“Willa is a mechanic in the shop,” Wyatt said.
Sawyer whistled low. “I’ll have to bring my truck in sometime. You’re a sight prettier than these two.”
“I’m a sight better mechanic too.” Willa’s voice held a familiar bite that skated between teasing and tart.
Sawyer tapped Cade’s shoulder and caught his brother’s eye behind Wyatt’s back. “This is who you need.” He returned his attention to Willa. “Do you play ball? We need some kickass women on the team. Monroe’s heart isn’t in it anymore.”
“My heart’s not in what?” Monroe Fournette slipped next to Cade and wrapped her arm around his waist. He pulled her into his side and nuzzled a kiss into her temple.
“Playing in the baseball league since Rachel was born,” Cade said. “We’re trying to talk Willa here into taking your place since I can’t seem to convince these sorry Abbott boys to play.”
“Don’t let them bully you into playing,” Monroe said to Willa. “You’d think they didn’t have a business to run. Mother said Rachel is fine, by the way.”
Cade’s lips twitched, but his voice was all warm comfort. “Just like she was fine the last three times you called.” He turned his attention to Willa and Jackson. “First time we’re leaving the baby.”
“That must be hard, but if she’s with your mother, I’m sure she’s fine,” Willa said.
Monroe gave a small huff. “You don’t know my mother, do you? Your dress is stunning, by the way.” She effectively cut Willa out of the herd of Abbott and Fournette men.
“Heard a rumor from Regan,” Sawyer said. “Is it true Ford sold his share of the garage?”
“Unfortunately, true.” Jackson hated their family troubles were the talk of Cottonbloom, but it wasn’t unexpected.
“To who?” Cade crossed his arms, an intimidating expression on his face.
Jackson and Wyatt had run in the same crowd in high school with Sawyer, the all-American good-old-boy. The three of them had shared many an illicit beer at parties out in the boonies. Cade had been older and forced to drop out of high school to work after their parents were killed by a drunk driver. Looking back, it must have been a hard time for all the Fournettes, but Sawyer wore his past lighter than his brother.
“We suspect to Tarwater,” Jackson said softly after taking an inventory of ears around them.
Sawyer asked, “What’s wrong with Ford?”
“He’s looking to move north to Memphis.” People may already be aware of Ford’s gambling problem, but he was still an Abbott and Jackson’s instinct was to protect him.
“Easy solution: buy Tarwater out.” Cade spoke like a man used to wielding money and a lot of it if rumors were true.
“Doubt we could raise that much ready cash. We invested in substantial upgrades to the shop the past couple of years. Anyway, not sure Tarwater’s motivation is all money.” Jackson looked anywhere but at Wyatt, but by the way the Fournettes shifted, they’d heard all about Wyatt and Sutton.
Wyatt’s jaw was set as if he were itching to go a round with the punching bag in the barn. “I can’t say I’m sorry or regret how things turned out. I have Sutton and she’s worth whatever grief Tarwater can cause us.”
“Mack and I have your back.” Jackson caught Wyatt’s gaze, and his twin’s shoulders lowered a couple of inches as the tension ebbed.
“If you need anything—advice on negotiations, a loan—you come on by Fournette Designs anytime.” Cade held out a hand and Jackson shook it.
“Appreciate it.” And Jackson did, but that didn’t mean he’d ever take Cade up on the offer.
The Abbotts would ride out this storm like they had their mother’s desertion, their pop’s death, and all the trouble in between—together. Well, minus Ford this time.
The Fournettes ambled away and were pulled into other conversations. Monroe left after giving a Willa a small hug. Willa stayed motionless through the gesture.
“I’m going to find Sutton and keep a lookout for Tarwater and Mack. I’ll text you.” Wyatt weaved through the crowd until he disappeared out a door in the back.
“Monroe seemed nice.” Willa’s tone was distinctly suspicious.
“From the little I’ve been around her, she is nice. She and Regan, Sawyer’s wife, were friends in high school and came to the occasional party. I didn’t have much to do with them though.”
“Them in particular, or girls in general?” She cocked her head.
