Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  Cade and Tally understood each other bone deep. They were realists, not dreamers. Sawyer was the one who looked and acted like their father. Being around Sawyer was a wistful reminder of what Cade had lost.

  “Did things end badly?” If Heath broke his sister’s heart, then Cade wasn’t above still acting like her big brother.

  “He took it badly. I’m fine.” More hid behind her words, but before Cade could question her further she shifted to face him, brows up and a speculative look in her green eyes. Eyes nearly identical to his. “A doctor or lawyer might be considered the pick of the litter in a small town like Cottonbloom, but if a more interesting dog came sniffing around and wanted to mark his territory … who knows?”

  While life circumstances had forced him to drop out of high school, he didn’t qualify as an idiot. Tally needed to work on her avoidance tactics, but he would let it go. For now. “First off, I’m not sure how I feel about you equating the male species to urinating dogs. Second, what makes you think I’m remotely interested in Monroe?”

  Tally shot him a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look punctuated by a huffing eye roll. “You’ve barely taken your eyes off her since you walked in; I’d say the interest is there.”

  Heat crawled up his neck. Being called out for eyeballing Monroe—by his sister, no less—induced a teenage-like embarrassment.

  “But I’d only suggest you pursue something with her if you’re sticking around for more than a week. Are you?” Old resentments sharpened Tally’s words, the last two like daggers.

  Leaving Cottonbloom and his family had been hard, but building a successful life away from everything and everyone that dragged him down—including his family—had ultimately saved him. How could he explain that when he’d always protected her from how desolate and difficult things had been?

  Maybe she’d understand the taint of shame that had dogged him. He hoped she’d forgive him. He would tell her, but not now, not in a crowded gym. It seemed they were taking turns dodging uncomfortable subjects. “What’s got Sawyer all wide-eyed and stressed-out? Is something going on at the factory? Or does it have to do with the responsibilities of parish commissioner?”

  “It’s this festival business.”

  “What festival? He’s been tight-lipped and tense since our flight back from Seattle—I figured he was pissed at me—but I heard him on the phone with someone talking about Regan Lovell. And not kindly.”

  “Oh, he’s pissed at you all right, but you’re only a small part of his troubles. Regan Lovell went and got herself elected mayor of Cottonbloom, Mississippi, last year.”

  Cade whistled low. No wonder Sawyer was walking around looking like the four riders of the apocalypse were nipping at his heels. Sawyer had dated the Mississippi beauty queen on the down low in high school. Her parents considered the Fournettes the worst sort of swamp rats—poor, orphaned, and without any decent connections. Their uncle Delmar certainly didn’t qualify.

  Sawyer had been forever borrowing Cade’s truck or boat to head upriver to her house. Cade assumed Regan got her thrills by sneaking around with Sawyer. Not long after Sawyer headed to LSU and Regan to Ole Miss, they’d broken up. Cade had been secretly glad the relationship was over. Some things weren’t meant to be, and Sawyer and Regan had been doomed.

  Monroe was leading the girls through some yoga-like stretches, her body contorting, her backside back in the air. He shifted on the seat and took a sip of Coke to wet his Sahara-like mouth.

  Tally’s voice penetrated his fog. “Word got around that Heart of Dixie was offering a magazine spread and funds for a big civic project to the best small-town festival in the South. Sawyer had already been chewing on the idea of a weekend-long block party, and the competition gave him reason enough to pull the trigger. Well, Regan did the same. Intentionally or not, the folks at Heart of Dixie stoked the fire by insisting the Louisiana and Mississippi festivals take place the same weekend.”

  The magazine’s ruthless streak didn’t surprise Cade. It was a business, and the rivalry would make excellent copy. “Please. Totally intentional. Our towns’ history isn’t a secret.”

  “Now we have Sawyer planning a crayfish festival and Regan planning a tomato festival, both for Labor Day weekend. Tensions are higher than I’ve seen them. Ms. Effie says this is what it was like right after the town divided.”

  “Ms. Effie?”

