by Ann DeFee
Jake grimaced. She apparently hadn’t noticed that he’d used almost those exact words. “Look, darlin’.”
Brenda swatted his shoulder. “Don’t look darlin’ me, you jerk. I can take a hint.” She tossed her mane of golden hair, threw the key at him and flounced out.
Jake stared at door. “This has been a sucky, sucky day,” he muttered.
And considering he was about to head off to the backwoods of Texas, the rest of the month was probably was going to get a whole lot worse.
Chapter Five
Dinner at the Hurst home was always an experience, but after today’s brouhaha, CiCi knew she’d be facing an inquisition.
“CiCi, for goodness’ sakes, stop feeding the dog under the table.” Mama issued the order without even looking at her daughter. Either she had eyes in the back of her head or she was psychic.
CiCi had thought she and Sugar Plum, the Hurst family Newfoundland, had the covert feeding routine down pat, but apparently not. “Guilty as charged, Mama, but you know I hate broccoli.” She was a grown woman, so why should she force herself to eat something she didn’t like? After all, she only took a portion of the green stuff to be nice.
Mama frowned at her youngest. “Then do what your nephew does.” She waved a fork at six-year-old Wendell Garrison Stockton, III, known as Trip to the family. “Put it in your pocket.”
CiCi looked at Trip with new respect. “Wow, is that what you do?”
“Yup.” Trip grinned at his cousin Molly.
Mia, the oldest of the three Hurst sisters, gave the kid her best “Mom’s not pleased” glare. “That’s it, young man. Turn out those pockets. Your dad asked why your jeans always look greasy. Now I know.” Mia’s husband traveled extensively in his job as an oil company executive.
While Trip was being duly chastised, Marianne continued the conversation. “And, Winston, speaking of Sugar Plum, do you think you could keep her out of the house when I have the bridge ladies over? The last time I had company she drooled all over the mayor’s wife’s Ferragamos. Needless to say, the old biddy wasn’t amused—even though I was.” Mama chuckled.
To the casual observer Marianne Hurst might appear to be the quintessential society matron, but she was a rabble-rouser at heart. She just did it in an “oh, so sweet” way.
CiCi rubbed Sugar Plum’s belly with her foot and the 125-pound dog responded with a spasm of ecstasy, sending dinnerware skittering across the table.
“Winston, the dog!”
“Yes, darlin’.” Winston “Texas Bob” Hurst winked at his daughters and got up to lure Sugar Plum out to the kitchen and her kibble.
Sugar Plum was a food slut. Give her a pork chop and she was your friend for life. Hand over a T-bone and you’d be joined at the hip.
“Hey, brat, why don’t you fill everyone in on what happened between you and Jake Culpepper?” Leave it to Mackenzie to bring up the one subject CiCi most wanted to avoid. Secretly—very secretly—she had to admit Jake Culpepper was attractive. But that was on a need-to-know basis, and her sisters were definitely not included in that exclusive group of one.
“Not much to tell. I was dancing around in the costume and the next thing I knew Jake Culpepper was on top of me.”
Mac fanned herself. “Just thinking about it makes me hot. That man is a hunk.” For some reason, her sister didn’t harbor any resentment toward professional athletes, and she certainly had as much reason to as CiCi did.
Marianne cleared her throat. “Remember little pitchers have big ears. And I thought that you—” she pointed at CiCi “—had sworn off football players. In fact, I distinctly remember you condemning them all to h-e-double toothpicks.”
CiCi didn’t have a chance to answer before Mia jumped into the conversation. “Seriously, what’s he like and did you get hurt?”
“I’m fine, more shaken up than anything. He’s big, really big and he looks…” CiCi paused, trying to come up with a suitably neutral description. Anything else would be the equivalent to throwing a ham hock to a pack of frenzied dogs.
“Like a walking-talking sexual fantasy.” Mac tossed in her two cents’ worth and punctuated it with a giggle.
“Mac!” Mama admonished.
“Seriously?” Mia asked.
