by Liz Talley
Chapter Eleven
Mary Belle stared at the ceiling fan and twisted to her side, punching the goose-down pillow into shape before dropping her head on it. No good. Throwing off the covers, she flipped to her stomach.
Damn it.
Who did Tripp Long think he was?
He’d turned her on and then turned her down.
Okay, well, not down completely. It had been really kind of sweet. Caring. A decent guy treating her like she was more than some backroom floozy.
Treating her the opposite way Bear Rodrigue had treated her.
Bear Rodrigue—her eternal crush. Handsome, charming, rich and self-absorbed. Bear had treated her like crap, but she’d always gone back to him. He’d smile, buy her some flowers, talk about forever, and she’d dive into the cab of his truck, giving him all of who she was. And why?
Because everyone had always said they’d end up together.
That she grounded Bear.
That she was good for him.
That one day she’d be his bride, his wife, the mother of his children. And she’d believed them.
So she’d circled around his tree, waiting on Bear to grow up and realize what a treasure she was. But he never had, and now she felt stupid for believing Bear had ever cared about her. She was a piece of ass to him, someone to take to ball games, bake him lemon custard and help him pick out designer shirts.
But Bear was history now…history she would not repeat.
A sound at the window had her bolting upright.
Tap. Tap.
Cautiously, she swung her legs over the bed, grabbing an oversize T-shirt because she usually slept in a thong, and crept toward the old-fashioned gingham curtains she should have tossed years ago.
Tripp stood in the moonlight.
Holding a box.
Mary Belle slid the window up and the heat of the night blasted in. “Are you crazy?”
“Look what I found.” He held up a small box.
“What’s that?”
He hooked the handle of the box around a few fingers and climbed the faded lattice skirting the raised house—something he’d done many times when they were kids.
She moved back as his forearms rose over the windowsill, followed by a pair of eyes that took in her bared thighs. She tugged the T-shirt down, feeling damned defenseless in the lace thong.
“Look,” he said, holding the box by the handle, jamming it into the room and wiggling it. A few dirt clumps hit the wood floor, and the moon lit the room enough that she could see exactly what he held.
Her The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air lunch box, aka their time capsule.
He hoisted himself through the window and dropped fairly gracefully onto her pink rug, rolling so he came up on his knees. “When I dug up those scraggly flower bushes, I found it.”
She backed toward the bed and pulled a pillow into her lap so her panties didn’t show. “You could have waited until tomorrow to show me.”
She squinted at the digital clock. It was nine forty-three.
Tripp’s eyebrows dipped. “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d be in bed already. And I remembered how I used to climb in here and we’d read your dad’s smutty Westerns with a flashlight, and the idea of you in a nightie wouldn’t go away.”
Mary Belle couldn’t believe it, but she blushed. She seriously felt heat in her cheeks, and she prayed Tripp couldn’t see the evidence in the faint light illuminating her bedroom.
“You want to open the box or just make out?” he asked.
Mary Belle swallowed and thought about pulling Tripp from his knees and pushing him into her bed so she could touch that tempting chest, run her fingers over the ridges of his taut belly, dip lower and see how much he’d grown into a man. “Uh, open the box.”
His laugh did those shivery things to her belly and made her pull the T-shirt even lower over her thighs. “Okay, Mary B. I’ll ignore the fact you look like every fantasy I could have imagined as a fourteen-year-old, and see what we put in here all those years ago.”
Mary Belle pressed her lips and legs together, nodding at the sexy man holding a lunch box in the middle of her room on a Tuesday night. “Okay.”
Tripp sunk to his bottom and patted the space next to him. “Come on.”
“I’m not dressed.”
“And that’s why I want you down here.”
Chapter Twelve
Tripp had gotten a good look at Mary Belle when he climbed into the room, and was fairly certain she wore an itty-bitty thong. That thought alone was enough to make his venture over to her house worth the jagged scratch he was certain graced his calf from a random protruding nail on the lattice. Probably wouldn’t hurt to scout around her house and check for any repairs that were necessary.
“My lack of clothing’s the main reason why I’d better stay up here.” She licked her lips, making them glisten in the faint moonlight.
“Chicken.”
She tossed the pillow toward the head of the bed and rose, giving him a nice view of sweet thighs and one butt cheek as she walked toward him. “No one calls me a chicken.”
He smiled as she sank down next to him, giving him a whiff of something soft, sweet and seductive. Hell, it could be fabric softener, but it was a real turn-on. “You smell good.”
“I bathe.”
He heard the smile in her words and instead of making him feel like an old friend, the teasing made the heat in his blood rise and near out of control. “Nice to know.”
He dusted the latches of the lunch box with his fingers, humming the theme song from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. “Can you remember anything you put in here?”
She shook her head. “All I remember is that you came up with the idea to keep me from crying.”
Mary Belle’s father had died in a freak accident when a truck he’d been working on fell and crushed him. She’d been ten years old and Daddy’s little angel. As a nine-year-old skinny boy with no understanding of death and grieving, Tripp had thought a time capsule would be a good way to make her tears stop.