“Most girls thought I was boring.”
“Boring?” Her shock transmitted through the barked-out word.
He reached out to play with a piece of hair that had fallen over her forehead. “My life is cars. Most women find that boring. Didn’t you accuse me of wanting to marry my Mustang?”
“Your life is more than cars. It’s your brothers and your aunts.” She glanced away, but unspoken words hung between them.
He took a risk. “And you.”
Her throat muscles worked and she peeked at him from under her lashes. What he really wanted was to stare into her eyes and beyond to whatever she was hiding from him. He didn’t like the gray between.
“Jackson, there’s something—”
His phone dinged. He ignored it. “What?”
“Shouldn’t you…?” She pointed at his chest.
It dinged again. He slipped his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket. Two texts from Wyatt.
Tarwater.
Mack too. Let’s roll.
“It’s time.” The acceleration of adrenaline was eerily similar to how he felt at the starting line of a race.
“I’ll be waiting.” She squeezed his arm.
He gave her a nod and worked his way out of the great room and into a short hallway. They were meeting in the judge’s office. He knocked once and opened the only door in the hall.
Tarwater half sat on the desk, a snake-oil-salesman smile on his face, texting. Wyatt took up the middle of the small room in a predatory loose-limbed stance, giving the impression that blood would be spilled.
Mack was planted next to the door, his feet set wide and his arms crossed over his chest. He hadn’t bothered to dress for the party, his jeans and black ABBOTT GARAGE T-shirt in stark contrast to the rest of them. In fact, with his beard and frown, he looked more like a bouncer than a guest.
“Is that everyone, then? Ford’s not gracing us with his presence?” Tarwater straightened and placed his phone on the desk at his hip.
Whether or not Tarwater knew Ford had hightailed out of Cottonbloom was a mystery, but Jackson had to assume his question was meant to bait them.
“Ford’s not important. Not anymore,” Jackson said.
Tarwater’s smile grew in size and brightness. “I wondered when he was going to drop the glad tidings. I thought he might have told you at Christmas. That would have been quite the present.”
Mack stepped forward. Jackson put his arm up like a guard rail. Mack stopped, but his voice carried a real threat. “I’m surprised you didn’t sashay into the garage and tell us yourself. Seems to me that would have made your Christmas really special. But then again, you would’ve had to congratulate Wyatt and Sutton. They’re engaged, you know.”
“Congrats.” Tarwater’s smile was wiped clean, the word disingenuous. His phone vibrated, and he glanced down before flipping the phone to conceal the screen. He shrugged a smile back on his face, but it was smaller. “It’s not my place to tell you boys anything.”
“What do you mean?” Wyatt moved to Jackson’s other side, putting the three brothers shoulder to shoulder and facing down Tarwater.
Tarwater’s gaze darted to the door as if measuring the distance. The man shouldn’t have put himself in such a vulnerable position, but then again, maybe he was counting on them to remain civil in Judge Mize’s home. Considering Wyatt tackled Ford in the middle of a swanky fund-raiser at the country club earlier that fall, he really should know better.
“I was asked to keep quiet until my client decided to revea
l themselves.”
It took several beats for the meaning to change the course of Jackson’s assumption. “You’re not the buyer?”
Tarwater leaned farther back, his gaze sweeping from Wyatt to Jackson to Mack and back again. His laughter bordered on mocking. “What in tarnation would I do with a stake in a car garage? I pay men like you to fix things so I won’t be bothered with it. Jesus.”
“Then who the hell is it?” Mack growled out.
“The buyer is on the way. A new start for the new year?” Tarwater’s barely veiled glee darkened the silence that gathered. Things had gone from bad to unpredictable, which in Jackson’s opinion was almost worse.
More than anything, he wished Willa were with them to skewer Tarwater with her sarcasm. But she wasn’t.
A soft knock at the door had them turning to face a new, unknown enemy. The handle turned and the door opened on a long squeak.