  “My neighbor. She’s part of the Quilting Bee.”

  The Quilting Bee was both a circle of ladies from both sides of the river and a store on the Mississippi side of River Street. The ladies had gathered there for as long as Cade could remember, making quilts for anyone in need and gossiping.

  “As you’d imagine, people are picking sides faster than fleas jumping off a drowning dog’s butt and Sawyer and Regan are locked in an epic battle of good versus evil.” This was the Tally he remembered—smart-mouthed and irreverent.

  “I’m not so sure I’d classify Regan as evil. She’s more a rich little spoiled girl wanting someone else’s plaything.”

  “How would you know? You haven’t been around in so long, she might have made a pact with the devil and sprouted horns.” The edge of bitterness in Tally’s voice drew his gaze off Monroe. His sister toyed with the end of her long, dark ponytail.

  He tamped down the urge to defend himself. “Who planted the flowers along the bank?”

  “Sawyer. Obsessed with them. He turns into a cranky old man if he catches someone stepping on them or, heaven forbid, picking one.”

  A well of emotion choked him, his words emerging as a near whisper. “They’re beautiful.”

  “He’s been after all the businesses along River Street to spruce up their storefronts, hoping once we draw some tourists in they’ll come back for … I don’t know why they’d come back actually.”

  “Old Rufus’s Meat and Three is amazing. Or at least it was a decade ago.”

  “It still is, although I’m pretty sure he’s using the same fry grease as he was when you took off.”

  Again, her jab hit below the belt. “Listen, Tally, you need to understand—”

  Monroe’s class broke up, and Tally stood up, cutting him off. Several of the girls gave Monroe quick hugs before retreating in clumps to the locker rooms. Her steps toward him and Tally seemed tentative.

  “Monroe! I don’t suppose you could do me a solid?” The demeanor of a mouse playing with its food hid underneath Tally’s relaxed stance.

  “Of course. Especially since you covered for me earlier. What’s up?”

  “I have another class coming in, and my poor brother overdid it walking all the way here from your office. Could you give him a lift to Sawyer’s?”

  He reached over and pinched the back of Tally’s leg, an old childhood trick he’d used to keep her quiet in church when she was a kid. She sat back down and grabbed his hand in both of hers in an apparent show of love, while she bent his pinky finger down and milked it. He yanked his hand away.

  Monroe leaned over and touched the knee of his bad leg, the top of her workout top gaping to reveal the curves of her breasts. “Of course I can. You can take walks, but don’t push yourself so hard. Not until I give you the go-ahead anyway.”

  “If you’re sure it’s no trouble?” His easy acceptance had nothing to do with marking his territory. Monroe was not his territory or anything else for that matter.

  His BS meter exploded. This new, all grown-up Monroe fascinated him, and she meant something to him; he just couldn’t figure out what.

  “No trouble at all. You ready?”

  He stood up and tested his leg. The rest had done him a world of good, the pain a dull throb instead of a piercing jab, and the brace helped more than expected. Yet when she tucked herself under his shoulder, her arm around his waist, he didn’t insist he was fine. Instead, he leaned into her, a soft breast pressing against his side. He took a deep breath. Her vanilla-sweet scent made him want to lean closer to discover its origins.

  Her hand bru
shed his stomach, fluttered off, but returned, her fingertips lightly tracing the dip in the middle. Goose bumps rose along her arm. Was she affected as he was?

  Entwined, they walked into a wall of heat—thick and pungent and heavy with memories. The air seemed almost a living entity that roamed Cottonbloom inciting violence and passion. The crisp, low-humidity Seattle air never seemed so dangerous or to hold any portents. Maybe that’s why he’d settled there.

  A silver Mercedes pulled to a stop on the wrong side of the street, close to them. The driver’s window rolled down on a whisper. “Monroe!”

  The man behind the wheel wore an expensive suit, his jacket still on despite the heat but his tie loosened. The buzz of an AC working overtime sounded over the soft purr of the engine.

