“She called you?”
Wayne shrugged. “She was my sister-in-law for seventeen years. And she knows I want what’s best for you. Same as she does.”
I snorted.
“Tally,” he chided, “they did the deed eighteen years ago. Eighteen years. What’s the point in getting mad at them now for something they did way back then?”
I frowned at Wayne. He was right, dang it. The hurt was fresh and raw, but the injury was old. Real old.
“They slept together years ago,” I said, “but every day since they’ve made a choice to keep it secret.”
Wayne laughed. “Choice? You call that a choice? When exactly was Bree gonna tell you she slept with Finn? While we were on our honeymoon? Maybe when Sonny started courting her? After Alice was born? What would have been the point except to cause you pain?”
“Fair enough,” I conceded, “but what about Finn? He should have told me before we started dating again.”
“Really? Did you tell him about every shameful thing you ever did before you started seeing him again?”
I felt a bubble of impotent rage rising in my throat. “Why are you taking their side, Wayne? Why are you even here?”
He sighed. “I can’t help but think some of this is my fault. I burned you pretty bad, and I think maybe you’re taking it out on Finn.”
“You’re here to defend Finn?”
He dipped his chin and looked up at me with a “you know better” sort of look. “I’m here to do right by you, Tally. I can’t undo what I did, the hurt I caused you. But I don’t want to see you hurt now.”
“It’s not really in your power to stop it.”
“No. It’s not. It’s in your power.”
“Are you kidding? They’re the ones—”
“They did what they did. But it’s up to you how you react.”
I sat there, stunned, staring at my good ol’ boy ex. I couldn’t quite believe Wayne Jones was capable of spouting such pearls of wisdom.
He must have guessed my thoughts, because he turned redder than a hothouse tomato. “That’s something they teach us in Sex Addicts Anonymous. The only thing you can control is yourself.”
I reached across the table and laid a hand over his. “I just don’t think it’s that easy.”
“I didn’t say it was easy, Tally. But does Finn make you happy?”
I pulled my hand back. “He did.”
He nodded, as if I’d settled something for him. “Then you have to get past this. You can’t let pride rob you of happiness.”
Pride. Dang, I knew I wasn’t proud.
I was scared. Finn Harper could crush my heart with one wayward glance. I didn’t know if I could let a man—who was only too human—have that kind of power over me.
I looked out the window at the picnic tables across the parking lot. I’d been sitting on one of those very tables the night Finn Harper drove out of my life. He’d offered me his love, and I’d turned him down. At the time, I’d told him I couldn’t run off with him because I had to take care of my mama.
That was true. But it wasn’t the truth.
I’d said no to Finn because I was afraid of the unknown. Afraid to trust in something as insubstantial as love. Because I was desperate for the ordinary, the familiar, the secure.
Over the years, I came to realize those were foolish reasons to let go of love. I’d told Kyle that inertia was a poor reason to stay with someone. Turns out, it was a poor reason to lose someone, too.
Here I was again, back in the Tasty-Swirl parking lot, with a decision to make. Would I let Finn Harper slip out of my life again? Or, this time, would I close my eyes and leap into the abyss, trusting that he would catch me?
By the time I got home, Finn was sitting on my front stoop, right where I’d seen him the autumn before when he’d finally come back to Dalliance. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands, staring at the cement between his feet.
“Hey, Finn.”
His head jerked up at the sound of my voice, and even in the fading light of day, I could see the hope in his eyes.
“I got your message,” he said.
I settled onto the stoop next to him, tucking the skirt of my sundress around my knees. I felt sixteen.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Life’s complicated.”
A short laugh escaped him. “Amen.”
“I like to color inside the lines.”
“I know.”
“But the lines keep moving.”
He sighed. “I know.”
I swallowed hard. “I think I need to learn to just be happy with the color. Worry a little less about the lines.”
He laughed again, more softly. “You want to explain that for me?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t sure I could put the idea into words that made more sense than that. So I tried a different approach.
