Til There Was U

by Dianne Castell

  Ryan came up beside her. “I’ll join you.”

  Effie looked him dead in the eyes. “If there’s one thing you’re not, Ryan O’Fallon, it’s a girl.”

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t told Thelma about Conrad that had her mad at him, because butting into someone else’s business was risky business. But what bothered her most was that she liked Ryan so much it hurt, and he didn’t return the feelings—except the sexual ones—one bit. She didn’t need him hanging around tonight.

  Thelma scratched her head and looked confused. “What should I do with two million dollars?”

  What the heck am I going to do to get over Ryan O’Fallon? Not stay around here! Effie spread her hand over the landscape and turned her attention to Thelma. “Two million is a nice tidy sum. I see lots of pretty clothes, and a vacation, maybe a cruise and utility stocks, bonds and a smattering of small cap investments.”

  Effie started down the driveway with Thelma in tow. Not a breath of air stirred; the heat was like a giant Tennessee sauna as they headed for Slim’s. Effie gave Thelma the ten-minute version of investing with caution ‘til they got to the parking lot, only half-full now, the usual crowd not pouring in ‘til later.

  They went inside and “Lost Lover Blues” drowned out talk of money. What she wouldn’t give for a little Rod Stewart right now. Thelma hitched herself onto a barstool, and Effie did the same as Sally came over and looked from one to the other. “Good God, what the hell happened now? You look like you could hunt bears with a ball bat.”

  Thelma pointed to a bottle across the bar. “Conrad tried to swindle me out of a two-million dollar inheritance that Clyde Pierce left me, and Effie’s ready to strangle Ryan for not cluing me in. But I really think something else is getting to her and she’s just not saying.”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus,” Sally sighed, then snagged the bottle of Wild Turkey and three glasses. “Gonna be a long night, I sure can see that.”

  Sally poured, and Thelma held up her glass. “And I shot at Conrad with a derringer.”

  Sally’s eyes bulged. “Well, son of a bitch! A very long night. Should have used a shotgun, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.” She tapped her glass to Effie’s and Sally’s and they tossed back the whiskey.

  Effie felt it sear a path clear down her throat, and she gasped, expecting fire to shoot from her mouth like a dragon. Her eyes watered, and her hair fell out. . . least it felt that way. She finally managed, “Damn.”

  Sally grinned. “Well, well. I think we have a virgin here, Ms. Thelma.” Sally poured another gulp into Effie’s glass, Thelma’s and her own. She raised it in salute. “To virginity lost.”

  Effie looked on as the other two tossed back their drink, not sure if she’d survive another hit of Wild Turkey.

  Sally coaxed. “It’s just like sex, girl. The first time is always a total surprise. But the second time”—she nodded at Effie’s glass—”ah, the second time is pure delight. It’s ... orgasmic.”

  Effie coughed, and her eyes bulged. “Orgasmic?”

  Sally chuckled, and Thelma offered, “I think that hit a little too close to home. What have you and Ryan O’Fallon been up to?”

  Effie picked up the glass and tossed back the firewater. This time it only partially burned out the lining of her esophagus. Her brain did a fast spin. “I can’t feel my whips ... I mean lips.”

  Sally said to Thelma, “So, did you hit the little bastard?”

  Thelma wagged her head, and Sally poured another round of drinks. “Damn shame, that, ‘cause it means you like the moron no matter what and all the booze in this place isn’t going to make you change your mind.”

  Thelma threw back another mouthful and grinned, her eyes not quite focusing. “I want to hate Conrad Hastings with every bone in my body.”

  The three of them touched glasses and drank another shot of booze. Effie felt her eyes roll around in her head and saw her brain. It looked . . . pickled. “I think I’m dwunk.”

  Sally patted Effie’s hand. “Honey, you’re just getting started.”

  “Started on what?” Demar asked as he sat down next to Effie. Even in her inebriated state she didn’t like him. He took Sally’s glass, splashed in a mouthful of whiskey and downed it. “So, what are we celebrating?”

  Effie hiccupped. “Thelma’s recent inheritance.”

