Leave the Night On

by Laura Trentham

  He refocused himself on the task at hand: getting rid of Sutton’s ex-bestie without letting the ungentlemanly words lurking at the back of his throat escape. He opened the waiting room door. The woman stopped mid-pace and pivoted to face him.

  A cross between impatience and annoyance marred an otherwise pretty face framed by chocolatey brown hair, stick straight and lustrous looking. She popped a hip and drummed her blood-red tipped fingers on crossed arms. The general impression was one of elegance, but the vibe she gave off was animalistic with sexual overtones. A predator. If a man enjoyed his women with claws—metaphorical and otherwise—she was your dream girl.

  “Where’s Sutton? I’ve texted her a half dozen times. I have cases up today.”

  “Wyatt Abbott, mechanic extraordinaire.” He forced a smile with as much charm as he could muster to throw her off her game.

  She sized him up from head to work boots with a gaze he imagined made lesser men quake. Or confess. When it became clear he wasn’t offering up any more information, she made a huffy sound. “Bree Randall, Cottonbloom, Mississippi, city counsel. Where is Sutton?” The last three words came out in a slow, clipped voice as if she assumed his grasp on the English language was tenuous.

  “Things are more complicated than we originally discussed. You can head on, and I’ll give Sutton a ride over the river once things are settled.”

  “She should cut bait and not spend the money. Last I heard Andrew was thinking about selling the Camaro anyway.” Over the entitlement in her tone and manner was a confident aura that she was always in the right.

  If he wasn’t already inclined to dislike her, her attitude cinched it, especially given her fishing analogy and the country accent she hadn’t quite been able to shake. His brother Ford carried himself in a similar fashion, and it incited annoyance like a swarm of no-see-ums.

  “Restorations generally increase a car’s value.” The line was a standard sales pitch, but also true. The Abbotts’ reputation had been earned through honest dealings.

  “I want to see her.” She stepped toward the door and waved a hand, shooing him aside.

  He planted a shoulder into the jamb and blocked the way. “She’s busy.”

  Shadows passed over her face at his terse answer, but he couldn’t discern the cause. Did she suspect that Sutton knew? Did she regret hurting a friend, or was she more worried about getting caught? Whatever the cause, she avoided his eyes while she retrieved her purse and hiked it over her shoulder.

  “Fine. Tell Sutton to check her phone.” It was a demand, not a request.

  Wyatt didn’t respond except to step out of the way and toe the door open. He followed close behind, herding her toward her BMW coupe. Her car was all looks with nothing of substance under the hood. BMWs were notoriously high maintenance.

  Still chatting with the tow truck operator, Mack sent him a curious look. Wyatt dropped his gaze, wanting to put off adding to Mack’s stress for as long as possible.

  Bree hesitated at her bumper, fiddling with her key fob. “You sure she doesn’t need my help?”

  “You’ve helped enough, don’t you think?” This time he didn’t bother with a customer service smile.

  Bree’s eyes flared then narrowed on him. She bit her bottom lip as if questions or more demands hovered, but instead she slid into the BMW without a word, the tinted windows offering camouflage. She spun out of the parking area and onto the two-lane parish road. He stared until she was out of sight.

  His aunt Hazel grabbed his sleeve as he stepped back into the shop. Her twin sister, Hyacinth, wouldn’t be far away. Wyatt and Jackson were the latest in a long line of Abbott fraternal twins. Every generation had at least one set, sometimes two, and according to family lore, none had ever married. Wyatt and Jackson had found this more amusing than disturbing over the years, joking that they were destined for a set of bunk beds in the old folks’ home.

  Aunt Hazel’s classic beauty was still visible under the sagging skin, wrinkles, and white fluffy hair. But her storybook, kindly grandmother appearance belied the intimidating fire that burned in her soul. Although she was smaller in stature and not as bombastic as her twin, she commanded a room. When she spoke, people listened.

