by Maggie Wells
Feeling guilty she’d let the gossip about him fathering her baby fester, she’d spilled her guts. Her parents had kicked her out. The room she was renting in an apartment building about a step down from slum-level. That lucky day, Harley Cade chose to become her friend and protector. One of the luckiest days of her life.
A sharp rap on her window knocked her out of her reverie. “You on the sauce, Sis?” Zelda Jo shouted through the closed window.
This was a familiar bit of Zelda patter. Once she admitted she hadn’t been drinking, the older woman would suggest she get her behind inside and start filling sauce bottles. The shtick was old and worn thin, but today her patter made Darla smile. She lowered the window a few inches, wiped the smile off her face, and responded with a stone sober, “No, ma’am.”
“Then you’d better get in there and start hittin’ the bottles.” Zelda Jo patted the roof of Darla’s car, then sauntered toward the smoke shack. Calling the usual, “They ain’t gonna fill themselves, you know,” over her shoulder as she sashayed away.
Darla ducked her head and gave it a rueful shake as she reached for the door handle. Pleased with the majority of choices she’d made overall, she climbed from the car, half-apron in hand. “No, ma’am, they sure aren’t.”
Feeling more settled than she had all weekend, she followed Zelda Jo to the back door. She’d go fill those bottles. Again. Then later, when she was alone, she’d call Jake. Again. She was going to apply the principles she’d learned from her daughter. He could choose not to talk to her again, and that was his option. But he needed to know she chose him. But if she’d learned one thing from living with Gracie, it was the importance of having all the facts before a conclusion could be drawn. Telling Jake that she did want to be with him was simply a matter of good science.
Darla spent most of the morning in the back, inventorying supplies for the upcoming week, placing replenishment orders, and doing dining room prep. She didn’t mind. Filling salt and pepper shakers, bowls of sweetener packets, and yes, squeeze bottles of The Pit’s secret sauce, was far preferable to watching Zelda Jo coo and flirt with Bubba as he pulled, chopped and basted the day’s offerings. The two of them must have had a particularly good weekend. The level of lovey-dovey had reached almost epic proportions by the time Darla flipped the lock on the front door.
She stood back and smiled broadly as Mr. Beau and his cronies climbed from the spotless Cadillacs and Lincolns parked curbside. “You know, you still have a key,” she said, accepting the owner’s kiss on her cheek.
“I know, but I like to make these jokers wait,” he said, jerking his head toward the three old men trailing him. “How’s my second best girl today?”
“Second? Wow. I thought I’d slipped to third,” she teased as they shuffled past.
Mr. Ritter was always quick to rat the others out, and today proved to be no exception. “Miss Alee-Ann has him in the doghouse.”
“Uh-oh,” she said in a low voice. “What’d you do?”
“I didn’t do a damn thing,” Mr. Beau growled.
Darla quirked a brow as she let the door swing shut behind them. “Is that the trouble?”
“The trouble is living with a woman who doesn’t understand when a man is retired, he doesn’t want to spend every blessed moment working.”
“He didn’t show up for soup kitchen duty,” Mr. Ritter explained.
“I fell asleep.” Beau Pickett scowled as he surveyed the business he’d built with the sweat of his brow. “Criminy, the woman acts like I was out carousing. I’m old. I fall asleep.” He started toward their usual table. “Makes me a good catch for a pretty young thing like you.”
Darla smiled and flirted with the older men as they got themselves situated. “Sweet tea and chicken sandwiches coming up,” she promised, disregarding the menus in their hands.
“Now, listen here—” Mr. Beau growled.
Darla ignored him. Spats with Miss Alee-Ann always made him uncharacteristically cantankerous. He’d eat the chicken, though, because he knew darn well his bride wanted him to.
“Back in a sec.” She dropped a kiss on the top of the old man’s head and turned away.
“Tell Beauregard he needs to do something about the loose shingles on the roof,” he called after her.
Darla kept her smile still firmly in place. She had no intention of telling Bubba anything about the shingles, as he had no more business climbing up on the roof than Mr. Beau did. She’d tell Harley or Mat the next time they came in, and they would take care of things.