He popped both plastic latches and opened the box.
“A flower from the casket spray.” Mary Belle plucked the faded rose from the top of the offerings.
“And here’s a Micro Machine,” Tripp said, pulling a small car from the box. “I loved these.”
Mary Belle picked out a small plastic dog. “Cool, a Pound Puppy. Think this one came from McDonald’s.” Mary Belle smiled at the sad-looking hound dog.
For a few minutes, they marveled over ribbon barrettes, flip pads and a roach clip Tripp had scored from the parish fair. And then they found the vow they’d both signed. Their vow to always be friends.
Tripp withdrew it. “I remember this pinky swear.”
Mary Belle’s face grew sad. “We were good friends…until I became an asshole.”
Tripp stared at the contents spilling onto the pink rug and thought about those words. Mary Belle had been the one to put distance between them. The summer before she’d gone into grade seven, she’d started hanging out at the Ville Platte Country Club with Haley Hargrove and all the cool girls…and left Tripp, her once BFF, at home with only the damn squirrels to talk to, making their vow into something silly and childish.
It had hurt.
But it had been human nature, nothing that a million other kids didn’t do every day. Junior high really did spawn Satan’s minions.
But it wasn’t just being left behind that had hurt. It was the betrayal he’d felt when she’d stood him up four years later…for Bear.
“You were just a girl looking to fit in with other girls, and that meant not dragging your geeky, younger neighbor around with you. I didn’t understand then, but I do now.”
She shook her head. “That’s no excuse. Mom raised me better than to turn my back on a friend, but I did it anyway. I wanted to be cool and popular and have a boyfriend and—”
“Be normal?”
She grimaced. “What’s normal?”
“I wish I
knew.” He tossed the friendship vow back into the box and closed the lid.
“Tripp?”
He jerked his gaze to hers. Her blue eyes were soft and contrite, sheened with emotion. “Yeah?”
“I’m so sorry I lied and said my car broke down. I shouldn’t have stood you up for the dance, especially since things were bad for your family. I was incredibly selfish and stupid for chasing after Bear instead of honoring the commitment I made to you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m hoping you’ll still accept my apology. I’m really sorry.”
Tripp studied her in the moonlight and felt his heart move—a perceptible shift. Had he been a cardiologist, he might have worried. But he was a dentist, one who understood what had occurred between him and Mary Belle was more than physical…it was a spiritual reconnection.
So he leaned over and kissed her, pouring his answer into his kiss.
Chapter Thirteen
This kiss was different. Oh, it was good. Achingly so. But it was more than a simple kiss.
In his taste, in her tears, she felt the healing both of them so desperately needed.
The rift between them, that horrible, selfish act of a stupid seventeen-year-old girl with a crush on a boy who’d never wanted her, melted into something tolerable…something tangible and hopeful.
Tripp broke the kiss and leaned back to study her.
“I forgive you, Mary B. You’re not that selfish girl anymore.”
Mary Belle swallowed because she did feel selfish. She felt incomplete and embarrassed by who she was, who she’d failed to become.
Here she sat before a man who’d flourished in spite of awkwardness, betrayal and scandal. Tripp had grown into someone successful—he was the veritable rich, hot guy all the girls dreamed of, and what was she? Nearly thirty, still living with her mother, still talking about becoming a writer, still chasing after Bear Rodrigue.
Okay, she was making strides to change. Bear was out of her life, and she’d finished the piece on the daylily farm and sent a query to the magazine’s editor.
Still, she didn’t have much to show for the past twelve years. Her mother grew worse, and Mary Belle couldn’t do a thing about approaching thirty. She hadn’t even finished college, and her bottom had spread more than she liked.
“I’m not anything special, Tripp.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you that?”
“No one has to tell me. It’s pretty evident I haven’t done much with my life.”
Tripp shook his head. “Ah, Mary, why would you think you’re not remarkable? You’re smart, compassionate and beautiful.”
She snorted. Was Tripp on drugs? She’d read somewhere that among professionals, dentists had the highest percentage of drug use. And divorce. And suicide.
Tripp stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes tender, a smile hovering on his kissable lips. “I think you’re incredible.”
And that’s when the tears shimmering in her eyes fell, spilling over her lashes and trickling down her cheeks. “God, Tripp, you say the damndest things.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ten days after he and Mary Belle made their peace and started a tentative relationship, Tripp contemplated the fresh lumber stacked outside his home.
Today he’d start rebuilding Long House.
And repairing the Long family name.
That vow had driven him through all the times he’d doubted himself—it was a strong motivator. He would set things right for his family. He would make the town acknowledge that Buddy and Reva Rodrigue had intentionally and despicably succeeded in ruining his father with lies.
And it would happen Friday, when he confronted Buddy at the dealership he owned in Ville Platte. Tripp had taken the afternoon off since it was the night of the big Bonnet Creek and Ville Platte rivalry football game, and he’d made an appointment with Buddy. Time for the rooster to crow and the chickens to come home.
“Hey, it’s looking good.” Mary Belle emerged from the trail between their houses. “Mama’s napping so I thought I’d come help you pull that old wallpaper down.”
