“Geez, I’m glad you’re on my side.”
Tally returned with two steaming mugs. The smell alone was enough to galvanize him.
“Are you two actually dating? Or was this a one-time thing to relive the past?”
He averted his face from her piercing green gaze. Was Regan riddled with regret over their night together? “I don’t know what she wants, but I hope it’s not a one-time thing.”
“You’ll figure it out. You’ve got an engineering degree for goodness’ sake.”
“If only she came with an instruction manual.”
They shared a moment of silence. Regan was a puzzle that wouldn’t be solved over a cup of coffee with his sister. However, there was something else Tally might be able to help him with.
“So you and Heath had a volatile relationship.” He poked at the old wound as gently as possible.
Although she didn’t move, tension flowed from her and colored her voice. “You could say that. Why?”
“He doesn’t seem like the most reliable, upstanding guy.”
“Agreed.”
“In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got in trouble with the law eventually.”
“Are you trying to make me feel like an idiot for dating him or are you going to get to your point?”
“Sorry, sis. The thing is…” Sawyer spun the coffee cup in his hands.
“Ohmigoodness, spit it out.”
He raised his gaze to hers, wanting to gauge her reaction. “Could Heath be behind all the trouble we’re having with the festivals?”
Her eyes flared and her mouth dropped. She blinked a few times. “I mean, is he capable? Certainly. But why?” Surprise trumped her exasperation.
“I’ve been turning that very question over in my head. Regan thinks Heath might be the man she saw out at her mama’s a couple of weeks ago.”
“I didn’t think she saw whoever it was.”
“She didn’t see his face, but she gave chase. Knows his build, the way he moves. Apparently, her pageant experience made her an expert on the way people carry themselves.”
Tally tapped her fingers on the tabletop, betraying her agitation. “Heath can be a scary dude. Intimidating. But what does he have to gain? Unless someone is paying him to wreck things.”
Sawyer opened and closed his mouth. Was Heath the muscle and someone else the mastermind? Come to think of it, he couldn’t imagine Heath sitting around cutting and gluing letters into a vague threat.
Tally glanced toward the clock and rose. “I’ve got to go. You need to talk about anything else?”
He followed her out the kitchen door. “You don’t know where Heath is living, do you?”
“Nope. I cut that cancer out of my life. Banned him from the gym and threatened him with a restraining order.”
Sawyer hid his shock. While he was aware things had gotten hairy between Tally and Heath, he hadn’t understood the extent. “He hasn’t hassled you since?”
“He wouldn’t dare,” she said darkly, almost as if she wanted him to try. “His mom and dad might know where he’s holed up. Or his buddy Bryce.”
Sawyer waved her off and retreated to change clothes. He had two choices, go find Heath or go find Regan. The way she hightailed it out of his bed that morning might have set a world land-speed record.
Figuring out whether Heath had been involved would give him an excuse to seek her out later. Maybe then he’d know what to do or say. He pulled out his phone and texted Cade. He was pulling up to Monroe’s Craftsman-style house less than twenty minutes later. Cade opened the front door before he had the chance to knock. The smell of pancakes and bacon drew him in like a siren’s song.
“Grab a plate, I’m making extra.” Cade walked back around the counter and flipped the golden circles. Monroe was nowhere to be seen.
Feeling like a kid again, he stood next to Cade, holding an empty plate. He let Cade spatula every single one onto his plate. The sly smile on Cade’s face didn’t escape his notice, but he didn’t care. His brother added two strips of bacon cooked just the way he liked it.
Sawyer took a seat at the bar, covered the pancakes in syrup, and took a bite. A blast of memories spun in his head—all good. First, waking to the smell of pancakes on a Sunday morning and emerging from his bedroom to find his mama in a robe in the kitchen. Then, Cade continuing the tradition after they’d moved to the crappy trailer. His brother coming off a third shift, him and Tally waking in the back bedroom they shared to the smell of frying bacon. The laughter and stories they all shared over the scarred table that had sat in his childhood home, the trailer, and now his house.
“You always made the best pancakes. What’s your secret?”
