That was Dean. Ever ready with the embarrassing tidbits.
“Any other news?”
“Aaron’s wife isn’t supposed to pop until spring.”
And ever ready with the graphic comments.
“Mom and Dad are fine,” Dean continued. “Mom still explodes over nothing. Menopause is a bitch. Thank God I’m not a woman.”
“Thank God,” Evan echoed. The idea of his cranky brother as a female was frightening for more reasons than one.
“Dad still sticks his nose into the farm business more than I’d like, but he helps a lot with Tim.”
A few years back their father had decided to go into semiretirement. He’d bought a robotic milking system that made running a dairy farm a lot easier, then turned the place over to Dean. Theoretically. He and Evan’s mom still lived in the main house, while Dean and Tim had moved into the threshers’ cottage on the far side of the cornfield the instant Evan had left it.
Tim, an orphan brought home by Aaron’s daughter, had bonded to Dean and Dean to him. An amazing feat since Dean didn’t like anything but cows. From what Evan had seen on his few visits home, Tim and Dean were so alike it was spooky. Maybe, as Aaron was always saying, everything did happen for a reason. Tim coming into Dean’s life had certainly solved a whole lot of problems for both of them.
“Mom’s getting real sick of women calling. Some of them have even showed up on the porch asking for you.”
“Tell everyone I died.”
Dean snorted. “Then there’d be a wake such as Gainsville’s never seen. Squalling females, catfights— Wait a minute, maybe that’s not a bad idea.”
His brother’s words startled a laugh out of Evan. “Catfight at a funeral. Only you would think that’s funny.”
“I never said anything about funny, just…interesting.”
“What you find interesting has always been…interesting.”
“Bite me. Where you want me to ship this doodle?”
“The South Fork Inn. South Fork, Arkansas.”
“You wanna be a little more specific?”
“I don’t think there is anything more specific. Believe me, you send it to South Fork, it’ll get to me and Jilly.”
“Whoa! Jilly? No wonder you don’t want to come home.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
“Something pornographic, no doubt.”
“Give me a break. I haven’t had sex in…I forget.”
“No wonder you’re so crabby,” Evan muttered.
“Hey, just because I don’t screw anything in a skirt doesn’t mean I’m…”
“What?”
“Pathetic,” he murmured.
Evan heard something in his brother’s voice that worried him. “I never said you were.”
“You’d be the only one.”
“Something going on there you wanna tell me about?”
“Not in this lifetime, Romeo.”
Evan wasn’t surprised at his brother’s refusal to share. Dean had been pals with no one in his life except Brian Riley, Kim’s husband.
Even their friendship had been strained when Brian had gotten Kim pregnant not once, but twice. Dean had kicked Brian’s ass. Evan still wanted to, but he had a feeling Kim might just kick him back. She was little, but she was mean. Having five older brothers did that to a girl.
“Any word from Bobby?” Evan asked.
Dean’s sigh told him the answer even before Dean did. “None. Every time the phone rings or someone knocks on the door, Mom jumps a mile. Then, when it’s just one of your bimbos…well, let’s just say that if you ever do come home, I’d bring your own woman. The ones around here no longer have any heads. Mom bit them off. And women without heads? I wouldn’t recommend them.”
“Advice I didn’t need.”
“So who’s Jilly?”
“My new partner.”
“Thought you said there was nothing going on.”
“There isn’t. She owns the inn.” Quickly he told Dean about Henry, the lack of funds, the sudden partnership. He left out the shape of Jillian’s legs, the scent of her hair, the taste of her lips.
“Can I meet her?”
“Hell, no!” Evan snapped before he could stop himself.
Dean might be a pain in the ass, but he was a very handsome pain. The best-looking Luchetti of them all, except for Kim. Dean’s personality, or lack thereof, was the only reason he was still alone. Evan wondered if there was a woman alive who could put up with Dean’s sarcastic nature, but he didn’t plan to find out with Jilly.
His brother snickered. “Nothing going on? Right.”
“Really. She isn’t interested.”
“In you? Oh. Lesbian.”
Evan choked. “No. Not by a long shot.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Evan glanced around the general store. No one there but him and Old Man Hillburn, who was as deaf as Jerry Seitz—and he didn’t have a hearing aid. Nevertheless, Evan turned away and lowered his voice. “She wants sex. I want love.”
“You’re a moron.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Join the club.”
Evan frowned at the thought of anyone calling his brother worse than a moron. Evan could call him that, but no one else had better try it.
“Listen, Einstein, take what you can get while you can get it. Advice from a man who doesn’t get any.”
“Doesn’t get any what, Daddy?”
The childish voice came through the phone line so clear, Evan started.
“Shit!” Dean cursed. “Get off the extension, Tim. How long have you been on?”
“Since ‘you’re a moron.’ You owe me a quarter. You said the S word.”
The line clicked, although Evan swore he could still hear furtive breathing.
“Dean?”
“Sorry. I’m just glad he didn’t hear lesbian. I really don’t want to explain that today.”
“The S word?”
“I’m trying to stop swearing.” Evan snickered. “And smoking.”
“Wow. You really do love the kid.”
