Reckless Kiss: A forbidden, billionaire romance (stand-alone)

by Tia Louise

  “No!” Miss Jessica hisses.

  “Yes.” Ms. Irene raises her eyebrows and does a little sniff. “Now she was a ho.”

  Looking back and forth between them, I can’t help it. “Why did I think ladies were more… ladylike back then?”

  “Because you’re an idiot.” Miss Jessica snips.

  “Please don’t spare my feelings.”

  Ms. Irene starts laughing, and Mindy jogs into the room. “What’d I miss?”

  I look up at her. “Any idea where I might find Martha Landry?” The ho.

  “Well, yeah. She’s over in the east wing.”

  “Are you serious?” Standing fast, I catch her arm. “Can I see her now?”

  “Probably.”

  We take off in the opposite direction. Ms. Irene calls something after us, but I assume it’s another little dig, either about us dating or me knowing nothing about old ladies.

  She’d be right about the latter.

  Mindy checks her phone. “I guess we can see her now. I know she sleeps a lot these days.”

  It takes less than a minute to get to her room, and Mindy taps on the door. “Miss Landry?” Her voice is hushed. “Are you awake?”

  “I’m awake!” A high, wobbly voice answers, and my insides tighten.

  Could it possibly be this easy?

  We enter the room, and I look around at the papers with childish drawings taped to the walls, framed photos of teens in caps and gowns, couples in wedding attire. A thick old lady sits in a glider across from us. She’s wearing heavy, tortoise-shell glasses, and her hair is cut close to her head. She smiles broadly when we enter.

  “Hi, Miss Landry.” Mindy speaks softly in sort of a sing-song tone as we enter. I linger at the door. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Is that you, Gabriella?” She reaches out a hand, which Mindy takes. “I was just thinking about you. How is little Trixie? I bet she started walking.”

  “She’s doing good.” Mindy nods, still speaking in that quiet voice. “She took her first steps last week.”

  Straightening, I frown, trying to understand what’s happening right now. Mindy doesn’t have a child…

  “You’re so sweet to come and see me. Is that Roy with you?” She leans to the side, peering at me over her glasses. “My word, if I’d known the mayor was coming, I’d have had my hair done.”

  “Come say hello, Roy.” Mindy makes eyes at me, and I walk over to shake the old lady’s hand.

  “Hi.” I smile, not sure what to say. “How’s it going?

  “How are things down at the courthouse?” I look at Mindy for help. She just tilts her head to the side like play along.

  “Oh… Ah, you know…” I’m trying to think. “Same old same old… Files and fingerprints.”

  Mindy snorts, and I squint at her. She did not prepare me to role-play.

  “Did you get my note about that pothole over on Pine Street? I nearly broke an axle on Tuesday.”

  “Um… Yes. I did.” Mindy’s eyebrows rise in approval. “I put my best man on it.”

  “It better not be that Jimmy Hebert.” The old lady scowls, shifting in her seat. “All he does is stand around and flirt. He doesn’t do a bit of work.”

  “I’ve heard about him.” I do my best to sound mayoral, wondering how to get out of this. “I’ll have a talk with him this afternoon in my office.”

  “You do that.” She sniffs and moves on to her next complaint. “That Salinas boy was picking his nose again. Tossing newspapers and picking his nose. I have to wash my hands every time I touch my paper.”

  She goes on longer than I’d like, until finally Mindy finds an exit strategy. “I’d better get the mayor back to work. Important town business.”

  “Well, thanks for visiting.” Miss Landry huffs, shifting in her chair. “You’ve got my vote next year.”

  Mindy promises to bring the baby next time. We’re out in the hall when she snorts a laugh. “Files and fingerprints?”

  “You could’ve told me she has Alzheimer’s before we barged in there.”

  “You didn’t ask!” Mindy does her best to stifle more laughter. “You sounded like a pretty good mayor. I’d vote for you!”

  “At least I’m familiar with the town.” We stop at the reception desk, and I put my hands on my hips. “What now?”

