Southern Fried Blues (The Officers' Ex-Wives Club)

by Jamie Farrell

  Louisa opened her mouth, but twin looks of don’t do it from Kaci and Lance had her snapping her trap back shut. She shoved a couple of bags at Jackson. “Chicken and biscuits?”

  The vortex of festering, seething indignation surrounding the tent gave Jackson the impression he wouldn’t be having any milk to go with those biscuits today. Probably not anytime this week.

  Maybe even this century.

  This was the normal part of a relationship where he should’ve been glad she had an excuse to give him what-for so he could pull his dumb redneck routine, wish her well, and let her walk away liking or disliking him as she saw fit.

  Instead, an old burning sensation flared up in that dark, hidden place deep in his gut that tended to show only when he’d lost something.

  Like his daddy.

  He was having too much fun with Anna to lose her now.

  Yeah. Fun. It was all about the fun. And there was his daddy’s chuckle rattling around inside his head again, but this time, it had a wry twist to it, the kind Daddy used to make when he was watching Jackson dig himself deeper and deeper in a mud pit.

  Jackson looked back at the angry-woman force field surrounding the tent.

  It wasn’t a mud pit this time. It was a whole stinking acre of quicksand, and he was right in the plum middle without a line.

  He tucked his lunch under his arm, and went back to the creek.

  Because he needed to do some festering of his own. Took a danged idiot to muck up his own rules this good.

  Time to get back in touch with the rocket scientist.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Her smarts and her heart were rarely in agreement.

  —The Temptress of Pecan Lane, by Mae Daniels

  ANNA HADN’T REALIZED she fell asleep until someone woke her by unzipping the door. She squeezed her eyes shut and drew a hesitant breath. Lemons.

  Not Old Spice.

  She should’ve been glad. Because lemons meant the owner of the crap that had exploded all over the tent was back, and if she wanted to fight about Anna labeling and putting it all away, then Anna was ready to fight.

  Old Spice would’ve meant she had to face big brother and find out if she got to continue deluding herself about this thing with him being a casual fling. Her relationship with Jackson was glorious because they didn’t have hard stuff. The hard stuff took work, and since neither of them were in this long-term, there was no reason to work out big problems.

  So why did she feel as though she’d dove headfirst into an icy river of self-examination and swam across it to commitment territory?

  And why did Jackson’s being upset scare her more than getting attached?

  The other sleeping bag rustled. Anna held her body still until Louisa’s breathing evened out.

  After several minutes of no movement, Anna cautiously rolled over and peered at the other girl.

  Her mass of curls spilled out over the sleeping bag. The back of her Auburn sweatshirt showcased the regular rise and fall of her ribs. Anna snuck off her own sleeping bag and crept to the door. She unzipped it one tooth at a time until she could squeeze out. The campsite was empty, though there was some movement in Lance and Kaci’s tent. There was also a note on the picnic table, right above its shiny new “Picnic Table” label. Her cheeks flushed. She absently rubbed her sore thumb.

  Maybe she’d gone overboard.

  The note from Kaci told her they were taking afternoon camp naps but that Jackson was down at the creek.

  The mere sight of his name on paper made her pulse pitter-patter. She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a breath for courage, then crunched over the scattered leaves and dried pine needles to see about her—whatever he was.

  She found Jackson reclining against a hill. Radish snoozed at his feet. She stepped toward them. Both of them looked up.

  Her hands hung awkwardly at her side. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say. Jackson seemed more wary than irritated.

  Obviously he’d seen the labels.

  He patted the ground next to him. “Still mad, Anna Grace?”

  She plopped down and stared out at the creek. The wispy clouds of this morning had blown out, and darker, more sinister clouds were slowly rolling in. “It’s not any of my business,” she said.

  When he didn’t answer, she risked a look at him. “But I have a hard time believing she’s related to you, as dumb as she acts.”

  He brushed a hand over her back. Some of Anna’s tight muscles unlocked. They didn’t open, but they were unlocked. “Not everybody’s built like you,” he said, but his tone was more matter-of-fact than accusatory.

