Surrender To Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  Luke stood and dug through his pockets until he found the hatchback keys, then handed them over. “Sickeningly sweet, probably.” He laid the title on the hood and fished for a pen. “I used to roll my eyes at couples like us.”

  “Me too,” June said, offering Luke a Bic from her purse.

  Leah shrugged. “I like seeing people happy. It gives me—” hope—“warm fuzzies.” Nodding at June’s baby bulge, she asked, “When’re you due?”

  “End of January.”

  Holy bones, two and a half more months? Leah fought to keep the shock from parting her lips. By June’s size, she’d guessed the baby would arrive in a few weeks, tops. “Well, you look great.” Every pregnant woman needed to hear that once in a while, even if it was a little white lie. Or a clanker of a lie.

  “Aw, thanks.” June laced her fingers together, resting them atop her belly while she studied Leah in silence for a moment. “Hey,” she said, tipping her head in appraisal, “Grammy told me you’re not married. Do you have anyone special back home? ’Cause if you’re not—”

  “Junebug,” Luke warned. He glanced up from his paperwork to shoot her one of those scolding looks married couples gave each other.

  “What?” June asked innocently.

  “You know what.”

  They proceeded to communicate through a silent dance of raised brows, narrowed eyes, jerking heads, and slashing hand gestures. Clearly, they’d discussed this issue before arriving, and Leah wondered which eligible bachelor June had in mind for her. Not that it mattered, because she did have someone special back home. Just not the way June had meant it.

  “I’m not here to date,” Leah said. “But thanks for thinking of me.”

  “See?” Luke said to his wife while handing Leah the title. “She’s not interested.”

  “He’s your friend,” June hissed. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “Friend is putting it loosely. Real loosely. It’s not like we’re—”

  “Whatever,” June cut him off and turned to Leah. “Just promise you’ll keep something in mind.” When Leah nodded, June left her with a cryptic, “People really can change.”

  “Jooooonbug,” Luke warned again.

  With a roll of her eyes, June relented. As she climbed into Luke’s dusty, black F-250, she asked Leah, “You’re coming to Trey’s potluck, right?”

  “Who’s Trey?”

  “My brother-in-law,” Luke answered. “He and my sister have been living in Dubai the past couple years, and we’re throwing ’em a homecoming.”

  “Oh, Bobbi got hitched?” Leah asked, pretending not to know that Luke’s little sister had married his best friend. “I think we were in the same preschool class.”

  “Yep.” After closing his wife’s door, Luke strode around to the other side and opened his own. “Friday night at the church fellowship hall. Six o’clock. Don’t worry about bringing anything. We’ve got it covered.” With a wave, he started the truck and drove away.

  Once he’d disappeared from view, Leah took a minute to study her new ride.

  “Well, Bruiser,” she said, patting the side-view mirror, “you’re no looker, but that’s okay. I’ll bet you’re pretty on the inside, and that’s what matters.”

  Pocketing her title, she strolled toward the driveway with a light breeze tossing her hair and the faint scent of burning leaves filling her nose. She pulled a deep breath into her lungs and savored it—the sweet, crisp smell of Texas in autumn. Lord, she’d missed that smell. Right now in Minnesota, the air was so frosty it would have stung the inside of her nose, and no sweater was thick enough to combat those brutal Northern winters. Her hands had been perpetually cold for the last decade, like she’d caught a chill in her soul.

  As if in consolation, the November sun broke free of the clouds and caressed the apples of Leah’s cheeks. She lifted her face to the heavens, and by the time she reached her front porch, she didn’t want to go inside.

  Tucking both hands into her sweater pockets, she stood on tiptoe to peer through the front windows. Daddy still had plenty of company, so she decided to linger a while. She took a seat on the bottom step and crossed her legs at the ankles, letting her dark jeans soak up the sun’s warmth. With a contented sigh, she leaned back on her elbows and glanced at the yard.

  The really overgrown yard.

