“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Lucky held onto his duffel bag while extending his hand as he had earlier to Trista.
“Lucky, that’s an interesting name.” Gramma smiled and ushered him in. They stopped near the dining table, which had already been set for the next morning’s breakfast. “Is that short for something?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s what my father and uncle call me when they’re in a good mood.” He held his full lips tight but the corners of his mouth still curved upward. Like he couldn’t help but smile. Geez, his happiness was just too damn bright for her right now. Too different from how she felt inside. This guy would never understand where they were about to go, where she came from. Maybe that was best. She straightened one of the lace doilies on the table and tried to be patient.
“Oh, well what do they call you when they’re not?” Gramma talked to him so easily. Aside from the nature of the questions, they sounded like they’d known each other for generations.
“Lucas Dylan Mason, ma’am, amongst other things I probably shouldn’t share.”
Gramma smiled. She seemed to appreciate Lucky’s lighthearted humor but was she okay with the way he kept looking at her sweet pea? Trista went a bit further into the home, checking the thermostat and waiting near the hallway when Gramma kindly chimed in, “Trista Jeane can show you to your room, son.” Her softened features indicated things were just fine.
Trista led Lucky down the narrow hallway to the guest room. His bag bumped the wall as he towered over her, following closely behind. When she stopped to check if he’d knocked into one of Gramma’s antique plates, he nearly stepped on her. “Sorry,” he whispered.
She frowned and then continued to the room.
“So, you’re a Mason, not a James?” How exactly were Jaxon and Lucky cousins? And why had she never heard of him before?
Lucky glanced to the only empty corner in the room.
“There’s fine,” she said, standing in the doorway, her arms hanging loosely to her sides, waiting for his reply. He set his bag down and came back to her.
“Our fathers are brothers, but Jaxon uses his stepfather’s last name.”
She waited for more to follow but it didn’t come. Of course now she wanted to know why. Lucky looked out the window then, peering through the white lace curtains that had hung there for as long as she could remember.
He seemed to be dodging any further questions on his and Jaxon’s relations. She was about to try another angle when he grinned and asked, “So, Trista Jeane, huh? Couldn’t get much more country than that, could ya?”
“Yeah.” She cringed and then made a new offer, deciding to be nice for now. “So are you hungry or thirsty? I could get you a Coke or lemonade. Gramma doesn’t allow any alcohol in her home. You can rot your teeth to hell on syrupy soda but don’t even think about coming in here if you’ve been drinking.”
He obviously hadn’t been or else Gramma would have smelled it on his breath. It said a lot, being he’d been waiting for her at a bar.
Lucky accepted the offer of lemonade, all the while giving her that country boy grin. Smiles like that were trouble. It made her feel like he found her explanations humorous, like he found her interesting.
They left the pastel pink, flower wallpapered room after Lucky thoughtfully turned off the lamp near the head of the bed and headed toward the kitchen. Gramma was turning off the lights in the living room as they passed by her. She huddled herself in a thick housecoat and slippers.
“Sweet pea, I’m off to bed. Lucky, we’re glad to have you.”
“Ma’am, thank you for having me.” Lucky held out his hand to her again and she patted it between her two smaller and much thinner ones.
“All right, I’ll see you two in the morning for breakfast. Trista Jeane, you can sleep with me if you don’t want to be on the couch.”
“Yes, ma’am. Good night, Gramma.” Trista remembered back to the time when she’d first come to live here. The whole of that first summer she’d needed not to be left alone in bed at night. She rubbed her bare arms up and down until she realized it wasn’t cold.
She turned to the living room and found Lucky perusing the shelf of 1940’s soda pop bottles in Gramma’s glass cabinet. The way he stood there, hands in his pockets, leaning in as closely as he could to the glass, he seemed impressed. And sweet. If she hadn’t been so reluctant and irritated at having him thrown into her private plans, she might have tried to enjoy his company a bit more.
She studied him as he walked over to the large back window and pulled at the drapes. “It looks like a really nice night out,” he said.