“Excuse me,” a woman called from one of the booths as she passed.
Her Beau-induced grin still in place, she turned to greet the new customer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. Oh….” She blinked, trailing off like an idiot when she found herself staring down into a pair of achingly familiar brown eyes. “Mrs. Dalton.” Too aware she was acting the fool, Darla tried desperately to shore up her slipping smile. “Hi. How are you?”
Jake’s mother returned her weak greeting with a warm twinkle in her eyes. “I’m fine, Darla. You’re looking well.”
Automatically, Darla glanced down to see which T-shirt she’d pulled from her drawer that morning, praying she’d chosen one of the plain ones with only the logo. No such luck. Darla closed her eyes as the heat of mortification flooded her cheeks. She was feeling low and more than a little sorry for herself, so she’d chosen an old crowd favorite, hoping a little attention from her customers would give her a boost. So here she was, standing face-to-face with Julia Dalton, wearing a hot-pink shirt nearly a size too small and proclaimed her to be ‘Super-Saucy’ in big, bold script letters emblazoned across her breasts.
Flustered, she fumbled to extract the order pad and pen from her apron pocket. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I thought I’d stop by and say hello, perhaps pick up an order of whatever my husband sneaks in here to eat instead of the lunches I pack for him.”
Darla stared at Jake’s mom for a moment, trying to decide if she should confirm or deny her suspicions.
A wicked smile lit the older woman’s face as she leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve found suspicious sauce stains on his cuffs.” Darla opened her mouth to say something, but Julia waved her protests away. “Don’t worry yourself, sweetheart. Better than lipstick on his collar, right?”
“Right.”
“I imagine it’s the ribs. There’s something about tearing meat off a bone that makes a man feel like a man, I suppose.” She wrinkled her nose and shuddered as she glanced up from under dark lashes. “Strange creatures, aren’t they?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Darla responded automatically.
“You know what’s odd?” She didn’t pause long enough for Darla to answer. “Jake stopped coming to Sunday supper for a while there, but all of a sudden he’s back. Then, yesterday, he shows up at my table looking like he’d stood outside hugging a tree in the middle of a category three hurricane.” Mrs. Dalton lifted her head to meet her gaze full-force. “I thought I might come by and tell you straight up that I love my son, Darla Kennet, and I won’t see him hurt again.”
Shocked by the intensity of the other woman’s stare, Darla stepped back. Jake’s mother seemed to know more than he thought she did. “I, uh,” She stammered, stopped, then she said the only thing she could think to say. “I do, too. Love him, I mean.”
A split-second later, Jake’s mom was beaming up at her, bright as the sun. “I’m glad to hear you say so.” Softening her smile, she reached out and gave Darla’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You plan to tell him soon? The poor boy is miserable. You know, as a mother, how hard it is for me to see.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Her mind racing, she tried to figure out exactly what she’d agreed to do. At last, she gave in to the pull and slid into the booth across from Jake’s mother. “I love him, too, but I have to tell you, I think I’m really bad at this relationship thing.”
“I doubt
you’re as bad as you think.”
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Of course you do. You love that beautiful little girl of yours. Anyone with eyes in their head can see you do.” The woman’s confidence was so absolute, Darla wanted to wrap it around her like a blanket. “Love is love, Darla. All you have to do is let it in.” She made a horrified face, then shuddered. “My mama would say I sound like a hippie.”
Darla swallowed hard, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t force her biggest fear down again. “I’m not sure I deserve him.”
“Of course you do,” Julia repeated, this time with even more steel in her tone. “I met your daughter at the fundraiser, you know. I was very impressed.”
“No, I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“Jake tells me she’s brilliant, too.” Julia smiled wanly. “Trust me, no one knows better than me how disconcerting raising a child with such a keen intellect can be. You must be proud of her.”
“I am, but—”
“Oh, I know the ‘but’ part very well.” Julia grinned. “I have to confess, I’ve wanted grandchildren for the longest time. I thought I’d have to wait on Brian and Brooke, but now I’m thinking I might get a granddaughter even sooner.”
