When the Stars Come Out--A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  The man’s mouth opened and closed before he finally said, “I don’t know who the fuck Derrick is. I was told his brothers would cough up the money.”

  She attempted to channel the rush of kneecap-dissolving relief into logic. Think. She needed to think.

  Jackson rounded the corner of the garage and stopped short, his gaze pinging between her and the man. “What’s going on?” His naturally rough voice had the power to intimidate even without the thunderous expression on his face.

  “I’m here for my money.” The man shifted toward Jackson, but kept a keen eye on River.

  Jackson put himself between Willa and the man. United in their common goal of protecting her, River moved to his side, her growl never wavering.

  “And who are you?” Jackson asked.

  “You one of Ford’s brothers?”

  “What’s this got to do with Ford?”

  “He’s gotten himself into a pickle. A forty-K pickle.”

  A few beats of silence passed. “Gambling?”

  The man nodded once. “Betting on games. Football. Basketball. You name it. Now he owes me.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I’m his bookie, not his babysitter.”

  “Did Ford send you here to collect?”

  “Not exactly, but certain people told me you’d cover his debts or…” The man’s smile was like an arctic breeze down her spine.

  Willa had never considered Ford part of the garage. He flitted in and out between his trips to auctions and car shows to drum up business, too highfalutin’ to get his hands dirty. He was the only brother with a college degree and lorded the fact over his brothers. But he was still an Abbott.

  Jackson turned his head enough so she could see his profile. “You all right?”

  Her insides were still jockeying for their textbook positions and the scare had shifted something fundamental inside of her, yet her words came out almost chirpy sounding. “I’m fine.”

  “Let’s talk inside.” It was obvious by his tone Jackson had turned his attention back to the bookie.

  Jackson stepped closer to the man. River crouched and added a cutting bark to her growl. Willa called the dog back to her as Jackson led the man around to the front and into the garage. She stayed outside, crouched beside River, her face buried in fur.

  When she’d thought the man had been sent by Derrick or the drug dealers he had worked for, one thought rose above all others. She hadn’t wanted to run away. She’d wanted to stay and fight.

  Tears brought on by the collision of past and present and relief trickled into River’s fur. A rough tongue flicked against her cheek and Willa laughed. River had been ready to protect her at all costs. Was Wyatt right? Could she count on Jackson and the Abbotts to do the same? Was it even fair to ask it of them?

  She sidled in the door, half expecting to see a fight in progress, but the garage floor was empty and only muffled voices snuck out of the waiting room.

  She returned to the Trans Am, although she gave up after five minutes of staring at the closed door of the waiting room. The crunch of gravel signaled an arrival. She wasn’t the one who usually greeted customers, but she was loath to interrupt whatever was happening behind closed doors. She checked out the window. It was Sutton Mize.

  Sutton stepped into the garage. Her preppy pink and gray diamond-patterned sweater, crisp gray slacks, and high heels made Willa feel even more unkempt than usual. She adjusted her ball cap.

  Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, Sutton swept her gaze around the garage and picked her way around parts and tools toward Willa. “What are the boys up to?”

  Normally, Willa would keep her mouth shut, but Sutton would know everything soon enough. She and Wyatt shared their secrets.

  “Man showed up wanting money to cover Ford’s gambling debts. They’re all hashing things out in the waiting room.”

  Sutton performed a literal pearl clutch. “Oh no. I wondered if he might be in trouble. Last time I saw him he looked stressed. Have you noticed?”

  Willa shrugged. “He hasn’t been by the garage in weeks.”

  “I’m worried.”

  “For who?” Willa asked.

  “For everyone.” Sutton’s tone was darker and more serious than her sunny disposition hinted at. “Changes are coming.”

  Willa’s breath stalled in her chest. Sutton was right, Willa could feel the changes lurking outside their door. The question was whether they were sharp-toothed wolves or warm fuzzy sheep. Her experience was of the wolf variety.

  “Do you think they’ll pay the man off?”

  “How much was it?”