“It is. I mean, for here, anyway.”
“What do you mean, for here?” He ran long fingers over his pretty hair, stopping at the gathering of a rubber band. She wondered what it looked like loose and if he was touchy about people having their hands in it the way she was with hers. Still, something so soft looking would have to feel pretty damn amazing sliding through her fingers.
“We don’t exactly have what you would call weather where I live now.” She had followed him to the window while keeping a slice of distance.
“Oh that’s right, California.” He said it as if the state’s name conjured up unfamiliar and spooky images.
Hedging around the couch, she came closer to him. “Have you ever been there?” Would he dare say something derogatory about the place she now called home? Didn’t he know she was the only one allowed to do that?
“No, I can’t say I have.” Was he amused at her moxie, the way she stood closer to him now, one hand harnessed to the back of her hip, the other hanging loosely without care?
“Then what’s with the shaky ghost voice? You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
He started to take a step back but instead just dipped his head down and then back up. “I wasn’t. I mean, you’re right. I haven’t been there but I’m looking forward to it—now.” There it was again, his completely disarming smile. Damn his bloodline.
Why had Jaxon never mentioned Lucky? Lucky, who at this point, seemed completely harmless. It was strange but then she, better than most, knew that dirt was usually brushed under the rug and not over it. “Would you like to sit out on the porch? It is nice out.” Her invitation piqued him. She could tell, the way his neck and shoulders straightened and he rubbed at his jeans pockets. Boys were so easy to read.
He picked up his glass and followed her through the kitchen, toward the rear of the home and then out onto the porch. Carefully, she closed the back door, not wanting to wake Gramma. Water flowed just loud enough to hear at the nearby creek. She walked down the porch steps to where there were a few large rocks, perfect for sitting, facing toward the obsidian trickling in the distance.
“Is that a creek I hear?” he asked. She wasn’t surprised that his country ears would pick up so instinctively on the sound.
“Yeah, see back there, behind the cut wood pile and those rocks.” She pointed.
“I like the sound of the water. There’s one like that by my house.” He looked at her now, giving up on straining to see into the darkness.
“Oh yeah, where’s that?” she asked, genuinely curious to know more about this secret cousin who in no way was from Australia like Jaxon.
“About two hours south of here.” He rattled off the names of a few major rivers near his town that she’d never heard of. That tune from earlier toyed with her tongue for another hum but somehow “Long, Tall Tennessean” didn’t have quite the same ring or appeal. Anyhow, she was just as happy to keep thoughts of music on a shelf. Jaxon and the guys would be her life when she got back to Cali.
Lucky sat down on his portion of their rock, resting his forearms on raised knees. The moonlight did appealing things to his hair, making it look so soft, even while pulled back. She began to imagine him in some innocent Americana-country scene but an unexpected flash of curiosity snuck up on her. What would a guy with all that pretty hair look like when he was making love? She’d bet his waves wou
ld fall into his face as he pushed in and eased out of some sweet, hometown girl who would then tuck some of the longer pieces back behind his ear for him. Holy cow, she apparently needed a date if she was now ogling angelic country boys.
Angelic? Who was she kidding? Trista remembered the girl’s flirty voice from their earlier time on the phone. Not in the least shy about asking him, she brushed some damp dirt from the fabric of her Mary Jane shoes and then began, “So Lucky, who was that girl…” when Lucky reached over and settled his fingers over hers.
She laughed it off because she had no idea what else to do with the confusing little gesture.
“Why are you laughing?” he asked in a way that challenged her to be nicer.
“Sorry.”
“What? People don’t hold hands in California?”
Well, she couldn’t speak for the whole state, but in her little rock star corner of it, no, they didn’t have much use for hand holding. “Not so much and aren’t you just a little fast for the average small town country boy? Didn’t we just meet an hour ago?”
He smiled one of those “I’ve never even been to the ocean” kind of smiles like she’d seen on so many ambitious kids taking their first strut down Sunset Boulevard. For a moment, she balked at being the one who would deliver him there.