  She rolled her lower lip into her mouth. “She doesn’t have to be like me,” she finally said, “but what happens if she gets married and moves halfway across the country, and something happens to you and the rest of your family, then she gets divorced or widowed and has kids to take care of and no way to support them because everyone always took care of everything for her?”

  “Little extreme there, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sorry, have we met?”

  He chuckled. A few more muscles clicked loose. He slipped his hand under her shirt, his fingers doing nothing more wicked than resting on her skin, and different muscles tingled in that oh-so-good way. “I know I give you trouble about not letting me do things for myself,” she said, “but I do appreciate your gentlemanly side. It makes you special. Even if sometimes I want to beat you over the head and tell you girls aren’t helpless.”

  He angled his leg against hers, nudged closer with his shoulder. “Takes a remarkable woman to stand up to life like you’re doing. Got a lot of respect for that myself.” He nipped at her shoulder. “Turns me on, if we’re being honest.”

  Her breath hitched. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t want to break the connection with him. She leaned into him. “I didn’t mean to hit her in the face with a fish.”

  It started with a chuckle, but soon he was laughing so hard she worried he’d use up all his good energy before they finished this quasi-making-up thing.

  But then she pictured that fish landing square in the middle of Louisa’s shocked face, and soon she was laughing too.

  He pulled her to his side and chuckled into her neck. “Ah, Anna Grace.”

  “Bet she doesn’t crash any more camping trips.”

  “Nah, that’d take a dead squirrel tucked up in her sleeping bag.”

  At the speculative look on his face, Anna gave him a friendly shove. “Not in my tent, buster.”

  He pulled her in for a kiss, then tugged her up on top of him. “No?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her close while he did that thing with his mouth that he did so well. She shifted to straddle him better and felt his erection throb in response. “We shouldn’t.”

  “Nobody comin’ this way.”

  “But it’s dirty.”

  The grin that lit his face told her that was the exact wrong thing to say.

  “They’ll all know,” Anna said.

  “Darlin’, they already know.” He suckled her earlobe and slipped a hand beneath her waistband.

  She gasped and arched into his hand. “We don’t have—”

  “Back pocket.”

  “But—”

  His hand inched lower. “Anna Grace. Hush.” He sealed his mouth over hers and did things with his fingers that she was convinced no Southern gentlemen should know, but which she was infinitely grateful to him for knowing anyway. Soon, she was bare-assed for all the fish in the river to see, and, most surprising of all, she didn’t mind a bit.

  Because she was with Jackson, and he knew her, and he knew her body, and he handled both with the right amount of care and attention. Because he was Jackson, and that was what he did.

  And if she was lucky, he’d keep doing it for a long, long time.

  WHEN JACKSON BROUGHT Anna and Radish back up to camp, Kaci and Louisa were setting logs on the fire while
Lance fetched more wood. The girls both looked up and grinned. Kaci in a grown-up, good-for-you way, Louisa in a want-to-be-grown-up way he didn’t like on his sister. Louisa lifted a pointed eyebrow at Anna and tugged her hair. Anna’s cheeks flushed. She lifted her hand as if she were going to brush something incriminating out of her hair, but Jackson caught it. “No, you don’t.”

  Louisa wrinkled her nose at him. He sent her another one of Daddy’s looks.

  The wrinkled nose morphed into a full-on irritated pout. “Where you been? I’m hungry.”

  Jackson started toward the coolers, before he checked himself. “Food’s right there. You want some, help cook it.”

  Kaci lit the fire. It wasn’t as hot as the one picking up in Louisa’s face. She tromped across to the cooler, picked out a cheese stick, then plopped down in a lawn chair, one leg dangling over the arm. If she could’ve turned that smoke from her silent temper fit into poison and put it in his fried chicken, he suspected she would’ve.

  Wasn’t easy to remind himself she was old enough to be self-sufficient.

  “Progress,” Anna murmured. She squeezed his fingers then went to help Kaci pull good old-fashioned foil packs out of the coolers.