  “Forty K.”

  “Goodness. Poor Ford.” Sutton fiddled with her strand of pearls and stared at the closed door for a moment before turning her attention back to Willa, a slight smile curling her lips.

  The silence stretched to the point of uncomfortableness. Why was Sutton still here?

  “What are you doing New Year’s Eve?” Sutton finally asked, her perfectly plucked eyebrows rising.

  “I don’t know.”

  “My parents are throwing a party.”

  Willa made a throaty sound of fake encouragement, not good at this kind of small talk.

  “I want to officially extend an invitation.”

  Willa was nonplussed. While she and Sutton were on superficial speaking terms, they didn’t qualify as anything resembling friends. At least not how she remembered friendship.

  “I’m going to be … busy that night.”

  Willa almost said working, which would have been laughable considering the garage would be closed, and Sutton knew it.

  “Doing what?”

  Reading was a lame excuse, although the truth. A string of nonsensical ums and ahs emerged from her brain.

  “So, that’s settled, you’re coming.” Sutton’s grin was so easy and infectious Willa had a hard time nurturing even a nugget of resentment about the manipulation.

  “Seriously, I can’t. I don’t have anything nice to wear.” It hurt to admit as much, but she guessed that Sutton’s party would be nothing like a high-school kegger or the parties her ex had thrown. No jeans and T-shirts allowed.

  Sutton cocked her head, her smile turning calculating. “I’d love to make you a dress.”

  “Why?” Willa curled in on herself and fiddled with the hair poking out of her hat. Meeting kindness with suspicion was a natural response not even her two years in Cottonbloom had been able to shake.

  “Because you must be tired of coveralls. And selfishly, designing makes me happy. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

  Wyatt had bragged that Sutton’s skill with a sewing machine was as impressive as his skill under the hood of a car.

  “I’m not really a dress person.” Actually, it had been so long since Willa had worn one she wasn’t sure anymore. She’d used to love to wear pretty dresses to church. And later she enjoyed the attention she received from the male sex in her short skirts. A shame only slightly dulled by the years rose.

  “I’ll make sure you’re comfortable and look good.”

  “Don’t waste your time on me.” Willa’s voice invited no argument. “Speaking of wasting time, I need to get back to work.”

  “Sorry to be a distraction.” Sutton walked away, but said over her shoulder, “The offer stands if you change your mind.”

  “I won’t,” Willa muttered to herself and meant it.

  Sutton planted herself in Mack’s office to wait. The meeting broke up less than five minutes later. The bookie came out of the waiting room first. He turned and held a hand out for a shake, but Mack ignored the gesture.

  Willa was too far away to hear what passed between them, but the visual of the three brothers lined up, Mack in the middle, and facing the smaller man, was arresting. The bookie took several steps backward, keeping his eyes on the brothers, before he turned and hightailed it out the door. A wise move.

  The brothers gathered in a semicircle. Willa sidled close enough to he
ar, but not close enough to be noticed. Sutton was attempting the same in the doorway of the office.

  “Ford’s been MIA for weeks. Anyone have an idea how we can find him?” Mack asked. He’d grown out his winter beard, dark and wiry, and with his tall, broad frame he reminded Willa of a bear. The anger and agitation radiating from him brought to mind the old saying, don’t poke a sleeping bear. Mack was awake and ready to take someone’s head off.

  Wyatt’s attention was focused on scuffing his boot along a groove in the floor. “He might be at our mother’s.”

  The beat of silence was like the last tick before a bomb exploded. An impressive string of curses left Mack before he gritted his teeth and scrubbed a hand over his beard. “You know where she is?”

  “I don’t, but Aunt Hazel does.” Wyatt shot a look toward Jackson. “And I think Jackson should be the one to track Ford down.”

  Willa sucked in a breath and tried to get a read on Jackson. Nothing but a twitching muscle in his jaw changed his expression, but she could sense his tension and shock.

  “No way is that happening,” Jackson said almost too quietly to hear from her vantage point. “You do it. You’re the one who’s all gung ho to find her and make nice.”