  “You’re trying to find a baby born seventy years ago? Why not just go to the courthouse, Mayor?”

  “I have a feeling it wasn’t recorded. I don’t know of any uncle or aunt on my father’s side besides Winnie, and it’s not her.”

  Mindy reaches behind the desk and grabs her purse. “Come on. One of the benefits of working here is I know just about all the doctors and nurses at the hospital. Maybe one of them can help us find this baby.”

  “We just don’t keep records that old here at the hospital.” The young woman behind the desk makes a disappointed face that kind of annoys me. “A birth certificate or death certificate would’ve been filed at the courthouse.”

  “Assuming one was filed.” It’s possible my annoyance is showing.

  Her smile tightens. “Are you implying the hospital did something illegal?”

  “Of course not. Thanks for your help.” Mindy grabs my arm and pulls me out of the small office. “Don’t piss off the clerks. I need them.”

  “Sorry.” I shove a hand in my hair exhaling a low growl. “It’s like the answer is right here, and I just can’t find it.”

  “Come on.” We head out to her waiting Prius. “Let’s go to the courthouse. We should’ve started there first.”

  Ten minutes later, it’s the same story. No records. Only apologies.

  “Told you.” We’re walking to Mindy’s car, and I’m ready to accept defeat.

  “It might help if we knew the year this mystery baby was born. You’re sure your aunt doesn’t know anything?”

  “I’m sure she won’t talk about it if she does.” The air is steamy, and I shrug off my blazer. “The last time I asked her about my grandfather, she said she was too young, no one told her anything.”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  Frustration tightens my chest. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I’m sorry this was a wild goose chase.”

  “I don’t know why I expected anything different.” I think about my family’s mansion. That big old ancient place. I wonder if something might be hidden there… “Maybe I should just go home.”

  It’s a short drive to Pine Hills. Mindy parks in the administrative lot, and I’m about to head to my car when a high-pitched voice warbles my name. “Deacon! Oh, Deacon! You, there!”

  We look up to see Miss Jessica scuffling through the electric double doors with Ms. Irene on her arm. I glance at Mindy, and we jog to where the pair are creeping closer.

  “Hey, what are you doing? Trying to escape?” I catch Ms. Irene’s arm.

  “Deacon, thank heavens.” She holds onto me, and I do a slow U-turn, escorting her back inside. “I thought you left.”

  Mindy is behind us scolding Miss Jessica. “You can’t leave the premises without a nurse. You know that.”

  “I know that, Melinda Claire!” Miss Jessica fusses right back. “Irene was beside herself trying to catch up to you kids. I was keeping her safe.”

  “What’s wrong?” I look at the blind lady holding my arm.

  “You ran off so fast, I never got to finish.” Inside, I help her sit on a small sofa. “Martha won’t remember anything, but her daughter Vandella works with the ladies’ auxiliary.” She places a hand on her chest, catching her breath. “They keep the unofficial town history. If anybody would know, it would be her.”

  I look at Mindy, who’s watching her carefully. “Are you sure, Ms. Irene? It was a long time ago.”

  “I’m sure if there’s any record, she’d have it. The auxiliary has old diaries and letters.” She gives her friend a scolding look. “You should have given them that old box instead of telling Noel to throw it away.”
r />   “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

  I put my hand on Mindy’s arm. “No, it’s okay. Where do we find Vandella?”

  “I tried to tell you, but you ran off so fast.” She turns to me. “She works at the library, of course. It might be too late to see her today, but you could call.”

  Glancing at the clock, it’s almost five. I can’t believe we’ve spent the entire day running all over this tiny town when the answer was at the library.

  “I’ll call her in the morning.”

  “Shew, well, that’s settled, I’m starving.” Ms. Irene stands, holding out her hand. “Let’s go eat, Jessica.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Irene.” Mindy looks at me, shaking her head. “Let me know if you need my help tomorrow. And tell us what happens.”

  “You bet.”

  Looks like I’m spending another night in Harristown. Reaching in my coat, I pull out my phone to message Angel.