CiCi shrugged. Mac was right. “I don’t know. I guess. But since Daddy’s banishing him to Camp Touchdown for the next month, I doubt he’ll be too interested in getting to know any of us.”
Mia arched one brow. “Let me get this straight. He’s going to Camp Touchdown, and you’re going to Camp Touchdown. You’ll be there at the same time.” She shot CiCi a wicked grin. “That sounds like you’ll have plenty of opportunities to ‘get to know’ each other.”
“Stuff a sock in it. I’m not his type.” Her sisters with their golden good looks and big hair were probably more his style. CiCi was too tall, too dark and too undebutante. She was the only person in history to flunk out of Miss Newcombe’s Finishing School for Young Ladies. Falling flat on her face when she did her debutante court bow was still talked about in certain Houston social circles.
“Children.” Marianne addressed the two six-year-olds. “Why don’t you give your Mimi some sugar, and then go find Paw Paw and Sugar Plum? Maybe you can talk him into watching you while you go swimming.”
Broccoli forgotten, the kids rushed out in a flurry of squeals and giggles.
Mama sighed. “Swear to goodness, I hope your daddy had the sense to keep the dog out of the water. If we lose another pool man because of the hair, I’m going to drain that dratted hole and fill it with dirt.” She focused her laser attention on CiCi. “You need to be very, very careful of that young man. He’s certainly charming, but he has a reputation with the ladies. We’ve had enough football-player problems in this family.”
CiCi couldn’t agree more. “Don’t worry, Mama. He wouldn’t look at me twice—there’s not enough of this.” She indicated her AA cleavage. “Plus, I prefer men who settle their problems with words—and it’s even better if they’re polysyllabic.” Although Jake Culpepper’s body and bad-boy grin were awfully tempting.
No! She needed to put those thoughts right out of her head. Men were nothing but trouble. Celibacy was definitely the safest way to go.
WHY COULDN’T HE leave well enough alone? Jake thought as he trolled the streets of the exclusive River Oaks neighborhood searching for CiCi Hurst’s home. Finding her address had involved a considerable amount of arm twisting and a couple of judicious bribes. He shouldn’t be doing this, but he felt he had to talk to Ms. Hurst.
Jake was still driving the pickup from hell. He hadn’t had time to go to the ranch to pick up his SUV, and thanks to Dwayne his poor Porsche was toast. Damn—that idiot should be put away for grand theft auto. If only Jake could bring himself to report his cousin to the police.
Why wasn’t he an only child? Oh, right. He was. It was his extended family that made him crazy.
River Oaks was the crème de la crème of Houston neighborhoods. The houses were palatial, the lawns were manicured and the money was old. It was a world away from the single-wide trailer that Jake had grown up in.
And no matter how much money he had in the bank now, there was always that lingering doubt about fitting in with people for whom debutante balls and Ivy League educations were the norm. Would he use the wrong fork or say something stupid? At least he didn’t “chaw” and spit. The same couldn’t be said for Dwayne and Darrell.
But tackling that stupid chicken was worse than any social gaffe. That was in the same league as Wrong Way Riegel’s scamper into the other team’s end zone in the 1929 Rose Bowl.
Jake pulled up in front of a brick colonial that rambled on for at least a block. It had to be bigger than the White House. He checked the address to make sure he had the right place before climbing out of the truck.
No wonder Ms. Hurst still lived at home. Her parents probably had a staff of people ready, willing and able to fulfill her every desire—and apparently a crew of
gardeners, too. There wasn’t a leaf, a limb or a flower out of place. That is, if he didn’t count the gigantic blob smack in the middle of the lawn.
What was that?
When Jake took a closer look and discovered that the mysterious object was a papier-mâché volcano, he almost laughed his butt off. The neighbors were probably already circulating a petition to get rid of it.
Jake paused halfway to the door. More than likely this was a mistake—amend that to he was sure this was a mistake—but he really wanted to talk to Ms. Hurst. So there he was, with his hat in hand, so to speak.
Jake pressed the doorbell expecting to be greeted by a butler in a penguin suit. Instead, he heard a scream and a couple of high-pitched voices fighting over who was going to answer the door.
