Surrender To Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  Wait. Why was he here?

  Oh, yeah. The lawn. He needed inside the shed. He needed inside Leah even more, but first things first. After waiting for the blood to drain from his crotch, he punched the doorbell.

  From the other side of the dented aluminum siding, he heard the preacher holler, “Pumpkin! Company!” followed by the soft thump of footsteps on wood planks. When Leah threw open the door, she was in bare feet and a frumpy bridesmaid’s dress.

  Colt couldn’t help chuckling. He pointed to the limp bow hanging from her waist like a piece of overcooked linguini. Whoever the bride was, she sure didn’t want any competition. But wasn’t that usually the case with women?

  Leah’s fair cheeks flushed, blue eyes narrowed as she stood straighter in the dress. “What do you want?”

  “Well, now, that’s not very nice.” He nudged the bottom bag with his boot tip. “Especially considering I’m here to help.”

  She noticed the Weed & Feed and chewed her bottom lip while glancing at the shaggy lawn. “Thanks, but we can handle it.”

  “Honey, you lie like a Persian rug.” He reached out and tugged a lock of her hair. “I bet you’d look real good in tassels, too.”

  “I mean it,” she grumbled, shoving his hand away. “I was going to take care of this myself.”

  “We’re friends now,” he reminded her. “And friends don’t let friends drink alone or sweat alone.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “That’s right.” He tipped back his Stetson and told her, “Me neither—I quit the firewater a couple of years ago—but I can still make you sweaty. Now get in there and take off that bridesmaid’s dress. Put on some shorts and one of those see-through white tank tops you used to wear in high school. Bra optional.”

  She studied the tips of her ivory toes. “It’s not a bridesmaid’s dress. I bought it for…” She trailed off and mumbled something he couldn’t understand.

  “For what?” He couldn’t believe she’d actually paid money for the thing. “A costume party?”

  Before Leah could answer, the Wicked Bitch of the West brushed past, slinging her quilted handbag over one shoulder. “No, douche nozzle,” Rachel snarled. “It’s her prom dress. The one she never got to wear, thanks to you.” After one last death-glare, she turned to give Leah a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got a town council meeting. Gotta block that Home Cheapo from going up.”

  “Give ’em heck,” Leah said.

  “I don’t give anyone heck, but I’ll give ’em hell.” As if to prove her point, Rachel flipped Colt the bird before riding off on her broomstick.

  “It’s no big deal,” Leah said as she watched her friend walk away. “I just wanted to try on my dress one more time before I take it to the Goodwill.”

  “The Goodwill,” Colt repeated. He let out a long, slow breath that left his chest deflated.

  Senior prom. Quite possibly the worst night of his life.

  He’d done a fairly decent job of blocking it out, but he remembered exactly where he’d spent that evening. In a seven-by-seven juvenile detention cell that reeked of rust, piss, and failure. Leah had dumped his sorry carcass, and he’d turned to his old buddy, Jim Beam, for comfort. But Jim had been a shitty friend with a lot of bad ideas. Go figure. Colt had ended up buck-ass-naked, riding a foam noodle in the mayor’s brand new above-ground swimming pool. Instead of bailing out Colt, Granddaddy had let him rot in juvie for a week to teach him a lesson. For all the good it did. That weekend had set the tone for the next ten years.

  He filled his lungs with warm Texas air and regarded Leah with fresh eyes, imagining her blond curls lifted in a twist, a light sheen of gloss on her lips, a cluster of roses and silky ribbon secured at her slender wrist. Maybe the dress’s droopy bow wasn’t so bad after all. He kind of liked the way it accentuated her waist and made him want to rest his palms there. And the color was perfect—a rich, deep indigo that seemed dyed to match her baby blues.

  He wanted to say It’s beautiful, but his voice was too thick with regret and longing to squeeze through his windpipe. In the recesses of his feeble teenage brain, he must’ve known his relationship with Leah wouldn’t last until prom. Because even though he’d asked her to the dance, he’d never bought the tickets or rented a tux. He hadn’t allowed himself to imagine what her dress might look like or how it would feel strutting into the school gym with the prettiest girl in Sultry County on his arm. In other words, he’d been a first-rate pansy.

