A Shot of Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  At least two dozen stuffed trout adorned the wall of Bea’s chambers—their gaping mouths stretched unnaturally wide, eyes bulging and glassy, tails frozen mid-thrash—accompanied by hand nets and feathered lures that reminded Bobbi of eighties hair accessories.

  The good judge exhaled a cloud of spicy-sweet smoke from across his desk and studied her over the pipe in his withered hand. Tired of playing conversational chicken, Bobbi took one for the team and spoke first.

  “You’re taking ten years off your life, you know.” She nodded toward his pipe.

  He took a few leisurely puffs. “Yep, I reckon. But they’re the worst ten, so I figure I won’t miss ’em.”

  “But what about your family? I’ll bet they’ll miss those years.” She’d used the same argument to get Papa Bryan to quit smoking when she was fourteen. “Don’t you think you owe it to them to quit?”

  His bushy, white eyebrows pinched together, and he tapped a small heap of ashes into an armadillo ashtray that Bobbi hoped to God was a replica. Considering all the dead, mounted creatures in this room, the odds weren’t in her favor.

  “Well, the way I see it,” Bea eventually said, “I gave ’em life, a fine home, plenty’a food, and a righteous upbringin’.” Folding his arms, he nestled back into his seat. “Seems they owe me, not the other way ’round.”

  Tipping her head in acknowledgment, Bobbi traced one finger along a zebra print stripe on her skirt. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” Common sense told her to let it go, but she couldn’t resist broaching the subject of Bea’s favorite “grandbaby,” the spoiled deputy. “I can tell you do a lot for your family, especially Colton. You ever worry you’ve done too much for him?”

  If Bea ever decided to retire from the bench, he could make a sweet living playing poker. Aside from the slightest tightening of his lips, he betrayed no emotion. The casual observer never would’ve noticed, but it was all Bobbi needed to know she’d struck a nerve. She probed deeper. “He’s got a wildness in him—the kind that comes from a lifetime of overindulgence. Don’t you think it’s time to let him stand alone? Be accountable?”

  A wily smile uncurled across the judge’s lips. “Jumpin’ to a few conclusions, there, little Bo. This has nothin’ to do with Colton, though I can’t say I’m surprised to hear the boy’s been showin’ his tail.”

  “Then why the injunction?”

  “It’s you.”

  Now it was Bobbi’s turn to summon her best poker face. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “No? ’Cause I did a little diggin’, and your background’s murkier than my favorite fishin’ hole.”

  Bobbi’s whole body flashed hot then cold. The judge was bluffing—he had to be. She’d gone to great lengths to make sure the details of her scandal weren’t readily available to the public, not even for someone with Bea’s connections. She let out a breath. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but—”

  “Nothin’.” Bea kicked up his booted heels and rested them on the corner of his desk. “Pretty tight-lipped crowd you run with. You must’a had a good lawyer.”

  Not just good—the best. And she’d still be making payments to Jacob Corkwell, Esq., when her hair turned gray, and she started sporting Depends.

  “All I know,” he continued, “is you got sued by the folks at Smyth when you accused ’em of unfair labor practices. After that, the trail goes cold, and that’s more suspicious than a rap sheet. People with nothin’ to hide, hide nothin’.” He folded his hands atop his belly. “So if you wanna get the injunction lifted, you better start talkin’.”

  How much information would it take to satisfy his curiosity? She decided to start small. “I made an innocent mistake, and I paid for it. In the interest of protecting my reputation, I fought to keep things quiet. That about sums it up.”

  “Wrong answer. Try again.”

  Bobbi caught herself scrubbing her nose with the back of her wrist, so she tucked both hands beneath her thighs. “Look, I can’t have this getting out.”

  “I’ll keep it confidential. Gentleman’s honor.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “I swear it.” There was no indecision in the judge’s tone. The promise in his gaze bolstered Bobbi’s confidence. Though she didn’t know Judge Bea from Bea Arthur, she believed him.