  She had more in common, personality-wise, with Jackson, which was maybe the reason Wyatt and his aunt Hazel had always had an undeniable bond. Just like Jackson could see behind his smiles, Hazel had always known when something was troubling him. She wasn’t the giver of hugs—that fell to Hyacinth—she was the giver of wisdom, and the person Wyatt had turned to time and again in his youth seeking the guidance of a mother figure.

  Hazel shared the same color eyes as her younger brother, his pop. In them, he found the comfort of the familiar, but also the pang of loss. Wyatt leaned down to give her a hug and kissed her cheek, even though she tensed at the demonstration. Her floral perfume shot him back twenty-five years, and he tightened his hold on her for an instant.

  “Something wrong with the car?” he asked.

  “A funny rattle under the hood. Jackson is taking a look-see.”

  Since his pop’s death, the aunts had brought the car in at least once a week complaining of phantom noises. The brothers knew they were using the car as an excuse to check in on them, and the aunts knew that they knew. But they all continued to play along for reasons that involved pride and stoicism.

  “Sounds like Jackson has you covered. I need to skedaddle.” He thumbed over his shoulder and took a step back. “Customer service issue.”

  Hazel was too perceptive where he was concerned, and he made an escape before her puzzlement manifested into questions he didn’t want to answer. Jackson popped up from the side of their aunts’ car and stopped him with a wrench held out like the arm at a train crossing.

  “Hold up. You haven’t kidnapped Sutton Mize, have you?”

  “Kidnapped? What kind of man do you think I am?”

  “The kind to make googly-eyes at a taken woman. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “She’s engaged to Tarwater.”

  “She was. Is.” The back of his neck crawled and his eyebrow twitched, the omission treading too close to a lie. Normally, confiding in Jackson was a given, but this wasn’t his secret to share. Anyway, he didn’t know what she planned on doing. She wouldn’t be the first woman to forgive a cheater. “I’m running her back to her place. That’s all there is to it.”

  “What about Tarwater’s car? You want me to put Willa on it?”

  “Naw. Let it sit ’til I get back.” He would buy a six-pack on the way home and break the news to his brothers that afternoon. Maybe by then he’d have thought of some way to mitigate the loss.

  Jackson’s hazel eyes—Abbott eyes, they were called—bored into him with the intensity of a laser-guided missile. “Is everything okay?”

  Wyatt heard the undertones. Are you okay? was what his brother was really asking. “I’m fine, but…” He glanced toward the back wall and the barn beyond. “Cover for me, would you? I’ll fill you in later.”

  Jackson turned back to his work without another question, and Wyatt gave him a pat on the shoulder on his way by.

  Not sure what he’d find in the barn—women were unpredictable creatures, and Sutton seemed more complicated than most—he shuffled through the door. Between the dust and pollen worked into the grooves of the wood floor and the thrift store couch, any damage she could inflict in a fit of rage might be an improvement.

  Instead of a woman who planned to set shit on fire, she appeared serene, standing at the back of the barn, sipping her Coke, and staring toward the woods that spanned all the way to the horizon. The same stance he’d found himself in more often of late.

  Memories of summers long gone echoed through the woods. The brothers had taken care of each other while their pop had toiled away building the business. Leaving four boys to their own devices had led to a few broken bones and near-death experiences in the tops of trees or on the ri
ver, but they’d survived and even thrived. He missed the simplicity of those days.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  She spun and he was struck anew at the complexity of her eyes, both in color and feeling. “I feel like I could walk into the woods and come out two hundred years ago.”

  He understood exactly what she meant. The woods were a magical place where past and present collided and sadness and hope warred. Although the peace he’d once gained from the view had turned to an unexplainable restlessness.

  “You’d sorely miss indoor plumbing.” His reward was a lightning quick quirk of her lips. He propped a shoulder against the opposite side of the wide barn door. “I often think about my ancestors walking these woods. Same trees, same river.”

  She made a noise that struck him as polite interest.

  “I sent Bree on her way,” he said.

  His words broke her trance with the woods. Her color heightened and her body tensed. She shifted and leaned her back against the jamb as if needing the physical support. “Was she suspicious?”