  But not anymore.

  “Come here.”

  It wasn’t a request, and she must have known, because she took his outstretched hand, gathered her heavy skirts, and padded down the steps onto the front walk. Gripping her fingers, he lifted one arm above her head and twirled her in a slow circle so he could see all of her.

  The gown rustled as she moved, reminding him of dried leaves scraping the sidewalk. It was a good sound that evoked images of Southern belles and blushing brides. He took in the graceful curve of Leah’s exposed back and wondered if she might’ve felt chilled on prom night. He pictured himself shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket and draping it over her shoulders. Tiny as she was, it would dwarf her, hanging halfway down her thighs. Kind of like the time she’d worn his football jersey to a pep rally. He’d always loved seeing her in his clothes. He’d enjoyed marking her that way, telling all the other guys who she belonged to. Which reminded him…

  “You still got my class ring?”

  Reflexively, she touched the hollow at the base of her throat, where his heavy ring used to rest on a silver rope chain. “It’s packed up back home.”

  “I figured you’d pawned it.” Colt drew her in for an impromptu dance.

  To his surprise, she didn’t resist. She rested one hand on his shoulder and placed the other in his leading grip. “Wouldn’t have gotten much for it.”

  “Still, you could’ve thrown it out.” He curled one palm around her waist and stepped close enough to feel the tips of her breasts against his T-shirt. The heavy petticoat beneath her dress pillowed against his thighs. “Or chucked it in the river.”

  She smiled up at him sweetly, but there was fire in her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, CJ. It was just as easy to toss it in a box and move on.”

  That was the second time she’d called him CJ, short for Colton James. He suppressed a grin, but felt it deep in his gut. He was making progress. So to keep it that way, he shut his trap and pulled her body close.

  Their feet never left the ground as they swayed to the drone of a distant John Deere, their movements barely discernible on the pavement. This was his favorite kind of dance, nothing more than an excuse for two lovers to hold tight to one another. Still, he wanted more. He wanted to feel Leah rest her head on his chest and mold herself to him. But as it was too soon for that, he took what he could get and enjoyed the warm sun on his shoulders and the scent of strawberry shampoo wafting up from her corn silk hair.

  “Hold on,” he warned before bending her backward in a dip.

  With a throaty laugh, she arched her neck and threw back her blond waves, drawing Colt’s eye to a quarter-shaped bruise at the top of her shoulder. He recognized it instantly, and this time, he couldn’t hide the smile that pushed up the corners of his mouth.

  “Why, Leah McMahon,” he said, pulling her upright, “is that a hickey?”

  “What?” She followed his gaze and pressed two fingers over the spot. “Of course not. How would I—” Cutting off abruptly, she flushed scarlet as she put the pieces together.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he said.

  She slapped his bicep. “You jerk! You gave me a hickey?”

  Colt brushed her hair aside to get a better look. He rubbed his index finger over the purple splotch, then shook his head and gave a tsk-tsk-tsk. “Back in town a week, and you’re already letting strange boys suck on your neck. I ho
pe your daddy doesn’t find out.”

  Her brows lowered as she shoved against his chest, but he gathered her into his arms and took her hand to resume their dance. “Simmer down, honey. It’s about time you had some excitement in your life.” Bringing his lips to her ear, he murmured, “Want me to give you one on the other side to match?”

  “You’re like a disease, Colton Bea.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” he laughed. “And since there’s no cure, you might as well quit squirming and dance with me.”

  She surrendered, releasing a puff of breath against his throat. One gradual inch at a time, she relaxed into his arms, and within a few minutes, they’d resumed their lazy two-step on the sidewalk.

  “See?” he whispered above her head. “Isn’t this nice?”

  She didn’t answer, but the fact that she hadn’t already retreated into the house told him she agreed.