“I’ve been thinking a lot today about Kristen. I never did figure out where she was from, find her family.”
“I talked to Cal about that. He’s going to see if the Dalliance PD can track down her people.”
“Thanks.” I grabbed his hand, knotted my fingers with his. “But I guess my point is that Kristen became someone else. She was a stripper and a lawyer.”
“Sounds like the plot for one of those TV movies on the women’s networks.”
“Hush. I’m serious. You can’t ever erase your past, but you shouldn’t necessarily be judged by it.”
“Thank you.”
I shook my head. “Don’t thank me. I’m not doing you a favor. I’m doing this for me. Bree and Alice and Peachy, they’re my family, but so are you. Y’all are the colors in my world, and I couldn’t give you up any more than I could give up blue. Or pink. I don’t care if you fit in the lines, Finn. I just need you to fit in my life.
“I love you.”
My heart pounding, I squeezed his hand.
And he squeezed back.
Ice Cream Terrine with Deep Dark Fudge Sauce
With just a little advanced planning, you can turn storebought ice cream into a pretty, company-worthy dessert. This is a mix-and-match recipe: choose any three flavors of ice cream, any (or no) tasty tidbits for between the layers, and any flavoring for the fudge sauce. A few yummy suggestions from Tally’s ice cream imaginings follow.
3 pints ice cream
1—1½ c. candy or nuts (pecans, peanuts, almonds, toffee pieces, crushed hard candy, crumbled peanut brittle, etc.)
FUDGE SAUCE
1½ c. heavy cream
⅔ c. brown sugar
½ stick (4 Tbs.) butter
4 oz. good bittersweet chocolate, chopped
3 oz. unsweetened chocolate, chopped
1½ tsp. flavor extract or 3 Tbs. flavored liqueur
For the terrine: Soften the ice creams by allowing them to sit in the refrigerator for about 20 minutes. Line a 9 × 5 loaf pan with parchment paper, so the paper overlaps all four edges. Spoon ice cream, one flavor at a time, in the pan, using the back of a kitchen spoon or an ice cream spade and creating reasonably even layers. Sprinkle nuts or candies between the first and second layers of ice cream. Remember that the layer on the bottom of the pan will be on the top when you unmold the terrine.
Return the loaf pan to the freezer for at least 30 minutes.
For the fudge sauce: Bring cream and sugar to boil over medium to medium-high heat, whisking occasionally. Boil, whisking until the sugar dissolves. Remove from heat and whisk in butter, then chocolates, and finally the extract or liqueur.
To serve: Remove the terrine from the freezer. Use the overhanging parchment paper to unmold the terrine onto a serving plate. Slice and serve topped with a generous drizzle of the fudge sauce.
Serves 6–8
Flavor Combination Suggestions
Mocha Caramel Latte
Ice Creams: chocolate, caramel, coffee
Nuts/Candy: toffee pieces (or crushed lady fingers
, for frozen tiramisu)
Sauce Flavoring: coffee liqueur
Spumoni Special
Ice Creams: chocolate, cherry (or vanilla), pistachio
Nuts/Candy: chopped frozen cherries
Sauce Flavoring: almond extract or almond liqueur
Banana Split
Ice Creams: banana, vanilla, strawberry
Nuts/Candy: chopped unsalted peanuts
Sauce Flavoring: vanilla extract
Bananas Foster
Ice Creams: banana, caramel, vanilla
Nuts/Candy: crushed peanut brittle
Sauce Flavoring: rum
Frozen Candy Cane
Ice Creams: chocolate, vanilla, chocolate (or white chocolate)
Nuts/Candy: crushed peppermint
Sauce Flavoring: peppermint extract or schnapps
Almond Delight
Ice Creams: coconut, chocolate, coconut
Nuts/Candy: chopped almonds (and shredded/sweetened coconut, if you like)
Sauce Flavoring: almond extract
Read on for a sneak peek at
Ice Scream, You Scream,
the first book in Wendy Lyn Watson’s
Mystery à la Mode series.
Available from Obsidian.