  For the first time since returning home, she noticed that crabgrass had choked out the lush fescue lawn she remembered—the one that’d felt like a carpet of cool satin beneath her feet. The flowerbeds were in even worse shape. Leah couldn’t tell what kind of weed had replaced her cheery mums, but their tall, prickly stems and poofy white tips reminded her of cotton’s evil stepsister. Her old dog, Samson, was buried there, and his grave seemed desecrated by the overgrowth.

  When Leah studied her neighbors’ modest-but-immaculate homes, then glanced over her shoulder at the flaking paint and loose shutters on the brick ranch behind her, it became apparent that Daddy had let more than just himself go.

  Maybe she should find him a wife. Or three.

  While she sat there wondering how to rehabilitate her father’s heart and his home in one short month, more trouble rolled in, this time on a cherry-red 1978 Harley-Davidson.

  Leah recognized the distinct sound of its high-performance engine long before it pulled into view, its low roar tearing at her eardrums, rumbling the air until she felt it in her teeth. She’d know that hog anywhere, and more important, the pig riding it. Colt had put her on the back of that bike a time or two, though it hadn’t been fully restored then, more like a rude, crude tornado of bolts. Still, at seventeen she’d thought it was sexy as hell, pardon her language.

  But she’d matured since then. Danger didn’t get her revved up anymore. She’d collect her license and registration, then send the good sheriff on his merry way. She stood and took a defensive stance—feet planted shoulder-width apart, arms folded—to steel herself against another butterfly attack.

  Colt parked beneath the shade of an old oak tree across the street and cut the engine. With a booted heel, he kicked the stand and leaned the bike gingerly to the side before swinging one leg over the seat. He started to remove his helmet, but something caught his eye, and he paused to buff a smudge of dirt from the body with a clean rag he’d pulled from his back pocket. Leah snickered to herself, half expecting Colt to ask the bike, Your place or mine, honey?

  He shrugged off his leather jacket and slung it over the handlebars while Leah shifted her weight to one hip, wishing he’d hurry up already. But then he reached up to pull off his helmet, and the hem of his T-shirt rose a few inches—just enough to reveal a sprinkling of inky-black hair that covered his hard, flat abdomen and trailed off beneath the waistband of his Levi’s.

  Oh, mercy.

  A wave of desire slammed Leah with so much force, she actually swayed on her feet. And just when she’d regained her footing, Colt shook back his loose hair and locked those aqua eyes on her, making her mouth go dry. This was bad. Very bad. Not to mention pathetic. He hadn’t even touched her, and already her blood had rushed to all the right places. She had to get rid of him.

  “Got my license?” she shouted.

  Instead of answering right away, he took his sweet time, waiting until he’d crossed the street and joined her at the foot of the porch steps to say, “Unh-uh.” He swept a leisurely gaze over her body, heating her in every single spot it landed. “It’s still in my office. If you want it, you’re gonna have to come get it.”

  Not in this lifetime. “Then why’re you here?”

  “To talk.”

  “We’ve got nothing to talk about.”

  “Yeah, we do.” He shoved both hands in his pockets, drawing her attention to parts of him she shouldn’t want. She dropped her gaze to her shoes. “I need to apologize, Leah.”

  Her h
eart gave a tiny leap. It was the first time he’d spoken her name in that buttery drawl, and she wished it didn’t sound so delicious on his lips.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said in a rush. “It’s ancient history.”

  “Not for me.” Something in his tone darkened, and she peeked up to find him staring into the grass. “Not at all.”

  Leah gnawed on her bottom lip. She didn’t like the way he’d gone all somber, as if he really was sorry. She didn’t want him to be sorry. His contrition pulled the already painful knot in her chest even tighter. In order to regain some power, or at least the illusion of it, she skirted around him and climbed the porch steps until she met his height, then turned and demanded, “Why are you really here?”

  “To tell you I’m sorry for what I did. I want to explain wh—”

  “Are you apologizing to all the women you’ve seduced?” If so, he’d better clear his schedule for the next six months.