  “I think so. Wanted to know why you weren’t returning her texts.”

  “I turned off my phone. I can’t—” Her voice cracked.

  “I get it. Just letting you know that a reckoning is coming sooner rather than later, so you’ll have to decide how to play it.”

  “What play do I have except to face it head-on?”

  He picked at the grease under one of his fingernails and looked at her from under his lashes. “You could forgive him. Extract promises it will never happen again. Maybe you’d be happy.”

  “Puh-lease. I may be gullible, but I have a healthy dose of self-respect.” At her declaration, relief calmed the whoosh of his heart. She deserved someone better than Tarwater, but he hadn’t been sure she realized it too.

  She rubbed her forehead and gave a breathy, ironic sounding laugh. “You know what’s weird? I’m more upset about Bree than Andrew.”

  “Not weird.” But it was surprising.

  “Bree has been my best friend since before I can remember. I thought we had each other’s backs.”

  Wyatt didn’t have a best friend aside from his family, and he couldn’t imagine one of them screwing him over. Except for Ford. Screwing Wyatt over had been Ford’s favorite pastime as a kid.

  Her eyes were dry, but she looked exhausted and wrung out. He side-stepped to the stairs leading up to the barn loft. “Let me change, and I’ll run you over the river.”

  She straightened and brushed her hands down her skirt, twisting her neck to see up the stairs. “You live here?”

  “Jackson and I converted the loft into an apartment of sorts.” He gestured impulsively. “Wanna see?”

  “I’d love to.” A portion of the strain around her eyes and mouth eased. If it made her feel better, he would be happy to provide a distraction.

  She preceded him up the stairs and the sway of her hips halted his mental inventory about how messy he’d left the loft that morning.

  She opened the door at the top and stepped tentatively over the threshold as if a trap might spring at any moment. A puff of cool air greeted them. A couple of lamps flanked the couch in the living space, but turning them on was unnecessary. Sunshine poured through skylights. His bedroom was in the left corner, Jackson’s in the right. His open door showcased an unmade king-sized bed against the far wall.

  Two windows were taken up with the air conditioners, but the rest could be opened if the weather was nice. His favorite nights were in the fall when he could stare up at the stars, throw the windows open, and fall asleep to the crescendoing call of the cicadas.

  A small kitchen with the bare essentials was along one wall, but neither Wyatt nor Jackson cooked anything more complicated than mac and cheese or canned soup, preferring to head over to the old family house beside the garage to mooch dinner with Mack. But amid the chaos of the garage, the loft was a fortress of solitude.

  “This is lovely.” She shuffled farther into the room and did a turn that billowed her skirt out from her legs. “Did you renovate it by yourself?”

  He followed her as she made a slow circle around the room, her heels tapping hollowly against the dark wood planking. “For the most part. The advantage of being related to half the parish means that I have plenty of people to call on if I need help. Of course, the disadvantage is my dating pool is drastically smaller. Unless I aspire to become a redneck joke.”

  His weak attempt at humor elicited a small smile, and he mentally tallied it as another victory.

  “There are Abbotts all over the parish. Are you kin to all of them?”

  “A few I won’t claim in public, and a few have jumped the river over to Mississippi, but yes.” Tracing his family tree was an avoidance tactic that wouldn’t work for long, but he understood her need.

  She turned and half-sat on the edge of the window. “What’s it like growing up with family all around like that?”

  “Annoying.” He couldn’t go anywhere without running into someone he was related to, however distantly. His youthful indiscretions had been public fodder, but on the plus side, he had a phone full of numbers to call if he needed help. “It can be pretty great too.”

  “I can imagine it was fun as a kid to always have someone to play with.”

  The wistfulness in her voice made him want to offer her a hug. Which would be weird, right? He tucked his hands into his pockets.

  “You have a sister though. Is she not around Cottonbloom anymore?”