  Making up might not’ve been the smart thing to do, but not making up with Anna was impossible.

  He didn’t much care to think about why.

  After the ladies set the food out, Lance and Jackson put it in the right place over the fire. Louisa simmered down, and the tension slowly left the campsite. Everyone chattered away about safe topics.

  They all settled in to eat dinner, Jackson flanked by Louisa and Anna, Lance and Kaci across the fire. Lance twisted the tops off two beers, then handed one to Kaci. “Heard you guys scored tickets to the Alabama-Auburn game,” he said to Jackson.

  “Four of ’em,” Louisa said proudly.

  “Craig’s getting one,” Jackson said.

  Louisa almost toppled her chair into the fire. “Nuh-uh.”

  Jackson speared a potato and avoided looking at her for fear her eyes had turned into the lost ark, capable of turning him to ash if he looked too close. “Said he wanted to go.”

  He shot a glance at Anna to avoid the smoke of displeasure shooting out Louisa’s aura. Anna Grace looked as if she were absorbing a couple new Southern insults.

  “Guess you picked your date then,” Louisa said.

  Jackson’s left ear twitched at the honey in her tone.

  He grabbed for his water bottle. It made an ominous crackling noise. “Guess so.”

  “Well, good,” she said. “I’m taking Anna Grace.”

  His head whipped around so fast it shifted the flow of the campfire smoke. He rolled his foot, trying to ground himself so the electric currents of disbelief would flow back through the earth down to hell, where they belonged, and quit making his heart stutter all irregular and panicky.

  “Just Anna’s fine,” Anna said breezily.

  “Well, just Anna, you wanna come to the Auburn-Alabama game with me?” Louisa said.

  Kaci made a weird choking noise. Anna wasn’t saying anything, and she might’ve been three feet behind him, but he could’ve sworn he felt her heart tripping in time with his.

  He didn’t want to take a gander on whether it was because she wanted to meet his momma, or because the thought turned her into a yellow-livered Yankee. But Louisa had put the invitation out there, and he’d do a lot of things for Anna, but he wouldn’t insult anyone—not Anna, not Louisa, not his family—by taking it back.

  But he had an easy out. Thank sweet baby Jesus for the timing of the Iron Bowl. “Anna Grace, you going home for Thanksgiving?” he said.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Kaci hollered. “She’s making our pies.”

  Well, this was as tidy as a palmetto bug in a cat’s paw, now wasn’t it? He forced himself to look at Anna. “You staying here?”

  Wasn’t that something he should’ve known?

  There was a reason he didn’t date women during hunting season.

  She shrugged. It irritated him that he couldn’t read the semi-panicked expression in her eyes. Panicked he’d withdraw Louisa’s invitation, or panicked he wouldn’t?

  Didn’t help he couldn’t decide himself.

  “Finals are two weeks later.” Her eyes shifted. That one he got. She was still hiding from family. “I’m taking some extra time at Christmas instead.”

  His daddy was having a full-out rolling-on-the-ground laughing fit up there in Jackson’s head. Warm dampness broke out on his forehead. That usually happened only three miles into a five-mile run.

  “So you could come on over for the game,” Louisa said. “It’s only a little drive on up to Auburn. Not like you gotta go all the way to the devil’s stomping grounds.”

  Jackson was starting to understand what blood pressure felt like.

  “I really need to do well on my finals,” Anna said. She looked as though she wanted a new label maker, and Jackson’s sympathy for her overrode his sympathy for himself. This wasn’t her fight, but she was stuck in the middle all the same. Stuck in the middle with Louisa and Momma and Russ.

  He had a sudden image of taking Anna out with Mamie and the girls. The pressure in his throat eased up.

  Lot of pressure, matter of fact. Anna Grace would love the girls. And when she figured out who Mamie was—he grinned. Yeah, that would be worth taking a girl home for the first time since high school. “Break might be good for you,” he said to her.

  She looked at him like the campfire had smoked his brains.

  Probably had.

  “Still owe you from that old redneck golf game,” Jackson said, willfully ignoring the way her eyes went round as a UFO. “Tell you what, I’ll drive on over and pick you up so you can study in the car.”

