Bradley snarled, crushing the doughnut box against his chest. Little pieces of glazed sugar escaped from the box and drifted down to settle on his navy blue running shoes. His nostrils pinched together like he’d suddenly caught a whiff of the foul odor inside a goalie’s glove, and when he spoke his voice sounded like it was being forced through a tea strainer. “Could I speak to you for a moment, Marla Jean? Alone?”
“Now’s not a good time, Bradley.” She realized her ex-husband believed some kind of hanky-panky was going on between her and Donny Joe. Part of her wanted to set him straight, but most of her wanted to rub his face in the fact that just because he didn’t want her anymore, didn’t mean plenty of other men weren’t lined up to take his place.
Of course, Donny Joe might not be the best example of the other men who wanted her, since he pretty much wanted anything that qualified as female.
Acting like he owned the joint, Donny Joe threw his arm around Marla’s shoulder and pulled her close to his side. “Yeah Brad, now’s not a good time.”
Bradley threw the mangled box of doughnuts down onto the porch and snarled, “Take your hands off her, Donny Joe.”
Jake pulled into his parents’ old driveway and studied the place. Ever since he’d moved his mother into one of the new condos on the lake, he’d considered selling the house but always ended up renting it out instead. For some reason he just couldn’t let it go. It sat empty now, and he had a list of fix-it jobs he’d been putting off for way too long.
That was the reason he dragged himself out of bed on a Sunday morning and loaded his toolbox into the back of his work truck. It had nothing to do with the fact that Marla Jean Bandy was back living across the street, two doors down.
A man with any brains would avoid her like a second helping of prune pit pie. She was a handful—always had been. Good-looking, smart-mouthed, clever, and now, fresh from a divorce, she was vulnerable as well. Man. That was a dangerous combination.
She probably hadn’t had time to pick her car up yet, and he’d thought about renewing his offer to give her a hand with that, but decided on the drive over he was probably the last person she wanted to see. He got out of the truck and glanced across the street at her house. A big white Chevy Suburban was sitting in her driveway. It wasn’t hers, but he knew who it belonged to. It belonged to her ex. Bradley.
The asshole.
Jake knew Marla and Bradley most likely had some unfinished business, and it was probably normal for them to spend time in each other’s company, but whenever he thought about how that man had treated her, he wanted to pound something. Never mind that his Aunt Libby was waltzing around like a giddy teenager. He hadn’t come to terms with how he felt about Bradley Bandy being responsible for that, either.
He had work to do, and it wasn’t going to get done if he stood around thinking about Marla Jean and her problems. He put purpose into his stride as he found the keys to his old house and unlocked the front door. Then he stole another glance across the street. He couldn’t help himself. Now he could see Bradley standing out on the porch talking to someone inside the house. Most likely, Marla Jean. Good. That meant he was leaving. The sooner, the better. Not that it was any of his concern.
As he walked back out to his truck and grabbed his toolbox, a silver pick-up came flying down the street and screeched to a stop at Marla Jean’s curb. Son of a bitch. It was Donny Joe Ledbetter. Jake watched him climb out of the truck and head toward her house. Marla Jean came outside and stood on the porch by Bradley as Donny Joe approached. Jake couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, but he didn’t need to be a lip reader to see the steam coming out of Bradley’s ears. He told himself to mind his own business.
Turning his back on the scene unfolding across the street, he walked back up the driveway toward his parents’ house. Not his problem, he thought. Live and let live. That was his motto, and last night reminded him of why it had always been a good one. Marla Jean was all grown up, and she could handle herself just fine.
He reached the front steps before allowing himself one final peek. From across the way he could see Donny Joe standing on one side of Marla Jean and Bradley standing on the other. Things looked to be getting heated. Bradley shoved Donny Joe and Marla Jean scrambled to keep the men separated. Neither of them seemed to pay a bit of attention to her.
Shee-it.