“Love.” Cade winked and an unexpected burn of tears crawled up Sawyer’s throat. It had been the answer their mama had always given too.
Sawyer dropped his head and shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth to camouflage the sudden tumble of emotions. He hadn’t cried on Cade’s shoulder since he was a kid.
Monroe emerged from the hall, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, barefooted and with damp hair. She graced him with one of her easy, sunny smiles, the opposite to Cade. Although his brother had gained a sense of lightness and tease since returning to Cottonbloom and falling in love with Monroe.
“Hey, Sawyer.”
“Sorry to steal Cade so early on a Sunday.”
Monroe took three pancakes and settled onto the bar stool next to him. “No worries. I had plans to help Regan with something anyway.” She craned her neck to try to catch his eyes, but he ignored her.
A shot of unease tensed him. What would Regan tell Monroe about their night together? A more unsettling thought pinged. Would Regan ask Monroe for advice? Or did Regan even care enough to ask? Maybe last night was a one-time thing for her. Except yesterday had changed everything for him.
A lie. Everything had changed the night she had tackled him in the dark.
He had never suffered from the kind of crippling insecurity Regan seemed to inspire. He’d never stressed about school or work or women. Why were things so different with her now? A sense of urgency had his blood thrumming. The festivals were less than two weeks away, and Sawyer had a sense he needed to have a hold on his feelings by then, but he wasn’t sure why.
He cleaned his plate, but the pancakes lost the magic they’d held earlier. He mumbled a good-bye as Monroe kissed Cade on the cheek and left.
“Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” Cade shot him a half-smile as he washed up.
“What do you mean?’
Cade shook his head. “Please. One mention of Regan Lovell, and you acted like a firing squad was in your near future. I assume last night either went spectacularly well or was an utter failure. Which was it?”
Sawyer pushed the plate toward Cade, who slipped it into the dishwasher. When had his brother become so astute in matters of the heart? He supposed he had Monroe to thank for that too.
“I thought it was A. But, the way she ran out this morning, I suspect it’s more B. Of course, the typical morning-after awkwardness was magnified by Tally’s sudden appearance.”
Cade pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, but laughter threatened to break free.
“Go ahead. I know you want to.”
A rich, booming laugh filled the kitchen, reminding Sawyer of their father and Uncle Del. “Dang, I’m sorry. Did she catch you in the act?” Cade wiped down the counters and tossed the dishrag into the sink.
“Not exactly. But Regan got dressed so fast and ran, her blouse was buttoned wrong and she was barefoot. Felt like strangling our dear sister.”
“Can’t say that I blame you, but it’s your fault for giving her a key.”
“I’m getting it back ASAP. Anyway, I’m sure Regan is going to fill Monroe’s ear, and she might tell you some stuff if you ask.” Sawyer raised his eyebrows.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to pump Monroe for information about things her best friend has told her in confidence and
pass these little nuggets along to you.”
Sawyer wagged a finger. “Exactly. Trust me, I need all the help I can get with Regan.”
“That I believe, but I doubt Monroe will spill her best friend’s secrets.” Cade poured a cup of coffee and joined him on the chair Monroe had vacated. “What do you want to do about Heath?’
Sawyer gave him a rundown of what Tally had said. “We can talk to his parents, then Bryce if we hit a dead end. Find Heath and apply some pressure. We can play good cop, bad cop.”
Cade killed his coffee. “Let’s hit it. You drive.”
Once they were on the road, Cade broke the silence. “Obviously, I’m bad cop.”
“Why obviously? Maybe I want to be bad cop. You’re here for backup.”
Cade scoffed. “Sorry, bro. You are not bad cop material. You’re too All-American and nice. It’s why you’re a good politician, while I, on the other hand, have made a fortune by being a tough asshole.”
“Charming. But, I’m not sure you’re as bad as you think you are anymore.”
Cade shifted his back against the passenger door, half-facing him. “What do you mean by that?”
“You don’t even know how whipped you are.” Sawyer barked a laugh and fluttered his eyes at Cade, and said in a singsong voice, “Oh I can’t go. I need to make pancakes for Monroe and rub her feet and draw her a bath and make all her dreams come true.”
