the living room, wrinkling her nose at the musty-looking sofa. Tugging at the seams of her skirt as she straightened, she spared a quick glance over her shoulder and hustled down the steps.
“Ms. Prescott?” She picked her way through the weed-riddled grass along the side of the house. “I have a new line of lipsticks that are gar-un-teed to plump and fill those fine lines.”
Her heels sank into the soft earth, and her eyes narrowed when she spotted the SUV parked beneath the tree. She glared at the pale wood planks attached to the weathered porch. The sun glinted off a shiny new nail. Her nostrils flared. She pursed her lips then forced the muscles to relax, unwilling to etch the brackets around her mouth any deeper. No man was worth that.
She spun on the kitten heel of her gold pumps, digging a divot in the damp soil. Clods of dirt flew when she started to stomp toward the front of the house, but she drew up short. Her chin lifted. Soft clucks tickled her ears. Her nose wrinkled and she swiveled to glare at the chicken coop. She squinted at the brown-feathered birds pecking at the bare dirt. A smile twitched her lips when she spotted the rusted, sagging wire enclosing them.
She leaned against the fencing, nudging it with her knee. When the first nail popped free from the splintered wooden post, she smiled. The wire sprung from the second nail, and a laugh bubbled up from her chest.
“Aw, poor chickies, trapped in a cage,” she cooed to the milling birds. “You wanna run free? You wanna be free-range chickens?”
A swift kick loosened the fencing from its rusted moorings. The chickens clucked and squawked as she rushed into the enclosure. Her crimson-tipped nails flashed in the afternoon sunlight. She waved her arms wildly, nudging a bird with the side of her shoe. One of its bird-brained cohorts dared to peck at her foot, and Anna muttered a curse when she booted it from the pen.
“Stupid. Stupid.” She gritted her teeth and rushed two more. “Go. Get out. Out!”
The hens scattered into the yard in a flustered flurry of feathers. Anna eyed the remaining bird with disdain. “What? Are you too stupid to know you don't belong here? Get. Get.” The agitated hen ruffled her wings in defiance. She bore down on the helpless creature, cornering it in the far reaches of the pen. “You’re just like her,” she hissed. “Go, get out.”
The hen cackled, raising the fine hairs on the back of Anna’s neck. Tires crunched on gravel. The growl of a motor undercut the clucking of the birds pecking about the scrubby grass.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she whispered, her eyes widening in panic as she rushed from the pen.
The grill of Bram’s pick-up truck sneered at her when it cleared the corner of the house. Anna cast about wildly, her mind racing to formulate a plausible story.
Crap, crap, crappity-crap.
Sunlight glinted off the windshield, and Anna raised one hand to shield her eyes. She spied Lynne Prescott in the cab of the truck. When he pulled to a stop, Anna noted the frown cutting a deep furrow into the other woman’s brow.
/> Anna smiled. That’s right. Frown a little harder, honey.
“Anna?” Bram called, pushing the driver’s door open with his foot.
“Thank goodness you’re back,” she gushed. “I stopped by to show Ms. Prescott my new line of rejuvenating creams, and I saw that her poor little old chickens were loose.”
She whirled, turning her bright, false smile on one of the clueless birds. “Shoo, now. Get back in your cage.” She tried to usher the chicken back into the enclosure, but the bird eluded her. “I never was very good with the farm animals,” she said with a tinkling laugh.
Lynne slammed the passenger door. “Oh no. How did you get out?”
The chickens scurried and scattered when she rushed over. Bram caught her arm and held her back. “Not like that. You’re scaring them.”
Anna sidled up beside her, keeping a wary eye on Bram. He stood still, patiently waiting for the chickens to calm down and inch their way closer to him. Two approached, pecking the ground near his dust-covered work boots. She stifled a hum of appreciation while he swooped down.
Good lord, what a delicious ass. In the wink of an eye, he snatched both birds up by their feet and deposited them in the enclosure, ignoring their flutters of indignation. The Prescott woman laughed, and he began to herd the remaining chickens back into the pen.
Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, Anna forced another smile. “That’s our Bram,” she murmured. “The chick magnet.”
The woman laughed again, and he shot them both a dark look. Once the last bird meandered its way into the fenced area, he pulled the sagging wire taut, hooking it around one of the surviving nails. “What are you doing here?” he asked Anna without looking at her.
“Me? I stopped by to show Ms. Prescott some of the new spring line I got in,” she said, her eyes wide and innocent.
“Spring line?” Lynne asked.
“I’m your local Bella Signora Cosmetics representative,” Anna said, plastering a professional smile on her face and offering her nemesis her hand.
To Anna’s delight, the furrow between her brows deepened as they shook hands.
“Bella Signora? I thought you were with—”
Anna forced a tinkling laugh. “Oh, no. Not anymore.” She leaned in a little closer. “I switched two years ago. I wanted to represent a company that’s fresh and new—products that are on the cutting edge of fashion. You won’t find your grandmother’s cold cream in my case.”
“But you have the pink….Don’t only the top sellers—”
Anna cut her off. “Yes, well, you have to keep moving forward, don’t you?” She shot Bram a glance and then turned her full attention to the woman beside her. “I wanted to treat you to a facial. I have a wonderful new line that can take ten years off your face.”
Bram cleared his throat and glanced meaningfully at his watch. “We, uh….”
Lynne caught his look. “I’m afraid I can’t today. Thank you, though.”
“Do you two kids have plans?” she asked, her voice rising.
“We’re due at Bram’s parents’ house for dinner in an hour,” Lynne explained.
Hatred knotted low and deep in her belly. Keeping her smile anchored firmly in place, she looked at Bram and caught the tail end of a wince. She wet her glossy lips. “How nice for y’all.”
He stared at her. It was all she could do to keep from squirming under that intense blue scrutiny. She shook her head, and his stare shifted to her hair. She lifted one hand to pat it into place then checked the turquoise and silver hoop earring dangling from her ear. His eyes widened slightly, and she averted her gaze, turning to face the enemy.
She smiled at Lynne, changing battle plans mid-campaign. “Well, then why don’t I drop by tomorrow? We can have a little girl talk.”
“Oh. I…um….”
She saw Bram give his head an imperceptible shake. “Do y’all have plans for tomorrow, too?” she asked. “Perhaps a visit with Brother Johnston?”
His eyes grew round as saucers at the mention of the pastor’s name. Anna went in for the kill. “No plans? Wonderful.”
“Um, I don’t….”
“I’ll be by at about ten. I’ll bring coffee cake, too,” she added, giving them both a jaunty wave while she beat a path to the front of the house, making her escape with one hand pressed to her hammering heart. Keep your enemies close….
She stomped up the porch steps to retrieve her black case. With it firmly in hand, she hustled to her car, a new tactic taking shape in her mind. Her heel sunk into the ground as she wrenched open the car door. A sharp twinge tingled in her ankle and zinged up her leg. She grimaced, pulling the heavy door closed. Gripping the steering wheel, she stared blankly at the worn wicker chair on the porch. It’s a sobering thing for a woman to discover she doesn’t own the right shoes for a life of crime.
Chapter Seventeen
Lynne smoothed her hands over her hair then fussed with her skirt. She glanced up when Bram opened the door. “Are you sure this is okay?”
He offered his hand to help her from the truck. “You look nice. Pretty.”
She hopped down, her fingers brushing his cheek. “You clean up real pretty too.”
When a pink flush flooded his cheeks, her smile grew. Dark lashes fluttered, and then he rolled his eyes. Her hands fell to her sides as she glanced around. Her gaze came to rest on one of the outbuildings.
“Think the chickens will be okay?”
“The wire was rusty. I tacked it up again, so the fence should hold for tonight. I’ll replace it tomorrow.”
His hand closed around hers. She glanced down at their clasped fingers then back at his parents’ house. “You don’t need to hold my hand. I’ll be fine.”
His smile came slow, lighting his eyes as he gave her hand a warm squeeze. “I might need you to hold mine.”
She laughed and started toward the porch. “Come on, chicken.”