A woman was silhouetted in the doorway. She was tall, close to six feet in her heels. The light from the foyer chandelier made her fitted dress shimmer. Her dark hair brushed the thin shoulder straps of her red dress. Something about her struck Jackson as timeless, like one of the old-school stars in the movies their pop liked to watch on Sunday afternoons.
Wyatt stepped forward and pointed. “I remember you. From the gala. You and Ford and Tarwater were huddled up right before I—” He cleared his throat.
She stepped inside the room and closed the door. Her perfume stirred on the air, sweet but with a citrusy bite. “I was afraid you and Ford were going to kill each other. I’m glad neither of you drowned.” Her smile was unexpectedly open and warm. “And I hear congratulations are in order.”
Jackson and Wyatt exchanged a glance. Now that the buyer was revealed as a woman whose intentions were unknown, they might as well burn their game plan.
Wyatt shrugged and looked like Jackson felt, at a loss for what came next. “Thanks. I guess.”
Mack took a step toward her, and she matched him with a step back, her hand playing with a silver locket on a delicate chain. “You’ve run into Wyatt and presumably know Ford rather well, but we’ve not met. Who are you?”
“Ella Boudreaux.” She held out a hand. While her accent reflected a Southern birth, it wasn’t as Cajun flavored as her name implied.
A long pause followed where Mack didn’t do anything except look at her offering. Her hand took on a noticeable tremble, but she didn’t drop it and try to gloss over the awkwardness. Jackson held his breath.
Finally, Mack engulfed her hand with his. “I won’t lie and say it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Boudreaux.”
“Ms. actually. I’m divorced.”
“And may I ask why you decided to buy Ford’s quarter of Abbott Brothers Garage and Restoration?” In contrast to the almost polite question, his voice was harsh.
“Because I can.” Underneath the breeziness of her answer was the steel foundation of a challenge. “Could I have my hand back before you squeeze it off?”
Mack looked down like he was surprised their hands were still joined. He let go, flexing and fisting his hand at his side. She ran her hand down the curve of her hip as if wiping away his touch.
What did Ms. Ella Boudreaux want with a small-potatoes car garage? Imagining her on the shop floor with its noise and grease was laughable. While she didn’t appear to be in need of money, her expensive-looking dress and heels and perfectly manicured nails could be a front. The smart thing would be to retreat and gather information.
Unfortunately, Mack’s temper burned on the edge of control and chaos. He took another step forward and this time she held her ground. They were uncomfortably close. “Lady, my pop founded Abbott Garage. Built it up from nothing. It’s my livelihood and my passion and we’re going to have big problems if you plan to drag it down.”
“Why would I spend good money on something I plan to drag down?”
“Because you can?” Mack threw her words back.
A flash of strong emotion—fear, anger?—was quickly replaced by serenity along with a small smile, but it seemed fake, like a pageant contestant in front of the judges. “I can assure you—all of you”—she made eye contact with Jackson and then Wyatt—“that I have no intention of doing you harm. In fact, you might find I possess rather helpful skills.”
“I expect you to be a silent investor until I can gather the funds to buy you out.”
“Do I seem like the silent type to you?” The humor leaned more good-natured than biting, but Mack’s expression remained stony.
“Then we should expect you Monday morning?” A mocking smile twisted Mack’s lips. “Are you good with a wrench?”
“Depends on what you mean?” Her voice was full of innocence even as she propped a hand on her hip, the vibe sultry. Mack’s smile disappeared faster than a deer spotting a hunter.
“Selling it back to us would be in everyone’s best interests,” Mack said softly, but with an obvious threat still pulsing from him.
“Do you have the funds now?”
Mack’s silence was answer enough.
“Maybe you’ll end up thanking me one day.”
“Never.” Mack ground the word out between his teeth. He inched even closer, and Ella leaned backward although she didn’t retreat. Mack sidestepped her, threw the door open, and stalked out. It bounced closed again.
Ella turned her attention to Jackson and Wyatt. “So I shouldn’t expect a welcome sign my first day at the garage, huh?”
She was holding all the cards. Whether she was bluffing or not remained to be seen. “You’re not actually planning to work at the garage, are you?” Jackson asked.