From the day I could hold a crayon in my chubby little hands, I have colored inside the lines.
I yes, ma’amed and no, sirred and pardon me’ed. I smiled the right smile at all the right people. I dated the right boys and never let any of them get past second base until the day I married the right man. I shoved every last mean or petty impulse down deep into the darkest recesses of my soul, until I was as perfectly perfect as I could possibly be.
Yet still somehow I found myself up to my armpits in a vat of toasted praline pecan, scooping sundaes for my perfectly smug ex-husband and his perfectly bodacious girlfriend.
Proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that life just ain’t fair.
“What kind of topping you want on that, Wayne? We got salted caramel, brown sugar pineapple, bittersweet fudge, and brandied cherries, all homemade.”
Wayne Jones, my two-timing rat-bastard of an ex, hooked his left thumb through a belt loop on his Dockers and draped his right arm over the shoulder of the living Barbie doll at his side.
“What do you think, Brittanie?”
Because of course the little love muffin was a Brittanie. What else could she possibly be?
Brittanie heaved a sigh that sent her gazongas bouncing. “I don’t know.” She skimmed her coral-tipped fingers over her nonexistent hips. “I hardly ever eat sweets.”
Wayne’s lips curled. “Well, Tally is an expert on sweets. Why, I bet she’s tried every possible combination. So why don’t we let her decide?” He patted Brittanie’s perky little butt. “What do you recommend, Tally?”
I recommend you kiss my ample be-hind.
Honestly, if the entire staff of Remember the A-la-mode hadn’t been watching the exchange with eyes as big as low-hanging moons, if my biggest display freezer didn’t need a new motor, if we’d had more than two paying customers that Saturday afternoon, and if Wayne wasn’t thinking about hiring me to provide dessert for the annual employee picnic at Wayne’s Weed and Seed . . . well, if it hadn’t been for all that, I would have told Wayne and Little Miss Fancy Britches exactly what I recommended.
As it was, I bit the inside of my lip and counted to eleven in my head—counting to ten was never quite enough with Wayne—before plastering a bland smile on my face.
“With the praline pecan, I would go with the bittersweet fudge. The caramel would be redundant, you’re allergic to the pineapple, and the cherry would just be gross.”
“All righty, then. Let’s give that a go.”
I dragged my scoop through the luscious French pot ice cream that would put Remember the A-la-mode on the map, filled the pressed-glass sundae dish with two perfect globes of praline pecan, then ladled warm fudge sauce from the dipping well. With a slow, sensuous slide, the chocolate oozed down the sides of the scoops, forming a puddle of melted ice cream and fudge in the base of the glass dish.
Hand to God, there’s something downright sexual about ice-cream sundaes, about the creamy, melty decadence of them. I felt like a pervert handing that sundae across the counter to my ex and his new girlfriend. Like I was handing them a sex toy or something.
I kept reminding myself how much money—and publicity—I could finagle out of the Weed and Seed employee picnic.
Outside of Texas, folks may not think of lawn care as a big deal, or a company picnic as a society affair. But the residents of Dalliance, Texas, take their grass seriously, and they’re fighting a never-ending battle with nature to keep it green and free of nut grass and fire ants.
And while Wayne may have been a crap husband, he was a savvy businessman. He’d turned Wayne’s Weed and Seed into the CNN of Dalliance; the distinctive lime green trucks were always plastered with birthday and anniversary wishes, announcements about the latest Rotary event, and admonishments to support the troops and get right with Jesus. In just under two decades, Wayne had parlayed a couple of riding mowers and a Leaf Hog into a Dalliance institution.
When Wayne’s employees and his best customers got together to celebrate victory over another scorching Texas summer, the Dalliance News-Letter would be there to record the event. Having my ice cream dished up to all those people would mark an important step in my transformation from Tallulah Jones, Woman Scorned, to Tallulah Jones, Successful Entrepreneur.
Fingers crossed.