Cade flipped him the bird. “Like you’re in any better shape.” His voice turned mocking. “Could you ask Monroe to ask Regan whether she really likes me or not? Please?”
Sawyer knuckle-punched Cade in the arm. They grappled for a moment until Sawyer curbed a tire and let go of Cade’s wrist to grip the steering wheel with both hands. He wasn’t angry or perturbed with Cade. In truth, he enjoyed the brotherly tease. It reminded him of better times, easier times.
“Fine. You’re bad cop.” Sawyer turned down the street where Heath’s parents lived.
Cade barked a laugh but was otherwise silent, maybe getting into character.
Heath’s parents lived in an aging neighborhood, but the houses were well maintained. Brick ranches interspersed with two-story wood-shingled more-stately homes.
Sawyer checked the address on his phone and pulled up to stop in front of a modest two-story brick-faced house with an immaculately manicured lawn. A foreign-made, decade-old sedan was in the driveway.
He and Cade exchanged a glance before hopping out and ringing the doorbell. A middle-aged woman with her black hair up and in a Sunday dress answered with a polite smile. “Hello, gentlemen. Can I help you?”
She hadn’t opened the screen door, so Sawyer couldn’t offer a hand, but he did offer a friendly smile. “Mrs. Parsons? My name is Sawyer Fournette. I’m the Cottonbloom Parish commissioner, and this is my brother Cade. So sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning, but we were looking for Heath. I don’t suppose he’s here.”
The woman’s smile had fallen at the mention of her son. Wrinkles deepened in the corners of her eyes and around her mouth, aging her a decade in a few seconds. “Harry, these gentlemen are looking for Heath.”
A man who was the salt to his wife’s pepper appeared, a hand smoothing white hair back from his forehead. In contrast to his wife’s initial politeness, he carried himself with a defensiveness reminiscent of his son.
“What do you want with Heath? Is he in trouble?”
“Not that I know of. We needed to talk to him is all.” Sawyer kept his smile in place.
“Has this got something to do with your sister?” Mrs. Parsons asked.
“Absolutely nothing.” Cade rumbled over his shoulder.
Mr. and Mrs. Parsons exchanged a look, but both of them had relaxed slightly. “You might as well come in.” Mr. Parsons didn’t sound welcoming, but Sawyer stepped over the threshold with a smile in place, Cade on his heels.
They settled side by side on a couch, and Sawyer waved off an offer of tea or coffee. “Looks like you’re ready for church. We don’t want to delay you. Is Heath living here? Could we come by later, perhaps?”
“He’s not.” Mr. Parsons bit the words out while Mrs. Parsons gazed off to the side.
“Do you happen to know where he’s staying?” Cade asked.
“Don’t know and don’t care.” Mr. Parsons’s voice was cold.
Mrs. Parsons made a small sound of distress. “That’s not true. We do care, but things got bad. We’re trying tough love with him.”
“What happened?” Sawyer set his elbows on his knees and leaned toward Mrs. Parsons, holding her gaze.
Her chin quivered. “He stole some money from us. Not sure if he’s into gambling or drugs or what.”
Mr. Parsons piped up. “Had problems managing his anger. Felt like his life hadn’t turned out like he’d expected. Although the boy never wanted to work for anything. Expected things to fall into his lap. I guess for a time things did. Until they didn’t.”
“You might ask Bryce. They’ve always been thick as thieves. Don’t know who else he’d turn to. Will you help him?” Mrs. Parsons’s eyes pleaded with him. To her, Heath would always be her little boy, the one who’d always need the protection of a mother. Sawyer wanted to pat her shoulder and make promises he’d be unable to keep.
“They’re not here to help Heath. Why would they help him?” Mr. Parsons muttered a curse and stormed out of the room.
Mrs. Parsons rose, her cheeks pink. “I apologize for my husband, gentlemen. He’s upset about Heath. We’re at a loss how to get through to him and steer him back to God’s path. I pray about him all the time.”