  “Okay.” She nodded slowly and took a deep breath before exhaling. “A reliable source, who made me swear to keep his name anonymous, approached me with proof that Smyth had bought—” she leaned forward, locking eyes with Bea “—not just hired, but actually bought—migrant workers from Asia. Allegedly, Smyth was keeping them in a barracks on the job site, but it was hard to verify because the place was locked down tighter than Fort Knox.”

  With a wave of his hand, Bea encouraged her to continue.

  “Like I said, it was a reliable source, someone I’d known and trusted for years, so I was a little lax in verifying the documents and the photos. To make a long story short, my source wanted to bust Smyth so badly, he cut corners and forged some of the documents, and I had no idea.” She laughed dryly at her own ignorance. “I probably could’ve found the evidence myself if I’d slowed down and taken the time to investigate.”

  “I think I see where this is goin’.”

  “After I launched the documentary, the company sued me for libel, and we settled out of court.” She’d owe the bastards at Smyth for the rest of her life, but at least she’d insisted on a gag order under the settlement terms, so they couldn’t breathe a word about her embarrassing screw-up. All the outside world knew was that she’d been sued and pulled the documentary. “For what it’s worth, Smyth was guilty. I just couldn’t prove it.”

  “And that’s slander.”

  “So sue me.” A nervous giggle rose to her lips. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

  “Well, hell, Bo. Is that it?”

  “What do you mean, is that it? I can’t get financing for a new documentary, so I’m stuck filming Garry Goldblatt’s garbage just to pay my debts.” Correction: to make a tiny dent in her debts. “I’ve sunk from filming award-winning social commentaries to following around two bachelors while they hook up with sleazy women. And even if I nail this project, it’s no guarantee anyone’ll take me seriously again. Not to mention all those migrant workers—I don’t know if they were freed or just shuffled somewhere else. Isn’t that enough?”

  “I figured you’d done somethin’ more…well…illicit, like blackmail or extortion. Why’re you tryin’ so hard to hide this from your family?”

  Bobbi gave a soft snort and folded her arms. “Because everyone in this town assumes I’m some kind of shady criminal, just like my mother. You proved that.”

  “Now, hold up, there.” Bea lifted one hand in supplication. “You were actin’ fishy—stayin’ away twenty years without a word, then showin’ up with no good reason. That’s what made me suspicious, not your mama’s history. And everyone makes mistakes, ’specially Luke. Your kin won’t think any less of you ’cause you messed up.”

  “Don’t be so sure. We barely know each other.”

  “You gotta trust ’em with your flaws.”

  Easy for him to say—he didn’t know the extent of her flaws. He’d grown up here in this virtual Eden with Luke and June. None of them knew what it was like to pick pockets while they were still in diapers, which, embarrassingly enough, had been until the age of four for Bobbi. Add “potty training” to the list of tasks too demanding for an addict.

  “Remember, I told you this in confidence,” she said, turning her thoughts away from neglect. “So, can I start filming again?”

  “S’pose so.” He dropped both feet to the floor and opened a manila file folder. Unlike Luke’s desk, the judge’s was organized and free from clutter, each office supply neatly encased in plastic the way nature intended. While he scribbled his signature on her new license, a sudden gl
eam sparked behind his eyes and he smiled, transforming his countenance so completely Bobbi couldn’t help smiling in return. “If you’re lookin’ to tape a real love story, I’m proposin’ to Prudence at the church barbeque tonight. Five dollars a plate.” Still beaming, he blotted his signature. “Keep quiet though. It’s a surprise.”

  That wasn’t the kind of love Garry was looking for—too much small-town purity and not enough drunken wardrobe malfunctions—but Bobbi didn’t give a damn. “That’s better than speed-dating any day. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  ***

  Since Bobbi had no place to be and the fierce summer sun had given the town a reprieve today, she decided to take a stroll down Main Street, where the air was thick with the scents of cedar trees and grilling hamburgers. At eleven in the morning, it was a little early for the lunch crowd, so the only sounds competing with her clicking heels were the flap of nylon flags overhead and snippets of Mexican folk music drifting on the breeze from the Hallelujah! dance studio on the corner. A wide banner stretching between two streetlights promised free hot dogs and fireworks at the Fourth of July parade next week, while wooden signs and green awnings clamored for her attention, boasting the best prices in Sultry Springs and enough religious literature to save a legion of souls.