  Her ears wiggled as though she were working on swallowing something too big. “I wouldn’t know who to cheer for.”

  “That’s a dumb problem,” Louisa said. “We’ll get you all dressed up in orange and blue soon as we aren’t outnumbered.”

  “Shoot, sugar, Ole Miss’s gonna kick all their asses in the end,” Kaci said cheerfully. “You ever been to a real football game?”

  “I went to a Big Ten school.” Anna Grace pulled herself up, but it was only about nine feet instead of her normal fourteen. “And I’ve seen the Vikings and the Bears play.”

  She said it so earnestly, as though it meant something, that Jackson choked back a laugh. Louisa wasn’t as kind, but Lance and Kaci made a good show of taking her serious.

  “So you’re in?” Louisa said after she got over her giggle fit.

  Anna held Jackson’s gaze for a short eternity, as if he was supposed to give her the right answer, and darned if it didn’t feel great to finally have something she needed from him.

  But when the thought made him grin, her pretty mouth narrowed tighter than he imagined she would’ve liked to be gripping her label maker. An answer to a challenge flared up in those doe eyes. “Sure,” she said. “Sounds fun.”

  “You bet your Big Ten it will be,” Louisa said. She rubbed her hands together. “I got a feeling nobody’ll forget this one for a long, long time.”

  It was more than a feeling.

  It was an inevitability.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She’d learned to ask beyond what she needed, but he’d yet to learn to provide only what was asked.

  —The Temptress of Pecan Lane, by Mae Daniels

  JULES WAS OFF AGAIN. Her sunken cheeks and eye bags had moderately improved, but she was arriving later and later, working some weekends to catch up. And Anna had had to correct a few notes and color-codings.

  The color-coding was normal, but the notes?

  Freaky, that’s what it was.

  Not that Jules responded to any inquiries about her health and happiness with anything other than, “Life’s a beach.”

  So when she asked Anna to lunch the next Thursday, looking as if she wanted to talk, Anna cancelled her lunch date with Jac
kson and went with Jules to the food court at the BX on base.

  Neither of them were authorized to shop at the BX anymore, since Anna’s divorce and Brad’s separation from the Air Force, but contractors were allowed to eat at the food court. Jules wanted a Philly cheesesteak, so they climbed into Jules’s car and headed out for Charley’s. Their base access badges from work got them through the gate.

  Anna didn’t have a reason to visit base often. Being surrounded by uniforms again felt odd. Jules didn’t seem to notice much of anything around them. She was fixated on watching the girl behind the counter fry her steak. Even when they sat to eat by the soda fountains, Jules barely looked around. She downed the sandwich, then asked if she could have Anna’s fries.

  “Sure.” Anna slid them over. A prickle went up her nape.

  A good kind of prickle.

  The my-boyfriend-is-watching-me kind of prickle.

  Not that he was her boyfriend. Exactly. Yada yada. He stood with a couple of uniformed guys near the Robin Hood counter, giving her a half-smile.

  The I see you too but you’re too busy for me and can make it up to me later kind of half-smile.

  And how could she not half-smile a you bet your britches I will half-smile back at that?

  Jules cleared her throat. “So, how was your divorce lawyer?” She shoveled another handful of fries into her mouth and eyed the rest of Anna’s sandwich as though she’d be asking for it next.

  As if she hadn’t just used the word divorce as casually as if they were talking about a mechanic and a tire rotation.

  “Jules?” Anna’s lips went rubbery, her cheeks paralyzed, her eyebrows so high she’d nearly given herself a permanent face-lift.

  “Seriously, if this is going to get touchy-feely, forget I asked. You gonna eat your sandwich?”

  Anna doubted she’d want to eat anything the rest of the day, and she regretted what she’d already ingested. She slid the paper box across the table.

  “It’s not working out between me and Brad,” Jules said. If it hadn’t been for the twitch in her cheek and the catch in her voice, barely noticeable between her inhalation of two fistfuls of fries, Anna might have believed her.