Determined to work at least one complete sentence in, she tried again. And failed. “Mrs. Dalton—”
The other woman held up a hand adorned with only a classic diamond solitaire and a wide gold band. “Julia,” she corrected. “Now, we know you love him and he loves you, so let’s see if we can figure out exactly what we need to add to the mix to get the outcome we want.”
“I’m not sure what I want.”
“Why don’t you run along and put in the order for Drew and pour me a glass of sweet tea while I wait.” Julia Dalton flashed a smile proving her worthy of a ‘Super-Saucy’ T-shirt. “That’ll give you a few minutes to recover from the ambush, then we can have a little chat before things get too busy for you.”
“I, um...”
Too stunned to string three words together, Darla glanced over her shoulder. First, at Mr. Beau and his friends, who were watching her exchange with Jake’s mother with bright-eyed interest. Then, at the kitchen, where Zelda Jo stood behind Bubba, giving his biceps an admiring squeeze. Rock. Hard place. One of the Circles of Hell. She didn’t move. Instead, she chose to bash herself against the rock.
“I hurt him. I’ve had some pretty huge screw-ups in my life, but I have to tell you, I think this might be the biggest.”
Julia Dalton gave a sage nod as she digested the gravity of the situation. “I understand.” She pursed her lips as she considered the problem. “Let me go have a word with Mr. Beau about getting you the afternoon off—”
“Oh, no, I—”
“Need a grand gesture,” Julia Dalton said with a decisive nod. “And coming up with a gesture grand enough to get a Dalton man to clue in requires a good deal of planning.” She waved a hand in annoyance. “They get so absorbed in other things.” She pointed one perfectly manicured nail at Darla, as she slid from the booth. “You’re going to need the day off.”
****
“There,” Laney Tarrington’s pronouncement came out a bit muffled due to the straight pins she held clinched between her lips.
Darla released the breath she’d been holding, amazed to note not one of those pins had pierced her skin. She was sure Laney’d get at least one good jab in.
Laney pulled the pins from her mouth and nodded to the gilt-edged three-way mirror outside the curtained fitting room. “Take a look and see what you think.”
Brooke Hastings pushed away from the wall. “Hooo-eee. I think this dress is going to fog up poor Jake’s glasses.”
Darla clenched her fists to keep from fidgeting. She stood trapped in the fitting room with her former classmates. Back in school, Brooke had been kind and friendly to everyone, but Laney…not so much. Getting knocked up in their senior year had given Delaney Tarrington even more ammunition for her mean girl machine gun, and Laney hadn’t been above using what she thought she knew. They’d reached a sort of cease-fire in the months since Laney and Harley had become an item, but like most things involving Darla and her past, it was an uneasy truce.
Julia Dalton had made short work of sweet-talking Beau and Bubba Pickett. After feeding Zelda Jo a few lines about encouraging a blossoming romance, and basically making her out to be Darla’s yenta and fairy godmother all rolled up into one, the two women escaped. Their first stop had been Fringe, Mobile’s most exclusive hair salon and spa. There, Julia brushed Darla’s protests aside with a wave of her hand and the irrefutable argument that she was investing in her son’s happiness. There, they picked up Connie Cade, who’d clapped her hands with glee when she saw Darla being led from the stylist’s chair to the manicure station.
Forty-five minutes later, the three of them were in Julia’s luxury SUV headed for Sassafras, one of the upscale boutiques in Spring Hill. The shop Laney managed for old Mrs. Markham. While they were en route, Brooke called Julia with a question about wedding flowers, and voila! Darla found herself right back in the bosom of the St. Patrick’s crowd she’d been avoiding since the day she walked out and refused to look back.
“Come on out. We want to see,” Connie Cade called impatiently.
Darla fingered the sleek fabric then cast a worried glance at Brooke and Laney. Swallowing her pride, she tipped her chin up and asked the burning question. “How much does it cost?”
“Don’t worry about the price,” Brooke admonished gently. “What’s important is Laney’s magical nips and tucks make it absolutely perfect on you.”