  Closing his eyes, Colt let the sounds of birdcalls and lawn mowers fade into the background, imagining a slow song booming from the school’s gymnasium speakers. Maybe “It’s Your Love,” by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill. Nah, not that one. He hated pop-crossover country. Instead, they’d dance to a classic eighties ballad, like “There’s No Gettin’ Over Me,” by Ronnie Milsap. Never mind that the hired deejay wouldn’t have it.

  As the daydream solidified in his mind, the scents of grass clippings and honeysuckle gave way to rubber basketballs and lemony floor wax, the cement beneath his boots softening into springy bamboo. The gym would be dripping in crepe-paper streamers and balloons, and knowing him, he would’ve spiked the punch with a ten-ounce bottle of Jack. It would’ve been A Night to Remember, just as the prom committee had promised.

  Damn it all. It wasn’t fair that they’d missed it. He wanted a do-over—to dance with Leah for hours, then sneak out the back door and park with her on a dark wooded path before taking her home to her daddy. Impossible as it was, he wanted to recapture what they’d lost.

  He opened his eyes and pulled back to look at her. “Don’t pitch the dress.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Keep it,” he told her, stroking her satiny waist with his thumb.

  She searched his face a while before asking, “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Because he felt cheated, that’s why. “Just promise you won’t give it away.”

  She didn’t promise him anything, just turned her gaze toward the street to watch the occasional truck roll by. As the seconds passed, he wondered what she was thinking. Did the dress remind her of him? Was that why she was so eager to box it up, like the ring he’d given her all those years ago? Would she tell him there was no going back?

  He never got the chance to find out, because as his shitty luck would have it, a set of tires screeched to a halt at the curb, forcing their attention to a mustard-yellow convertible Mustang with the top folded down.

  “Hey!” a woman yelled from behind the wheel. “That you, Crazy Colt?”

  He released Leah’s hand and shielded his eyes to identify the driver and her passengers. Strippers, the whole lot of ’em. He could spot a dancer a mile away. Part of his job as deputy had been periodically inspecting the girls to make sure the right parts were covered, and he’d mixed business with pleasure on more than one occasion. A sick feeling took root in his stomach. This probably wouldn’t end well.

  “Remember us?” a passenger in the back seat asked with a seductive smile.

  “No.” Colt darkened his voice, leaving no room for doubt when he added, “Y’all get going.”

  The woman thrust out a pouty lower lip and said, “I’ll bet you remember these, Big Daddy,” then hiked up her top to reveal her enormous boobs, nipple rings glinting in the sunlight. Her friends threw back their heads and cackled wildly as the driver peeled out, filling the air with smoke and the stench of burnt rubber.

  That sick feeling spread to his chest. What were the odds that he and Leah could pick up where they’d left off?

  As it turned out, slim to none.

  She gave him a look that would singe the beard off Grizzly Adams, hitched up her dress, and hiked into the house, slamming the door behind her.

  Son of a bitch. That had sure gone south in a hurry.

  One step forward, two steps back.

  Chapter 7

  “Is that all of it?” A middle-aged, bearded man in stained coveralls used his sneaker to push a box of old clothes toward the wall. According to the oval patch affixed above his chest, his name was George.

  “No, there’s this too.” Leah handed her prom dress over the counter, and George took it without making eye contact. He tossed it into a rolling bin overflowing with outdated sweaters, Sunday dresses, battered leather shoes, and a few graduation gowns.

  “Need a receipt for your taxes?” He extended a trembling hand toward a ballpoint pen, revealing dirty fingernails and the inky ghost of a homemade tattoo across his knuckles.

  “No.” Leah hadn’t filed a return since she quit serving frozen custard at the Taste-E-Freeze ten years ago. “But thanks all the same.”

  George still couldn’t meet her gaze when he muttered, “’Kay. Have a good one.”

  Leah’s heart gave a sympathetic squeeze as she watched George turn to sort through a crate of knickknacks. He was clearly in withdrawal and looked miserable in his own skin. She wanted to tell George she’d pray for him, but decided it would only make him feel worse. Plus, God had stopped hearing her prayers a long time ago. Any intervention by her on George’s behalf would probably do more harm than good.

