Ain't Misbehaving (9781455523801)

by Cannon, Molly

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  Table of Contents

  A Preview of Crazy Little Thing Called Love

  Copyright Page

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  To my husband Bill. The best man I know.

  And if the answer isn’t “War” or “Black Keys”

  you’re asking the wrong question.

  Acknowledgments

  I am blessed to be surrounded by so many wonderful people who’ve helped me while writing this book. The list is long and my gratitude is never-ending.

  This book exists, first and foremost, because of Danna Middleton. One day, oh so many years ago, she looked at me and said, let’s write a book. She started me on this journey, and I’m forever in her debt. I love you, Danna. And I have to mention Nancy Haddock and Lynne Smith who helped make those days so much fun.

  My family for their constant support—hey Moo!—and particularly my sisters Sherrionne Brown and Patricia Gregory, my niece Maddie Nance, and my daughter Emily Williams for volunteering when I needed extra eyes.

  Everyone at NTRWA—we laughed together, cried together, and cheered each other on. Good times!

  For critiques, retreats and kicks in the backside I have to thank Misa Ramirez, Beatriz Terrazas, Kym Roberts, Mary Malcolm, Jessica Davidson, Tracy Ward, Jill Wilson, Kim Quinton, Angi Platt, Jen FitzGerald, Gina Nelson, Regina Richards, Elizabeth Klein, and Janet Carter.

  To Cecilia Danaher, Judi Sampson, and Debra Dennis for always having my back.

  And special thanks to Chris Keniston who was always there to critique, support, and celebrate with frozen drinks and Bill’s cookies.

  Wendy Lynn Watson who told me this book was the one. I’m glad I listened to you, Wendy.

  My agent Kim Lionetti, who loved Marla Jean as much as I did. Thank you, Kim.

  From the Grand Central Publishing family I must mention Amy Pierpont who was supportive from the start; Kallie Shimek and Oliver Baranczyk for copy edits; Diane Luger and Chris Cocozza for the beautiful cover art and design. And to my editor, Michele Bidelspach, who held my hand through this process, pushed me to be better, and then gave me a dog. Thank you, Michele.

  Chapter One

  Stop it, Donny Joe.”

  “Come on, Marla Jean. I thought you wanted to.”

  An hour earlier she would have agreed with him. An hour earlier she wiggled into her tight red dress, tugged on her favorite cowboy boots, and headed out to the local watering hole sure of exactly what she wanted. An hour earlier she’d left her house with every intention of finding a willing man and having her way with him.

  Lately she’d felt dried up, dustier than a ghost town in an old Western movie. The swinging saloon doors of her nether portal were rusted shut from lack of use. In other words, Miss Kitty hadn’t seen any action in a long, long time.

  And now, because she’d decided to rectify the situation, she, Marla Jean Bandy, found herself sitting in the front seat of a Ford pick-up truck with Donny Joe Ledbetter’s hand stuck halfway up her skirt.

  But it didn’t feel right somehow, and that really pissed her off.

  Sex had always been something she’d embraced enthusiastically right up until the moment her husband dumped her for another woman. If he’d dumped her for some young bimbo, it would have been embarrassing and humiliating. She would have been mad, outraged even, but no—Bradley left her for Libby Comstock, the fifty-four-year-old, never-been-married librarian who drove the Bookmobile. She’d started to wonder why he ran out the door like a kid who’d just heard the ice cream truck whenever it turned the corner onto their street. But she’d always told him he should read more, and this was the one time in their six-year marriage he decided to listen to her.

  Libby seduced him with the Russian classics, challenging him to stretch his mind and feed his soul. He tackled Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Brodsky, Pushkin, and eventually he tackled Ms. Comstock, too. The fact that he’d left her for someone twenty years older, frumpier, smarter, and fluent in five languages was something she’d never forgive him for.

  But back to Donny Joe. He was a stud. A big fish in a small pond. A lover of all things female, and his ability to make the earth move was heralded far and wide by most every woman in and around Everson, Texas.