“Trista, I’m not a little anything. And I’m no boy. Just tryin’ to be nice.”
Maybe Lucky wasn’t the typical male she’d figured him to be. A second later, he leaned over like he was about to kiss her, making it pretty damn clear that he was. Sometimes it sucked being right about the opposite sex. But then again, predictability was safe.
The nighttime dew covering their rock helped her to slide a few inches away from him. Lucky drew back as well. He had certainly caught her off guard with that attempt.
“I thought you hand-holding types at least saved the first kiss until the third or fourth date. It would be really disappointing to find out you’re more like your cousin than I thought.”
That got a chuckle out of him but he refused to look at her, like he was embarrassed.
He laced his fingers into a steeple, reminding her of the childhood song her momma had sung to her over and over. “Trista, I wasn’t trying to kiss you. I just wanted a closer look.”
Huh? No, he had tried to kiss her. Nice try. “At what? My teeth? You know what? It’s no big deal.” An intense desire to turn away from him boiled her blood but she refused to let him know she’d been curious of what such a sudden and unexpected kiss would feel like coming from her best friend’s cousin.
Sincerity like she hadn’t seen in a long time stared at her. “Your eyes. They remind me of my mother’s.”
“Oh.” It was the least she could say in the face of all that…regret? “Thank you.” She stumbled over what else to share. He had morphed so quickly from stranger to guest that she didn’t know if their timing would ever be right. One always ahead of the other and one behind.
The dew coating their rock seats had begun to soak through her thin dress and she was fairly certain things were done for the night. At his nodding in apparent agreement, she gathered the bottom of her short dress and tucked it along the back of her thighs, lifting up from the large stone. Him reaching out his hand to help her the rest of the way up was such a foreign notion that she faltered. One unbalanced step she took toward accepting his offer sent her right down into the pile of rocks.
“Ow!” That was smooth. “Dang it.”
Lucky knelt down to help her up. The only thing he was getting was the bend of her elbow because that burning gouge she could already feel heating up was staying protectively hidden behind her back.
“Let me see, Trista.”
“No thanks. Let’s just go inside.”
The long, tall Tennessean took up a solid stance blocking her way to Gramma’s porch steps. “Please. I just wanna take a look. You don’t want to drip blood all over your grandma’s floor, do you?”
How did he know it was bleeding? She glanced back at the enemy clan of rocks and saw there was indeed a half of a hand-print outlined in dark wet goo. Her palm throbbed behind her back and she knew she had to give in. No way would she bloody Gramma’s rugs. She jutted it toward him for inspection.
With a quick glance around, he found Gramma’s watering jug that had caught the previous night’s rainfall and rinsed the wound with it. She tried to hold it steady for him but appreciation for what he was doing sucked out all her tough girl grit. He then went for a handful of packed soil from a nearby planter and applied it gently over the shredded layers of skin. He grabbed her uninjured hand and placed it on top of the mound. “Hold your hands together like you’re flattening out a hamburger patty. Keep it packed tight. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” she whispered. He disappeared. Where was he going? To the woods to find tree sap to seal the wound? Did it matter? No. As long as he came back. That was what she wanted. For him to come back and…hold her hand.
“Here we go.” Lucky took her cupped hands and pried them open, then brushed off the clumped soil. He used the last of the rainwater from Gramma’s jug to rinse her palm again. Then he did his best to blot it clean and dry with the bottom of his baby blue shirt.
“Where did you go just now?”
“Huh?” He continued to blot at her wound. “Oh, I was just looking for something soft.” He glanced down.
That was why he’d used his shirt. His pretty blue one that had worked to calm her again. She’d get him a new one in town tomorrow.
“Well, I think that’s as good as I’m gonna get it out here. We should go inside and clean it for real.”