Mary Belle wore a tight green T-shirt that made her breasts look mouth-watering and a pair of cutoffs that might show him the curve of her ass when she bent.
“Or…?”
“We can take a ‘walk’ down by the creek.” Her teasing seeped into his skin, warming him. They’d been flirting ever since the night they’d opened the time capsule and he’d left her with a kiss and a promise for something more. She’d come over to help with the renovation several times, and it felt good to have Mary B. beside him, working, singing Gwen Stefani under her breath and blanketing him with desire so intense he often forgot what he was supposed to be doing…which wasn’t good when running a circular saw.
He’d heard her dreams of finishing school, of seeing her work in magazines and newspapers. She’d given him suggestions for paint color and handling his feuding hygienists. They’d made out, danced under the stars and come close to taking everything to a new level.
Mary Belle looked up at the house. “You’ve accomplished a lot here, Tripp.”
“But I still have some things left unfinished. Things left unsaid.”
“To who?”
“Buddy Rodrigue. And I’m about to take care of that.”
A furrow appeared between her eyes. “No one remembers what happened back then.”
“I do. My father does.”
“But if you don’t let go of the past, you become a victim of it.”
He stiffened…and not in the way he’d anticipated when she’d suggested a walk down at the creek. “Buddy Rodrigue is going to apologize to my family. He and Reva are going to fess up to what they did. They owe my father that. They owe me that.”
“You’re pouring all your energy into the past,” she said, sliding a hand to his arm. “Let it go and let’s move forward.”
He pulled his arm away, bitter that the lightness between them had faded. She couldn’t understand what he felt because she’d always been “in” with the Rodrigues. She’s always chosen them over him. “I’m all for moving forward, but there are some things you can’t pretend didn’t happen, Mary Belle.”
“Like lying about my car breaking down and ditching you?”
“No. That’s forgotten.”
She searched his gaze, her eyes unreadable. “Is it?”
“Yes. But Buddy hasn’t asked for my father’s forgiveness, and his machinations did more damage than a blow to my ego. My father got sick, left his town and his livelihood. I can’t let that lie in the past.” He pushed by her, climbed the stairs and shut the door.
Maybe he was being childish, but the wounds from the past still ached. He had forgiven Mary Belle, but the shadows of insecurity still swooped over him, reminding him that he was still Tripp the Drip and Mary Belle had always loved Bear.
Over the past few days he’d nurtured hope that Mary Belle was part of his future. But he knew that future couldn’t exist until he did what his father couldn’t do—confront Buddy and clear his family name.
Chapter Fifteen
Mary Belle studied the crowded streets of Ville Platte from Beast’s clean window. A new radiator had the old car purring, a comfort since she couldn’t afford a moped, much less a new car. Ville Platte was the location of the Homecoming parade, and everywhere she looked she saw “Pluck the Owls” signs, maroon streamers and rabid Bulldogs fans.
Mary Belle was a loyal Owl. And she’d promised her niece, who danced for Ville Platte High, that she’d make the dance performance, but she wouldn’t see a thing if she didn’t find a place to park. Unwillingly, she headed over to Buddy Rodrigue Motors to park in the used-car lot. Buddy wouldn’t mind. Plus, she wanted to talk to him about the article she had ready to go for his old college roommate’s magazine, Guns and Glory. She’d heard nothing from the other magazines she’d submitted to; she needed the break.
She pulled into the half-filled lot, waving at one of the salesmen, and
caught sight of Tripp walking through the glass doors of the dealership.
A sense of foreboding dropped into her stomach like a bowling ball. Tripp and his damned honor.
She hadn’t talked to Tripp since he’d slammed the door on her several days ago. His closing her out had hurt. She’d tried to understand how he felt, but she’d learned to forget past failures and stare into glittering possibility. She didn’t want to look back anymore. She wanted to keep her eyes on her future.
A new career.
A new tomorrow.
A new love?
But Tripp steeped himself in the past, and his confrontation with Buddy would draw no results. She knew the stubborn goat and his jackass of a son. And the idea that she depended on the man Tripp seemed determined to best didn’t sit well with her. Buddy was petty and would intentionally set out to badmouth her to any and all editors if he thought she was on “Team Tripp.” Could she risk her tenuous future by being loyal to a man bent solely on vengeance?
With a sigh, she headed for the dealership lobby wishing Tripp had left well enough alone.
Chapter Sixteen
Buddy Rodrigue glared at Tripp from behind a ridiculously ornate mahogany desk. “You have no right coming in here, dragging up that mess again. Now get out.”
Tripp slammed the letter he’d been carrying for the past ten years, the one that had burned a hole in his gut and nudged him to publicly clear his family’s name, on the desk. “Reva privately admitting the truth doesn’t change anything. You were the person behind the slander of my father, manipulating everyone, doing what you’ve always done.”
“Get out.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” A voice from the doorway had Tripp turning his head. Bear Rodrigue filled up the open doorway, all six feet three inches of him.
“I’m talking to your father.”