  “What in hell is going on?” Mack threw his hands up.

  Wyatt made a noise between resignation and frustration and looked to the ceiling. “A couple of months ago, Aunt Hazel told me she could pass our mother’s info along. I can’t deny that I’ve considered contacting her, but if we call and Ford’s there, he’ll run. If I show up and Ford’s there, I’d bust his pretty face in. You’d probably maim him, Mack. Jackson’s the only one who could pull this off.”

  Jackson backed away, shaking his head. “Hell, no. Get someone else. Send Hazel if you have to.”

  “While I would enjoy seeing Hazel try to put Ford over her knee, it has to be one of us,” Wyatt said.

  “Make it anyone but me.” Jackson turned his back on them and slammed the door on his way out back.

  Willa took a step toward where he disappeared, but stopped herself. The last thing she needed at this point was to entangle herself further in his life.

  Chapter Nine

  It had been days since the bookie’s visit. Mack and Jackson had been quieter than usual, which meant they’d been close to silent. Perhaps because Wyatt had been the one to drop the bomb about their mother, he seemed the least shell-shocked.

  “Hey, Willa, Aunt Hazel is bringing the Crown Vic in again. You mind looking under the hood and jiggling some hoses?” Wyatt winked in her direction, his hands occupied with dashboard wiring.

  “Sure. No problem.” She kept one eye out for Hazel’s arrival and one eye on Jackson. She’d been assigned to work with Wyatt on the Trans Am every day that week. Was it the natural work flow or deliberate avoidance on Jackson’s part? She spent half her time wanting to pretend the kiss never happened and the other mad because he was pretending the kiss never happened.

  For the umpteenth time, she relived the kiss, second by second. For her, it had been amazing and scary and eye-opening. But maybe the kiss had been run-of-the-mill for a normal person. There was no one she could ask.

  A familiar engine knock cleared her mental fog and brought her out from under the Trans Am. Jackson inched her Honda into the first bay. She dropped the socket wrench and stalked over, catching him by the arm as he slipped out of her car.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice came out high-pitched and echoed off the concrete. She tried to push him aside to reach the driver’s seat, but he blocked her and wrapped his hand around her wrist.

  “I’m replacing your clutch.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “I am.” His face was stony. “Get back to work.”

  She sucked in a breath. He’d never used that tone with her before. They’d always been closer to partners than boss-employee. “Is that an order?”

  Emotion flared in him like a match thrown onto gasoline, but the evenness of his voice doused it. “I bought a clutch last week.”

  “Return it.” She didn’t break eye contact.

  “Let me do this for you.” His voice was softer now.

  “You’ve done enough already. I’ve almost got enough saved to—”

  “Use that money on something else. Like tires.”

  Dammit. She did need new tires. “But—”

  “Willa.” The way he said her name was full of frustration, but also something sweeter she couldn’t identify. Although his grip on her wrist was firm, his thumb rubbing slow circles on her pulse point was soft. The tremble started somewhere in her chest but spread outward until she was sure he could feel it too.

  She couldn’t put words to what passed between them in those moments, but it filled her with a heat that wasn’t embarrassment or anger or even resentment. Those were easy emotions. Childish even. What both bound and repelled them was more complicated.

  “Let me go,” she whispered.

  He did. She turned away to hide her confusion, rubbing her wrist, not because he’d hurt her, but because she could still feel his touch like a brand. Wyatt whistled. Her attention flew to the window in time to see the Abbott aunts’ Crown Victoria stop with a jerk across the front of the bay doors.

  Okay, she had to keep it together. Her knees somehow supported her weight. She wiped her still trembling hands on a shop towel, adjusted her hat, and went outside.

  Hazel slipped out of the passenger door with a natural grace while Hyacinth unfolded her tall, lanky frame from behind the steering wheel.

  “Hiya there, young lady,” Hyacinth said.