Jake set his toolbox down on the porch, scrubbed a hand over his face, and let out a frustrated growl. He hurried across the yard, stopping long enough to grab a ball-peen hammer from the bed of his truck, and then took off at a run toward her house. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do with the hammer. Maybe threaten to bash in a couple of windshields just to get their attention. As he got closer he could hear the squabbling.
“Let her go, Donny Joe.”
“Why don’t you go on home to your little librarian, Brad?”
Marla aimed a fuzzy slipper at Donny Joe’s kneecap and then turned to stomp on Bradley’s foot with the other. “Cut it out, both of you.” Neither man seemed to think she got a vote in the matter.
“Hey!” Jake yelled as he crossed the street, waving the hammer above his head like a crazy man.
They all looked up at the interruption, and Marla took the opportunity to extricate herself from the situation. Lunging off the porch, she ran down the sidewalk and grabbed Jake’s arm.
“Oh good, Jake, you’re here,” she babbled brightly, “and you brought your hammer. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about promising to look at that sink in the guest bathroom.”
She looked at him with wide eyes begging him to play along, so he said, “I didn’t forget, Marla Jean. I just figured you might like to sleep late.” He took in her wild bed-head of curly hair and gave her Dallas Stars jersey and kitty-cat slippers the once over. “But here I am. At your service.”
She hooked her arm through his, dragging him up the front steps past the other two men.
Brad eyed Jake suspiciously. “Jake isn’t a plumber, Marla Jean. If you’ve got a plumbing problem, call the Rooter Doctor. I don’t mind if you charge it to our old account.”
Donny Joe lounged against the porch railing with a shit-eating grin on his face. “He’s gonna fix your sink with a hammer?”
“You’d be surprised what I can fix with a hammer,” Jake advised him casually.
Marla Jean piped up, “It’s not plumbing. It’s remodeling. He’s going to knock out the whole thing and start over. So, you boys should run along now.” Without waiting for a good-bye or see-you-later, she pushed Jake inside the house and slammed the door in their faces.
She slumped against the closed door. “Thank God you showed up when you did, Jake. What in the world is wrong with men? Twice now in two days I’ve been subjected to men acting like Neanderthals. Oh wait, I forgot. You’re as guilty as they are.”
Jake shrugged. “Most men are animals.”
“Does that include you?”
“It doesn’t take much to bring out our beastly nature,” he confessed.
“Well, I have to say, as a woman who’s just getting back into the dating scene, it’s very unattractive.” She pushed off the door and walked toward the living room.
“I’ll try to remember that,” he said as he followed her.
“You might as well sit down.” She waved him into the olive green recliner that had always been designated as her dad’s chair and plopped down onto the rust and olive plaid sofa that had graced the living room since before they’d been teenagers. “I’d like to give Bradley and Donny Joe time to clear out before you leave. That is, if you’re not in any hurry.”
“I can spare a minute or two.”
He laid the hammer on the old wooden coffee table and settled down into the chair. Not much in the room had changed. The same framed prints hung on the paneled walls, the same floor lamp with the rust-colored shade stood in the corner. The place even smelled the same—like the vanilla candles Linc and Marla’s mother had favored for as long as he c
ould remember.
Growing up, he’d spent almost as much time in this house as he had his own. His home life hadn’t been the best, and Linc had been a good friend, allowing him to escape his father’s bullying whenever he could. Linc’s parents treated him like one of their own, and Marla Jean treated him like another brother. He didn’t feel much like a brother anymore.
As a matter of fact, he sincerely wished Marla Jean would go put on some more clothes. His beastly side was being aroused by her fresh unmade-up face and all that long, dark, curly hair waving around it. The hockey jersey she had on didn’t hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and the damn thing kept sliding up her long bare legs, threatening to show what lay just beyond. And those kitty-cat house shoes. They weren’t doing a damn thing to make her less sexy, either. All in all, she looked a little too appealing for his peace of mind.
“I’m really grateful for the rescue this morning, Jake. You were coming to my rescue, right?”