The little girl obviously won because there she was, complete with a tutu, a tiara and a doll. There was something funky about that doll but Jake couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Who are you?” the tiny diva asked. She was holding the doll high enough so the boy standing behind her couldn’t reach it. And Jake figured out what was so strange about the doll.
Poor G.I. Joe was wearing a wedding dress and the little boy was trying to rescue him from a fate worse than death.
“Give it back to me!” The kid’s squeal was loud enough to peel paint.
“No! Go away!” The girl stuck out her tongue. That was apparently the final straw. A scuffle ensued with no winner, other than G.I. Joe, who was tossed in the corner.
“Uh, kids.” Jake tried to get their attention, but they ignored him.
“May I help you?” The honeyed drawl was typically Texan. The face accompanying it was anything but ordinary. Except for her height, she could have easily been a Miss Texas contestant.
“I’m Jake Culpepper.” He was about to explain why he was there, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything else.
“No kidding!” the blonde beauty squealed.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Mia, get a grip.”
Jake had been so entranced by the overall drama he’d missed CiCi’s arrival on the scene. She looked embarrassed, or chagrined or something.
Before he could figure out what her pink cheeks were all about, another gorgeous woman strolled up. This one he recognized. If memory served, her name was Mac, and she was the assistant coach for the Road Runner cheerleaders. He hadn’t realized she was one of Texas Bob’s daughters.
“This is Jake Culpepper,” Mia announced to the world.
Mac gave him a nod and a wink. “I know. Did you come to see Daddy?”
“No, I wanted to talk to CiCi.”
“Me?”
Mac jabbed her sister in the ribs. “Yes, you, dummy,” she said with a giggle.
CiCi grabbed Jake’s hand and led him out onto the front porch. “Come with me. And you two—” she pointed at her sisters “—close the door.”
Mac complied, but not before giving them a finger wave and a hair flip.
“I’m sorry about the ruckus. It gets hectic around here.” CiCi didn’t bother to squelch her grimace as she led him toward a grouping of white wicker lawn furniture at the far end of the porch. “Let’s sit down. So?” Her phony smile was as transparent as a telemarketer’s scam.
“I came by to apologize.”
“You already did that.”
“I know, but I, uh, I don’t know. I was afraid I’d hurt you this afternoon.” Words had never been Jake’s forte. He was much better at letting his actions speak for him.
CiCi made an expansive gesture with her hands. “As you can see, I’m fine.”
“That’s good. Real good. Since we’re going to be working together for the month, I didn’t want us to start off on the wrong foot.” That was true. But was there another reason he’d driven across town to see her? He’d save that thought for another day.
“Great.” She was saying the right thing, but there was something off about her level of enthusiasm. “Friends?” She stuck out her hand.
“Of course.” Jake reciprocated.
“Will you come in for a drink? I’m sure Daddy would like to see you.”
Was she kidding? Jake would rather face the defensive line of the Chicago Bears without pads than have a drink with Texas Bob. “I think I’ll take a rain check.” He stood. “Well, I guess that’s that.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he stuck them in his pockets. “I can’t get up to the camp until Saturday morning, but I guarantee you I’ll be there.”
“Great,” CiCi said again, although her enthusiasm still left a lot to be desired. Then something over his shoulder caught her eye and she looked puzzled. “I wonder why the gardener left his truck here.”
Now Jake saw her true colors, and he felt like that kid from the trailer park all over again. He hated it when that happened. “That’s my ride.” He knew he sounded defensive, but couldn’t help it. “That’s yours?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wow, that’s, uh…that’s really something else.” Yep, she was the snob he’d pegged her to be.
“I’ve gotta go.” Jake wasn’t about to explain the reason for his vehicle. He started down the steps, then turned and looked back up at her. Since she’d dissed his beater truck he might as well reciprocate.
“By the way, what is that thing?” He indicated the multicolored lump.
CiCi glanced at the pimple on the landscape. “It’s a volcano. The kids are going to science camp and I helped them build it. Now we’re trying to figure out how to make it explode without doing permanent damage to the neighbors’ windows.”