  Demar grinned. “Well, congrats, Thelma.” He nodded to her. “Does that mean you’ll be leaving the O’Fallons’ and getting a place of your own?”

  Thelma looked at him dumbfounded. “Hadn’t considered that. Been my home for twenty-five years. Can’t imagine living anywhere else. And who’d take care of little Bonnie ‘til Rory finds her mama.”

  Sally retrieved another glass, and Demar poured more whiskey. “How’s he going to do that?” He knocked back the whiskey, and Thelma and Sally followed. Demar nodded at Effie’s glass. “No guts?”

  “If I keep it up, I think that’s exactly what will happen.”

  Thelma, Sally and Demar thumped their glasses on the bar, chanting, “Eff-ie, Eff-ie.”

  “All right, all right. I’m caving in to peer pressure. A new low in my very controlled, goal-oriented life.” Effie drank the booze, and Demar asked Thelma, “Where’d you say Bonnie’s mama’s gone to?”

  “Wish I knew.” Thelma’s eyes turned glassy. “Got a PI coming here tomorrow to show pictures around. Somebody’s asking about Mimi. She might be in a pack of trouble, and Rory’s got to save her. Can’t have his baby with no mama.”

  “Is ... Is that right?” Demar did a fast glance around, then nearly knocked over his drink, sloshing the contents onto the bar.

  Sally giggled. “You best be careful with that stuff, my man.”

  Demar grinned. “I know a better way to get a taste of good whiskey around here.” He kissed Sally long and deep. Effie remembered kissing Ryan like that, and her stomach did a little flip. But something suddenly felt like it happened and it shouldn’t have, and she couldn’t figure out what. It wasn’t just Demar or her wanting to kiss Ryan. Something said? This conversation? Why couldn’t she think?

  “Whoa,” Thelma huffed and fanned herself. “Now, that’s what I call a humdinger of a lip-lock.”

  Sally blushed, her eyes sparkling as she stared at Demar. “Me, too,” she said on a dream sigh. She stroked his chin. “You are some man.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear, his fingers lingering there. “I’m mighty glad you think so, sugar. But I got to be going.”

  Sally huffed and pulled back, the fire in her eyes fading. “But you just got here, Demar. I can’t believe you’re leaving me already.”

  “Business, babe, business. You know how it is. Just wanted to stop in and say hey. If we want to get that housing project going, I got to step on it. Want to break ground and get some plans together before the winter sets in, and that’ll take some doing.”

  Effie nodded, feeling her head loosening from her neck. Was that possible? After three, or was it four, shots of Wild Turkey anything was possible. “Getting a housing project together takes some planning.” She looked at Demar. “How many units are you planning per track?”

  “Track?” Demar grinned, but he looked . . . confused? “See, now that’s exactly what I mean. Lot’s of stuff to figure out. I’ll stop back in tomorrow if I get a chance.”

  Sally winked at Demar, and he quick-kissed her and did a sexy shuffle for the door, every woman in the place watching him. Sally sagged onto the bar. “Sweet heaven above, what a hunk.”

  Thelma giggled. “And here comes another right on his heels.”

  Effie glanced at the door, and as Demar left Ryan entered, the two men exchanging greetings at the door. Effie turned to Sally. “Do you have a back door? I really don’t want to face Ryan at the moment.” No amount of booze would make her forget about him, but she had to figure out how to handle this . . . attraction.

  Sally nodded to the wall behind her. “Door next to the ladies’ room takes you
to the back alley. Sure you can walk that far?”

  Effie shrugged. “I’ll soon find out.”

  She slid off the stool, stumbling as her feet touched the floor. She steadied, then made for the exit. The aroma of barbecue from the back porch wafted into the hall, filling the air with heavenly scents. She stepped outside into night muck. Two men were in the shadows talking. She heard Mimi’s name, took another step and lost her balance and tripped down the steps, landing against, “Demar?”

  “Hey, girl,” he said in a surprised voice as he managed to catch her. He held her upright ‘til she got her balance. “You okay?”

  “Think I’m plastered. Never had Wild Turkey before.” She looked around. “Where’s the other guy you were talking to?”

  Demar shrugged. “No one but me. Just checking out some ideas for rehabbing the place.”

