Leave the Night On

by Laura Trentham

  Her spike of humor was gone as quickly as it came. Even if she couldn’t understand the attachment, his hurt was as real as hers. After all, he had carried the evidence for over a decade.

  He continued. “The June twenty-ninth edition. I made the mistake of announcing my find at the dinner table. I was so proud and happy and planned to go see the man after school the next day. Ford beat me to the punch and drove up in the car that afternoon waving the title.” He shook his head, the distance in his eyes spanning the years.

  “What happened?”

  “He was so damn smug. I jumped him. Jackson said I was crazed. Ford was bigger than me then and managed to get away before I could do any permanent damage.” He took a bite of pizza and most of the angst drained out of him. “Unfortunately.”

  “After all that, he didn’t offer to sell you the car? Or give it to you?”

  He made a scoffing sound. “He offered to sell her at a huge mark-up, the asshole. He’s always tried for the easy money. What really chaffed my hide though was the way he pimped the poor girl out. Redneck all the way with huge wheels and fenders and a Confederate flag paint job.”

  “What happened to her?” Somehow in her head the car deserved a feminine pronoun, representing all women who were powerless and taken advantage of by men.

  “He wrapped her around a water oak out on some back parish road six months later. Totaled her. It was almost a blessing.” He didn’t believe it. She could tell from the way his mouth tightened and he looked away.

  “You were biding your time until he lost interest and you could swoop in to save her, weren’t you?”

  His shrug was reminiscent of a teenage boy trying not to care. “I sound like a total weirdo, don’t I?’

  He sounded like a man who got attached. “Have you ever forgiven him?”

  A smile quirked his mouth. “This is where I should be a good example and say, yes, of course, we hugged it out and I forgave him. The truth is when it comes to Ford, I keep one eye on my back.”

  “He owns part of the garage, right? That’s what you were arguing about when I butted in the other morning.”

  “Each of us has an equal stake.”

  “Who makes the big decisions? Or do you vote?” She raised her brows.

  “How’s it work between you and your sister?”

  “I’m in charge. Even though she’s a year older, she doesn’t want to make the decisions. I wouldn’t say we’re besties, but we get along.”

  “You’re lucky then.” He shook his head, his attention focused on the task of tearing his crust into small pieces.

  She waited, but when it didn’t appear he planned to elaborate, her curiosity got the better of her. “I get the impression Mack is your unofficial leader. Would you rather it be you?”

  His head shot up, amusement tempering the earlier melancholy about his lost car. “Good Lord, no. Invoices and taxes make me break out in hives. I’m all about the cars. Ford and Mack have been in a power struggle since Pop died.”

  “Based on your trust issues, I assume you back Mack.”

  “Anyone with a lick of sense would back Mack. He lives and breathes the garage. Ford is…” Wyatt looked to the floor as if searching for a word on the old, dingy tile. “Unreliable is a nice way to put it. Pop could rein in his delusions of grandeur, but now he’s gone.”

  The hollowness in his voice and lack of expression told her how much he missed his father. The thought of hers gone made her stomach flop over. She touched the back of his hand. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Daddy.”

  “Loss is part of life. Doesn’t make it hurt any less though.” He captured her hand when she went to pull it back.

  She struggled to find a coherent thought with his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand. Searching for a way to cut through the swelling intensity, she landed on a superficial subject. “You and Jackson look so different. I wouldn’t have guessed you were twins.”

  His thumb stilled, his hand tightening around hers. “Jackson is a cookie-cutter Abbott. I used to be jealous. I take after my mom so I’m told. Or maybe I really am adopted like Ford kept telling me when we were kids.”

  Real pain hid behind his joke. She tried to keep herself from asking the obvious. Deep, meaningful conversations shouldn’t be part of her plan, but she was too far down the road to turn back now. “What happened to your mom?”

  “Ran off. Four boys in five years plus a husband who was more interested in cars than her would probably drive any woman to run. Pop got rid of all her pictures afterward, never talked about her, and I was too young to remember what she looked like.”

