Leave the Night On

by Laura Trentham

  Smitten and sweet were not words she normally associated with Wyatt. More like sexy and stubborn.

  “But you warned me off him. Told me it wouldn’t last.”

  “I maybe stuck my nose where it didn’t belong because Andrew was a familiar, easy choice. We know his family and he’d have fit in well.” Her father hummed and rubbed his jaw. “Your mother told me to butt out. She thinks you and Wyatt are good together.”

  Sutton swallowed past a boulder-sized lump of tears. “We were good together. At least, I think we were.” Any trust she had in her judgement had been blown to smithereens.

  “No shame in taking some time for yourself to decide. You’ve been put through the wringer by men lately.” Her father put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, taking a step toward the door to the ballroom.

  She planted her feet and balked. No way could she smile and put on a brave face. She didn’t care what everyone would say about her the next morning. Wyatt had given her that at least. Actually, he’d given her more than she could measure.

  “I’m going to slip out and head home.”

  “Do you want me to get your mother?” It wasn’t often she heard doubt in her father’s voice.

  “No.” She leaned in to take one more deep galvanizing breath of Old Spice and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

  He nodded, his hands tucked into the pockets of his tuxedo pants. “Call us tomorrow morning. Maggie is leaving for Nashville before lunch, but she might stay if you needed her.”

  Without a doubt, Maggie would cancel her trip if Sutton asked. She couldn’t have said the same a month ago. The fiasco with Andrew had brought them closer than they’d ever been. She wouldn’t ask Maggie to give up her trip though. A broken heart wasn’t a terminal illness.

  A broken heart. Sutton clutched her chest. So this is what it felt like. Like any stored happiness was hemorrhaging from the gashes and cuts inflicted by Wyatt … and herself. How much of this was her fault?

  She forced the facsimile of a smile on her face, hoping the shadows hid her insincerity, and backed away from her father. She retraced Wyatt’s retreat around the side of the country club. The blue line of hydrangeas in full bloom stoked frustration. How dare something so beautiful exist in the bleakness?

  She waited in the warm night for the young valet to bring her car around. No sign of Ford or Wyatt. Part of her had hoped he’d be there waiting for her to emerge even though she had no idea what to say or do. Her father was right. She would gift herself with a few days to figure out what to do and decide whether her future tangled with Wyatt’s.

  Chapter Twenty

  The next days passed excruciatingly slowly. The happiness she’d always found in making people feel good in clothes ceased to exist, a casualty of her broken heart. The pre-gala fervor had eased, and a lull had settled over the boutique. With Maggie gone, Sutton had to force herself out of bed and to work every morning. Otherwise, she might be tempted to wallow around in misery.

  It didn’t help that the weather had turned as gray as her mood. A tropical storm had crept in from the gulf and parked itself over the coast, bringing with it sheets of salt-tinged rain. Foot traffic along River Street was reduced to a few brave souls who stood on the bank and watched the river rise.

  It had been decades since the river had flooded, but as the days went by with no abatement, apprehension infected both sides of the river. Contingency plans and sandbags were the talk of every coffee group, but the official word was to hold tight. She tried to summon the same worry expressed by her neighbors along River Street, but it wasn’t genuine.

  All she could think about was Wyatt. Sutton wasn’t sure if the monotony of her days was because of the weather or the numbness around her heart. Sometimes she laid a hand on her chest to make sure it was still beating.

  Wyatt had texted and called several times since the gala, but Sutton had ignored him, not sure yet how to reply. She went over every single memory to tease out the truth. After three days fixating on Wyatt, when the bell over the door chimed, she half-expected to have conjured him to her.

  Jackson Abbott sidled in the door acting as if one wrong move would set off an explosion of lace and sequins. Not sure if he was here as emissary or enemy, she waited for him to make the first move.

  Slicked back, his dark brown hair appeared closer to Wyatt’s black. His jeans and white T-shirt showed wet splotches from the rain. He continued his careful trek toward her. His distinctive hazel eyes snared hers when he was six feet away.

