Surrender To Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  “Okay.” She opened the door and scaled the massive Escalade, trying to sound like someone who hadn’t shoved a fake ID beneath the front seat moments earlier. “Is there a problem?”

  Instead of replying, he turned on his booted heel and stalked slowly back to his cruiser.

  That didn’t seem like a good sign.

  Ten minutes later, she began to worry.

  In an effort to steady her quickening pulse, she unclenched the steering wheel and drew a deep, slow breath. Why was Colton detaining her so long? Did he know what she’d done? Had he sensed it?

  No, of course not, no need to act paranoid. It’s just that she’d always been a terrible liar, and when she’d stepped onto the street and faced him, it had taken all her willpower not to break down and confess everything.

  God, give me strength.

  So much for getting through the next month without crossing Colt’s path. She hadn’t even made it a full twenty-four hours. From now on, she’d have to do a better job of avoiding him, maybe call the county office and learn his schedule, then plan her trips into town when he was off work. She should swing by the library, too, and stock up on books to keep her occupied at home. The only other safe haven in the county was Daddy’s church. Colton would never set foot in there—too much risk of spontaneous combustion.

  She glanced at him in her rear-view mirror, wondering what was taking so long. He kept opening and closing his trunk, but retrieved nothing new. With her documents in one hand and the other resting on the butt of his pistol, he paced a slow circuit in the middle of the road, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder for oncoming traffic.

  With a loud curse, he opened his car door and slid behind the wheel with the exaggerated care of someone in a great deal of pain. Misery was part of Leah’s job, and she recognized the grimace distorting Colt’s stunning face, his one visible fist clenched so tightly he could squeeze water from a stone.

  Daddy had told her about the accident a couple of years ago. No, not accident—attack. Some psycho stalker had run over Colton with her car.

  It was clear he needed physical therapy, but that was none of her business. The therapists at Sultry Memorial were every bit as skilled as she was—even more so, since they were accredited. The last thing she needed to do was to get anywhere near Colt’s body.

  To err was human, to forgive, divine, but to fall for the same shtick twice was just plain stupid. She’d forgiven Colton—had to for her sanity—but that didn’t mean she wanted to be friends. Besides, if he had any intentions toward her, she’d bet dollars to doughnuts they weren’t friendly in nature. Once a selfish prick, always a selfish prick, pardon her language.

  Leah checked her watch. The drug store would open soon, and she needed to pick up her daddy’s Lovenox injections so she could regulate his blood coagulation level. Nothing wrecked a brand-new mechanical heart valve faster than a clot. And with Daddy so frail, she didn’t like leaving him alone more than a few minutes at a time.

  “Hey,” she called out the window. “Is this going to take much longer?”

  Colton flinched as if he’d forgotten she was there. Then their pseudo-reunion got a whole lot weirder. Without another word, he tugged his car door shut, started his engine, and pulled a u-turn, flinging tiny bits of gravel in his wake as he tore back into town…taking her license and Benny’s registration with him.

  “Wait!” Leah waved one arm to hail him down, but he made a left on Main Street and sped out of sight. For the next few minutes, she stared at the intersection and waited for him to return.

  He never did.

  Well, nuts. What was she supposed to do now? Did he expect her to follow? Or keep waiting there? She checked her watch again and then punched the Cadillac’s fancy ignition button. To heck with it. She was heading to the drug store. What was he going to do, arrest her? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  At least not anything Colton knew of.

  Chapter 2

  Colt flipped on the siren as he barreled from Route Fifty to the courthouse, cursing every dawdling bastard that stood in his way. At the intersection of Main and Third, he had to resist the urge to ram the tailgate of Jim Jenkin’s idling Chevy pickup. Damn it, this was an emergency! Colt needed to reach the one man in Sultry Springs who would know why Leah was in town—or any other gossip, for that matter—his grandpa, the county judge.

