“Not Josh what?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on.”
“Maybe he has a crush and this is his way of getting close to a certain someone.”
“And maybe he considers this his land and he doesn’t want to see any more butchered because of Beelzebub the tractor.”
“Beelzebub looks as docile as a lamb.” She stared at Josh a minute more before her smile faded. “Bert Wayne used to mow our grass every Saturday afternoon.” She sighed. “I miss those days. The sound of water running and the sputter of that old lawn mower.”
“Water running?”
She nodded. “Donna Harper would turn on her water hose and soap up her car and Bert would hightail it out to the shed for the lawn mower. Come to think of it, the only time he would go out to the shed was when Donna was washing her car. Or watering her lawn. He usually power-washed the driveway whenever she saturated her begonias. And he painted the house the summer she planted her vegetable garden.”
Holly was about to tell Sue that Bert Wayne sounded like a voyeuristic low-life, but the woman sobbed.
“Who could blame him? It was either stay in the house and see me knit in my sweats or watch Donna prance around in her Daisy Duke’s. The poor man. He had no choice.” She blinked as if trying to fight back her tears. “I should stop all this yapping. We’ve got work to do.”
Sue started pouring ingredients for the next batch of desserts while Holly went to check on the ones she had in the oven. She tried to ignore the roar of the lawn mower as she went about washing her mixing equipment for the next batch.
A crush?
Right. Like Josh McGraw would have a crush on her. On any woman, for that matter. He wasn’t the type of man to pine away for some woman and drum up excuses to get close to her. He was a straight shooter. A man who went after what he wanted and said exactly what was on his mind.
If you touch me again, I’m going to explode.
His voice stirred in her memory and heat rippled along her nerve endings. She became instantly aware of her hands submerged in the warm water. Bubbles tickled the backs of her fingers and soap slicked her palms and she found herself pulled back in time to their encounter in the bathroom. Her nostrils flared and her fingers flexed as she trailed her sponge over the large beater from her commercial mixer. But she didn’t feel cold steel. She felt warm skin and hard muscle and him—
“Knock, knock.” The deep male voice slid into her ears and sent a bolt of panic through her. She jumped. The sponge and beater fell from her suddenly limp fingers and plopped into the sink. Water splashed and she whirled to see Josh McGraw standing in her open kitchen doorway.
Where the sight of him several yards away had taken her breath away, having him half-naked and sweaty and barely a few steps away actually stopped her heart. When it did finally start again, it pounded at such a fast, furious rate she was certain it was going to bust out of her chest.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“I was, um, busy.” She glanced toward the cooling room where Sue had toted the batch of desserts just pulled from the oven. She glimpsed the woman through the small window as she went about transferring the cakes from the pans to the cooling racks.
Her gaze shifted back to Josh as she realized that she was practically alone with him. What she’d thought of as a large room suddenly seemed much too small, especially when Josh stepped forward and closed the distance between them.
“You’re all wet.”
“I—I was washing dishes,” she blurted, but she knew from the look in his eyes that he wasn’t talking about the condition of her shirt. His eyes were too bright, too knowing, too hot. As if he saw the image in her head and was equally turned on.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting a drink.”
“That’s not what I meant. Why are you here?”
“Maybe I’m being a good neighbor.”
“You don’t do the neighbor thing.”
“Maybe I want you to save your energy for me instead of wasting it on the tractor.”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe I’m just here to keep you from making a mess of my property.”
“So which one is it?”
“Does it matter?”
It shouldn’t, but it did. A realization that sent a burst of panic through her because Holly had already made up her mind to stay indifferent. To keep her distance. Her perspective. Her control.
“There’s a pitcher of tea in the fridge. Help yourself.”
“Mighty obliged.” His Southern drawl rang in her ears as she turned back to the sink and busied herself with the dishes.
She forced herself to concentrate on the dishes rather than his steady footsteps, the sigh of the fridge as he pulled it open, the clink of glass as he poured himself a drink, the faint glug-glug and his deep, satisfied ah when he’d finished.