Brooke’s smile was kind, but that didn’t surprise Darla. Brooke always tried to be kind. She turned to Delaney, expecting she’d get the nitty-gritty out of her. “How much?”
“Ten trillion percent off,” she said, giving the seam of the skirt a little tug. She glanced up, her piercingly dark eyes frank with understanding. “You know the store is closing, right?”
“Still, even on clearance—”
“It’s perfect,” Brooke announced with steely finality. “Now, get out there and show the mamas so Laney can work her magic and we can move on to shoe shopping.” She flashed a bright smile. “I love shoe shopping.”
Moving with a deliberate lack of speed, Darla stepped down from the portable pedestal Laney’d placed her on so she could pin the alterations she’d make to the dress and moved to the curtain. She took a deep breath then pushed the heavy satin aside. She was greeted with a soft gasp and Connie’s exuberant squeal.
Harley’s mother jumped out of the spindly antique chair and rushed to her side, a wide smile creasing her face as she spun Darla to face the mirrors. “You look like Betty Boop!”
Darla groaned and Jake’s mother laughed as she moved to join them. “As his mother, I should probably defend my boy from such powerful weaponry.” She paused, her gaze lingering on the plunging neckline of the scarlet-red dress. “But you look so incredible, so I can’t. Gracious me, what I’d do to have half your figure.”
Startled by the unadulterated envy in the older woman’s tone, she eyed Mrs. Dalton’s lean, athletic frame. “I’ve always wanted to look more like you or Laney.”
Connie snorted. “The grass is always greener.”
“And so is the lettuce,” Brooke said with a sympathetic little laugh. She elbowed the willowy brunette at her side. “This witch eats cheeseburgers every day. I hate her guts, but I’m too scared of her to ditch her.”
“The secret to a life-long friendship,” Laney intoned dryly. Stepping behind Darla, she waited until their gazes met in the mirror. “How does it feel to you? Sexy or uncomfortable?”
“I don’t know,” Darla confessed.
Laney nodded her understanding. “The dress looks gorgeous on you, but if it makes you uncomfortable at all, then we look for something else,” she said firmly, her gaze unwavering despite the round of protests from the audienc
e gathering behind her. “If she doesn’t feel sexy, then the dress isn’t going to do any good.” She dragged her gaze away to level a look at the ladies crowding into the mirror’s reflection. “It’s about how she feels, right? This dress screams confidence. It says, ‘I’m a woman who gets what she wants, and I want you to want me.’” She paused for effect then met Darla’s eyes in the mirror. “The woman who wears this dress has to be prepared to have the man she wants fall at her feet. Are you ready to deal with the inevitable outcome?”
Darla’s breath hitched, but her answer rushed past in a husky whisper. “Yes.”
“Excellent! Get your mice and get to work on the alterations,” Brooke said, clapping her hands then rubbing them with glee. “We need to go find some killer shoes for those feet.”
****
Brooke hadn’t been kidding about the shoes being killer. Her feet ached after only five minutes, but there was no turning back now. Harley’d smuggled her up there using his master key for access, and now she was literally stranded. On Jake’s rooftop. With a blanket and a fancy picnic catered by the chefs at Saus. Wearing nothing but her Betty Boop red dress and ankle-breaker heels with no jacket or wrap, despite the crisp autumn breeze ruffling her newly-trimmed and glossed hairdo. Gracie had wholeheartedly approved the plan when Connie laid it all out for her. Well, not all everything, but the portion of the evening likely to be rated PG-13 carried the Gracie stamp of approval.
Her daughter had only one request for her before being decamped to Connie’s house for an unheard-of school night stay-over. She had to make sure the telescope Dr. Jake kept on his roof was pointed directly at the moon. She did as she was told, carefully removing the protective cover, then gingerly adjusting the intimidating piece of equipment. The darn thing had to be worth more than three months’ rent. Thankfully, the moon was the one thing in the night sky she had no trouble locating, so she didn’t have to mess with intimidating piece of equipment much. The thing was huge. And bright. So bright the entire rooftop looked like it had been dipped in silver.