“Nah, just being neighborly. I was working on my mom’s old house, and all that noise was making it hard to concentrate.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not even sure what happened. Donny Joe dropped by to return my purse, and one minute we were having a civilized conversation, and the next they were both acting like idiots.”
“Well, no offense, but we are talking about Bradley and Donny Joe.”
“None taken. I guess I should choose my male companions more carefully from now on.”
“Any likely prospects on the horizon?” He didn’t know why he asked, but the question popped out before he could stop it.
“I don’t know about prospects, but I’m having pizza with Harry Beal after the football game Friday night.”
“Is that a good idea?” He frowned. That wasn’t exactly the best news he’d heard lately.
She shrugged. “He asked, and it seemed innocent enough.”
“I guess. If you’re not worried about the fact that he’s been in love with you since he sat beside you in Miss Fatheree’s math class back in junior high.”
She looked at him like she thought he was high on wacky weed. “He has not. Why would you say that?”
He held up both hands. “Forget it. I’m probably wrong.” But he wasn’t. Anybody with two eyes could see that Harry Beal turned into a mush melon whenever he came within ten feet of Marla Jean. Jake always thought women were born knowing when a man was interested. Maybe not.
“I’m not looking for anything serious right now. I just want to go out, have some fun, get used to being on my own again, you know?” She looked like she was hoping to find an understanding ear.
If she expected him to give the thumbs-up on guys like Donny Joe she could forget it. He went for a neutral response instead. “I think that’s a smart idea. Take things slow. Rebound relationships can be a bitch.”
Her eyes gleamed with curiosity. “You sound like you’re talking from experience.”
“It’s been a long time, now, but there was a woman I met in college.” He was never comfortable talking about himself.
She tucked her legs underneath her and leaned forward. “Oh, this is fascinating. What was her name?”
He tried to keep his eyes off her legs. “You always were a nosy kid.”
“Is it too painful to talk about? Poor Jake.” She reached over and patted his knee.
The leather recliner creaked as he shifted in the chair. “I told you it was years ago, and her name was Sarah.”
“Sarah.” She repeated the name wistfully like she could feel every bit of heartbreak he’d suffered at the hands of the woman. “What happened to her?”
“After college she went to law school, married a judge, and had three kids.” He hadn’t given Sarah a second thought in years.
“So, was she the rebound, or was the rebound the woman that came after her?”
He pointed a finger and said, “You ask too many questions.”
“Sorry. Sitting here talking to you in my parents’ living room feels so much like old times. It makes me wonder why we lost touch.”
“We both went off to college. You got married. Life happens.” He stood up, resisting the temptation to join her on a walk down memory lane. “I better get going. I’ve still got a lot of work to do.”
“Oh right.” Marla Jean jumped off the couch and followed him to the front door. “Thanks again for your help.”
He reached out and tucked an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. It was softer than he expected, and she smelled like lemons. “Don’t mention it. I figure I owed you after last night.”
“That’s true. You did, but today almost made up for it.”
“Almost?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m not ready to let you off the hook just yet. It might come in handy if I need to be rescued again. Will you be at the game Friday night?”
He walked out onto the porch stepping over the scattered doughnuts and looking around to make sure Bradley and Donny Joe were both gone. “Where else would a body be on a Friday night in Everson?”
She tugged the hem of her hockey jersey down to a barely decent length and smiled. Probably the first real smile she’d bestowed on him since he’d pulled her out of Donny Joe’s truck Saturday night. “Great. Maybe I’ll see you then.” With a wave she went back inside.
He’d made it halfway across the yard when she called his name.
“Jake?”
He turned around. “Yeah?”
“You forgot your hammer.” She held it out in his direction.
He stuck his fingers in his back pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Keep it, Marla Jean. Next time some bozo tries to manhandle you, use it to bean him upside the head.”
She seemed to perk up at the idea. “Even if that bozo is you?”
He winked and said, “Especially if it’s me, darlin’.”
She rolled her eyes, hugged the hammer to her chest, and disappeared inside the house.