It wasn’t the time or the place, a voice whispered as she gripped the dishes and prayed for him to hurry up.
The screen door finally creaked and the tension eased. She heard the lawn mower start up again. She peered past the curtains in time to see him turn the corner of the house and head for the back pasture area. The sound grew faint and she knew he’d moved farther from the house. Thankfully.
Sue emerged from the cooling room just as Holly rinsed the last beater.
“What next, boss?”
“Paperwork,” Holly announced. “I need shipping labels for each order. By then, every thing should be cool enough to box up and ship out.”
“If you need me to drive to Cherryville to mail the cakes, I’d be happy to. Or Austin, if you’d rather. There’s this great shop down on Sixth Street that I heard about while I was at Betty’s.”
“More clothes?”
“Sex toys.” At Holly’s surprised expression, she added, “I figured I could do a little practicing on my own—they custom-make these life-size dolls—until Bert Wayne takes me back. That way I’ll be prepared.”
“A doll?”
“Not just any old ordinary doll. A Warm Bodies doll. It’s life-size and anatomically accurate, with skin that warms to the touch. At least that’s what Betty said. She said some of her customers have one and swear by him. Say he’s better than a boyfriend because he stays hard and he doesn’t make any disgusting bodily noises.” She smiled. “So if you need me to go, I’d be happy to.”
“That would really help me out.”
“Then it’s settled. You do the labels while I get the boxes ready.”
Holly headed into the next room where she plugged her laptop into her printer and started working on the labels.
By four o’clock, Holly’s Navigator was filled with the past week’s orders. She handed over the keys to Sue, gave her the mailing instructions for each box and retreated inside the house. Josh was still mowing, but he was so far from the house that he was little more than a blur.
Holly put away the last of her equipment and spent the rest of the afternoon going through the second trunk from the attic and doing her best to forget Josh McGraw and the mouthwatering picture he’d made standing in her kitchen doorway, a gleam in his eyes and that sexy-as-hell grin on his face.
She pulled a stack of black-and-white photographs from the trunk and leafed through them. Most were of her mother as a child, her grandmother and the girls who worked the house all those years ago, and a tiny black puppy named T-Bone.
T-Bone’s 5th birthday.
She read the scribble on the back of this one picture in particular, before turning it over and studying the young girl holding the excited dog. She marveled that her mother could have loved something so much and never mentioned it. Then again, her mother had rarely talked about her past other than to say that she didn’t want to talk about it. Subject closed.
Holly had figured the past was simply too painful for her mother, the memories too hard. But seeing the smiling girl, she couldn’t help but wonder if i
t had been the past that had been so frightening, or leaving that past.
Right. She’d been the daughter of a madam. Of course, she’d run away. She hadn’t wanted to join the family business, and so she’d left and made a change. And she’d feared her past catching up to her, dragging her back and making her the same outcast that her mother had been.
At least that’s what Holly had initially thought upon learning her grandmother’s identity. The explanation fit. At the same time, Holly couldn’t quite believe that her grandmother would have forced her lifestyle on any woman. From her records and her personal belongings, Holly got the impression that Red Rose had a big heart. That she cared about people. She didn’t seem like the type to force anything on anyone, let alone her young daughter.
The doubts floated through her head as she reached for a stack of old town newspapers that dated back more than half a century—from a fifties issue that depicted the flood that had washed out half the county’s pastureland, to the full front page obituary for Tandy Ellen McGraw.
Holly’s heart revved when her gaze fell to the small black-and-white photo in the corner of the page. Three teenage boys stood near a flower-laden casket, their heads bowed.
Josh and his brothers.
While triplets, they were fraternal and so they had small, subtle differences. One had hair that seemed lighter than the other two. Another seemed more buff. And then there was Josh. He was a few inches taller than his brothers, his body lean, his shoulders a tad too broad, as if he hadn’t quite grown into them yet. He stood between his siblings. At the same time, he seemed set apart. His gaze distant. Pained.