The door opened before they reached it. Bram released her hand the second his mother appeared, and Lynne’s lungs ceased function. Gimme the hand back. I need the hand. His warm palm pressed against the small of her back, and her traitorous organs kick-started again.
“Mama, this is Lynne Prescott. Lynne, my mama, Ada Hatchett.”
“We’ve met, Abram,” she murmured, taking Lynne’s proffered hand in both of hers. “Nice to see you again.”
Lynne relaxed, basking in the warmth of the older woman’s welcome. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
“Come in, come in. Everyone’s here,” she said, ushering them into the house.
“That’s what we were afraid of,” Bram murmured.
A flurry of introductions flew the moment she crossed the threshold. While the others rushed forward, Bram’s daughter hung back, hovering at the side of a tall, sandy-haired young man. Lynne didn’t miss the gentle prod Bobby gave his fiancée. She took a quick hit of oxygen and stepped up. “Hello, Willene.”
“Hi.” Another elbow to the ribs had the younger woman stammering, “Uh, I like your skirt.”
Lynne glanced down at the long filmy skirt she’d tossed into her suitcase at the last second. “My dryer died,” she blurted.
“It’s not dead, only sick,” Bram corrected.
“Deathly ill,” she countered.
“I’m sure Bram can take care of it for you,” his mother chimed in. “The boy’s always been good with his hands.”
Abe’s wife, Jennifer, shot forward. “Would you like some tea, Ms. Prescott?”
Al brandished a cloudy green bottle. “I have some of Della Madison’s Pear wine.”
“No one in their right mind would want that, Alsom,” Ada said, snatching the bottle from her husband’s hand.
“Might as well serve moonshine,” Bram mumbled.
“Please call me Lynne, and tea would be perfect.” She smiled. “I think I’m addicted.”
“I’m hungry,” A.J. whined as his mother passed.
“Shush,” Jennifer hissed.
&nb
sp; Bram ran his hand over the boy’s buzz-cut hair. “I’m hungry, too.”
Ada rolled her eyes. “Typical men. Well, come on, supper’s ready.” She shooed them toward the dining room.
Lynne watched Willene follow Jennifer into the kitchen. “Can I help?” she asked Bram’s mother.
“Not this time, honey,” Ada answered. Her hand closed around Lynne’s elbow in a surprisingly firm grip. She deftly guided her from the kitchen and to Bram’s side. “This visit, you’re our guest.”
“What does that mean?” she asked Bram when the older woman bustled into the kitchen.
“That means next time you’ll sing for your supper like the rest of us.”
“I don’t hear you singing.”
“They cooked; we’ll clean,” he said, nodding to his father and son.
“Them’s the rules,” Al intoned gravely.
She took her seat between Bram and his father, her eyes widening as a parade of steaming platters and bowls streamed in from the kitchen. “Smells wonderful.”
“Nobody has a hand with the chicken like my Ada.” Al’s eyes twinkled when he made a grab for the platter his wife held. “That’s why I married her.”
Ada swatted his hand. “I’m still trying to remember why I married you.”
The older man’s gaze followed his bride as she bustled back into the kitchen. “She remembers,” he murmured. “I was irresistible in my day.”
Lynne’s smile blossomed. “I think you may still be,” she whispered.
He patted her hand while the rest of the family took their seats. “Shh. Bram will get jealous.”
“Uh-huh.” Bram placed a hand on A.J.’s shoulder to keep the boy from squirming in his seat.
A wicked gleam lit the old man’s eyes as he stood to help Ada into her chair. He reclaimed his seat, murmuring to his son, “I saw the girl first.”
“Hush, you silly old goat,” Ada hissed. “Say the blessing.”
Al offered up a brief and sincere prayer of thanks then the room sprang to life. Lynne smiled at A.J.’s scowl when his mother dumped a load of fresh green beans onto his plate. Willene waved off the basket of biscuits her fiancé tried to pass in her direction. Dazed by the buzz of activity, Lynne jumped when Bram nudged her with an elbow. Al held the platter of crispy golden chicken and nodded to the tongs.
Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set Page 43