  Funny how the crumbling, rust-colored brick added to the town’s charm—quaint and whimsical as opposed to run-down. That same aging brick composed the urban shops back home, but with a dilapidated effect that drove shoppers to the shiny, new strip malls on the outskirts of the city.

  “Mornin’.” A middle-aged man in coveralls nodded as he passed her on the sidewalk.

  She returned his greeting with a smile and paused in front of the Sultry General Store. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she peered through the shop window, noting Texas-themed knickknacks, T-shirts, and an assortment of cowboy hats. Papa and Daddy didn’t usually go for kitschy souvenirs, but the mental image of them in matching Stetsons had her gravitating through the door with a grin on her face.

  Twenty minutes later, she left with gifts for her dads, a jar of Brimstone Barbeque Sauce for Luke, a homemade lemon pound cake for June, and a copy of The History of Sultry Springs for herself.

  “Traffic” had picked up a bit in her absence, with four cars and two pickup trucks idling at the only red light on Main Street, and about two dozen clerical workers from the courthouse had filed out in search of lunch offerings. Bobbi wasn’t hungry, but an iced mocha latte sounded good, so she headed to the coffee shop and took a seat at one of the bistro tables on the sidewalk. She’d just plunked her shopping bags into a nearby chair when she heard a familiar voice from behind.

  “Hey, boss, it’s that lady with the hot legs.”

  “Shh!” an even more familiar voice scolded. “Girls don’t like hearing stuff like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “You gotta pretend to like ’em for their personality.”

  Bobbi turned and glared at her new friend—the one she couldn’t allow herself to touch. “Actually,” she told the boy at Trey’s side, “it’s because women are more than just pretty faces or nice legs or big breasts. They’re more than the sum of their parts. They’re people with feelings and ideas, and they want to be respected. You remember that, and—”

  “—and,” Trey interrupted, “you’ll score like Michael Jordan.” After a moment of thought, he added, “But remember to keep it wrapped.”

  Bobbi balled her fists against her hips. “Don’t teach him stuff like that!”

  “Safe sex?”

  “No! The scoring part.”

  “He knows I’m kidding.” Trey ruffled the boy’s hair and asked him, “What’ve I told you about the ladies?”

  “Leave ’em be,” Carlo said with conviction. “’Cause you can’t get your hand pregnant.” He pursed his lips for a second. “I guess your hand won’t give ya an STD, either.”

  “Smart kid,” Trey said to her, nodding at his young apprentice.

  While she stewed in silence, Trey slid an appreciative gaze over her body, starting at her sleeveless blouse and ending at the tips of her four-inch, peep-toe heels. A slow grin lifted the corners of his mouth and brought both dimples out to play, leaving behind a pool of tingly heat low in Bobbi’s abdomen. She glanced away from his stunning face, but the sight of his broad shoulders and the steely contours of his chest didn’t help matters. Maybe they needed to be friends who didn’t look or touch. Hell, who was she kidding? They couldn’t be friends at all.

  “Well, um.” She glanced at his boots. At least those were safe. “I don’t want to keep you.”

  “It’s cool.” Carlo shoved both hands in the back pockets of the jeans she’d seen Trey give him a couple of weeks ago. “We’re just pickin’ up some—”

  “Nah, Gopher,” Trey said. “I don’t wanna keep you is code. It really means ‘leave me alone.’ Let’s give Miss Gallagher some peace.”

  The boy’s face fell, and Bobbi felt it like a kick to the stomach. “No,” she objected, gesturing to the two free chairs at her table, “I’d like you to stay.” She leaned forward and told Carlo, “You can’t listen to everything Mr. Lewis says. He was raised by wolves.”

  “Werewolves, actually.” Trey didn’t waste any time taking a seat. “You order yet?”