Holly’s heart paused and she had the insane urge to trail her fingertips over his face and ease his grief.
She shook away the urge and set the paper aside. It didn’t matter what he was feeling because her relationship with him had nothing to do with feeling. It was all about the physical.
She pulled the last stack of photos free and leafed through them before setting them off to the side and pushing to her feet. She plucked at her damp T-shirt and blew out a deep breath.
Downstairs, she poured herself a glass of tea and downed the contents in one long gulp. It did little to cool her overheated body, however. Only one thing could do that.
It’s Monday night, remember? Five days from Saturday. Five long days.
Not so long if Josh kept his distance and she kept hers. Out of sight, out of mind, she told herself. He’d finished the immediate yard that surrounded the house. The rest was pastureland. There was no reason for her to have any contact with him until their next encounter. Then she could see for herself if the first extreme orgasm had merely been a fluke caused by months of celibacy, or if the chemistry between them really was explosive.
Then, she told herself. And not a minute sooner. No matter how much she wanted to.
8
WHEN HOLLY pictured Duke the delivery guy, she alternated between a maniacal version of Mark Martin racing the back roads of Romeo as if a NASCAR cup waited at the finish line, and one of her second-grade bus driver in Chicago, a retired air force pilot who’d still worn his flight jacket and driven as if half a dozen stealth bombers were trying to sight him in.
Neither image even touched the ancient man standing near the platter of pigs in a blanket at the Monday night Romeo chamber of commerce meeting.With snow-white hair slicked and combed to the side beneath a blue-and-white Dallas Cowboys cap, a small, stooped body and glasses as thick as the old-fashioned Coke bottles sitting on the refreshment table, he looked like he should be killing time on the back of a tractor rather than a jacked-up Dodge.
“That’s Duke Abernathy?” Holly asked Miss Martha who stood next to her and sipped a cup of punch.
“That’s him, child.”
“No wonder he’s slow with deliveries. I can’t imagine how he even climbs into his truck, much less peers over the dashboard to drive.”
“No, no.” Miss Martha shook her head. “That’s not Delivery Duke Abernathy. That’s old man Duke Abernathy. Duke Junior is over there.” She motioned to the man standing next to him. “He does all of the driving and deliveries.”
Duke Junior looked to be in his late fifties. He wore a red T-shirt, blue jean overalls and a San Antonio Spurs cap. A can of Skoal peeked over the top of his pocket and his right cheek puffed out like a chipmunk who’d just stashed a few nuts.
“I think I’ll introduce myself before the meeting starts.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Duke just took up dipping and he’s not a very good aim. Last time he talked to Mitchell Winslow, he accidentally nailed him right in the face.”
“I’ll be careful.” She started across the room. “Hi, Mr. Abernathy,” she said when she reached the man. “I’m Holly Farraday.” She held out her hand.
He eyed her as if she were trying to hand him a nicotine patch. His gray eyebrows drew together. “You’re the one who’s been leaving complaints on my answering machine.”
“That’s the voice, all right,” said old man Abernathy. “Heard it loud and clear over the Texas A M post highlights the other day. Why, I missed the winning touchdown ’cause of that.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your game. I was just checking on my orders. I run an Internet-based gourmet dessert business and order my supplies in large quantities. I also use special ingredients that have to be shipped from out of state. None of my orders have arrived on time and I was hoping you could do something about it.”
“Like?” Delivery Duke moved his mouth as if shifting the tobacco in his cheek. Before Holly could duck, he lifted a white foam cup to his mouth and spit a stream of brown juice.
She drew a deep breath, tried to calm the sudden pounding of her heart and gave him a hopeful smile. “Move me up on your delivery schedule? Maybe make your more important deliveries first?”
“Important, huh?” He nodded as if she’d just come up with a brilliant idea. “Did you hear that, Dad?” he asked the old man. “Make my important deliveries first. As opposed to my unimportant deliveries.”
