“Good-bye, Miz Hazel,” he said in a choked voice. “I’m going to miss you.” He glanced up and his gaze locked unwillingly with Etta Green. She lifted an eyebrow as if doubting his sincerity and maybe his manhood, too. What the hell was her problem?
Rattled, he broke eye contact and stepped forward, boutonniere in hand.
His foot caught on a half-buried tree root from the stately old oak that would stand sentry over Miz Hazel’s final resting place. He stumbled, arms flailing, and then he fell. Fellow pallbearer Mitchell Crowley made a grab for him, catching only a handful of his suit coat as he landed squarely on top of the funeral spray and the casket underneath. Half the crowd gasped, and the other half laughed like things were just starting to get interesting.
For a stunned moment he lay there, his breath sawing in and out of his chest, feeling the polished wood and crushed blossoms pressed against his cheek, clutching the ornate edging that outlined the lid of the coffin to steady himself. The overwhelming floral smell filled his nose, and he could feel the tickle of a sneeze building. “A-a-achoo.”
“Bless you, Donny Joe,” someone yelled from the buzzing crowd.
That got him moving. A shower of roses, carnations, daisies, and lilies of every color and hue scattered like a potpourri of rats deserting a sinking ship while he scrambled on hands and knees to get up. Phone cameras appeared throughout the crowd, capturing the moment for posterity.
Mitchell finally got a grip on one arm and helped haul him to his feet. “Get a hold of yourself, buddy. We’re all going to miss her, but she’s in a better place now.”
“Sorry. Geez, I’m really sorry.” Donny straightened up, rearranging his coat and brushing off his pants. The crowd mumbled and tittered—probably discussing how much he’d had to drink.
Undoubtedly dismayed by his oafish performance, Miz Hazel’s granddaughters now stood, and he put out a hand in their direction, an apology of sorts. Belle Green lifted her veil, revealing her pretty tear-streaked face. Then she smiled and winked before letting the gauzy material fall back into place. Etta Green clinched her knotty little fists and skewered him with a glare hot enough to permanently singe all the hair from his body. Young Daphne stayed in her chair, stuck her thumb in her mouth, and started to suck.
Etta hated lawyers.
She sat stick straight on the edge of a big leather wing chair in front of Mr. Corbin Starling’s scarred walnut desk, impatiently waiting for him to commence with the reading of her grandmother’s will. Not that she actually hated Mr. Starling. He seemed nice enough, but she’d never had anything good come from dealing with those in the legal profession, so the sooner they could get this over with, the sooner she could be on her way back to Chicago.
Her sister Belle lounged carelessly in the chair to her left, relentlessly texting and checking her phone for messages. Their appointment had been for ten a.m. They had arrived ten minutes early. It was now five after, and her grandmother’s lawyer, after greeting them and asking if they wanted coffee or tea, left them to their own devices while he rifled through papers on his desk. Etta looked at her watch, and her foot started to tap.
Mr. Starling seemed to notice her impatience and glanced up. “I apologize for the delay. We’re just waiting for Mr. Ledbetter to arrive, and then we can get started.”
Etta’s foot stilled. “Mr. Ledbetter? As in Donny Joe Ledbetter?” The idiot who’d made a spectacle of himself at the funeral? Good Gawd.
“Yes, there are provisions that concern him.”
Belle leaned forward in her chair, giving Mr. Starling a generous view of her generous bosom. His eyes widened in appreciation of the gesture. Etta stifled a flash of irritation. Her sister’s idea of proper attire for a visit to see the family lawyer was a ruffled, low-cut red silk blouse and a pair of tight blue jeans. “I understand Donny Joe and Grammy Hazel got real close before she died,” Belle informed them.
Etta turned to look at her sister. “They did? How do you know that?”
“I had a real nice conversation with Donny Joe after the service yesterday afternoon. And Grammy was always going on about how much help he was to her around the house.”
Etta’s foot started tapping again. Donny Joe Ledbetter was her grandmother’s next-door neighbor. She had vivid memories of him from the summers she and Belle had spent at her grandmother’s house. Flirtatious, smooth talking, and too cute for his own good. That was Donny Joe, then and now. From what she’d heard he ran some kind of swimming pool business these days. Now that she thought about it, she did remember her grandmother mentioning him a lot during their frequent phone calls of late, but she realized with a sharp pang of regret, she hadn’t paid much attention to the details.