  So when she decided it was time to get back on the horse, he was the natural choice for her to throw a rope around. He would have no problem with a quickie in the front seat of his truck. A quickie, and then they’d never speak of it again. No complications, no angst, no wounded emotional fallout. So why was she getting cold feet? This was the ideal setup, the perfect no-attachment sex she’d been looking for.

  She sighed, a petulant, frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry, Donny Joe, but I think I’ve changed my mind.”

  “You’re just a little skittish, sugar. We’ll take it slow. Why don’t we go back inside and slide around the dance floor a few times while I coax you back into the right mood?”

  He was placing little nibbles on her neck while he whispered his encouragement. His hand took up a neutral position at the edge of her dress, not moving up, but not giving up all the territory he’d gained, either. She tried closing her eyes, tried to let herself be coaxed, but it wasn’t working. She was about to agree to a few dances just to ease her way out of an uncomfortable situation when the door on her side of the truck flew open so abruptly that if Donny Joe hadn’t had a good grip on her she would’ve fallen out on her head.

  A dark silhouette loomed at her side, and a deep voice commanded, “Take your hands off her, Donny Joe.”

  If her life followed any kind of normal, predictable pattern, she would have turned to confront her ex-husband, maybe, or her overprotective big brother, but that was not the case. Abel Jacobson—known by everyone around town as Jake—stood just inside the open door, filling up the space with his broad shoulders, glowering like some avenging angel in a cowboy hat. He reached inside and grabbed her arm. “Come on, Marla Jean, get out of the truck.”

  Donny Joe tightened his grip around her waist. “Get your own woman, Jake.”

  “That’s what I’m doing, Donny Joe.”

  They were pulling her in two different directions, fighting over her like a prize piece of salt water taffy. She managed to squirm away from Donny Joe, and then shoved at the hard, stubborn wall of muscle that made up Jake’s chest until she could slide past him and get out of the truck. “I’m not anyone’s woman. What’s wrong with you two?”

  Her too-tight skirt had ridden halfway up her ass, and she struggled to pull it back down to a level that wouldn’t get her arrested for indecent exposure. She was fuming while they watched. Donny Joe had a cocky grin on his face, and Jake stood with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring like he wanted to put her over his knee and spank her.

  That thought sprang into her head from out of nowhere, accompanied by a vivid image of Jake’s big, wide hand on her bare bottom. The restless itch that had driven her out of her house dressed like a hoochie mama—only to desert her before she could find the nerve to scratch it—was suddenly back, stronger than ever. She gave her skirt another tug and glared back at him. If anyone could scratch her itch, it was Jake. But she wanted simple and uncomplicated, and there was nothing simple or uncomplicated about Abel Jacobson.

  Donny Joe climbed out of his truck a
nd ambled her way. “I’ll be inside Lu Lu’s if you change your mind, sugar.”

  “She won’t,” Jake called after him pleasantly as he watched Donny Joe head back inside the bar. And then before she could blast him for his caveman act, he rounded on her. “Donny Joe? What the hell were you thinking, Marla Jean?”

  “I was thinking I might get lucky, not that it’s any of your business, Abel Jacobson.” She stuck her nose in the air, and stomped off toward the bar.

  “You’ve never had the sense God gave a goose when it comes to men,” he muttered as he followed her across the parking lot.

  “Excuse me?” She rounded on him this time, not believing the nerve of the man. “When’s the last time you dated a woman who had an IQ higher than her bra size?”

  “Why, Marla, I didn’t think you cared.”

  “I don’t give two figs about your love life, but I’d love to know what brought on this sudden interest in mine.”

  She was still scowling at him, but she was also more than a little curious about his answer. Growing up, Jake had been her older brother Lincoln’s best friend, but as adults she rarely spoke to him. Of course they exchanged greetings whenever they ran across each other in town, but asking “Hey, how are you?” just to be polite was a long way from dragging her out of another man’s truck as if he had every right to do it.