Wayne spooned up a big glob of ice cream and sucked it in. Wayne’s sweet tooth rivaled my own, so I was eager to know what he thought. “Damn, Tally. That’s some fine ice cream. What do you think, sugar?”
I almost responded. After all, I’d been Wayne’s “sugar” for most of my adult life. But I caught myself just in time as Wayne handed the spoon to Brittanie.
She dipped the tip of the spoon into the ice cream and held it to her lips. She shuddered. “Ooh, it’s way too rich for me.”
Wayne rolled his eyes. “Ah, geez, Brit. Lighten up and have just a bite.”
Brittanie thinned her glossy lips and narrowed her deep blue eyes. In a heartbeat, the curvy coed went from looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth to looking meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes. I dang near got whiplash watching the transformation.
“I would think you’d be happy if I didn’t pig out on ice cream, Wayne. I mean, you don’t want me to get fat, do you?”
Whoa. Low blow. Behind me, I heard the synchronized gasps of Alice, Kyle, and Bree.
Apparently I was going to have to learn to count to twelve with Miss Fancy Britches Brittanie.
Wayne had the good grace to look abashed. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Dang it, Brit. Don’t be a sore winner.”
Winner? Winner? I couldn’t count high enough to let that one slide.
“Lord a-mighty, Wayne, do you really think you’re some kinda prize? I hate to bust your bubble, but I washed your BVDs for over fifteen years, and you ain’t a prize.”
That drew muffled snorts of laughter from the peanut gallery.
Needless to say, Wayne was not amused.
He flushed a shade of red I’ve only ever seen on baboon butts and the faces of self-important middleaged men. A sort of precoronary crimson.
“Now, dammit, Tally—”
“Oh, hush, Wayne,” Brittanie snapped. “You had that coming.”
Wayne’s lips thinned and a vein in his temple popped out. His eyes slid back and forth between me and Brittanie, and I could see the tiny wheels turning as he tried to decide who had pissed him off more, me or the twinkie.
I wanted to kick myself. With every pulse of that vein in Wayne’s forehead, I saw my chances of catering the Weed and Seed picnic growing smaller.
Thankfully, Wayne decided the twinkie was the larger thorn in his side.
“Jesus, Brit,” he growled. “You forget who butters your bread, little gi
rl?”
Brittanie stroked the pendant at her throat—a delicate gold trio of Greek letters stacked one atop another—before tucking her arm through his and leaning toward him. She tipped her head down and looked up through mile-long lashes.
I’d seen this dance a hundred times. Done this dance a hundred times: the Ego-Strokin’ Two-Step.
“Don’t be angry, baby,” she cooed. “Let’s just sign that ol’ contract with Tally and get ourselves home.”
Wayne grunted assent. A wave of conflicting emotions overwhelmed me, leaving me light-headed and a little queasy. Gratitude and relief that, with Brittanie’s help, I would get my contract. Shame that I had to sign the dang thing after Wayne and Brittanie walked all over my dignity. Revulsion at the thought of Wayne and Brittanie having make-up sex within the next thirty minutes or so.
Some images, a woman shouldn’t have to endure.
Bree, Alice, and Kyle were still lurking behind me. I shot them a dirty look, and my niece, Alice—chronologically the youngest, but the most mature by a mile—herded her nemesis-slash–major crush, Kyle, and her mom, Bree, into the back room. I ushered Wayne and Brittanie to a wrought-iron café table and spread out my preprinted contracts.
“I’ve already filled in most of the details,” I said, trying to sound efficient instead of desperate. “You tell me what you want and for how many people, and I can give you a quote.”
Wayne made a big production of shuffling through the papers, drawing a pair of dime-store reading glasses out of his shirt’s breast pocket so he could read through the fine print on the contract.
I sat quietly until he slipped the glasses back in his pocket and pushed the stack of documents toward me. He folded his arms across his chest, the big man back in charge.
“Looks fine, Tally. Are you sure you can pull this off on such short notice? We usually have a couple hundred people.” He coughed. “But I guess you know that.”
A Parfait Murder Page 19