  His thumb resumed its caress. Each pass sensitized her nerve endings until it was almost painful. Yet she didn’t want him to stop.

  “That’s terrible.” She wasn’t sure what was more terrible, his mother leaving or his father’s callousness in not allowing his sons to remember her. “Have you tried to find her now that you’re grown?”

  “Why would I? She didn’t care enough to stay.” Behind the defiant words, his tone vibrated with uncertainty.

  “People change. Maybe she regrets leaving, but can’t find her way back after all this time without some help.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t.” A few beats of silence passed. “Do you miss her?”

  “Don’t really know what to miss, if that makes any sense. Jackson and I were barely out of diapers when she left. The aunts kept us fed and made sure we occasionally bathed and combed our hair.” His voice was distant. “I think Ford was affected the most. I remember he used to get really mad.”

  “Did you boys ever go to counselling?”

  “Like laid out on a couch talking about our feelings? You’re cute.” His smile was slow and sexy and crinkled his eyes. How could he veer so quickly from heartache to easy-going humor? “We worked out our issues under the hood of a car as soon as we could hold a wrench.”

  Their gazes met and melded, until nothing else existed except for him and the weird connection that had bloomed in the middle of a crappy situation. Maybe it made for good fertilizer.

  “Are y’all ready for your check?” Amy’s voice cut them apart, her attention fixed on Wyatt, who took the trembling ticket from between her fingers. She stood there with a smile that cracked around her braces.

  Wyatt dug out his wallet and handed over a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

  “Thank you so much.” Amy backed away.

  Wyatt seemed unfazed or more likely oblivious. “You ready?”

  Sutton wasn’t ready for the evening to end. Reluctance had her inching slowly out of the booth. Once outside, they strolled back toward Abigail’s. Stars winked from the sky, the moon cast in yellow.

  The giant oaks that had stood sentinel for hundreds of years had been felled by a tornado that had hit Cottonbloom three years earlier. New trees had taken their place, but it would be a hundred years before they grew into behemoths that blocked the night sky.

  Would Cottonbloom still be the same quaint town then? Would Abigail’s still exist? Her sense of melancholy was edged with impatience. One thing was certain, she wouldn’t be here in a hundred years, so she needed to make the ones she had count.

  “We didn’t even talk about our arrangement,” he said. “Did you have some ideas?”

  Her steps slowed. Honestly, she hadn’t been thinking about their agreement or Andrew or Bree or anything beyond him. Did that mean she was moving on or burying her head? “Daddy’s big election year pig picking is tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Are you inviting me?”

  “I sure don’t relish showing up alone, and it’d be a good place to meet some potential clients for you. A win-win.” She glanced at him for a reaction, trying not to be too obvious. Even though she wasn’t asking him on a real date, the wait was nerve-racking.

  “Yeah.” He drew the word out. “I could do that.”

  As she was filling him in on the
time and what to wear, two cars turned onto River Street, their headlights blinding her like camera flashes. They parked, and the sudden plunge into darkness made her blink. The sound of male voices carried across the street. The group of three or four men were making their way toward Antonio’s.

  Her eyes readjusted to the darkness. Mike Derouen, an associate lawyer in Andrew’s firm, was among them. The other men registered with various levels of recognition. All of them were in Andrew’s work or social circle.

  Mike raised his hand in greeting. She returned the gesture, thankful he didn’t trek across the street for a visit. He’d probably heard the news.

  “You know those guys?”

  “Colleagues of Andrew.”

  “Well, then…” He took a step toward her and his big body blocked out the street light. She instinctively took a step back and another until her butt hit rough bricks, still warm from the hot afternoon sun. He bracketed her with his arms by her shoulders. The slight edge of danger emanating from him was a serious turn-on.

