“Yes, but I’ll also look like a mechanic. And fit in with the boys.”
“They’re aware you’re female.”
Willa snatched the hat, mashed it down on her new and improved hair, and walked out. Sutton was at her side. They didn’t speak until they were halfway back to the boutique.
Finally, Willa said, “You grew up in Cottonbloom and lived a charmed life.” She ignored Sutton’s snort. “You’ve never gone to bed hungry or cold or worried about what your boss might say or do to you the next day. I had to watch my back. And front. I quit good jobs because of bad men. I had to protect myself. You get that?”
“I didn’t realize.” The wind had reddened Sutton’s cheekbones, but the rest of her face was pale. Defensiveness pitched her voice higher. “Wyatt and Jackson and Mack aren’t like that. You like Jackson.”
The Abbotts reminded her of the men who’d hung around her father’s garage when she was growing up. Respectful and decent. Her first mistake on leaving home had been thinking all men were like that. She’d learned hard and fast they weren’t, but she’d learned her lesson so well that she’d forgotten decent, honorable men still existed. She was lucky to have stumbled into an entire family of them. Even Ford, through all the family drama with his brothers, had been nothing but polite if a little dismissive.
“I do like Jackson.” Admitting it aloud stripped away another layer of hard-fought protections.
“Then why don’t you see where things go with him?”
“I might,” Willa said vaguely. While she wanted to trust Sutton, she wasn’t quite ready to yet. Not until she confided in Jackson and gauged his reaction. “Can you take me back now?”
Sutton sighed but opened the door of the boutique for Willa. “Grab your stuff. We can go out the back.”
After Willa pulled on her coveralls, she glanced in the mirror. She was dressed the same as she was when she arrived, but she wasn’t the same. What had fundamentally changed was still unclear.
Sutton didn’t attempt small talk on the ride back to the garage. Willa fiddled with the thick, rough canvas of her coveralls. So different from the fragile fabric of the dress Sutton had made for her. As soon as Sutton pulled to a stop, Willa had one foot out the door. Sutton grabbed her sleeve.
“Come to my house early on New Year’s, and we’ll get ready together.” Warmth and excitement sparked in Sutton’s eyes as if the branch of friendship she had extended was intact and even thriving.
Willa hesitated but nodded. She understood now why Wyatt had moped around like a lovesick cow over the fall. Sutton was hard to resist.
Willa adjusted her ball cap and coveralls before she opened the door that led into the bays. The sound of work getting done echoed off the concrete. River was the first to trot over and greet her as if she’d been gone for days. She crouched for a moment to let the dog get her snuffles and wags out. Mack was in his office on the phone, and they exchanged a little wave. Wyatt had his Christmas present from Sutton up on a lift.
The Jeep she’d been assigned that morning was already done, and Jackson was cleaning up the bay. She shuffled over, her hands stuck in her pockets, and he glanced up.
“How’d it go?”
“Sutton is talented. And a little bossy.” She smiled, but Jackson didn’t return it.
“Yeah, she’s nice.” He continued to sort the tools into the proper drawers without making eye contact.
She had studied and classified his every mood over the past two years, yet instead of strengthening her intuition, their intimacy had muddied the water. Was he upset with her? Or had being back at work together made him realize he’d made a mistake?
“What’s wrong?” The question squeaked out of her tightened throat.
“I’ve got something personal to take care of. You want to come? Have to keep it on the down low from the boys though.”
His question unfroze her lungs, and she gulped in a breath. “Are we scouting a car?”
“We’re going north to Oak Grove.”
A shot of adrenaline propelled her heart into a sprint. Her hometown was a hop and skip from Oak Grove. “What for?”
“My mother is there. Ford too maybe.”
Relief slowed her heart rate and returned rational thought. She needed to remember not everything was about her. Jackson grappled with his own messy past. She was an expert at messy pasts and would do anything to help.