  14

  Angel

  It’s been three days since I started working on Winnie’s portrait. I’ve finished her hair, face, and torso, and I’ve started blocking in the background. I confess, I’m pushing as fast as the oil paint and oscillating fan will allow.

  I arrive with Rosalía at seven in the mornings and work until lunch, then I take a break and return in the evenings around supper time. Sometimes Winnie sits in the room and reads while I work. I’m tempted to ask her why she doesn’t just check the surveillance cameras Rose told me she has, but I don’t.

  Deacon is still in Harristown on his mysterious quest, which actually is okay. I’m not sure if he’ll approve of me working with Winnie. He always acts embarrassed the few times she comes up—not that I blame him. She’s the type of relative you want to hide.

  It’s seven at night, and I’m testing the paint, frowning that it’s still damp. Dammit. I’m ready to be finished here, out of this house, and away from how hopeless it makes me feel about uniting our families.

  “Have you had dinner?” Winnie’s voice is behind me.

  My hands tighten on the brushes. “Are you speaking to me?”

  “Do you see anyone else in the room?” Her voice is sharp, but when my eyes cut to her, she looks away, around the room, almost as if she’s embarrassed. “Anyway, if you’re hungry, you could join me for a little something… nothing fancy.”

  We’re seated around one end of a mahogany table long enough for twenty, waiting for the servers to bring out our food. Winnie is at the head, and I’m to her right. The room is enormous, with the same wood-paneled walls and a massive fireplace with an actual fire burning. I realize the air-conditioner must be turned to full blast because I’m not hot at all. Global warming much?

  Glasses of white wine are beside each of our chargers, but I won’t touch mine. I don’t want to give her more ammunition to use against me.

  “My nephew usually has dinner with me once a week. When he’s in town.” Her voice is wistful. “Deacon is like a son to me.”

  My lips press together, and I do my best to keep my expression neutral. “That’s nice.”

  “He’s a wonderful boy… Man. He’s a wonderful man.” Leaning back, she lifts the heavy crystal goblet of wine and takes a sip. “It’s so hard to let them grow up.”

  She doesn’t seem to be talking to me, so I look down at my hands in my lap. The door in the back-left corner opens, and a woman enters carrying two shallow bowls. She places each one in front of us, and another woman is behind her carrying smaller plates of chopped grapefruit, and what looks like two different types of oranges.

  Leaning closer, I study my plate. Is this…

  “I have a chef, but this is actually my own special recipe.” She lifts a fork of the pale beige and yellow dish, and I don’t even need her to tell me. “It’s baked macaroni and cheese… and I put an egg in the sauce before baking.”

  She grins like it’s so amazing to eat baby food.

  “Is that so?” I manage to smile. “Would you mind if I just grab my bag? I left it in the room where I paint.”

  Her brow wrinkles, and I can tell she’s preparing to find some reason to say no. Too late, I’m out of my chair fast, hustling to the room where I left my purse beside my art supplies. I swipe it off the floor and quickly dash to the enormous dining room before she has a chance to finish that sentence.

  “Are you taking medication?” She’s still frowning as I feel around for the small bottle of Tabasco sauce I keep for emergencies.

  “No, thank goodness.” Giving the dish a few hits, I toss a few dashes on the citrus as well for good measure. “Would you like some Tabasco?”

  “You put hot sauce on your fruit?”

  “Try it sometime.” Smiling, I give the two dishes a stir and take a bite of her signature baby food. “Delicious!”

  She makes a dismissive noise, lifting her wine glass for another sip. “You people and your hot sauce.”

  “Tabasco is from Louisiana. Avery Island, to be exact.” If the Lord is testing me, I intend to pass the test. “Mr. McIlhenny, the Scots-Irishman who invented Tabasco sauce also brought the nutria rat to the United States. They escaped in the 1930s during a hurricane, and now you can find them as far away as Oregon.”

  “I’d rather not discuss rats during dinner, if you don’t mind.” She takes a bite of her bland signature dish.