Jake bit back another chuckle. His attempt to rattle her had backfired, but he found he didn’t care. “I’ll bet that makes you popular with the folks around here.”
“We’ve always been the talk of River Oaks.” CiCi leaned forward as if to share a secret. “They think we’re a bit eccentric.” Surprisingly she smiled. “See you soon.”
Yes, she would. Jake strolled back to his truck and fired up the engine—actually it was more like a cough and a plume of smoke. That should give the people next door, and Ms. Hurst, something to talk about.
Chapter Six
What had she gotten herself into? CiCi wondered as she stuffed clothes willy-nilly into her duffel bag. Jake Culpepper was incredibly good-looking, but acting on that attraction simply wasn’t going to happen. Not that he was even vaguely interested in her. She might be rudderless, but dammit, she wasn’t stupid.
She was contemplating the sorry state of her life when Mac burst in. Didn’t this family know how to knock?
“Are you ready to go?” Mac made herself at home on CiCi’s bed.
“Sort of,” CiCi replied as she finished zipping her suitcase.
“That Jake Culpepper is a yummy morsel.” Mac smacked her lips with exaggerated relish. She might look angelic but deep down she was a devil.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” CiCi’s assertion was answered with a undebutante-like snort. Leave it to her sister to raise the BS flag.
“Okay, I confess.” CiCi threw herself on the bed and grabbed a bag of M&M’s off the nightstand. “I did notice, and yes, he is yummy. But that’s where it ends.”
“We’ll see. Seriously, though, you have to remember he’s a hound dog. He changes girlfriends almost as often as he changes his socks.”
“I’m always careful.” CiCi had learned her lesson with Tank.
“I know. Just keep Tank in mind,” Mac said, as she strolled out of the room, taking the candy with her. That girl could be so irritating.
Mama stuck her head in the door. “Are you packed?” Why was everyone concerned about her travel plans?
“Pretty much. I have a few more things to do, and then I’m on my way.”
Marianne leaned on the doorjamb. It didn’t take a Mensa membership to know what was coming next.
“You will take care of yourself, won’t you?” That woman could slide into her Mama Bear mode in a nanosecond. Was that character trait handed out i
n the delivery room?
“I promise I won’t swim until an hour after I’ve eaten.” CiCi hid her grin.
“You know what I mean.”
She hugged her mom. “I do. And I guarantee I’ll be cautious.”
Marianne nodded and turned to leave. “Oh, by the way, Sugar Plum’s going with you.”
It took a second to process that comment. “What?”
“Daddy wants you to take Sugar Plum. He claims she’ll be protection.” Mama somehow managed to keep a straight face.
“Are you kidding? If that mutt’s a watchdog, I’m a supermodel.”
“He’ll deny it, but I suspect he’s going to enjoy a couple of weeks without the dog hair. He’s tired of me griping about her clogging up the pool.”
AND THAT WAS HOW Sugar Plum ended up riding shotgun in CiCi’s chartreuse VW convertible. Making a three-hundred-mile road trip with a humongous black canine, shedding and drooling the whole way, was no picnic. But CiCi was tough, and she was determined to make this work—dog snot and all.
“Hey, Sugar Plum, you want another burger?” she asked during their Sonic Drive-In lunch break. Burgers and dogs didn’t mix but CiCi was a softie when it came to those big brown eyes and silly Newfie grin. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She handed her traveling companion the last sandwich in the bag, being especially careful with her fingers.
“Are you ready?” CiCi pulled out of the parking lot and made her way back to I-10. Little did she know that trouble was brewing, or digesting, as the case may be. They hadn’t gone far before the dog’s tummy started to rumble. In hindsight, CiCi realized the second burger had been a terrible mistake.
Half a dozen stops later, her patience was wearing thin. “No more Sonic for you, missy.” She tapped the dog’s black nose. Sugar Plum responded with a doleful look. “See that sign? It says no rest areas for the next hundred and twenty miles. No getting out. No sniffing, no pooping, no nothing. Do you understand?”