She raised her hand but pulled back and stuck it in her pocket once more. She wanted to touch him, but wasn’t sure where the line between lovers and coworkers was drawn.
She compromised by taking a step closer to him. “Have you talked to her?”
He rubbed his hand over his forehead, leaving a dark streak. “Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“I hung up when she answered. At least, I assume it was her. I don’t know.” His unusual lack of confidence left her nonplussed.
“I’m sure she would have welcomed your call. Why’d you hang up?”
Chapter Fifteen
“If Ford is there, I don’t want to scare him off before I can talk to him.” It was a reasonable answer if not exactly the truth. Jackson had hung up because the lilting feminine voice had incited a panic like he was eight again and making crank calls around town with Wyatt. His stomach flickered with remnants of nerves.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take Wyatt or Mack with you?” She had stepped close enough for him to see her big brown eyes under the brim of her cap.
He should take one of his brothers, but he didn’t want one of them. He wanted Willa next to him, holding his hand and telling him without words she would back him up. Willa was stronger than any of them.
He fought the urge to toss her hat aside and kiss her. The knowledge his bed was only steps away was difficult to resist, but eight to five, Monday through Friday, they had to stay coworkers. Except he was asking her to go with him, not as a coworker, but as someone who’d become an integral part of his life.
“No, I want you.” He forced himself to meet her eyes.
Her tight mouth and crinkled eyes gave the impression of wariness. “I need to clean up and change.”
“You left some things in the loft if you want to clean up here.”
“You sure it will be okay? I missed almost two hours this morning.” She glanced around.
“It’s slow between the holidays. Anyway, you’ll be with me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll go by myself if—”
She touched his wrist and slipped her fingers under his sleeve. The caress settled his prickly nerves. “I’ll come, but I don’t want your brothers to think I’m taking advantage of the situation because you and I … you know.”
Considering he’d beat himself to a pulp worrying about the fact he was taking advantage of her because he was sort of her boss, her admission made him smile. “It’ll be fine. Go change. I’ll clear it with Mack.”
She quickstepped to the back of the shop and disappeared through the door that led to the barn. He knocked on the doorjamb of the office. Mack’s face was drawn tight. Stress did not look good on him, and he’d been wearing it too often of late.
“What’s wrong?” Jackson asked.
Mack threw a pen down. “The usual. What’s up?”
“We don’t have another job, so I’m going scouting this afternoon and taking Willa with me.” He posed it as a done deal, not a request.
“Is this work or a date?”
“Work.” The twinge of his conscience was almost painful. He hated lying, especially to Mack, but taking Wyatt or Mack with him would look too much like they were ganging up on Ford. If he was even there. But if Jackson could talk Ford into coming home and negotiating, then maybe some of the strain Mack carried would ease.
Mack glanced away. “You know I like Willa, right?”
“Sure.”
“I hope I didn’t say anything while I was blitzed that was insensitive.”
“You’re worried about her fe
elings?” Jackson couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Getting soft in your old age, bro.”
Mack cursed and threw his pen in Jackson’s direction, but the smile on his face was welcome.
“You mind keeping an eye on River?” Jackson nodded toward the dog who’d staked a claim on a spot in the corner. One of Mack’s old blankets was folded as a makeshift bed.
“Not a bit. Aside from pooping in my yard, she’s a well-behaved mutt.”
Movement from the corner of his eye drew his gaze toward Willa. She slipped in the back door in jeans, an oversized army-style coat probably from the thrift store, and her ball cap pulled low.
Something uncomfortable squatted on his chest. He trailed his gaze from her hat to her boots, carnally aware of the curves that she hid under the bulky clothing.
“What?” Her eyes narrowed as if she could read his mind.
“Nothing. You ready?” His voice was too brusque, but he couldn’t admit the strength of his feelings to her. Not until everything was out in the open between them. His head and heart were at war.
“What about—”
“Mack’s going to watch River.” He herded Willa outside.