Chapter Four
I didn’t believe it for one minute, Marla Jean.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Begley.” Marla Jean used the electric trimmers to clean up the back of Chuck Begley’s neck. He was one of her regulars, but she’d just given him a haircut the week before. Today he’d come in for the gossip and not for the grooming.
He gave her a knowing look in the mirror. “I’ve decided Bertie only runs that diner so she can spread rumors. And she was serving ’em up thick this morning, right alongside the scrambled eggs and hash browns.”
Bertie Harcourt owned the Rise-N-Shine Diner, and a lot of folks stopped by on their way to work to grab coffee and catch up on the latest juicy rumor. Apparently, Marla had made it onto this morning’s menu.
“Well, what are you gonna do, Mr. Begley? People in this town like to talk. But I appreciate the heads-up.” Marla hoped that would end the conversation, but it seemed he was just getting started.
“I mean who’s gonna believe that Abel Jacobson and Donny Joe Ledbetter were fighting over you in Lu Lu’s parking lot?” He shook his head and clicked his false teeth.
“I know, right? It’s crazy.” She brushed away the little sprinkles of loose hairs and unfastened the Velcro holding the cape in place around his neck. “I think you’re done. How does it look?”
He craned his neck this way and that, admiring himself in the mirror. “You do good work, Marla Jean. If your dad was alive, he’d be real proud.”
“Dad is alive, remember, Mr. Begley? He just retired and moved to South Padre.”
He looked momentarily confused and then stood up from the chair. “Well, that’s fine then. Tell him to send me a postcard sometime.” He handed her a twenty-dollar bill and told her to keep the change. As he walked out the door, he added, “And don’t let me hear about you getting into any more bar fights, young lady.”
“I promise, Mr. Begley.”
Grabbing the broom from the back room, she started sweeping up the hair from the floor. For a Tuesday the shop had been unusually b
usy, and it wasn’t because she’d been voted barber of the year, either. Tongues had been wagging, and the tales of her exploits at Lu Lu’s Saturday night would soon be the stuff of legends. Chuck Begley wasn’t the first customer who’d come in, more than happy to share what he’d heard.
Most of the stories had Jake and Donny Joe coming to blows with each other over her in the parking lot. That was bad enough, but now another version was circulating that had her getting into a catfight with Irene Cornwell, of all people.
The worst part, the part that really pissed her off? According to Melvin Krebbs, when he’d stopped by to have his sideburns trimmed earlier, Irene Cornwell had kicked her butt up one side and down the other.
As if.
She could whip Irene Cornwell’s skinny little ass with one hand tied behind her back any day of the week.
“Parcheesi!” Hooter Ferguson let out a rousing yell, announcing his victory in the board game that went on almost nonstop every day at the front of her shop.
Dooley Parker slapped the board, knocking the pawns over and scattering them onto the floor. “Hell’s bells, I can’t concentrate today with all these fools comin’ and goin’. I could go for some pie, though. How ’bout it, Hoot?”
“Pie’d be good. We’ll be across the street if you need us, Marla Jean.” The two older men stood up and stretched before heading for the front door of the shop.
“Okay, guys. Don’t forget my iced tea, please.”
Hoot pointed a finger at her on his way out the door. “With extra lemon. Will do.”
Marla walked over and picked up the game pieces from the floor and then put them back on the board. The two old men had been a fixture in the shop long before she’d taken over from her dad, and if she ever sold the place they’d be included in the inventory.
When the brewery out on the highway threatened a big layoff back in the eighties, Hoot and Dooley opted for early retirement. Their wives didn’t like having them underfoot, so they’d adopted her father’s barber shop as a home away from home. Rain or shine, they’d show up every morning at eight and stay until five, playing Parcheesi, chewing the fat, and for no extra charge, dispensing their own brand of wisdom. She couldn’t imagine the place without them. Every day around this time they’d go for pie, and every day they’d bring her back an iced tea with extra lemon.
Ain't Misbehaving (9781455523801) Page 3