She was staring. The girl who played with boys but was never fazed by them was staring at him like he was her guardian angel and she was his beauty school dropout. This was so wrong. Instantly she needed to be Trista Hart, tough as nails assistant to Jaxon James and the crude guys of Sin Pointe. Able to strut her way into any VIP club’s backroom and snatch the guys out before they damaged themselves too badly.
She wiped her hand roughly against her dress, gritting her teeth the whole while, and looked Lucky straight in the eyes as she did so. “Well go on in, then.”
“Um, okay. What’s that all about?” he asked, pointing to her hurt hand, not following her lead up the steps yet.
“You would never understand, Lucky. And it’s late.”
“Hold on a second. Did I do something wrong again?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” And crap, her voice had just cracked. She flung her arm in a hasty and not-smart move to turn and stomp up the stairs. As it swung, her hand caught on the railing. “Ow!”
Lucky was there in a second, soaking up the fresh flow of blood onto his shirt again. “Geez, Trista.”
That was apparently all he could say. She realized he might even be thinking of catching a ride to California with a non-crazy person at this point. Which was entirely for the best. For both of them. A vision of laying flowers at her momma’s side of the grave while spitting curses at the other half while golden and happy Lucky stood behind her just didn’t sit well.
“There. Now you can go inside,” he said solemnly.
He’d stopped the bleeding, again. Unfortunately, she was wound so tight that he wouldn’t be getting another thank you out of her tonight.
Before they made it inside, he paused and put his hands on his hips. “Wait, can I just ask you something first?”
With a huff, she answered him hastily. “What?”
“What exactly did I do to you tonight? I mean, aside from trying to hold your hand, which I get, is apparently the grossest thing a guy could do to a girl.” Then under his breath, “Jaxon didn’t mention you were this upset.”
Yep. There it was. The explanation for why Lucky was being so “nice” to her.
“What exactly did Jaxon say about me?”
Lucky just shook his head as if he’d suddenly fallen to a severe case of amnesia. “Nothing bad.”
“Lucky.” Keep the hurt in the pit of your stomach, Trista. Don’t let him see it. “Tell me what Jaxon told you.”
Angry betrayal at what Jaxon might have disclosed to his cousin made her sore hand explode with more sting.
In another move she had no instinctive response for, Lucky took her torn up hand into his and held it gently. “He said you needed a friend. That he didn’t want you to be alone on this trip. And that I better take good care of you.” He carefully wiped at a smudge of dirt that hadn’t been rinsed away. “That’s all I’m trying to do, I swear.”
She could strangle Jaxon for his loose lips.
Without reason that would make sense to anyone in this trailer park, she looked him straight in the eyes and did what had to be done. She had to be the one in control here. Not Jaxon, not Lucky. Her.
If surprise had a taste, it would be his lips as she pulled his head down and kissed him.
* * * *
Her two insistent hands pressed against the back of his neck like she was forcing him to do this. It was cute. Yeah, she was dead wrong. He’d wanted to kiss her since he’d first seen her, hopping down out of that girly silver Jeep. But he knew better. Earning something you wanted took more than a few hours. And if he’d gathered anything from her hot and cold responses so far, it was that Jaxon’s vague but deliberate warning that he take good care of her hadn’t been just puffed up, ego talk.
This girl was in trouble.
He should have stepped away for both their sakes. He knew he didn’t deserve this kind of kiss, not yet. But California was glued to him on full speed and didn’t appear to have a pause, let alone a rewind button. On second thought, he’d let her get this out of her system and then they’d start over.
Her hand had to be killing her, so he managed to pull it down and keep it tucked at her side. But the other one was petting those hairs at the back of his neck, leaving him seconds away from coming undone. If he clenched his jaw any tighter, those painful yet ticklish sensations shooting throughout his upper body would without a doubt get him into trouble down below. Heck, if he squeezed her in his arms like he wanted to, she’d feel how aroused he’d let himself get. He worked his jaw to ease away from the pain, wishing he could let go entirely and enjoy her touch. Yep, their fresh start was gonna have to wait until she was done proving her point. Cute girl though.
Sidewalk Flower Page 2