It was chilly but not cold. The sky was a slate gray, and encroaching clouds promised rain. Willa picked up her pace and overtook him on the way to the Mustang, rounding the front to the passenger seat. The sight of her sliding into the car next to him eased his mounting tension. A temporary reprieve.
The car’s heater kicked in as they crossed the river into Mississippi. Willa shimmied out of her coat and tossed it on the narrow backseat. With a lack of her usual grace, she pulled her ball cap off and ran her fingers through her hair, keeping her face averted.
He looked from her to the road and then took a long second glance that sent him over the center line before he corrected. Her hair was a mass of waves on top and trimmed shorter in the back. The color was different too, but not in a way he could put his finger on. He only knew it looked richer and softer than before. His hands squeaked on the leather wheel, and he wasn’t sure how to attribute the rapid beat of his heart.
“Your hair.” The words came out between a statement and a question.
“Sutton insisted. Said my hack job didn’t go with the nonhack-job dress she made me.” Her voice lilted uncertainly. She was a combination of bold sass and shy naïveté, and she could pivot between the two in a matter of seconds.
“It looks good.”
“Yeah?” She fiddled with the wavy strands behind her ear.
“Better than good.” He grabbed her hand in his and pulled it away. Her hand was small and soft in his, and he wanted to keep hold of it, but he didn’t. Instead, before he could question himself, he added, “But then I’ve always thought you were pretty.”
The sidelong look she shot him was both thankful and mocking. “I call bullshit. Until a few weeks ago, you never saw me as more than a wrench with a brain and legs.”
“Yeah, well, I never claimed to be more than a blind idiot with a brain and legs.”
“What changed?”
“You were acting like you wanted to leave the garage. Cottonbloom. I couldn’t let it happen.”
“Because I’m an invaluable mechanic?” A teasing bite was in the question.
He chanced a glance over. In contrast to her tone, her face was serious, her eyes wide and searching. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and stared off in the distance where the stretch of road curved out of sight. “Because you’re invaluable to me.”
The longer the silence went on the drier his mouth got. Had he said too much, too soon? The last thing he wanted was to scare her off before he could convince her to trust him with all her secrets.
“Jackson.” His name came on a choked-up whisper. She touched his forearm and his hand loosened around the wheel. She knitted their fingers together. Handholding wasn’t his thing, and it felt a little awkward at first, but as their thumbs danced in a more erotic version of thumb wars, he relaxed.
After several minutes of no conversation, they eased into small talk about seemingly inconsequential things, starting with football. She was a Cowboys fan because that had been her father’s favorite team, but she liked the Saints okay too. Her favorite food was lasagna, and she loved root beer. He relished every tidbit, no matter how minor, that she shared with him.
His Mustang ate up the miles. He drove north into Mississippi sticking mostly to back roads, crossing a two-lane bridge over the Mississippi and back into north Louisiana as dusk was falling. Christmas wreaths and lights still decorated most houses they passed.
His concentration slipped the closer they got to Oak Grove. The drive into town was mostly scrub and pine trees, but as they approached downtown, huge live oaks highlighted a white-columned county courthouse. The downtown mimicked many Southern small towns—its charm past its prime and tarnished, but still visible.
He took a turn off the main street, having committed the directions to his mother’s house to memory. He slowed to a crawl and counted down the numbers on the mailboxes until he reached a small single-story brick house of nineteen seventies heritage. He cruised past going suspiciously slow if anyone was watching them out their front windows.
Willa twisted around in her seat. “Wasn’t that it back there?”
“Yeah, it was.” He fought the urge to keep driving them out of town and back over the Mississippi River. He reminded himself this wasn’t about his mother, but about Ford and the garage and their future. He did a wide U-turn in the deserted street. “Do you see Ford’s car?”
“No, but the garage door is closed.”
He parked on the street, but blocked the driveway, in case Ford decided to make a run for it. He didn’t make a move to open his door.