“Yeah. He’s probably the best thing that ever happened to me. Unconditional love is pretty cool.”
“Isn’t that something you get from dogs?”
“And kids. Until they figure out you aren’t Superman. Let’s hope Tim never does.” Dean drew in a deep breath. “Now here’s some advice, bro.”
Evan waited, expecting pearls of wisdom about little boys and forever love. He should have known better.
“This Jilly? I’d nail her before she changes her mind.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JILLY, WHO HADN’T had a decent night’s sleep since leaving her beach house, drifted off while waiting for Evan to return from town.
She was somewhat miffed that he’d left a note and taken off while she was in the creek. Then again, the less time they spent together the better. Just because he wanted something from her she couldn’t give didn’t make her want him any less. On the contrary, she only seemed to want him more.
A thud downstairs awakened her. The giggles brought Jilly out of her sleeping bag and to the window. She watched Naomi, followed by Ruth, scurry across the pasture. What were they up to?
Clothes started flying off the porch and scattering in every direction. Jilly glanced at her suitcase, still sitting on the floor in her room, and still filled with useless items she might as well sell at the nearest flea market. So whose things was Lightning tossing about this time?
Jilly hurried downstairs. The horse stood with his front feet on the bottom porch step. Considering the condition of the other three, it was a miracle he hadn’t fallen through. His neck stretched, his lips nibbled.
“Freeze,” she ordered.
Lightning’s head swung in her direction. Green floral material dangled from his mouth.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He tossed his nos
e in the air, and the skirt flew ten feet, fluttering down to cover a patch of purple wildflowers.
“Okay, stupid question. Why are you doing that?”
A better question might be why was she talking to a horse? The only answer: because there was no one else.
Jilly wasn’t used to being alone. She couldn’t recall when she had been for more than a minute. Her mother had watched her like a hawk, then sent her to private schools where every hour was scheduled; no one was allowed to wander.
Once she’d married, her purpose had been to assuage loneliness. If her husband was off amusing himself, which wasn’t often, since Jilly was the main amusement, she was surrounded by servants or shopkeepers or salon personnel.
She’d always dreamed of free time spent by herself. Now she had some, and she wasn’t sure what to do. The inn was too quiet. She wanted to turn on some music or a television to break up the silence, but her only source of sound stood in front of her with his nose in a box of clothes.
“Get out of there,” she ordered.
Lightning actually obeyed, moving away from the porch and into the pasture, managing as he went by to step on every piece of clothing he’d tossed in the grass. What was wrong with that horse?
Jilly picked up the mangled items then peeked into the box. A jumble of shorts, T-shirts, skirts and blouses filled the space. A note was taped to the side: “For Jilly.”
She frowned. Why had Ruth and Naomi brought her secondhand clothes? She glanced down at her outfit. The linen had frayed; her top was not made for this climate. She really did need clothes more appropriate to Arkansas.
Lifting a worn gray tank top and a pair of cutoff jeans, Jilly crinkled her nose in distaste. She remembered too well wearing other people’s clothes. Once Genevieve had gotten them off the streets, Jilly had never worn hand-me-downs again.
She fingered the denim, soft from countless washings. She could keep her pride and buy other things, but in truth, the money was better spent on the inn.
Tilting her chin, she marched inside and changed. The shorts were short; the shirt clung like Lycra. She resembled Ellie Mae Clampett a little more than she wanted to. But she was comfortable, cool, and she didn’t have to worry about what Lightning pushed her into today.
Unfortunately, there were no shoes in the box. At least she still had her lime-green tennis shoes.
Or thought she did. When she went searching for them, they were gone.
“Maybe they’re on the porch.” She tromped first to the back, then to the front. No shoes in sight.
The day was heating up. If there was a thermometer, it would probably read ninety. She didn’t need shoes. No one else wore them around here.
However, her chipped toenail polish was another matter. Just because she was short on funds didn’t mean she had to walk around looking like a cretin. Jilly found her travel bottle of polish remover and scrubbed every last bit of Do Me Red from both her fingers and her toes.
Sitting back, she stared at her naked nails. Why did she feel as if her last link to the real world was gone?
“Stupid.” Jilly capped the polish remover, then put it away. “If I want to go…somewhere, I only have to—” She broke off.
Walk. Barefoot.
“I could call…”
No one’s name came to mind, even if her cell phone worked, or there was anything resembling a phone at the inn.
Jilly scowled at her toes, glared at her fingers, missing Do Me Red more than she could say.
“Too late now,” she muttered, and got to her feet.
She strolled through the house, wincing whenever her sole crunched another bit of drywall or a discarded nail. She tried to remember if her tetanus shot was up to date.
“Do those things last five years or ten?”
She’d have to ask Evan. If he ever came back. She wouldn’t blame him if he left her here to rot with the house.
He no doubt had women throwing themselves at him wherever he went. He’d probably OD’d on sex before he turned twenty-one.
Yet she’d never met a man who’d turn down a nostrings-attached night of passion. Maybe because she hadn’t met the right man.
She pushed the disturbing thought aside and grabbed an old, broken door. When she tried to drag it outside, Jilly wound up with splinters in both palms and a scraped shin when she dropped the thing and the rough end slid down her leg. She barely managed to yank her foot out of the way before the door slammed to the floor.