  “Well, hello there. What’re you doing over here?” She dropped her head to see inside the car. Was this one of the dogs in pursuit?

  “Business at the precinct. Are you interested in grabbing dinner? Pizza, if you want casual,” the man said.

  Monroe looked at Cade as if surprised to find him still hanging on to her like a barnacle. “I’m helping a … friend home. Cade Fournette, this is Andrew Tarwater.”

  Cade dipped his head lower and looked more closely through the car window. Yep, now he recognized the squinty eyes and smirk.

  Andrew-fucking-Tarwater had been Cade’s adversary, first on the football field and then for the long painful eight months he’d worked third shift bussing tables at a late-night diner. After his parents had been killed, he’d taken any job available for a high-school dropout, which wasn’t much. Andrew and his posse had frequented the place after drinking at college bars with their fake IDs and turned Cade’s life into a fresh hell. Their unvarnished taunts and laughter fed his resentment and anger.

  If Cade was at all a gentleman, he would drop the pretense and allow her to ride off in the Mercedes if she wanted. His arm tightened around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Good to see you again, Andrew.”

  “I didn’t realize you were friends.” Monroe looked back and forth at them.

  Friends. Cade suppressed a guffaw.

  Andrew piped up. “We both played quarterback our freshman year. Cade here was good. Might’ve had a shot at a scholarship if … well, if he hadn’t dropped out.”

  Cade wasn’t sure if the dig was intentional or not. “I heard you followed your daddy into law.”

  “That’s right. Tarwater and Tarwater. You come see us if you get yourself in legal trouble while you’re home.” Andrew shuffled in his dash before his hand extended out the window with his card between his index and middle fingers.

  Cade squeezed his hand into a fist. Punching the local lawyer in the face would likely require legal representation. “I can find you if I need you.”

  The card disappeared back into the recesses of the car, but the thousand-watt smile remained on Andrew’s face. “I heard you turned into some inventor of some sort. Makes me think of crazy Doc Brown in Back to the Future. Is that about right?”

  “Except for the fact I make way more money.” Cade hated that he stooped to mention money. Andrew Tarwater was like chiggers under his skin.

  “Do you hawk your stuff on the Home Shopping Network? Invent anything I’ve heard of?” Maybe the man was trying to make small talk, but the hint of condescension—and Cade had grown up hearing the tone often enough to become fluent—set his path forward.

  “My stuff is too complicated for you to understand.” He dropped his lips close to Monroe’s ear and whispered, “I need to get off my leg.”

  She tilted her head, exposing the line of her jaw to his lips. He breathed her in, narrowing the sweet scent to the heat of her neck and chest.

  She directed her words toward Andrew. “Maybe another time.”

  “Sure. Not a problem.” The man ran a hand through streaked blond hair that Cade guessed wasn’t entirely natural. “You haven’t forgotten Mother’s cocktail party, have you? She has something real special planned.”

  “Of course not. I’ll text you sometime soon.” Monroe’s dismissive tone wiped the smile off Andrew’s face while the satisfaction of winning brought a smile to Cade’s.

  Cade let Monroe maneuver them a few steps down the sidewalk. Andrew hadn’t moved. Over his shoulder, Cade nudged his chin and barely kept his middle finger from popping up from behind Monroe’s back. “Later, Tarwater.”

  Any pretense of politeness on Andrew’s face was gone. Cade didn’t care. He wasn’t home to make friends and sing “Kumbaya.”

  The testosterone-driven nuances of the exchange didn’t seem to register with Monroe. She waved down the street. “I’m the black SUV at the end.”

  Only a couple of years old, the car was well kept and clean, inside and out. With his arm still around her shoulders, he pretended to lose his balance while easing onto the seat and pulled her into him, between his legs.

  He was playing dirty. It’s the only way the world worked for people like him. The Andrew Tarwaters of the world could traipse up the ladder on their family name, money, and looks. Cade had scraped and clawed his way out of poverty, dragging his brother and sister with him, doing his best to protect them by fair means or foul. He hadn’t wanted Sawyer and Tally to end up jaded and manipulative. Like him.