  She leaned into him and took a deep breath of spicy, yummy man. Their faces were close and her lips were already tingling in anticipation, yet her prudish brain balked. They were in public against a brick wall. “What are you doing?”

  “Fulfilling my end of our bargain.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the group of men who were almost to the pizza place. “You want us to be seen, right?”

  Her aroused buzz was replaced by the little voice in her head telling her how dumb and naïve she was. All for show. She needed to remember that. Two kisses that rocked her world and shredded her good sense did not make whatever they were doing any more real. In fact, knowing he was kissing her in return for business induced a tawdry, icky feeling.

  She put her hands on his chest, her intention to push him away stalled at the feel of his thumping heart and warmth. “I’m not sure I can do this after all.”

  “Do what?”

  “The fake PDA thing. It’s not my style.”

  “You think I make it a habit to fake date women?”

  “That’s not what I meant, but…” She didn’t want to hurt his feelings again.

  “Tell me exactly what you’ve heard about me, Sutton.”

  His voice was rumbly and almost hypnotic, but she couldn’t decide if he was mad as hell or amused. Conjuring up a lie was beyond her, so she went with the unvarnished truth.

  “I heard you’re good with your … wrench.” Her glance down was as instinctive as her retreat had been. She held her breath in the ensuing stillness.

  “Out of all the tools available, you didn’t pick screwdriver?” He bobbed in to lay a kiss on the tip of her nose. “You’re so dang cute.”

  He pushed off the wall and walked down the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, whistling something unintelligible. The sense of danger was replaced by a sweet affection.

  * * *

  Wyatt wasn’t sure why his good mood had been restored so quickly in the face of her rejection. She could deny it all she wanted with her words, but she’d wanted that kiss as much as he had. Her body couldn’t lie. The flush that made her perfume scent the air between them. Her lean closer and the drowsy, sexy drop of her lashes.

  He wouldn’t be taking her to his bed at the end of the night, but he didn’t care. Which meant he needed to back down and reexamine what the hell his intentions were. While he was at it, he would try to figure out why he’d gone on and on like a loser about his dream car and his absentee mom.

  She ran-walked in front of him, forcing him to stop or plow her down. “We need to hash this out before tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Our PDA won’t consist of lip-to-lip contact. Does that make you feel better?”

  “I guess.”

  He was gratified her agreement emerged disgruntled. “We’ll smile and laugh and hold hands tomorrow. Perfect boyfriend material, right here.” He gestured down his body.

  Instead of garnering a laugh which was his intent, she remained serious. “What are you going to tell your drinking buddies about me?”

  “Nothing because it’s none of their business. Don’t you trust me?”

  “Not really. My best friend lied to me. My fiancé cheated on me.” Her shrug was accompanied by a huff. “You and I barely know each other.”

  She’d been burned. Telling her he was trustworthy wasn’t enough. He’d have to prove it to her, but that wouldn’t happen tonight. “Don’t forget I’m getting something out of this deal too. You’re going to get your bigshot daddy to talk up the garage, right?”

  “But you have to know that I can’t guarantee anyone will end up hiring you.”

  Jackson was right. Wyatt had liked her when she was a girl, and now that she was a woman, he liked her even more. Their deal offered him a way into her life he otherwise wouldn’t have. He was smart enough not to blow the opportunity.

  “I’m willing to take that risk.”

  Her laugh was self-deprecating. “I’m sorry. With everything that went down and our spotty history, I wasn’t sure if you were playing me or not. It’s not you I don’t trust as much as myself. Not sure I ever will again.”

  “All you need is time and a little TLC.” His gaze caught on his car, all alone at the end of the street. A before and after shot popped into his head. “My Hornet was all rusty and sad-looking when I found her. Begging for someone, anyone to uncover what was underneath.”

  “Are you comparing me to a rusted-out junk car?” Her tone was more offended than amused. She popped a hip and raised her chin. “I’m not some charitable case and you aren’t my fairy godmother.”