Sawyer took her hand, not in a shake but in a comforting squeeze. “Sometimes that’s all you can do. Thank you for your time.”
Sawyer stepped out of the house and took a deep breath. Once back in the truck, Cade said, “That was depressing as hell.”
“Tell me about it. Makes me want to find Heath and drag him home by the ear to apologize to his poor mama.”
Cade typed on his smartphone. “Bryce lives over in Country Aire on our side.”
Country Aire was a trailer park on a gravel loop off the main parish road. The gentrified spelling of “Aire” had always hit Sawyer with a shot of sad irony. He pulled onto the gravel lane. Any identifying trailer numbers had long been worn away or covered by grime.
“There’s Heath’s truck,” Cade said darkly.
“How’d you know what he drives?”
“Made it my business to know once I heard he was harassing Tally.”
“Why didn’t I know sooner?” Sawyer and Tally had always been close, and he wouldn’t lie and say his feelings weren’t a little hurt.
“Don’t get your shorts in a wad. Tally would rather die than depend on me or you or anyone for that matter. Monroe mentioned it.”
“See, she does tell you things.” Sawyer pulled to a stop in front of the trailer, blocking Heath’s truck.
“Let’s do this.” Cade hopped out before Sawyer even had the engine off.
Sawyer stepped up behind Cade as the trailer door squeaked open. Heath stood in the narrow space, a pit of darkness behind him, the faint scent of marijuana drifting out. The dark stubble on his face emphasized pale skin and dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.
“I ain’t talked to Tally in weeks.” His voice rumbled with equal amounts of trepidation and defiance.
“We’re not here about our sister.”
“Why then?” He didn’t seem inclined to invite them inside.
“We’re here about the festivals.”
Heath’s eyes widened before he laughed softly. His hand emerged from behind the door with a hand-rolled joint, and he took a drag. It took several seconds for the smoke to emerge out of his smiling mouth, giving him an odd Cheshire Cat vibe. “You boys looking for volunteers?”
“Not hardly.” Disdain and impatience cut Cade’s words. “You been messing with the festivals? Cutting traps? Arson? B&E? That kind of stuff isn’t child’s play. We could have the s
heriff down here with a call.”
Heath made a show of looking over their shoulders. “Why ain’t he with you, then? You don’t have any proof, am I right?”
Cade’s upper lip twitched, an old tell that he was ready to lose it.
Sawyer shuffled forward, an answering smile on his face. “We don’t want to nail you. We want to know who’s been paying you.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He took another drag, but his smile had fallen along with his gaze. Sawyer and Cade exchanged a glance.
“You got yourself some money troubles? Have you been working?”
Color flushed into Heath’s cheeks. “No, I ain’t been working. Got fired from working the harvest and your bitch of a sister banned me from her gym, so my MMA career is on the skids.”
Cade was up the two concrete steps faster than Sawyer could react. He grabbed Heath’s dingy T-shirt and slammed him into the doorjamb. “What’d you say about my sister, bub?”
“N-Nothing. Sorry.”
Sawyer didn’t intervene. It was time to let bad cop be bad.
“Who is paying you and telling you what to do, ’cuz we all know you’re not smart enough to come up with shit on your own.”
“Ms. Martha.” The name came on two short breaths. Cade eased back and let him go. The mangled remnants of the joint were on the ratty welcome mat. Heath massaged his neck and picked it up. He took another drag, the joint shaking between his fingers.
“You expect us to believe Ms. Martha, owner of the Quilting Bee, has been paying you to sabotage the festivals?” Cade asked.
“I don’t care whether you believe it or not. It’s the truth. She and my mama are in a prayer circle together. I guess Mama’s been praying for my soul. That’s how Ms. Martha knew I needed money.”
Cade muttered a curse word and walked away.
“If you call the sheriff on me, I’ll deny everything.”
Sawyer got in Heath’s face, the bitterness and resentment plain to see in the other man’s eyes. “You think Ms. Martha is going to cover for you? What are you to her except some meathead she hired to do her dirty work?”
Till I Kissed You Page 21