  “How do you remember that?” For the first time since the thong discovery, she turned her complete focus from managing her inward pain and confusion to him. Confessing his childhood crush was a no-go. At his shrug, she continued. “Maggie. A year older, but for some reason, we’ve never been close. When I was looking to buy the boutique, my dad offered me a loan with the stipulation my sister got a stake and a job. It’s been interesting.” Her eye roll was so slight, he almost missed it.

  “Family businesses are complicated, huh?”

  “The absolute best and worst.” She’d nailed exactly how Wyatt felt about the garage. “You must run into some of that here. You and your brothers can’t always agree.”

  He hummed at the understatement. If their disagreements got too heated, it wasn’t uncommon for them to take it out back and settle things the old-fashioned way. More often than not though, the fights ended in laughter. Basically, the Abbotts were a human resources nightmare.

  Some might view their methods as immature and unprofessional, but it acted as a release valve to the tension that would otherwise simmer and grow into something far more unmanageable and destructive. The way it had between Ford and Mack.

  “I need to change out of my coveralls to run you home.” Dirtying the seats of his car was near sacrilege.

  “Oh, right.” She presented her back and stared out the window. It was a pretty view made even prettier with her framed by it.

  He retreated to his bedroom. Changing clothes with her on the other side of the thin door took on a strange intimacy, even though there was nothing sexual about it.

  He stepped out, barefoot and buckling his belt, and met her gaze in the window reflection. Pinpoints of sunlight brightened and intensified her eyes. The intimacy deepened and stretched into an awareness he couldn’t quantify, as if her reflection distilled truth rather than distorted it—pain and betrayal, but also a tempered strength.

  “Time to face up to reality.” She turned, shattering the moment, her voice too high and bright and a blush staining her skin. She didn’t wait for an answer, but swished her way down the stairs.

  After pulling on boots, he trailed in her wake, not sure how to explain the urge to protect her or the melancholy sadness that echoed in his chest. The girl who he’d crushed on hard had turned into a woman who inspired a tangle of feelings he couldn’t ignore.

  But the reality was, dropping her off at the curb and waving good-bye would see their paths diverge once more. In fact, this incident, incl
uding him, was something she’d probably work hard to forget.

  * * *

  Sutton patted at the inferno raging on her cheeks as she stamped down the steps. Wyatt Abbott unsettled her. Her memories of the boy he’d been didn’t line up with the kindness he’d shown her now. Even as she attempted to stay leery about his motives, she could imagine hanging out with him in his cozy loft or on the couch staring out over the woods for the rest of the day, talking about nothing in particular, but laughing a lot.

  Out of the baggy coveralls, he was in better shape than she’d imagined. His jeans were well-worn with a fraying split at one knee, and his T-shirt emphasized arms that were familiar with heavy lifting and hard work. She tried her best not to notice or admire. After all she was technically still engaged.

  What was wrong with her? Shock. Obviously, she was in shock and was practicing some weird avoidance technique by noticing another man’s biceps an hour after discovering her fiancé was a cheater.

  The longer the situation marinated in her head though, the clearer it became. She was more upset about Bree than Andrew. Certainly, Andrew deserved blame, but it was Bree’s betrayal that prodded her heart with a hot poker, stoking the flash fire of her anger and hurt.

  Added to that sickening stew was a feeling of foolishness. Who else knew about Bree and Andrew? In a town as small as Cottonbloom, indiscretions were hard to hide. Even if they had kept things on the down-low and out-of-town as all the restaurant receipts implied, someone knew. Someone always knew.

  How long had it been going on? She would check the dates on the receipts she’d stuffed into her purse when she got home, where she’d be free to cry and yell and hit something. Inanimate, of course. She would never go so far as to actually hit someone. Not her style. Her style was to suck it up and move on with a smile. Even if it was fake.

  At the bottom of the steps, she stopped one more time in the barn door. If she wasn’t so practical, she might believe magic existed in the deep and endless woods stretching over the rise. But the woods did end. Somewhere out there a road or a farm or a strip mall cut them off. Everything eventually ended.