  “Hey, that’s not what I meant.” Their conversation had hit a patch of black ice and was spinning out of control.

  “What did you mean?”

  He stammered out a few unintelligible words. She walked away, and he followed.

  “Am I basically your pet project?” She whirled on him, only inches separating them.

  The conclusion she’d drawn made her sound like she was broken, which was far from the truth. “Not at all. But Tarwater and Bree left you beat up.”

  “You think you can fix me?” The night cast her face in mystery.

  She didn’t need fixing in his eyes. She wasn’t broken, only a little battered and bruised. What she needed was time to heal and lick her wounds without someone trying to take advantage of her. Like him.

  The honorable thing to do would be to end things now. The rumors would die fast enough, and some other Mississippi man, probably acquainted with her family through the country club, would start to circle, moving in to take what Wyatt selfishly wanted for himself.

  “How about this? I’ll play your boyfriend in front of all your Mississippi friends and family. You’ll help me drum up some business for the garage. And along the way, I’ll teach you how to have fun again. Smile. Laugh. Shake the rust off.” He tensed, wondering if he’d made things even worse.

  She stared into his eyes for longer than was comfortable, and he wasn’t sure what she’d found, but when she finally spoke her voice had softened with a sense of thoughtfulness. “I might have misplaced my laugh.”

  “I’ll help you find it. Let’s aim to actually have some fun at your daddy’s pig picking tomorrow.”

  A ghost of a smile that reminded him of the wispy clouds against the light of the moon crossed her face. “Not sure fun goes with a reelection party. Especially since it will be our first big outing. We should aim lower.”

  “How low?”

  “Survival will be a win.”

  His laughter echoed off the brick storefronts. They were in front of Abigail’s.

  She scuffed the toe of her shoe against a crack in the concrete. “I’m parked around back. You’ll pick me up around three tomorrow?”

  He nodded, and she disappeared into her shop. No lights came on. He backed away and made his way toward the Hornet, waiting until he saw her pull out of the narrow alleyway and onto the main road.

  His mind whirred on the way back to
the garage. He parked in the lot and was halfway around the side, headed to the barn, when a familiar voice stopped him.

  “Come and sit a spell, would you?”

  He hadn’t noticed Aunt Hazel on the porch swing of their old family house. Mack had shared it with their pop, and like calling dibs, he’d remained after Pop’s death.

  “Where’s Mack and Aunt Hyacinth?” He climbed the steps and joined her on the swing, the chains squawking with the extra weight.

  “Trying to kill each other at gin rummy.”

  Cards was a favorite pastime of the Abbotts. Their many greats-grandfather had won land in Cottonbloom Parish in a poker game. Verdict was still out whether he’d cheated or not.

  The night gathered around them like a fuzzy blanket. The rhythm of the swing lulled him, and his discussion with Sutton scrolled. Curiosity about his mom had been niggling him since his pop had died, and Sutton’s gentle probing had revived his questions.

  “Will you tell me about my mom?” At first, he thought the request would be met with the same reaction he’d gotten from his pop the one time he’d found the courage to ask. Silence followed by storming off.

  “You remind me of her.” His aunt’s voice didn’t reflect the fear that reared in him at the comparison. The fear that he was too much like his mama had lived inside of him ever since he had realized he didn’t look like his brothers.

  “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “No, it’s not.” She huffed. “You boys—Hobart especially—demonized her after she left.”

  “Deserted us is more like.” The sentiment came out like propaganda he’d been fed his whole life.

  “Maybe, but Hobart fell in love with her for a reason. Your mother knew how to have fun.”

  His heart thumped in his ears, his aunt’s assessment hitting too close to the mark with him. “Doesn’t sound much like a compliment to me.”

  Hazel’s voice had drifted years into the past, and she ignored his observation. “Problem was she didn’t know how to weather life when things weren’t fun. Having all you boys so close together couldn’t have been easy. A set of twins to boot. And let’s face facts, your daddy loved that garage above all else.”