  “Thought I heard—”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ryan asked as he stepped out the door.

  Chapter 16

  Effie watched Ryan’s eyes harden and his lips thin as he looked from Demar to her, and she said, “Oh, no you don’t.” Frustration suddenly cleared her brain. “You give me the there’s-nothing-between-us-but-good-sex speech and then you get all cavemanlike because I’ve got my hands on another guy. Well, you can’t have it both ways, Ryan O’Fallon.”

  He came down the steps and yanked Demar away from her. “Except this man belongs to Sally.”

  Demar held up his hand. “Hey, this isn’t what you think, man. I was here looking the place over for renovations, and Effie tripped out the door, and I caught her because she’s a little inebriated.”

  He nodded to the doorway. “Like you said, I got me a woman inside, and I’m sure as hell not in the market for another. Lord above, one’s all I can handle at a time, all any man can handle.”

  Effie grinned up at him. “And I want to thank you for helping me. I’m usually not like this. See, this is why we need a Starbucks around here.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” Demar grinned and then walked away as Ryan came over. “Well, hell. How much whiskey did you drink in there?”

  “None of your beeswax.”

  “I swear, half the time you sound like you’re from the Landing more than I do.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and held her face to his, gazing into her eyes. Even in a stupor he looked good to her. Wonderful, in fact. But looking and the occasional bout of salivating was all the farther this attraction went, no matter how much she wanted more. If she had to buy a chastity belt, she was not getting any more into Ryan O’Fallon.

  He said, “You’ve consumed more alcohol since you came here than you ever did back in San Diego.”

  “Brought on by the company I’m keeping and I am not referring to Sally, Thelma, Rory or Bonnie. Gee, I wonder who else there is?”

  “We’re together in California and you don’t drink like a fish there. At the moment you could be a poster girl for AA.”

  “I’m here to get drunk with my friends. It’s been that kind of day.”

  “Mission accomplished. And you need to be sober so we can finish the mall project and fax the prelim plans to the customer tomorrow. You’re no good to me drunk.”

  She stared at him. “Tell me, am I good to you any other way?”

  He took her hand. “You’re a good architect. I’m a good architect. We have really good jobs that we’ve worked our butts off to make even better. We could get corner offices by the end of the year, parking passes, gym memberships, a Christmas bonus. We don’t need to be screwing all that up because of some summer fling that will never last.”

  Ryan was right, though the screwing part had definite appeal. She picked her way down the shadowed alley so as not to stumble and embarrass herself more. Was that even possible at this point?

  Early moonlight slanted through the trees, guiding their way. “I wonder what Demar was doing in that alley.”

  “Hell, what were you doing there?”

  “Getting fresh air and I’d never move in on Sally’s man. You know me better than that. He was talking about Mimi to someone. Doesn’t that seem odd? There’s something about that man in general that seems odd.”

  Ryan considered the question and decided Demar was the least of his worries because Ryan couldn’t stop thinking about having sex with Effie, no matter how hard he tried or what the hell he did. He was the master of getting over women. Here today, gone tomorrow. No problem. Except Effie Wilson was a huge problem.

  If he stayed away from her, he thought of having sex with her; if he was near her, he thought about it. In the car with Rory, burping Bonnie, steering a barge, day, night, through all those things what he really wanted was Effie! The woman was an addiction—not that he’d ever tell her that—and he had to get over her before they returned to California so they could get on with their lives.

  The best idea was to stay away from her now, get her out of his system. But when they reached the house it took every ounce of willpower he had not to follow her up the hall stairs to her room. Instead he snagged a six-pack from the fridge, went outside and sat on the top step of the porch, hoping the night heat would sweat the image of Effie all hot and ready for him out of his system.

  He studied the six-pack. Beer was a hell of a substitute for sex.

  Fireflies twinkled in the trees; the scent of water drifted off the Mississippi. Max parked down beside him, and Ryan scratched him behind the ears. Why couldn’t dealing with women be as simple as dealing with dogs? You always knew where you stood with a pet, no second-guessing.