Etta’s first instinct was to suspect he’d taken advantage of her grandmother’s trusting nature. But on the other hand, so what if he’d schmoozed his way into the old lady’s affection and she’d left him some small token of her appreciation in her last will and testament?
Fine and dandy. What did she care?
But he could at least have the decency to show up on time so they could get this whole ordeal settled and be done with it. Her business in Everson, Texas, was almost finished. Now that Grammy Hazel was gone, she couldn’t think of a good reason to stay any longer than necessary. Despite her assurances to Diego that he’d be fine without her, she couldn’t help worrying.
Finally, there was a knock on the office doorframe, and Donny Joe stuck his head around the corner. “Sorry I’m late, Corbin.”
Mr. Starling stood up and waved him into the room. “Come on in, Donny Joe. We’re ready to get started.”
Donny doffed his cowboy hat and hung it on the coat rack by the door. “I had an emergency at the Senior Center. The pool wasn’t heating properly, and if ‘Splashing With the Oldies’ doesn’t go on as scheduled there’s hell to pay. But I apologize.”
“Hey, Donny Joe,” Belle looked up from her phone and gifted him with one of her dazzling smiles.
“Belle.” He returned her smile with a dazzling one of his own, and then with the slightest nod in her direction acknowledged Etta’s presence as well. “Morning, Etta.”
He pulled a wooden chair up next to her, and sat with legs splayed wide, taking up more than his share of space in the room. Donny Joe was all lanky swagger, and Etta found herself bristling for no particular reason. Turning slightly in her chair, she angled her body so he was out of her line of sight, but a faint whiff of his cologne still wafted her way.
Mr. Starling cleared his throat and began addressing them somberly, so she focused on his words. “This is a sad occasion for us all. Hazel was a great friend to me and my family. We will miss her dearly, and you girls have my deepest condolences.” He put both hands on his desk and sighed. “This is the will drawn up by your grandmother three and a half years ago on her sixty-fifth birthday.” He opened the file on his desk and began reading,
I, Hazel Faye Green, being of sound mind and body do hereby bequeath the following:
My string of pearls and matching earrings, the family recipe box, and my complete set of Nancy Drew Mysteries I leave to my great granddaughter, Daphne Jonquil Green.
My enamel turtle pin, my Joni Mitchell albums, and my Volkswagen bus I leave to my cousin, Beulah Cross.
My house, its contents, and the surrounding five acres I leave to my granddaughters Etta Place Green and Belle Starr Green. I trust they will do all they can to keep the house since it has been in our family for over one hundred years. Signed,
Hazel Faye Green
Etta slumped back in her chair fighting new tears. The provisions in the will were basically what she’d expected, but hearing the words read out loud made the pain of Grammy’s death rise up and threaten to choke her all over again.
Grammy’s house. Growing up, it had always been a safe haven, a place to escape the neverending circus of her parents’ chaotic marriage. She loved the nooks and crannies, the tall ceilings, the wooden floors. It wrapped around her, comfortin
g her like one of Grammy’s crocheted afghans. Built by her great-great-grandfather and passed down to each new generation, the house still stood tall and strong, despite the human frailties of those who’d occupied it through the years. She was momentarily stirred by the connection with those who’d come before her. And now it belonged to both her and Belle.
But she would never seriously considered living in it. She had a life to get back to in Chicago.
Probably. Oh, of course she did.
Surely Diego hadn’t been serious when he’d fired her. Just because he’d told her if she left not to come back. Just because she’d dumped a vat of cold potato soup in his lap on her way out the door. She could be volatile, and so could he. That’s why they made such a good team. It wasn’t the first time one of them had used food to emphasize a point, and it wouldn’t be the last. They shared a passion for their work and a passion to make Finale’s one of the best restaurants in Chicago. Unfortunately, he held a controlling interest, and that put her at a disadvantage.