  She backed away from the donation counter and threw a final glance at her discarded dress, which had begun to slide from the top of the heap. Her body automatically tensed to catch it before it hit the gritty tile, but then she reminded herself that it didn’t belong to her anymore. What did she care if the dress landed on the floor? Goodwill would render it for rags if it didn’t sell, and she couldn’t imagine who’d buy something so unstylish.

  It was time to let go—of prom, of the past, of Colt. Especially Colt. She wouldn’t gain anything by fantasizing about what might have been. And Rachel was right. Guys like that never changed. Yesterday’s drive-by-skanking proved it.

  Through her peripheral vision, she watched the gown drift to the floor as she strode out the front entrance and slipped on her cardigan.

  The setting sun sliced through heavy clouds in a flash of orange and pink, just long enough to tease her with its warmth before disappearing again. Leah tugged her sweater lapels closed and knotted the belt at her waist. Fall had made its arrival, every bit as severe as it was abrupt. In less than twenty-four hours, the temperature had fallen from seventy to fifty. It was true what folks said about Texas weather: if you don’t like it, stick around for a few minutes and it’ll change. She shouldn’t complain, though. This beat a Minnesota winter by a country mile.

  She started Bruiser and drove to the Sack-n-Pay for a gallon of skim milk and a box of Cheerios, then headed to the drug store to refill Daddy’s prescriptions.

  “How’s your dad?” the pharmacist, Mr. Phelps, asked.

  “Fine,” she told him. “He’s up and around now.” He’d also lost twelve pounds, but she kept that private. She certainly wouldn’t want him discussing her weight with the locals. “He starts cardiac rehab next week.”

  “Sultry Memorial?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “They have a good program there.” He scanned two pill bottles and told her, “Eighteen ninety-nine.”

  “Oh, shoot.” That was more than she’d expected. “He still hasn’t met his deductible?”

  Mr. Phelps squinted at the computer screen. “Not quite.”

  Leah reached into her purse, but she knew she wouldn’t have enough cash to cover the bill. She’d only brought a twenty with her and had spent some of it at the grocer
y. But oddly, when she opened her wallet, she found nineteen dollars.

  That couldn’t be right.

  She counted it again and got the same result. The cashier at the Sack-n-Pay must’ve given her too much change. She dug into her pocket for the receipt and solved the mystery. They’d forgotten to charge her for the Cheerios.

  After paying for Daddy’s medicine, she drove home to refrigerate the milk and grab some cash from the lock box hidden beneath the bed—not the most original hiding place, but anyone desperate enough to rob the town preacher needed the money more than she did. Then she hopped back inside Bruiser, flipped on her headlights, and returned to town.

  Money in hand, she pushed open the glass door to the Sack-n-Pay and made her way to the single register that doubled as the customer service station.

  Once she’d taken her place in line, she studied the food inside each customer’s cart. You could tell a lot about a person by the groceries they stocked. For example, the elderly lady in front of her was a health nut—all fresh veggies and nothing boxed or frozen. If only Leah could get someone like that to cook for Daddy.

  When boredom took over, Leah glanced at the candy bars to her right and the assortment of gums and mints on display to her left.

  Oh! Bubblicious still made Carnival Cotton Candy—her favorite flavor! She plucked one from the box and set it on the conveyor belt.

  The elderly lady in front of her glanced at the gum and then back to Leah as if to say, Seriously? Bubblicious? At your age? Don’t you know that four out of five dentists recommend Trident? And she was right. Leah snatched the pack off the belt and replaced it in the carton. The last thing she needed was another cavity, and she shouldn’t be making impulse purchases anyway. But as it turned out, the woman grabbed a pack of Carnival Cotton Candy for herself and tossed it next to her collard greens.

  Maybe it was for her grandkids. Or not. Either way, Leah couldn’t buy a pack now without looking like a copycat, so she folded her arms and pouted inwardly. A few moments later, someone settled behind her and plunked a six-pack on the belt. Leah glanced over her shoulder and locked eyes with the one person she’d hoped to avoid more than Colt.