The small earthquake made by the accident caused more boards to fall. Dust rained all around her and an old light fixture fell, smashing into a thousand pieces. She stared at her bare feet, then tiptoed toward the back door and slipped outside.
“I’m not going to be any help at all.”
Why that upset her, Jilly wasn’t quite sure. She wasn’t meant for physical labor, she was meant for…unimportant things.
The thought, one she’d never had before, disturbed her. What was she good for? She’d majored in art history at college, with a minor in communications. Basically, she could talk about paintings done by dead people.
Inside the inn something else shattered. A large, heavy, unknown object shifted and fell.
Jilly glanced warily around. She could talk about dead people, she’d just never talked to them, and she didn’t want to.
She headed across the yard. She hadn’t gone ten feet when Lightning fell into step beside her. “If you knock me down again, so help me I’ll…” She looked at him. He cocked his head, waiting. “I don’t know, but something bad.”
He pressed his nose to the center of Jilly’s chest and shoved, gently this time, leaving a big, nose-shaped wet spot on her shirt. However, it didn’t look that bad on this garment. In fact, she could swear the mark blended right in.
Jilly reached the edge of the pasture. Just past a tiny grove of trees, at the bottom of a hill, stood a cabin. Lightning pushed her from behind, harder this time, and she took several bumbling steps down the incline.
“Must be Addie’s house.”
Lightning lifted, then lowered his head, blowing air through loose lips. Jilly took that as a yes.
A quick glance at the inn made her decision easy. The place appeared deserted, lonely, haunted.
“How can it be deserted and haunted?”
This talking to herself really had to stop. Pretty soon she’d start answering.
Jilly headed down the hill, but Lightning didn’t follow.
“Come on.” She beckoned, whistled, clapped her hands. He presented her with his huge behind, lifted his tail and—
“All right, all right. I get the message.” Jilly took off before she smelled more than flowers on the wind.
THERE WAS A BOX of women’s clothes on the porch when Evan arrived home. Since it was marked “For Jilly” he carried it inside, calling her name. All he heard was the echo of his own voice.
He ruffled through the items, which appeared to be used. Evan had a lot of experience with used clothes. Before he’d turned sixteen he doubted he’d worn anything new. Of course, once he’d outgrown all his brothers, the tide had turned.
Holding up an out-of-date floral skirt, he found the imprint of a horseshoe in the center. “Uh-oh,” he muttered. “Lightning strikes again.”
He was glad he hadn’t been around while Jilly was picking up the mess the horse had made. He checked outside, but Lightning was nowhere in sight and neither was Jilly. Maybe she’d ridden him somewhere.
Evan laughed at the thought of Jilly riding the swaybacked nag. He could see her on an English saddle, in full jumping regalia—boots, crop, top hat with a chiffon scarf.
When the image of her wearing nothing but those three things caused him to smile dopily, he smacked himself in the head and carried the box to her room.
Someone, most likely Ruth and Naomi, maybe Addie, had gone through the church charity box and brought Jilly some clothes. He wondered how she was going to feel about that. He’d have to make sure she didn’t hurt any
one’s feelings when she gave them back.
A thump, followed by a crash downstairs, made him tense. Recalling last night’s escapade with the disappearing intruder, he hurried in the direction of the sound, grabbing a good-size stick on the way.
Several voices spilled from the kitchen. Maybe he should hightail it to town, as he’d advised Jilly to do last night.
“I don’t care if ye are older than me, I get the ham, you get the turkey.”
Evan lowered the stick and stepped into the room. The Seitz brothers were helping themselves to his lunch meat. He glanced at his watch: 10:00 a.m.
“Early dinner, boys?”
Barry turned, beaming at Evan sans teeth. “We thought we’d eat before we got started. Saves time.”
“Started what?”
“Work. You said you could use extra hands.” Barry wiggled gnarled, arthritic fingers. “We got six.”
Help like theirs he didn’t need, but then again…if he was watching them, supervising them, what harm could they do?
“How did you guys get here?”
“Hid in the flatbed of your truck.”
“Why didn’t you just ask for a ride?”
“We stopped doin’ that the last time we got turned down. If we ask, we never git.”
The brothers had never learned to drive, so they bummed rides from everyone in town. Evan suspected they’d worn out their welcome half a century ago.
Larry and Jerry continued to make sandwiches. Actually, Jerry did, since Larry had lost his glasses again. How on earth was he going to pound a nail? The very thought made Evan wince.
“Don’t worry about payin’,” Barry continued. “We got nothin’ but time. You give us food, and we’re your men.”
Evan eyed the size of their sandwiches. It might be cheaper to pay them.
“Any of you ever do any carpentry?” At Barry’s negative head shake, he continued, “Plumbing? Electric? Drywall? Painting?”
“Painting!” Barry exclaimed.
Evan smiled. They had a winner.
“I always wanted to try that,” the old man continued. “I could have done better paintings than that Picasso fella. I at least know where a person’s head is supposed to go.”
Evan sighed, scratched his nose, shrugged.
The Husband Quest Page 8