But she couldn’t worry about any of that until things were settled here. As far as Cousin Beulah was concerned she could continue to live in the house if that’s what she wanted. Maybe rent out a room if she needed help around the place.
Or maybe Belle would consider moving back to Everson. It would provide a stable home for eight-year-old Daphne. Everson would be a great town to raise a child. And a stable home was something her niece hadn’t known from the day she’d been born. They certainly had a lot to discuss. She glanced at Donny Joe. Why was he here again? The will hadn’t said a word about him. She looked at Mr. Starling expectantly.
“You said there were provisions that concerned Donny Joe, Mr. Starling. I don’t understand.”
Mr. Starling cleared his throat again and picked up another file. This one was two inches thick. He opened it carefully and sighed. “As I said, your grandmother’s will was written over three years ago. Since then circumstances have changed.”
“In what way?” Belle asked glancing up from her phone.
“Over the last few years your grandmother has struggled some to make ends meet and to put it simply, the house is no longer hers alone to bequeath.”
Etta scooted forward to the edge of her chair again. “What do you mean? Of course it’s hers. And she would have told me if she was having problems.”
“Well, why don’t you explain, Donny Joe?”
She turned her head slowly taking in the tall man sitting beside her.
He wasn’t smiling anymore, and he seemed all business now. “Your grandmother approached me about turning her house into a money-making venture to offset some of her expenses. A Bed and Breakfast to be exact. You may have noticed some of the renovations that have already taken place.”
Actually she had noticed and thought her grandmother had gone off on one of her many remodeling kicks. She was always repainting the walls and changing the drapes. “A Bed and Breakfast? Was this her idea or yours, Mr. Ledbetter? I assume you have some financial interest in this project? That must be the reason you’re here this morning.” Her tone suggested she was speaking to the lowest form of dirt—a dirty, low-down, sleazy, cheating scumbag who’d taken advantage of her sweet grandmother’s trust.
Mr. Starling stood up. “Ms. Green, let me assure you that this was your grandmother’s idea, but yes, at this point Donny Joe has made a substantial investment that can’t be recovered if the work isn’t completed. Your grandmother’s greatest fear was that she’d lose the family home altogether, and now with her untimely death everything is up in the air unless you two are willing to follow through with her wishes.”
Etta glanced at Belle, who seemed bored by the whole proceeding, then turned back to the two men. “So,” she asked tightly, “what’s the bottom line here? Where does that leave us?”
“It means Donny Joe is already part owner of your grandmother’s house. If you and your sister don’t honor the existing contracts and open the Bed and Breakfast as scheduled, he will own it all.”
“Sweet, sassy, and oh, my yes—sexy! Molly Cannon’s debut AIN’T MISBEHAVING is delicious fun! If you like Susan Elizabeth Phillips and Kristan Higgins, you’ll love Molly Cannon.”
—Mariah Stewart, New York Times bestselling author of Hometown Girl
THE DISH
Where authors give you the inside scoop!
From the desk of Cynthia Garner
Dear Reader,
You’ve now met several characters from my Warriors of the Rift series, and in SECRET OF THE WOLF you get to know Dante MacMillan and Victoria Joseph. Dante’s a man with a lot of people depending on him, from his colleagues to his sister, who’s just getting over chemotherapy treatments and an unexpected divorce—as well as three lovely four-legged friends named Big Ben, Studmuffin, and Sugardaddy.
Some of the real events that happened in the Phoenix area while I was writing this book included a huge dust storm called a haboob. The first one that blew through the area shut down Sky Harbor Airport. The monster was around 5,000 feet high when it slammed into Phoenix, but radar indicated it had reached heights of 10,000 feet prior to hitting the city. It was caused by the winds that come with our monsoon season, but instead of a rain storm the Phoenix area got a dust storm.
I think I’d rather have monsters in the form of were-wolves and vampires, thank you very much. A 10,000-foot-high wall of dust is too apocalyptic for me. (Come to think of it, I may actually prefer a zombie apocalypse over a haboob. The one we had was very reminiscent of that one scene in The Mummy. Of course, if Brendan Fraser came along for the ride…)
While Dante and Tori didn’t have to put up with monster dust storms, they did have to work with other monsters while they focused on a special project during their off-duty hours that brought them close in more ways than one.