  “Hello, Ms. Hy. The bays are full and the boys are inside working. They sent me out to take a look. Is the weird noise under the hood back?” If Hyacinth noticed Willa’s voice was strained and close to breaking, she didn’t comment.

  Hyacinth had a loud, unladylike laugh and easy way about her that Wyatt had inherited. “It’s not like that’s the only reason we bring the old girl in.” Some of the bravado went out of her stance, and she examined her fingernails. “The weird noise is in the back end. Underneath. I might have hit something.”

  Willa took a deep breath, regaining some control now she was out of Jackson’s orbit, but the sooner she was alone the better. “I’ll do a thorough check. Promise.”

  “Thanks.” Hyacinth made her way to the door, the fabric of her track suit swishing.

  Hazel lingered.

  “A fresh pot of coffee is brewing,” Willa said, hoping Hazel would leave her alone.

  No matter how polite and nice Hazel was, she intimidated the tar out of Willa. Something in her stare seemed to flay open any secrets, no matter how well hidden.

  “I’m not the coffee addict my sister is.”

  When that was all she said, Willa squatted down to inspect the muffler. There was a chance they weren’t playing possum this time. “Any idea what she hit?”

  “I don’t think she hit anything. This time, at least.”

  “You didn’t hear the noise?”

  Hazel’s sardonic look ended the game.

  To say she’d done it, Willa reached underneath and wiggled the exhaust, protecting her hand with the towel. It didn’t move. She stood up and tucked the towel in her back pocket. “I guess everything is fine, then.” The pitch of her voice made it sound more like a question than a statement.

  “I suppose you’re jealous of Sutton Mize.” Hazel’s head tilted and her gaze was like the first cut of a knife, sharp and digging.

  The unexpected question sent her reeling. There were many reasons she could be jealous of Sutton. She was pretty by anyone’s standards and always dressed like she’d stepped out of a magazine. Based on Wyatt’s asides to Jackson, she was also funny and good in bed. And the invitation to her family’s New Year’s Eve Party only solidified the fact she was nice too. The whole package.

  “Because of her clothes?” Willa tugged on her shapeless coveralls.

  “No, because she’s wi
th Wyatt.” Hazel’s eyes narrowed.

  “Why would that bother me?”

  “I was under the impression you and Wyatt are close. And he is charming and very good-looking.”

  The matter-of-fact way she said it made Willa bow up. “Not as good-looking as Jackson.”

  Hazel’s smile reminded her of River right after Willa had given in and shared her dinner the night before—self-satisfied. The old lady had played her like a mandolin. “I find your opinion very interesting indeed.”

  “Why do you care what I think?”

  “Because I care about what my nephews care about.” Hazel blinked, her eyes magnified behind her glasses. She and Jackson shared more than eye color. The same depth of feeling and intelligence hid behind an outward show of cool regard.

  The implication gave Willa pause. “Nothing can happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s complicated and … and … none of your business.” Willa clamped her mouth shut. She was being unbelievably rude to a woman who could drop a word in Mack’s ear and probably have her fired.

  “Of course it’s none of my business, but cut me a break. I’m old and nosy and love those boys like they’re my own. I worry about them and Jackson most of all.”

  “Why Jackson?”

  “Because he’s too like his father. Tends to wall himself off when things go bad. Since Hobart died, he’s been looking too much inward. I noticed things had changed recently and wondered if you had something to do with it.”

  Willa opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for a response.

  “Goodness, I’m getting chilly. I think I will warm up with a cup of coffee.” Hazel shuffled toward the door.

  Willa caught the door handle before Hazel could open it, their hands overlapping. “Wait. A good change or bad?”

  “Most definitely good.”

  Her heart fired off a flare. “How can you be sure it’s because of me?”

  “I’m an old spinster, but can I give you some advice?”

  Willa felt a little like she’d crossed into an alternate universe. Besides Marigold, she wasn’t used to other women taking an interest in her. And now in a matter of days both Sutton and Hazel were reaching out like she was almost part of a real family again. She nodded.