  “No.” His gaze burned into hers, deadly serious and tugging that knot until her ribs threatened to crack. “There’s only you.”

  The crisp autumn air turned to soup, thick and steamy and impossible to breathe. There’s only you, Angel. That’s what he used to say every time she’d laced her fingers behind his broad neck and asked if he loved her. But Colt did not love her, probably never had. He was toying with her now just as he’d done back then.

  “I forgive you,” she said. “So you can go now.”

  “Liar.”

  She pulled her sweater sleeves over her clammy hands and shrugged one shoulder. “If you don’t believe me, that’s your problem.”

  “I don’t believe you, and we’re not done talking.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She’d show him otherwise. Raising one brow, she backed slowly up the stairs. “’Cause I think we are.”

  “What’re you afraid of, Leah?”

  There it was again—her name dipped in the chocolate of his voice. “Afraid?” she scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, CJ.” Instantly, she realized what she’d done, and her cheeks went up in flames. She hoped he hadn’t noticed that she’d called him by his old nickname, the one she’d only used when they were…alone.

  His eyes brightened, and a sly smile curved his lips, teeth flashing white against his dark skin. He’d definitely noticed, darn it. “Okay, honey.” Still grinning like a hyena, he hitched a thumb toward his Harley. “I’ll leave you alone, for now. But sooner or later, we’re gonna have that talk.”

  “What-ever.” Oh, Lord. She sounded seventeen! “I’ve gotta check on Daddy.” And before she could humiliate herself any further, she retreated into the house.

  ***

  An hour later, she occupied herself with the task of tidying up after Daddy’s guests. The wave of visitors had crested, and only one remained—the associate pastor, Brother Mike, who sat beside Daddy on the sofa as they discussed Sunday’s sermon.

  Leah shuttled half-full glasses of watered-down iced tea and Coca-Cola from the living room into the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. When she’d finished wiping the rings off the coffee table, she laid out a pound of chicken breasts to thaw for supper, then brought Daddy his daily dose of Coumadin and baby aspirin.

  She’d just sat down for a break when her iPad chimed from its resting place atop the corner curio. Reflexively, her eyes widened and met with Daddy’s across the room. They both knew who was calling. She only Skyped with one other person, and she didn’t want Brother Mike, or anyone else, to find out whom.

  “Excuse me,” she said to Mike as she jumped to her feet to grab the tablet. “I’ll take this in the other room so I don’t disturb y’all.”

  Y’all?

  Three days in Texas and already her accent was prairie-dogging it. She ran down the hall into her bedroom and shut the door before swiping her index finger across the glossy screen. Bold white lettering announced Noah Ackerman calling. She tapped the screen and waited for the three-second delay to pass before greeting her son.

  “Hey, Bud.”

  A blur of colors filled the screen, and then Noah’s image came into focus—sea-blue eyes smiling above russet cheeks, a mop of black hair brushing his shoulders. He flashed the classic gap-toothed grin of a nine-year-old. “Hi, Miss Leah.”

  She’d always been painfully aware that Noah favored his father, but having just seen Colt in the flesh, the resemblance seemed even more striking. Noah had inherited Leah’s peaceful nature and Colt’s…well, everything else. It seemed his DNA had unceremoniously elbowed hers aside, but considering the way he’d demanded center stage in life, why would his genes behave any differently? If she hadn’t been conscious during delivery and seen Noah with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed the child was hers.

  Not mine, she scolded inwardly. Not really. No matter how open the adoption, Noah called another woman “Mom.” That would never change.

  She glanced at the bedside alarm clock. “It’s only three,” she said. “Why aren’t you in school?”

  “I’m sick.”

  She brought the iPad a little closer to scrutinize Noah’s image. He didn’t look sick. Didn’t sound it, either. “What’s wrong?”

  “I had a tummy ache, but I’m okay now.”

  “Good. I’m glad you feel better.”