“I’ve found myself with an extraordinary amount of free time since my divorce.”
Tarwater remained silent, but observed them like a Roman emperor in the Coliseum. How fast would this news travel? Faster than the river’s current through Cottonbloom, no doubt.
“This isn’t a game, lady. This is our livelihood.” Wyatt took a step toward her and Tarwater made a move to keep them apart, his fist pressed into Wyatt’s chest.
“Step off,” Tarwater said.
“Why don’t you fuck off?” Wyatt knocked Tarwater’s hand off him.
“I never understood your low-class appeal.” Tarwater shoved Wyatt’s shoulder in a weak move. If his aim was to start a fight with a chance of survival, he should have punched Wyatt and run.
Wyatt inhaled sharply, a signal he was ready to pour gasoline on the Dumpster fire Mack had started with the confrontation.
“Andrew, no,” Ella said sharply, with none of the tease and charm Jackson had assumed was natural.
When the situation didn’t defuse, Jackson elbowed Wyatt and gave a little shake of his head while keeping his eyes on Ella. She was turning out to be as difficult to get a read on as Willa. And that was saying something.
“Let’s go. Not the time or place, bro.” Jackson grabbed Wyatt’s forearm and maneuvered him to the door. They left Tarwater and Ella Boudreaux behind to probably exchange celebratory high fives.
Sutton and Willa waited at the foot of the stairs. His gaze locked on Willa.
The ramifications of what had transpired hit him in a rush. Everything was changing. Nothing would be the same. Their pop’s death had caused a fissure that grew longer and wider by the day. Jackson’s security in knowing who he was and where he fit into the world was on shaky ground.
He pushed Wyatt toward Sutton, absolving himself of taking care of his twin, and grabbed Willa up in a fierce hug. He wanted to sink into her and use her as his touchstone even as the sane part of him protested the foolishness. She wasn’t secure. She wasn’t even his. Not yet anyway.
“You wanna get out of here?” No way could he stay and make small talk and smile.
“Sure.”
He let out a long breath before loosening his hold and taking her hand. The cold air brought with it a clearing of his head. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders.
“I’m
being selfish. You got all dressed up to go to a party and have fun and here I am dragging you out. We should go back and ring in the new year.”
She put her arm around his neck. Her weight anchored him. “I didn’t get all dressed up for a party; I got all dressed up for you.”
The puffs of white between them ceased as if both of them had forgotten how to breathe. He shuddered in a lungful of air, the cold painful in his chest. Or maybe it was something else that hurt.
Afraid he’d mangle anything that came out of his mouth, he knitted his fingers between hers and led her toward the Mustang, taking care not to let his eagerness quicken his step too much. She wobbled in the heels on the uneven ground.
Once they were inside the car, the noise of the heater preempted any need for conversation, but an unspoken tension ratcheted up with every turn and curve. Changes were afoot between the two of them. Would she stick or run?
Chapter Eighteen
The intensity building in the car was like an unexploded bomb. Jackson made her feel invincible and vulnerable. It was enough to give her whiplash. She wiggled in the seat and pulled at the lapels of his jacket.
The road they traveled led to sex. They’d done it already. Multiple times in fact. But tonight felt different in a way she couldn’t pinpoint. They were at a turning point, but she couldn’t make out the signposts. The garage came into view through his headlights. He parked around the side, close to the barn.
Home.
The word came unbidden. She wasn’t sure whether it was a response to the garage, the barn, or the man at her side. It had been so long since she’d truly belonged anywhere or with anyone.
She pushed the door open. Between the low-slung seat and her lack of experience walking in heels, working her way out was a challenge. He stood by the door, and she looked up. Her lungs squeezed at the sight of his tall, broad frame. His dimples carved furrows in his cheeks, and his husky laugh sped through her like a shot of liquor.
Sliding her hands into his, he pulled her out. Before she could take a step toward the barn, he swept her into his arms. Her yelp was cut off by his lips. They were cold and soft and still curved into a smile.
When the Stars Come Out--A Cottonbloom Novel Page 24