The yard was well kept, and although rosebushes along the path were dormant and stark, he could imagine them fragrant and blooming. A long-forgotten memory surfaced of full red blooms in a vase on their kitchen table while he ate pancakes. The memory was so vivid, he could almost smell them. What he couldn’t do was picture his mother or remember her voice.
“I’ll be right there with you.” She touched his arm, her voice strong with a confidence he could borrow from.
He nodded, unable and unwilling to put into words what her support meant. He got the door open on the second try. She was already out and waiting for him on the cobblestone path to the slab porch.
His boots felt like clown shoes as he trudged up the walk. Willa pressed the doorbell, the tones slightly dissonant. A shuffle could be heard on the other side, and he ran his hands down the front of his pants. The door opened.
The woman on the other side was a stranger, yet his gaze catalogued familiarities faster than his brain could note them. Wyatt had her eyes, clear gray with a constant twinkle, and hair, almost black but shot through with an attractive silver. And, like with his twin, an instant connection tugged him forward.
“Hi…” What did he call her? Not Mom. “Hi. I’m—”
“Jackson.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she raised a hand as if she were going to touch him, but didn’t. “My son.”
He stood there like a mute, his mouth working, but nothing making it out of the tight squeeze of his throat.
“I’m Willa.” She saved him by sticking out her hand and taking his mother’s still raised one in a shake. “We’re here because…” She paused as if leaving him an opening, but he was stuck and unable to take it. Finally, she asked, “Is Ford here?”
“Not at the moment, but he’ll be back shortly.” His mother stepped back and gestured. “Please come in.”
Like a robot, he moved forward. His mother ushered them into a den with brown carpet and brown wood paneling all around, even the ceiling. It was dim and cavelike. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or hot chocolate, maybe?”
Another buried memory surfaced—a woman making hot chocolate for him after a nightmare. He’d inserted Aunt Hyacinth into the memory, but the woman had been his mother.
She fidgeted and stared at him. Was she trying to locate the little boy he’d been in the man before her?
“Hot chocolate would be welcome.” His voice came out rougher than usual. “It’s a mite chilly out.”
“Make yourselves at home.” She flashed a smile, a set of dimples creasing her cheeks for an instant. He took a step back, seeing a piece of himself in her for the first time.
“You okay?” Willa whispered.
“I don’t know.” He was too restless to sit and pretend this was a normal visit. A line of photos on the mantel drew him farther into the room.
With a jolt, he recognized old school pictures of all of them. Aunt Hazel and Hyacinth’s work, no doubt. They had always asked for extras for their wallets. He picked up the picture at the end. He and Wyatt were in their caps and gowns at high school graduation, their arms across each other’s shoulders. Wyatt’s smile was open while he was barely smiling at all.
Willa was by his side, stroking his arm lightly. A throat cleared, and he turned with the picture in his hand. His mother held two steaming mugs.
“You hate me.” It was a statement. “I get it. I hate myself for leaving the way I did.”
She set the mugs down on the coffee table and took a seat in an old wooden rocking chair with a plaid ruffled seat cushion tied to the back rails. It too held a vague familiarity.
Hate was too simple and easy a feeling. He sank down on the couch and stared at the bobbing, dissolving marshmallows on the surface of the hot chocolate. “Why did you leave?”
The squeak of the rocking chair brought his attention back to her. Her head was tilted toward the ceiling, but her eyes were closed as if she were looking inward or backward for the answer. “I was young and overwhelmed with the four of you. No, more than overwhelmed. I was depressed, and it got worse with each one of you. I thought something was wrong with me. Your father was obsessed with the garage and—”
“Don’t blame Pop.”
She opened her eyes and met his anger head-on. “He didn’t know how to help me. The more I cried, the more he retreated to the garage. The day I almost hurt you is the day I left.”
“Hurt me?”
When the Stars Come Out--A Cottonbloom Novel Page 20