  She squirmed on the stool and grasped the edge of the glass top cabinet for support. She had to remind herself that Jackson and Wyatt weren’t just brothers, but twins. Their coloring and personalities were so starkly different.

  “Hi.” His opening salvo was so unexpectedly mundane, a cheery-sounding, “Hi,” popped out of her in response.

  When he didn’t offer up anything else, she said, “I’m assuming you aren’t here to shop.”

  “No.” The small quirk of his lips reminded her so much of Wyatt, a pang penetrated her numb limbo. “I’m here because of my brother.”

  “Did he send you?” She tempered the eagerness with worry. She’d woken more than once from a nightmare of Wyatt never surfacing from the pool. “He’s okay, right? Nothing broken?”

  “A few bruises is all.” He scratched at the stubble along his jaw. “I’m just going to lay it out there. He’s a mess. Miserable and moping around the garage.”

  If Jackson was going to lay it out, then so could she. “Was I a pity project?”

  “Of course not. Why would you even think it?”

  “Something Wyatt said once. And Ford insinuated as much the night of the gala.”

  “Are you pissed or embarrassed or whatever that Wyatt started a fight in front of all your friends?”

  She threw his message back in a similar tone of outrage. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “You haven’t returned his calls or texts. And, no offense, but you seem the type to care about what people think.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he was right to some extent. She used to care. “I’m worried Wyatt will move on to the next project. The next woman.” She added the last in a whisper.

  His eyes softened. He moved to the side of the counter and propped his hip, slouching closer as if sharing secrets. “More than any of us, Wyatt gets attached to things and people. It’s his greatest weakness. And strength.”

  “You think he’s attached to me?”

  “Something happened a long time ago between him and Ford that might help you understand. Ford took something that Wyatt had dreamed about for years and ruined it.”

  “The Barracuda.”

  Jackson cocked his head. “He told you. Interesting. He’s had cars come and go since then, but he’ll always long for that Barracuda. Same thing with you. He’ll always long for you.”

  Her heart jumped with a shock of hope. “I get your point even though I’m not sure I appreciate being likened to a car.”

  “You should be flattered. A Barracuda is one fine-ass car.” His smile carved dimples into his cheeks and flipped his demeanor from stern to ridiculously attractive. “He would kill me if he knew I was here, by the way.”

  “But you came anyway.” She returned his smile, her first real one in days. It was obvious to her that Wyatt wasn’t the only one in possession of a big heart.

  “I can’t stand to see him like this. It’s just plain pitiful. He cares about you. A lot. You’d be doing all us a favor by giving him another shot.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She didn’t need to think too hard. She’d been teetering on the edge of texting him back, but no need to tell Jackson so he could go back and tell Wyatt.

  “That’s all I’m asking.” Jackson pushed off the counter, and she followed him to the front door.

  The river was hidden behind the veil of gray rain. “What are they saying about the river on your side?” she asked.

  “It’s alre
ady jumped the bank downstream in St. Helena Parish. No major flooding yet in Cottonbloom Parish, but a matter of time, I’d say.” He looked around her shop. “You got contingency plans?”

  “Downtown Cottonbloom hasn’t flooded in fifty years or more.”

  “Seems about due then, by my reckoning.” Jackson dipped his head and ducked outside, lost to the rain.

  Sutton stayed in the doorway and stared toward the river. Malice seemed to emanate from where the river raged. Grabbing the umbrella she’d left by the door that morning, she scurried toward the Quilting Bee, stepping ankle deep in a puddle along the way. Shaking out her umbrella and her foot, she pushed the door open.

  Expecting the store to be as deserted as hers, she was shocked by the scurry of people boxing and carrying items through the back. More than half the shop floor had been cleared out.

  Ms. Leora and Ms. Effie directed a crew of mostly men that included the Fournette brothers and their sister Tally from the Louisiana side of the river.