  After the longest sixty seconds of his life, Colt skidded to a halt in front of the three-story justice building, straddling two parking spaces and not giving a rat’s mangy ass about the quizzical looks he’d drawn from the nearby clerks. If it weren’t for Colt’s injuries, he would’ve bounded up the limestone steps like an Olympic hurdler, but as it was, he gripped the handrail and made his way inside the courthouse at geezer pace.

  The rubber soles of his work boots squeaked against the waxed floor, a slow creak-pause-creak-pause that continued to remind him he wasn’t as light on his feet as he used to be. As if he could forget.

  His family kept saying he was lucky to be alive, but Colt would gladly trade a couple decades of mortality to have his old body back. He wanted to run again, or even manage a brisk walk. Maybe toss the pigskin every once in a while. Hell, he’d love to go cruising on his Harley for more than an hour without having to stop and massage his lower back like an invalid.

  Once he’d navigated the labyrinth of halls leading to the judge’s chambers, he stopped at the clerk’s desk just outside his granddaddy’s office door.

  “Mornin’, Ty,” Colt said, handing over Benito Alvarez’s registration. “Run a quick check on this guy, will you?”

  “Sure thing,” Ty said. “Listen, a bunch of us are meeting up tonight at Shooters for dollar—”

  “—draft night,” Colton finished, cutting off the invitation. He made a mental note to set up a DUI checkpoint on his side of the county line, then turned and continued on his way. “No, thanks.” He strode forward, knocked twice beneath Granddaddy’s brass nameplate, and let himself in without pausing for a reply.

  He should’ve waited.

  Because what he saw on the other side of that door would stay with him forever, kind of like the roll of prepackaged cookie dough he ate last week. He kept forgetting that his granddaddy wasn’t an old bachelor anymore—he’d married the widow Foster nearly two years ago.

  At over six feet tall and built like a linebacker, the bride had resembled a geriatric drag queen standing next to her groom, who’d reminded Colt of a short, pot-bellied Albert Einstein in a bolero tie. Colton had always hoped their union was in name only, because the two of them would make an especially gruesome beast with two backs. But judging by the gusto with which they sucked face on the leather sofa, their relationship was the real deal. Someone would lose a denture if they kept carrying on like this.

  Before clearing his throat, Colt raised his gaze to an assortment of fly-fishing lures mounted on the wall above the sofa. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need a minute.”

  Pru drew a sharp breath, clapping one man-hand over her breast. Or rather where her breast used to be before it’d migrated south. When she turned to face him, two spots of color appeared high on her withered cheeks. It made Colt smile. He’d never seen a granny blush before.

  “Well, I reckon we gave you an eyeful,” she said, tucking a stray lock of hair into her bun.

  Granddaddy leaned in for one last peck on the lips. “Boy got what he deserved, sneakin’ up on us like that.” He lowered his bushy eyebrows and demanded, “What’s got your boxers in a bunch so early?”

  Colt closed the door behind him, awkwardness forgotten as he recalled why he was here. “You’ll never guess who I just pulled over, driving an Escalade of all things.”

  “Oh.” Pru pointed a bony finger at him. “Little Leah McMahon.”

  “Yeah. How’d you—” Colt mentally smacked himself.
Of course Pru would know. She probably spent more time inside the Holy Baptism by Hellfire Church than the preacher did. Colt’s step-granny threaded the Bible Belt through her knickers and wore it on the tightest notch.

  “When’d she come back?” he asked.

  “Yesterday,” Pru told him.

  A whole day in town and the news hadn’t reached him? Around here, a man couldn’t sneeze at the breakfast table without rumors of his death circulating by lunch. “She’s been gone a long time,” he added.

  “’Bout seven years, I think.”

  “Ten,” Colt corrected.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Pru made a disapproving noise from the back of her throat. “Broke her daddy’s heart runnin’ off like that. No warnin’, neither. And not one letter in all those years. For all he knew, she was lyin’ in a ditch somewhere. Or worse—shackin’ up.”

  “She here to visit, or for good?”

  “Guess you could call it a visit.” Using the armrest as leverage, Pru heaved herself to standing. She shuffled to the mahogany desk and retrieved her handbag. “Her daddy had open-heart surgery last week. You probably heard.”