  Instead of responding with an account of his day, he fell silent and slouched. That wasn’t like him. Usually he rattled on about Pokemons, Bakugans, and other assorted Japanese–ons she didn’t understand.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  He perked up as if he’d been waiting for her to ask. “Mom won’t let me play Mario Kart. She says if I’m too sick to go to school, then I’m too sick for anything else.”

  Leah smiled. “My daddy used to say the same thing, but with TV instead of video games. He always made me stay in bed when I was sick.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a stupid rule?”

  She took a moment to form a careful response. Diane was a good mother to Noah, and Leah didn’t want to undermine her authority. “I think you need to respect your mama by doing what she says.”

  That wasn’t what Noah wanted to hear. He’d always known Leah was his birth mother, but until the last six months, he hadn’t matured enough to understand what that meant. Since then, he’d begun testing the boundaries, trying to play her in a game of “divide and conquer” against his parents every time they disciplined him. But Leah refused to surrender, no matter how good it might feel to give Noah what he wanted and be his hero for a change.

  “Can you talk to her for me?” he begged.

  “I’m not going against your mama, Bud.”

  Black brows formed a slash over his eyes as he jutted out his bottom lip. “Fine. I gotta go.”

  “Okay,” she said with a casual shrug. It stung to know he’d only called for permission to play his video game, but she hid her disappointment. “Love you.”

  He grumbled something she couldn’t make out before abruptly disconnecting.

  Leah’s heart sank. Like any child, Noah had his quirks, but he was usually a sweet boy. He’d never hung up on her before. Numbly, she powered off her iPad and set it on the nightstand, then curled up in bed to stare at the wall.

  Since the day Leah discovered she was pregnant, she’d put Noah’s needs ahead of her own, but it had been an excruciating journey. Nothing—absolutely nothing on earth—hurt worse than leaving the maternity ward with empty arms, breasts swollen with milk for an infant who belonged to someone else. During those early days, she didn’t think she’d survive it. And just when she’d thought life couldn’t kick her any harder, she’d hemorrhaged, and the doctors were forced to take her womb.

  Still, she’d resisted the screaming maternal urge to reclaim Noah for herself. Jim and Diane loved her baby more than life, and she knew they’d give him the kind of sta
bility she simply could not provide. At seventeen, Leah couldn’t even remember to feed the dog, and Colt had just been arrested again. Placing Noah with the Ackermans was the most selfless thing she’d ever done.

  And the most shameful.

  She’d kept Noah’s existence a secret from Colt, afraid he’d insist on letting their families raise the baby. Her child deserved better than being tossed between three grandparents. She’d wanted him to have one stable home with a mom and dad who loved each other. With rules and consistency and maybe even siblings. So, after talking it over with Daddy, she’d skipped town right before prom to live with Jim and Diane in Minnesota.

  She’d lied—claiming not to know who’d fathered her child—and had hidden like a thief to make sure Colt couldn’t find out in time to overturn the adoption. She’d insisted on an open arrangement, and the Ackermans had agreed, understanding that a mother would always be a mother. She loved them for that. Over the years, she’d borne the pain in silence, settling for monthly visits with Noah and the occasional video conference call.

  Logically, adoption was the right choice, but that didn’t stop her from lying awake some nights, too guilty for dreams. What would Colt say if he knew she’d given away their son?

  She didn’t want to think about it.

  “Pumpkin?” A knock on her bedroom door brought her back to the present. “Brother Mike’s gone. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” She rolled out of bed, shook off her funk, and joined Daddy in the hall. “Noah’s just having a bad day and taking it out on me.”

  Daddy gave her arm a consoling pat. “Congrats, hon. That means you’re a real parent. He wouldn’t push your buttons if he didn’t feel safe around you.”

  “I know, but it stings all the same.” She nodded toward the master bedroom. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then maybe you should take a rest.”

  After changing the bandages on his chest, she tucked him in like an overgrown child and lowered the shades. Before shutting his door, she asked, “Hey, is Rachel still living at home?”