  Sutton approached Ms. Leora. “Have you been told to evacuate?”

  “Hello, dear.” The older woman patted Sutton’s hand. “No official word as of yet, but Vera, Effie, and I have never been ones to wait for a bunch of men to tell us what to do.”

  “Where are you taking everything?”

  “Cade and Sawyer offered to store most of it in their shop, but we decided they’re too close to river and are piling everything in poor Vera’s house.”

  “I guess I could move things to my parents’ house,” she said more to herself than to Ms. Leora. But her parents’ house backed up to the river too. One of the best pieces of real estate in the county.

  “For goodness’ sake, be careful with that vase, Cade, it’s hand-blown.” Ms. Leora moved faster than her age would suggest, grabbed a delicate looking green-and-blue glass vase from under Cade Fournette’s arm, and cradled it like a baby. He rolled his eyes, but an indulgent smile was on his face. He hauled the heavy bin he was holding higher and headed toward the storeroom in the back.

  Sutton backed toward the door, a sense of urgency overtaking her. She’d been wandering around in a fog and ignoring the danger because she was too focused on her anemic heart to care. But now that Jackson had revived it, she could see the consequences of her inattention looming. She could lose everything in a few hours if the river escaped the bank.

  She ran out of the Quilting Bee, only realizing when she stepped from under the overhang that she’d left her umbrella. Even going back for it seemed a waste of precious time, and she kept running, rain soaking her before she made it to her front door.

  For the next hour, she hauled out boxes from the storeroom and packed clothes, starting with the most expensive gowns. At first, she took care to fold everything, but with each glance out the window and the rain pouring over the gutters, the sloppier her folding became until she was tossing in clothes a handful at a time.

  With eight boxes packed, she looked at the small dent in inventory she’d made. Pulling out her phone, she called her mother but no one answered. Her father was in court, and she left him a message. She hesitated over Andrew’s number, but although a tentative peace had been brokered between them, she didn’t want to become indebted to him for any reason. Bree wasn’t an option either.

  She beat tears back. They wouldn’t help her get packed and moved any faster. After another hour, she had boxes stacked on top of boxes and another issue presented itself. It was all well and good to get things boxed up, but the flood water wouldn’t care. She needed to get the boxes to her house, and she could only take a few at a time.

  Her car was parked in the back, and she managed to squeeze in five boxes. By the time she was finished, she was as wet as if she’d stepped into a shower and shivered in the cool AC of her car. She unloaded the boxes in her den and headed back to the shop, driving slow, her windshield wipers whirring frenetically and still not able to keep up.

  A quick calculation widened the pit of despair in her stomach. It would take all night to get everything moved. How much time did she have? She parked in front of the shop, closer to the boxes she’d already packed.

  With rainwater in her eyes, she opened the door to Abigail’s, not to silence but to the chatter of voices and activity. Wiping a hand down her face, she blinked.

  It was the Abbotts. Not just Wyatt and his brothers and aunts, but Landrum Abbott plus some others she didn’t even know. They must have arrived soon after she’d left because more than half the racks were empty and the boxes she’d already packed were gone.

  She caught Jackson’s eye, and he elbowed Wyatt, who was standing with his back toward her, pointing a man she didn’t know out the back. Wyatt turned and took two steps toward her before stopping short. He looked worn down, shadows under his eyes and his stubble classifying more like a beard.

  All doubts swept away, she closed the distance and threw her arms around him. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his neck.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who’s sorry. I came on too strong. I embarrassed you at the gala. I’m an idiot, and I totally understand if you kick my sorry butt out of here and never want to see me again.” In contrast to his declaration, his arms tightened around her.

  The laugh that bubbled up was driven by relief. “How did you know I needed help?”

  “Jackson had to go out for some parts this morning and told me the river was rising fast. Your shop would be the first in trouble. The door was unlocked, but your car was gone. When I saw how little you’d gotten packed, I called for reinforcements. We’re storing the boxes at Mack’s.”