As with Kiss of the Vampire, I have extras up on my website: a character interview with Tori, some pictures of Scottsdale where the story takes place, and a character tree showing the Council of Preternaturals and their hierarchy.
Look for the next installment, Heart of the Demon, coming soon! Finn Evnissyen may not be all he seems to be.
Happy Reading!
[email protected]
http://cynthiagarnerbooks.com
From the desk of Jill Shalvis
Dear Reader,
A few years ago, my family went camping. We brought our boat, and on the first day there, we launched it on the lake for the duration of our stay. My husband gave me my choice of driving the truck and trailer to the campsite or driving the boat across the lake to the dock. It was windy, and I’m a boat wuss, so I picked the truck. Halfway around the lake, I got the trailer stuck on a weird hairpin turn and had to be rescued by a forest ranger. He was big and tough and armed and overworked, and undoubtedly underpaid as well, but the man helped me out of a jam so my husband wouldn’t kill me. Ever since then, I’ve wanted to write a forest ranger into one of my books as a hero.
Enter Matt Bowers. Big and tough and armed and overworked and underpaid. Like my real-life hero, he also stopped and helped a damsel in distress. Of course, Matt gets a lot more in the bargain than my poor beleaguered forest ranger ever got. Matt Bowers gets waitress Amy Michaels, beautiful, tough, jaded… and in desperate need of rescuing. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Hope you enjoy watching these two warily circle each other on their path to true love. Like me, neither of them takes the easy way. I mean, what’s the fun in that?
Our family had a great summer at that lake, and it’s a great summer for me this year too with not one, but three Lucky Harbor novels. So if you enjoy AT LAST, don’t miss sexy Special Ops soldier Ty Garrison in Lucky in Love and handsome doctor Josh Scott in Forever and a Day, coming in August.
Happy Reading—all summer long!
http://www.jillshalvis.com
http://www.facebook.com/jillshalvis
From the desk of Molly Cannon
Dear Reader,
There u
sed to be a bar way out in the country where my husband and I would go with a bunch of our friends to dance on Saturday nights. We’d drive for miles and miles down these dark, unlit roads, and then in the distance we’d see the glow against the night sky from the pole lights in the parking lot. We’d pull in, the gravel crunching under our tires, and the place would be packed. After we found a place to park, we’d scramble out of our cars and head inside. The sound of country music and the smell of beer would hit us like a wave when we walked in the door. And the building—it was gigantic, a big, barn-like place—but we’d find a table and settle in for a night of two-stepping, drinking beer, and hanging out with our friends.
As I danced, I couldn’t help but do a little people watching. The women would all be dressed to the nines in their dancing outfits, trying to catch someone’s eye. The men would be on the prowl but doing their best to play it cool. I’d keep my eye on the blonde woman in the yellow dress: She’d come with one guy, but she danced with another one all night long. Or the tall, stern-looking cowboy at the bar who never took his eyes off the short, dark-haired girl in the pink shirt for a single second. She huddled up with a group of girlfriends, so I wondered if he’d ever work up the courage to ask her for a dance. There might be a couple arguing in one corner, and a couple kissing in another. It was always quite a show: love, lust, broken hearts, maybe some cheating, and a lot of hankypanky—all played out to the quick-quick, slow-slow beat of a country song. That dance hall is gone now, and the countryside has been swallowed up by neighborhoods and paved roads with streetlights, but I haven’t forgotten the nights I spent there.
So it’s no accident that the first scene of my book AIN’T MISBEHAVING takes place in a parking lot. Not just any parking lot, but the parking lot outside of Lu Lu’s, the local watering hole in Everson, Texas. When Marla Jean Bandy decides it’s time to quit spending nights home alone after her divorce, when she decides it’s time to bust out and have some fun, Lu Lu’s is just the kind of place I thought she needed. Decked out in a tight red dress and her best cowboy boots, she’s ready to get back out there and have a good time… until Jake Jacobsen, a childhood crush, shows up and tries to run interference. Marla Jean is about to find out that a parking lot on a Saturday night can be full of delicious possibilities.
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