  Bobbi shook her head. “I’m just having an iced—”

  “—mocha latte. Got it.” He leaned forward to grab his wallet and handed Carlo a few bills. “Order the lady’s drink, and get whatever you want. I’ll have a Coke.” After mini-Trey loped into the café, his mentor began rifling through Bobbi’s bags. “Did some shopping, huh? Nice hats. Didn’t take you for a Stetson girl.”

  “They’re for my dads.” She smacked his hand away.

  “Did you just touch me, Bo Peep? I feel so violated right now.” He waggled his blond brows. “Does this mean I get to touch you back?”

  His sinful expression stole her breath. God, his eyes were so blue—even more so outdoors, like the color of Saint John’s Bay in the Caribbean. When he looked at her like this, all wicked and full of mischief, her heart quivered almost painfully. In all honesty, she could see herself falling for this man if she wasn’t careful. Maybe it was time to get serious about matching him with the perfect country girl, even if only for the summer.

  Those cerulean eyes darkened, scanning her face as if searching for something he’d lost. “I was just kidding. I wouldn’t do anything you don’t want me to. You know that, right?”

  “Of course. Sorry. I zoned out for a second.” The urge to scratch her nose was so strong she had to sit on her hand to tame it.

  “Good. You scared me for a minute.” He leaned back, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “How’d it go with the judge? You met with him this morning, right?”

  “Yep. The show will go on.”

  “Great. Speed-dating, can’t wait.” Trey’s flat tone contradicted his words.

  “Not tonight. We’re going to the church barbeque instead.”

  That didn’t seem to ring his bell either. “What’d the judge want? He didn’t find out about that crazy shit at the club, did he?”

  “No, thank God.” She brought one hand to her heart. “Or thank Colton.” Irritating man-child or not, he’d really saved her bacon that night.

  Trey muttered something she couldn’t quite interpret.

  “Anyway, Bea ran a background check on me and wanted to clear up some things.”

  “Like what?” When a few seconds passed without reply, he used the toe of his boot to nudge her ankle and tempted her with another quid pro quo. “C’mon, Bo. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to see yours.” They both knew she was full of it, as the Cheshire grin on Trey’s dimpled cheeks attested. After pretending to think it over, she said, “Okay, but you have to tell me the real reason you took the contra
cting job.”

  “Deal.” He said it without hesitation, and Bobbi couldn’t help envying the ease with which he laid himself bare. Trusting her with his flaws, as Bea had said. Even having just spilled her guts an hour earlier, it took a few tries to get her words flowing again.

  But she did. She told him everything, and he didn’t judge or scoff or belittle—he just listened, nodding encouragingly and gazing at her in a way that made her feel supported instead of pitied. By the time she finished, she felt ten pounds lighter.

  “So this source,” Trey asked, “were you involved with him?”

  Bobbi considered a moment. “Not really.”

  “There’s no such thing. Either you were, or you weren’t.”

  “We weren’t, but I wanted to be.” Unable to sit on her hands any longer, she reached up to scratch her nose. “We were in the same journalism program at UCLA, but we didn’t hang out in the same circles, know what I mean?”

  “Sure.”

  “He knew I’d always had a crush on him—it’s not like it was some big secret—but it wasn’t weird between us. We kept in touch after graduation and worked together on a few projects, so when he came to me with this story, it didn’t raise any red flags.” Looking back, she could see how Derek had used her own feelings against her, how he must’ve known she’d gobble up his lies like chocolate-covered cherries if it meant earning his respect…and a moment in his arms. “Anyway, he’s not a bad guy—”

  “Whoa.” Lurching forward, Trey jabbed his index finger at her. “Don’t you dare defend that little prick!”

  “He had good intentions.”

  “Bullshit! If his intentions were so pure, he would’ve filmed the thing himself and ruined his own career instead of manipulating you into doing his dirty work.” Trey raked a furious gaze over her from head to toe, shaking his head at her naiveté. “And let me guess—because you kept his name out of it, nothing happened to the bastard, right?”