  Monroe fell into his chest. Her mouth brushed over the hair of his beard. What would her lips feel like against his neck or, even better, on his lips? He hoped the spark between them wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Her hands came between them, and she pushed on his chest. He dropped his arm from around her, but she didn’t immediately retreat.

  “You’re in denial.” Her soft voice sent skitters up his spine.

  “About what?” He said the words slowly, wondering if she’d caught him at his game.

  “You think you can push yourself until you’re in control of your body again. It’s not going to work that way this time. You need to concede to my expertise in order to get what you ultimately want.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Her blue eyes stared straight into his with a measure of truth no one but Tally and Sawyer was brave enough to dish out.

  “You want everything to be the way it was before your accident. You want your life back. You want to be out of Cottonbloom.”

  A day ago—hell, two hours ago—she would have been correct on all counts, but now right or wrong, logical or not, he wanted one thing even more: her.

  Chapter Four

  Between the summer heat and his muscular body pressed against her, Monroe felt like she was on the surface of the sun. His beard had tickled the side of her face, and she’d nuzzled into him before her mind could rein her body in. He smelled amazing, all spicy, yummy man. She probably stunk from a long day’s work and sweat.

  She pushed off him, adjusted her spandex top, and swiped the back of her hand over her forehead. Climbing behind the wheel, she cranked the engine, the AC still set for max after her quick trip from the office to the gym.

  Sawyer Fournette’s house was less than ten minutes away. He could have bought a bigger, nicer house on the Mississippi side of Cottonbloom. Instead, he’d opted to buy an older traditional farmhouse with a wraparound porch. It was secluded, sitting squarely in the middle of at least fifty acres. He kept the land around the house cleared but was letting the remainder revert to wilderness.

  Tightening her hands on the steering wheel, she kept her gaze fixed on the road but was uncommonly aware of the man only a few feet away. Cade remained silent, and she gave up trying to think of something not silly to say. She slowed once they hit the bumpy ruts on Sawyer’s unpaved driveway, but he seemed more pensive than in pain, his index finger tapping the top of the cane.

  “Tally said you have two black belts and teach self-defense.” His voice was low but carried over the AC noise.

  She treated his statement as a question. “I offer a class free of charge for high-school girls. Tally lets me use her gym at no cost. Most of them don’t have the money to j
oin.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “I don’t want those girls to be afraid. Not just of strangers, but the boys—men—in their lives. Mississippi and Louisiana have some of the highest crime rates against women in the country. Mostly from boyfriends and husbands.”

  A few beats of silence passed, and she glanced over to find him staring at her. “Do you do it because of what happened that night?” he asked.

  She whipped her head back around to stare at Sawyer’s house in the near distance. Memories rushed back along with the doubts she carried like chains. Her heart expanded in her chest. Cade was the one person who might be able to dissect truth from imagination. Yet a decade was a long time. She was different, and so was he.

  “I’m surprised you remember.”

  “Why wouldn’t I remember?”

  She pulled to a stop. A red-and-gray truck was parked under a willow tree in the front, its limbs offering partial camouflage. Grass grew tall around its deflated tires. Rust pocked the tailgate, obscuring the DODGE lettering, and a bird had built a nest where the cab met the bed. The abandoned truck made for a melancholy picture.

  “I was young, and you were—seemed—so much older, wiser.”

  “I don’t know about wiser.”

  “You didn’t say good-bye.” She hadn’t meant for the words to come out at all, much less with such vehemence.

  “Excuse me?” The coldness in his voice rivaled the AC.

  She considered backtracking, laughing off the strange accusation, but as soon as she met his eyes her path was set. She’d learned at a young age how to keep her own counsel, how to protect herself. While she was friendly and polite to everyone, she didn’t trust anyone. It made true friendships hard and relationships impossible.

  But with Cade she’d never censored herself. It was the way it had always been with him. Old habits she’d never shaken. “You left Cottonbloom without telling me. Without saying good-bye. I want to know why.”