  Colt hadn’t, but he nodded anyway.

  “Well, it turns out Leah’s one-a-them nurses who stays on with people while they’re—”

  “A home health aide?” he interrupted.

  “Mmm-hmm, and she’s gonna live with her daddy till he’s back on his feet, then head up North.”

  That explained a few things, like why nobody had been able to find Leah in the national databases after she’d run away. Some occupations, like construction or in-home health care, were conducive to staying hidden. When cash changed hands under the table, there were no taxes to file. No public records. And if Leah had let her certification lapse and lived with her clients, she’d never have an official address to report. But what that didn’t explain was why she’d gone to such extremes to lay low, or why she’d stayed away so long without a word.

  Still deep in thought, Colt scratched a patch of stubble he’d missed while shaving. “If she didn’t stay in touch, how’d she know about the preacher’s surgery?”

  Granddaddy piped up from his place on the couch. “She said the Lord called her home.”

  “A miracle,” Pru added with a smile, turning her gaze skyward.

  “Uh-huh.” Colt’s bullshit detector started beeping. Someone had tipped off Leah, and he wanted to know who. Over the years, he’d shaken down every single one of her uptight friends to find her, but they’d all claimed ignorance. The mole was probably Rachel Landry. She’d shave her head, grow a beard, and bat for the other team before lifting a finger to help him. “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” he said.

  “Amen.” While nodding in agreement, Pru eyed him approvingly. “Why don’t you join us at Sunday’s service?”

  Because he’d rather wax his balls, that’s why. “I’m busy.” Then he flagrantly changed the subject back to Leah. “So how long until the pastor’s back on his feet?”

  Like a redneck pirate, Granddaddy narrowed one beady eye. “Why do you care?”

  Colt faked a casual shrug. “Leah’s—” the one who got away. “An old friend.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Granddaddy gave him a look that said his own bullshit detector was blaring. “Didn’t you two date for a while?”

  “I guess,” Colt muttered. “If you wanna call it that.”

  For reasons he couldn’t quite identify, it felt wrong to admit that someone so flawless had belonged to him, like it might sully her by association. In truth, Leah had been his girl for the best one month, six days, and seventeen hours of Colt’s miserable existence. Until he’d stabbed her in the back like the immature coward he was back then. But she got the last laugh.

  For the past decade, the sight of every long-haired blonde had made Colt’s breath catch, only to send his heart plummeting to the ground when he realized it wasn’t her. At Christmastime, every blond-haired angel tree-topper taunted him with reminders of what he’d lost, until he began to dread the whole damned season.

  “So, what’d she say?”

  “Hmm?” Colt asked, still distracted.

  “Leah.” Granddaddy made a come on motion with one hand. “Why’d she disappear like that?”

  That’s what Colt wanted to know. He’d always thought Leah’s daddy was too strict. Maybe the preacher had taken the old saying Spare the rod and spoil the child literally. But if that was the case, it didn’t make sense for her to run away, then suddenly show up and nurse him back to health before leaving again. When Colt had pulled her over, he’d sensed she was in trouble, or at least hiding something. Maybe if he’d had the capacity to utter more than step out of the car and get back in your car, he’d have found out what.

  “Didn’t ask,” he said.

  He fished Leah’s driver’s license from his shirt pocket and locked his gaze on her image as if to confirm he hadn’t hallucinated the whole encounter. Her pink lips were curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Was it his imagination, or did he detect a hint of sadness in those baby blues? It made him wonder what kind of life she’d made for herself in Minnesota, assuming that’s where she lived. Suddenly, it occurred to Colt that she might have a family. He hadn’t noticed a ring on her finger, and her last name was still McMahon, but that didn’t mean anything. She could very well be married. A sickening chill uncurled in the pit of his stomach. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate punishment for his past transgressions—to find her after all these years only to discover she belonged to another man?

  “Six weeks, tops,” Pru said, pulling him back to present company.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “You asked how long till Pastor Mac’s on his feet. Shouldn’t take much more’n a month.”