  He kicked at a piece of gravel with the toe of his boot. “I got a call from Linc before he left town. He said you hadn’t sounded like yourself lately, and he was worried. I said I’d keep an eye on you.”

  “I don’t need watching. And Linc can keep his opinions and his concern to himself.”

  “Aw, give him a break, Marla. He’s been worried since Bradley…” His words trailed off like he wanted to spare her from the awful truth.

  “You mean since Bradley dumped me? We’ve been separated for a year, and the divorce has been final for six months. I’m not going to fall apart at the mention of his name.”

  “Bradley’s an idiot.”

  “Finally, something we can agree on, but I’m a big girl, and I don’t need a keeper.” She started walking away, feeling put out all over again.

  “Where are you going, Marla Jean?”

  “I’m going back inside. I’m going to dance with any man who asks me, and I’m going to have a good time. If that’s not okay with you and my big brother, then y’all can both kiss my rosy, pink butt.”

  The smell of stale beer and the sound of country music poured out of the bar as she jerked the door open and stalked inside. She pushed her way through the crowd, but Jake stayed right on her heels. Stopping abruptly, she turned around to face him. “For the love of Pete, what is it now?”

  He tipped up the brim of his hat and asked with a lazy smile, “How ’bout a dance, Marla Jean?”

  Chapter Two

  Jake kept his smile in place as he watched Marla’s eyes first widen, and then narrow at his invitation. Without warning, she grabbed his arm and hauled him out onto the dance floor—not exactly the reaction he’d expected.

  “Okay Jake, let’s dance. I’ll talk. You just move your feet and listen.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She wouldn’t get an argument from him. He pulled her into his arms, and they started two-stepping around the floor. She smiled at everyone like she was having the grandest of times, but Jake wasn’t fooled. The tight set of her jaw and the scary vein throbbing in her forehead gave her away.

  It certainly wasn’t any of his business if Marla Jean Bandy wanted to make out with every cowboy in the place. While they were growing up, she’d been a pesky pain in the backside, always trying to tag along with him and her older brother. Since Linc had been his best friend, Jake had become an honorary big brother by default, teasing her, tolerating her when she was underfoot, and now and then, helping her out of the occasional scrape.

  But that was a long time ago. They’d both grown up—gone their separate ways. She’d even gotten married. If it hadn’t been for Linc’s call he certainly wouldn’t have been sticking his nose into her affairs now.

  But still, Donny Joe Ledbetter? Maybe Lincoln had good reason to worry.

  And Marla Jean. If he was any judge of riled-up women, and he’d seen a few in his time, Marla Jean was mad. Mad enough to spit. But that was okay. She could be mad all she wanted. He wasn’t going to let Lincoln down.

  “First of all, Jake—”

  “Wait a minute, Marla Jean—let me talk first. I want to apologize.”

  She looked a lot surprised and a tad mollified. “I should think so.” They made a half circle around the floor before she tilted her head back and said, “Well, I’m waiting.”

  “For what?” he asked while leading her into an underarm turn.

  “Your apology?” she reminded him as she followed him in a walk-around step.

  “Oh, right. I shouldn’t have said you were dumber than a goose.” He winked and executed a little spin.

  “That’s what you’re sorry for?”

  “Yeah, that was out of line.”

  “And that’s it? If you think—”

  “Hold your horses, Marla Jean, I’m not done.”

  “By all means, continue.”

  He grew serious. “I apologize for mentioning Bradley.”

  She ducked her head and studied the feet of the nearby dancers. “I told you not to worry about that.”

  “I know, but since he left you for my Aunt Libby, I feel somehow responsible.” Jake never cared for Bradley Bandy. He certainly didn’t deserve a woman like Marla Jean, and now this thing with his aunt had everyone in an uproar. His Aunt Libby, on the other hand, was acting like a cat who’d just discovered heavy cream. It was kind of sweet, in a creepy sort of way. But Marla Jean didn’t deserve the pain those two had caused her.