“Sounds like a plan, Son.”
Duke Junior shrugged. “I guess I could tell Mrs. Abercrombie, the old secretary over at the church, that I cain’t deliver her diabetic medication on account of you needin’ your flour.”
“Sure enough,” Old Duke agreed.
“And I’m pretty sure Mrs. Daphney over on Fifth Street, who has Parkinson’s, could do without those experimental injections from the university for the sake of your sugar. Then there’s Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“Hollingsworth ain’t even sick,” the old man offered.
“That’s right. Norman, his blue heeler, suffers from a danged awful case of irritable bowel syndrome. He wears these special diapers that come every week from this pet health store up north. But I’m sure ole Norman wouldn’t mind losing himself all over the Reader’s Digest on account of you need vanilla extract.”
“Sure, he wouldn’t,” Old Duke said.
“Then there’s Mrs. Mellencamp’s weekly care packages from her grandchildren filled with pictures and money and plenty of canned goods ’cause she lives on her Social Security and her loved ones don’t want her eatin’ dog food. And Jimmy Lee MacIntosh and them there low-carb cookies she special orders online. She’s trying to squeeze into her great-great-great-grandma’s size-ten wedding dress by the end of the month on account of its a family tradition that ain’t been broken in danged near one hundred years. If she ain’t got some of those low-carb Oreos when she gets a craving, bam, her wedding day is ruined. But who cares about tradition?”
“Not me,” Old Duke said. “’Cept when it comes to the Aggies playing the Longhorns. Why, it’s only right that those Aggies whip up on them fancy-pants boys from UT.”
“I’m sorry,” Holly started. “I didn’t realize—”
“You wouldn’t,” Delivery Duke cut in, “’cause you ain’t from around here.” He spit another stream of tobacco juice into the cup and turned to the
refreshment table. Old Duke followed his lead and Holly found herself staring at their backs.
She turned, her gaze skimming over the room filled with strangers until she found Miss Martha’s familiar face. The old woman gave her a little wave before taking a seat at one of the rectangular tables that formed an upside down U at the front of the room where the other chamber officers sat.
She recognized a few faces from around town, but she didn’t actually know anyone. Her attention shifted to the doorway in time to see Josh McGraw walk through. He smiled at several people before his gaze found hers. Surprise registered, along with a flicker of interest that excited as much as it terrified. It was a reaction she’d felt many times in her life when she’d been in a new situation, standing on the outside and desperately wanting in.
At the same time, it was much more intense than anything she’d ever felt. And that was much more frightening because there was so much more at stake.
Her future.
Her heart.
She ignored the last thought and concentrated on taking a deep, measured breath.
Get out of here, a voice whispered. Just start walking and don’t look back. You don’t belong.
Maybe not. But she was going to try.
Holly forced her gaze from Josh, stepped toward the first row of chairs and took a seat right in the middle.
JOSH HAD SPENT the entire afternoon on the back of a tractor, with the full intent of working himself past the point of exhaustion. Past the point of wanting anything—Holly included—beyond a soft bed and some blessed quiet.
But as he sat two rows behind her at the chamber of commerce meeting, need rose, sharp and demanding, inside of him.He crossed his arms and tried to stare past her, to concentrate on chamber president Dr. Stewart Connally, the town pediatrician, who stood behind the podium and led the meeting. But Josh couldn’t seem to help himself. Holly was a damned sight better to look at than old Stewart. She wore a trendy pink T-shirt that hugged her full breasts, the slogan Girls Rock in silver glitter, and snug Levi’s that made him wonder how she’d managed to wiggle into them, and how he’d like to peel them right off. She’d pulled her long hair back into a ponytail and slicked her lips with a soft pink gloss. The heels on her black leather cowboy boots were a little too high to be practical, but the toes had scuffed up nice thanks to her gravel driveway. Overall, she looked comfortable and relaxed and down-home, as if she really and truly belonged in Romeo.
Texas Fever Page 9