  “Oh.” That was less time than he’d expected. Colt swallowed hard, pushing down something that tasted an awful lot like fear. He knew it would tip his hand, but he couldn’t resist asking, “Did her daddy mention if she’s got a husband?”

  Pru and Granddaddy shared a long, knowing look—the kind folks exchanged when they were about to spring bad news on some poor, unsuspecting sap. Colt’s gut twisted while he braced himself for the worst.

  “He didn’t say anything.”

  Colt released the breath he’d been holding. Pru’s answer wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t a yes either. His relief didn’t escape Granddaddy’s detection. Those haywire brows knitted together while the man studied him from the other side of the room.

  “Careful, son,” his grandpa said. “A person changes a lot in ten years. I dunno where Leah’s been, but I’ll wager she’s not the same girl you remember.”

  Well, no shit. Of course she wasn’t the same girl, just like Colt wasn’t the same wild and reckless juvenile delinquent who’d stolen as many hearts as cars. But while time might’ve drained a bit of the youthful innocence from Leah’s features, some things never changed—like a person’s core, the essence of who they were. No matter where she’d traveled or what she’d done, Leah would always have the purest heart on earth. Colt knew it instinctively. What he didn’t know was why she’d bother with the likes of him. He didn’t deserve a second chance, but if she was single, he was sure as hell going to take it.

  “You got nothin’ to worry about,” he told his grandfather. “Like I said, she’s just a friend.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” The old guy wasn’t fooled. “Suit yourself.”

  Colt grinned, nodding a good-bye as he backed toward the door. “Always do.”

  ***

  “Careful, now,” Leah said. “Nice and slow.”

  Supporting Daddy’s elbow, she helped him lower onto the same corduroy recliner where he’d once rocked her as an infant. In response to the burden, the chair’s wooden frame groaned and crackled, sagging beneath Daddy’s considerable weight un
til she worried he’d drop to the living room floor like Goldilocks. Except Daddy had no locks. He’d lost his hair and doubled his body mass since she’d been away, which explained the heart attack.

  “I’m going to find you a wife,” she threatened. “Someone who’ll make you eat grilled salmon instead of quarter-pounders and walk you like a dog after dinner.”

  Daddy’s laugh sounded more like a symphony of wheezes. “I wouldn’t want to marry the kind of woman who’d have me. I’m not exactly a catch, Pumpkin.” His smiling eyes found Mama’s portrait, mounted above the television where it’d hung for the last twenty-seven years. “Besides, I already have a wife waiting for me.”

  Leah glanced at the portrait of the woman who’d delivered her into the world. She had her mother’s fair coloring and blue eyes, and Daddy’d always claimed she had the same gentle spirit too. But Leah wouldn’t know. Thanks to preeclampsia, she’d lost her mama before they’d even met. Anyway, Leah’s spirit didn’t feel gentle these days. Just broken.

  “Well,” she said, trying to brighten her voice, “you’re going to meet her way too soon if you don’t start taking care of yourself. And I don’t think she’d want you to leave me yet.”

  Daddy’s gaze softened, staring through Mama instead of at her. He fell silent for a few beats before giving a nearly imperceptible shake of his head and whispering, “No, she wouldn’t want that.” Covering Leah’s hand with his own, he turned to her with a smile back in place. “She loved you so much,” then added with a wink, “almost as much as I do.”

  Leah dropped a kiss on his bald head. “Love you too, Daddy. It’s good to be home.”

  “Amen to that. Talkin’ to you on that video phone doesn’t compare to having you here.”

  “Oh, that reminds me.” She lowered her voice as if someone might overhear. “We have to be careful.”

  The hardest part of maintaining their ruse was pretending that they hadn’t emailed twice a week for the last ten years before discovering Skype. Or that Daddy’s “missionary trips” weren’t really visits to Minnesota. That instead, she’d run away from her rigid Baptist daddy because she’d hated their life together. Nothing could be farther from the truth.