  He chucked his head toward his brother, who was taping up a box a few feet away. At the sound of his name, Mack looked up and winked at her.

  “You don’t mind having boxes everywhere?” Sutton asked.

  “All I need is a path from the front door to my bed. Happy to help.” He picked up the box and made his way toward her storeroom.

  “I should have trusted you.” She played with the button on his shirt, unable to say her piece looking in his eyes. “But between my history and what Ford insinuated, I couldn’t think straight. I’ve been miserable without you.”

  “Damn, I’ve missed you so bad.” Wyatt hauled her into his chest for a hug. “I overreacted. Something about Ford has always chapped my hide. Ever since—”

  He cut himself off, but she filled in the blank. “He bought the Barracuda out from under you.”

  “Exactly. Plus, he planted the worry that the garage—me—wasn’t for someone like you.”

  She shoved his shoulder. “It’s what’s under the hood that counts.”

  He laughed. “Since you said it, I’ll whole heartedly agree.”

  Mack stopped beside them on his second trip. “How about you two finish working things out after the threat of requiring passage on Noah’s ark recedes.”

  “Mack’s right. Let’s get to moving.”

  They worked for the next hour with little conversation except what to pack where. The overhead bell chimed and Sutton turned. A feminine figure entered and pushed the hood back on her raincoat. Bree.

  If she’d left the house with makeup, it had been washed away. Her face was pale and gaunt. An instant shot of sympathy had Sutton closing the distance between them.

  “How can I help?” Bree asked.

  She didn’t hesitate, pulling Bree in for a hug. While she would never go so far as to thank Bree, Sutton would never have found Wyatt without her betrayal with Andrew. Looking back, it was obvious Sutton and Andrew’s engagement had been one of convenience, not love. She had been treading water until Bree had cannonballed into her.

  A sob vibrated from Bree’s chest.

  “It’s okay.” Sutton patted her back. “Everything will be fine.”

  “Does this mean you forgive me?” Hope lifted some of the strain Bree had carried inside.

  “I forgive you.” Sutton pushed Bree’s shoulder playfully. “I’ve missed having you around.�
��

  “Yeah, well, it seems like you found someone else to fill my spot.” Even though she was smiling, a sadness of what had been lost forever shaded Bree’s face.

  Bree was right. Sutton had filled the void Bree had left. Maggie had become more friend than sister, and Wyatt had become her best friend, confidant, and cheerleader with major benefits. Her life was fuller than it had ever been, but that didn’t mean Bree couldn’t earn a place in Sutton’s new life.

  “No one can take away all the nights we lay looking up at the stars and dreaming.” Sutton hip-bumped Bree and chucked her head toward the nearest half-packed box. “Did you come to help?”

  As they worked together, Sutton filled her in on the designs she’d found the courage to display and sell in the shop, all thanks to Wyatt and Maggie.

  A rumbly sound that Sutton first thought was thunder grew louder, drawing her to the window. Through the deluge, she could make out the hulking outline of Army-style trucks. Wyatt came up behind her and lay his hands on her shoulders.

  “What’s going on?” She turned to see a grin bloom across his face.

  “Hot damn. Those are National Guard trucks. Let me get the lowdown.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze, threw a poncho over his head, and disappeared into the rain.

  Everyone had joined her at the window to watch the dark figures scurry in the rain, muffled shouts barely penetrating the wall of water.

  “Sandbagging,” Jackson said. “’Bout time, I’d say.”

  They said bad things happened in threes, but she had to wonder if the same went for good things. Because a morning that had started in the crapper was now in contention for the best day ever.

  Wyatt’s dark figure approached at a jog. He dropped the poncho and shook as much water off himself as possible before stepping back inside Abigail’s. Rainwater glistened in his hair and beard and spiked his dark lashes.

  “Apparently, Regan Fournette went to battle with the governor and got resources allocated to keep downtown Cottonbloom dry. Both sides. That woman can get shit done.” Everyone murmured agreements in the same tone of admiration.