  “Jake, whatever went wrong for me and Bradley started a long time before he took up story hour with your aunt.”

  “Humph,” he grunted. “My mother’s ready to disown her—says she’s disgraced the family.”

  “Can we not talk about Bradley? I came out to have a good time tonight. I’ve had it up to here with sitting at home feeling sorry for myself, so I’m turning over a new leaf.”

  “I noticed.”

  “And if folks around here don’t like it they can—“

  “I know. They can kiss your rosy, pink butt.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But Donny Joe?”

  “Don’t start, Jake.”

  “Donny Joe is exactly the kind of thing Linc was worried about.” He twirled her around and dipped her as the song came to an end. When he pulled her back upright, she stumbled against his chest. His arms tightened momentarily, and he stared down into her flashing brown eyes.

  Pushing him away, she said, “Look, Jake. Leave it alone. I’ll talk to Linc and put his mind at ease. You’re off the hook. Okay?”

  He knew when it was time to beat a tactical retreat. “All right, I’ve done my duty for the night.” He held up both hands and took a step back.

  “Thank you. And when I talk to Linc, I’ll tell him you went above and beyond.”

  “Well, thanks for the dance.” He moved back another step, somehow reluctant to walk away, but Harry Beal marched over and inserted himself between the two of them. Back in school, Harry had been in the same grade with Marla Jean and had grown up to be the high school football coach.

  “Hey, Jake. How’s it going?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Marla. “Can I have the next dance, Marla Jean?”

  Marla smiled at Harry like he’d invented butter. “Sure thing, Harry. Later, Jake.”

  Before he could say “alligator,” the two of them waltzed away, leaving him alone in the middle of the dance floor. Jake wandered over to the nearest barstool and sat down. He ordered a beer and swiveled around until he faced the crowd of dancing couples. Marla was laughing at something Harry said—her head thrown back—her dark, curly hair cascading down her back.

  Christ A’mighty. That dress. />
  It was short and tight and nothing but trouble.

  In the best of circumstances Marla Jean Bandy, being newly divorced and out on the town, was enough to make most red-blooded men sit up and take notice. Especially in a small town like Everson where available women were few and far between. But Marla Jean Bandy poured into that skimpy getup was like waving a red flag in front of every horny bastard in the joint. No wonder Linc was worried. Telling himself he owed it to Linc to keep an eye on her, he took a long draw on his beer and settled his elbows on the bar behind him. It promised to be a real long night.

  Marla tried to pay attention to Harry and ignore the disturbing fact that Abel Jacobson, of all people, was parked on a bar stool across the way watching her. Harry wasn’t much of a dancer, mainly shuffling his feet from side to side, but she made an effort to listen as he rambled on about the football team. “I hate to admit it,” she said, “but I haven’t been to a game this year, Coach.”

  “You oughta come this Friday, Marla Jean. If we beat Crossville, we’ll make it to play-offs.”

  That was no secret. The whole town was buzzing about the upcoming game. In Everson, like almost every other town in Texas, Friday night during the fall was football night. While they were married, she and Bradley had never missed a game. But that was then. These days she spent Friday nights alone at home watching her mom’s old JAG DVDs and painting her toenails. But tonight was supposed to be about taking control of her life back, so she smiled and said, “You’re absolutely right, Harry. I’ll be there with bells on.”

  “Great! Maybe after the game we could grab some pizza?”

  She wasn’t really ready to start dating. At least not nice guys like Harry Beal. She’d known him since junior high. They’d been in the same homeroom from seventh grade on, and he had always been sweet and shy until you got him on the football field. Then he turned into a monster. Harry had gone on to play college ball and even had one season in the NFL before a knee injury ended his pro career. After that he moved back to town and no one was surprised when he’d been hired as Everson High’s head coach as soon as there was an opening.