  A black truck that Ryan didn’t recognize pulled into the drive and coasted to a stop in front of him. Conrad got out, paused as if sizing up the situation, then headed for the steps as Ryan said to Max, “Well, there you go, boy. A little evening snack. Meals on Wheels. Go for it.”

  Max stood and stretched, and Conrad stopped. “Is your dog going to eat me?”

  “I’d say you’ve got about a fifty-fifty chance. What the hell do you want?”

  “I need to talk to you. About Thelma.”

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just get a shotgun, that seems to be the weapon of choice tonight, and fill your ass full of lead.”

  “I can imagine what you think of me—and that’s okay, I deserve it—but the fact is I love Thelma and I want to get her back and don’t know how to do it. I want to make her happy. I swear it’s the truth.”

  He ran his hand over his face. “Look, I started out to swindle her, but then things changed. I changed. I don’t want her money, I want her and I intended to tell her everything when my attorney beat me to it.”

  “Why the hell would your attorney do that? Isn’t the idea of having an attorney that he works for you?”

  “He suspected I was weaseling out of our deal. He was supposed to get a cut of the inheritance when I married Thelma. He swore if I ruined things for him, he’d return the favor. He kept his promise.”

  Ryan nodded at the truck. “Slumming?”

  “Sold the Ferrari to a guy in Memphis who’s had his eye on it for a while now. I’m going to rebuild Hastings Dry-dock. Get respectable and win Thelma over if it takes the rest of my life.”

  “I think you’re underestimating.”

  “She won’t talk to me right now. Went to Slim’s and she had him toss me out on my butt.”

  Conrad tried to smooth back his hair, but it wouldn’t cooperate. First time that had ever happened. “If you can just tell her all that for me, maybe she’ll talk to me. Just talk. Five minutes is all I’m asking.”

  In all the years Ryan had known Conrad Hastings, he’d never seen this Conrad. Mussed hair, wrinkled pants and shirt, sweat stains under the arms, bleary eyed, a truck. Conrad in a Ford boggled the mind. If he was putting on an act, this was an Oscar-winning performance. Besides, Ryan knew firsthand how women could scramble your brain, and Conrad seemed to be suffering from the same affliction as Ryan . .. frustrationitis.

  Rya
n nodded to his other side. “Take a seat.”

  Conrad eyed Max, then parked as Ryan asked, “Wanna beer?”

  Conrad exhaled a ragged breath, suddenly looking tired to the bone. “God, I’d love a beer.”

  Ryan pulled a can of Coors from the plastic webbing holding the six together and handed it over. Conrad clumsily pulled at the tab, the actions of someone not familiar with the ordinary process of opening canned beer. Ryan snapped his can and drank deep; Conrad did the same. He swiped the back of his arm across his mouth and burped. Conrad Hastings, ordinary guy. Who would have thought?

  “Why haven’t you shot me yet?”

  “Blood on the steps? Thelma would have my ass in a sling. Besides, she already did the shooting thing. If she wanted you dead, she wouldn’t have missed. Not my business to undo what she set her mind to do. And I’ve got to admit, you’re not the only one with woman problems. I know how it goes in the female department. Can’t live with ‘em, damn tough to live without ‘em.”

  Conrad took another gulp. “If I get a chance to talk to Thelma, what do I say?”

  “Besides you’re a dumbass? How do I know you’re not planning on taking her money and divorcing her? That was the original plan, right?”

  “It was. But now ... The only thing I can come up with is wooing her with a business proposition. Investing in Hastings Dry-dock.”

  “Got all the earmarks of investing in swampland in Florida.”

  “Not if I sell Thelma something she really likes.”

  “That’s a hell of a lot of Beach Boy albums, Conrad.”

  “I was thinking of Hastings House and the surrounding land for half the appraised value.”

  Ryan stopped the can halfway to his mouth and gazed at Conrad. “You love that house. It’s your family home.”

  Conrad nodded, studying the steps. “Thelma loves it, too. I want to prove to her that I want to make it all work, that I want to make us work. Think she’ll go for it? Give me a chance?”

  “Get it written up, use a different attorney. Hell, ask her. Got nothing to lose . . . except your house and business .. . and . . . Damn, Conrad, you sure about this?”