  “They’re actually more like beavers with big, orange teeth.” I take a bite of the citrus, and exhale a happy noise. “Speaking of orange, this is delicious.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” She is not smiling. She’s sitting erect with one hand at her neck as if she’s protecting herself.

  I decide not to inform her people in Louisiana eat nutria. I’ve had enough fun, and I’m pretty sure she won’t make the mistake of inviting me to dinner again.

  The sound of forks lightly clinking china is the only noise as an awkward silence falls over the table. I press my lips together as I chew, studying the life-sized painting of a cattle drive hanging on the opposite wall. It’s gorgeous, with red-browns, oranges, and yellow highlights.

  My dinner is almost done, and I start to make an excuse to get back to work when Winnie breaks in. “You said your uncle is a used car salesman?”

  “He owns a car dealership.” I manage to keep the irritation out of my voice.

  “What does your father do?”

  Blinking down, I hold my expression neutral. “He died when I was a little girl.”

  “Oh.” She glances at her plate. “I suppose that’s more common in your community.”

  Our eyes meet, and I’m this close… Instead, I smile. “What do you and your nephew talk about when he visits?”

  “Deacon?” A smile breaks across her face. “This and that. Finance mostly. That’s his line of work. He’s a financial adviser. Some would call him a wealth adviser.”

  I tell myself I can tolerate this woman because she’s so obviously proud of the man I love.

  She continues wistfully. “I hope one day he settles down with a nice, Texas girl.”

  “Is that so?” So many snappy replies are on the tip of my tongue, but I want this job—and I am a nice Texas girl. So I stand and place my napkin beside my plate. “Thank you so much for dinner. I really should get back to work now.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want to block the muse.”

  Or cause me to take longer than fifty hours… I leave the room quickly. The door closes, and I fall back against it exhaling deeply. Of all the unpleasant dinners… A quick mental reminder of how much she’s paying me is all it takes to get me moving, heading to the room where I can get this fucking job done.

  It’s after eleven when the car drops me in front of Beto’s enormous mansion. My brother bought me a Lyft card because his sister “doesn’t ride the bus,” which I like to imagine him saying in Lourdes’s exaggerated Beto-voice.

  To be honest, I’m not complaining. I’d be broke paying for my own rides, and I don’t like catching the bus late at night. Not to mention, I�
��m exhausted. My eyes are tired from working on the portrait all day, and my brain is tired from dodging Winona Clarke land mines.

  Instead of digging out my keys, I walk around to the backyard, nearly jumping out of my skin when I see the orange tip of a cigarette in the shadows. My purse falls off my shoulder, and my brother steps into the light.

  “Jesus, why are you lurking around back here?” I pull my bag up my arm, annoyed.

  “I don’t like the smell of cigarettes in the house.” My brother walks to the patio, lifting a tumbler of what I assume is his usual Mezcal.

  “Then why don’t you quit?”

  “Why are you coming home so late?”

  I exhale heavily, heading to the back door. “I’m working. You know this.”

  “Hang on.” He sits in a metal chair. “Sit with me for a minute.”

  I stop at the door. “Beto, I’m really tired, and I have to get up at six-thirty to catch a ride with Rosalía.”

  “Why is this woman making you work so hard?”

  “She’s not. I just want to finish as soon as possible.” It’s not entirely true. Winnie still has this idea I shouldn’t need more than a week or two, and the last thing I want is her assuming I’m lazy.

  “Sit down. I want to talk to you.” He leans back in his chair, and my shoulders drop.

  Walking slowly to the metal table, I sit on the edge of the chair across from him.

  “What?” I don’t try to keep the annoyed tone out of my voice.

  He frowns. “Don’t act like a child.”

  “Stop treating me like a child.”

  He takes a drag, causing the orange tip of his cigarette to fire brighter. “I know you think I’m being too hard on you.” He exhales before continuing. “You have to trust me, Carmie. I know what’s best in this situation.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” His dark eyes level on mine. “Honor is all we have here. These people judge us before they even know who we are… that’s why it’s called prejudice.”

  “Please don’t give me a lesson in English. You pre-judged Deacon without even giving him a chance—”