Set the Night on Fire

by Laura Trentham

  While she was invited to social functions around town, she didn’t have a friend to call and invite for dinner, and she’d turned down the few men who had asked her out. As confident as her persona was, eating out alone wasn’t a self-esteem climb she was ready to tackle yet.

  “Today is your lucky day.” Jackson rubbed his hands together.

  Mack appeared out of nowhere, wiping his hands on a shop towel. “Who’s getting lucky today?”

  “Not you, that’s for certain,” Wyatt said with a cheekiness that was part of his DNA.

  “Our girl Ella has never eaten at Rufus’s.” Jackson pointed in her direction, but his gaze remained on Mack.

  Our girl. Emotion hit her like a tsunami without any warning and tumbled her in its chaos. Memories of her brother and their long-lost bond brought unwelcome tears to her eyes. She clamped her jaw shut to stop the wobble of her chin. She turned and stared at the computer monitor before the worst-case scenario occurred and Mack noticed.

  “I’ve got to run up to Benson’s Hardware. How about I take Ella so she can experience Rufus’s firsthand, and I’ll grab you boys and Willa a plate. What do you say, Ella?” Mack asked.

  She blinked her tears away. The end goal was getting rid of her. Was this some elaborate, crazy game of good cop, bad cop? Were Wyatt and Jackson buttering her up so Mack could squeeze her out? Was this field trip another one of his tests?

  “Okay. Sure. I am hungry.” She narrowed her eyes at Mack, waiting for him to give his plan away.

  “Meet me by the truck in five.”

  “I can drive.” She stood up and leaned into her fists on the desk.

  Mack tilted his chin up and looked down his nose at her. She wasn’t short by any means, but she wished she had on heels, so she could meet him eye to eye, lip to lip. She shook the errant thought out of her head. She had to quit thinking of him like a … man.

  Instead of the expected snide comment, he smiled. “Another day. The supplies I need would never fit in your car. Not sure I would, either.”

  “I’d like to see you try sometime.” A fair amount of tease snuck into her voice without her noticing.

  “Only if I lose a bet.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. Contrary to their earlier battle of wills, this sparring was fun and invigorating instead of disheartening and exhausting.

  “I’ll hold you to that.” She turned to gather her purse. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  She freshened up in the bathroom, running a brush through her hair before pulling it back into a ponytail and applying a soft red lipstick. This wasn’t a date of any sort, yet butterflies staged a riot in her stomach.

  She blew out a breath and checked herself in the mirror. As good as it was going to get. As she pulled the door open, a body pushed and Willa staggered into her.

  Willa righted herself with a little laugh. “Sorry about that.”

  “No worries.”

  “You look nice.” Willa flashed her a smile and ran her hands down the front of her coveralls. In them, she was a shapeless potato.

  “I’d say the same, but those coveralls aren’t exactly fashion statements.”

  Willa stuck her hands in the pockets, cocked a hip, and fluttered her eyelashes. “You don’t think?”

  Ella laughed along with the other woman, an easy camaraderie settling between them. “I see Mack working in jeans. Couldn’t you do that?”

  “I could, but then my jeans would get gross. Once you get used to wearing them, coveralls actually make things easier.” Willa washed her hands and grabbed a brown paper towel, turning to lean on the single sink.

  Even with her dark hair at a ragged in-between stage of short and long and in her functional coveralls, Willa was pretty in a wholesome way. Her brown eyes were warm and sincere and Ella thought maybe, just maybe, this woman would turn out to be a friend. It would be a new experience for Ella.

  “The coveralls weren’t a deterrent for Jackson anyway, right?” Ella regretted the naughty tease in her voice. She and Willa weren’t those kind of friends yet.

  Pink flushed Willa’s face, but a brilliant smile came out of hiding. “It sure didn’t. In fact, I think that was part of the draw. Not many women get the Abbott boys’ obsession with cars.”

  Ella let out a breath, relieved her teasing hadn’t offended. “Sutton obviously does.”

  “Sewing and designing is her passion, like cars are Wyatt’s. She would never ask him to give up the garage.” Willa tilted her head. “Can I ask you something?”

  Ella hesitated. That sort of question usually precipitated something unpleasant. “Sure.”

  “Why did you buy Ford’s share? You don’t seem a metal-and-oil kind of girl.”

  No one had outright asked her why. All of them, but especially Mack, had assumed and accused and insinuated reasons. “I grew up around cars.”

  Willa nodded. “Me too.”

  A knock made them both whip around. Ella cracked the door open. Jackson stood on the other side trying to peek around her. “I thought I saw Willa go in.”

  “You did. Sorry for monopolizing the bathroom. I’d better scoot out before Mack leaves me, and I miss out on this miraculous barbeque.” She exited the bathroom with Willa on her heels.

  “Tell Mack not to forget the extra sauce this time,” Jackson called out.

  She waved over her head and stepped outside. The cool, breezy morning had given way to a warm lovely spring day. The sun was up, the sky was blue, the birds were singing. At least she assumed they were. It was hard to tell over the rumble of Mack’s truck.

  She ran-walked toward the passenger door and hauled herself inside. It was cavernous compared to her convertible and surprisingly plush. He didn’t speak, only sideswiped her a glance and shifted into drive. They lumbered onto the road like a battering ram.

  The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Mack gave off a relaxed vibe behind the wheel, resting one arm on the console between them. His plaid shirt was rolled halfway to his elbow, and every time he tapped his finger to the beat of the country song playing on the radio, the ropey muscles jumped. Ella shifted in the leather seat, unable to take her eyes off the flagrant arm porn.

  “Jackson wants extra sauce.” The inane words popped out of her mouth.

  From the corner of her eyes, she saw him nod once. A raised pink scar ran over the back of his hand and disappeared around the side between his index finger and thumb.

  “What happened to your hand?” She reached out like she was a starving woman and his hand was a hunk of bread to touch the back.

  He flipped his hand over. The scar curled halfway into his palm. “Got it caught in a claw trap out in the woods when I was ten. Would have been more serious if it wasn’t for Ford. It took fifty stitches.”

  “That’s scary. It’s a wonder you didn’t lose use of it.” Now she was less concerned about the crazy sexiness of his arm and more with what he had omitted from the story. “How far out in the woods were you? How’d you get loose?”

  He stared out the windshield and drew his hand into a fist. “Pretty far out. The boys and I spent our summers in the woods out back of the barn. Pop was busy working and expected us to take care of each other and ourselves.”

  “Was Ford around?”

  “Back then, things were different.” He opened and closed his hand as if trying to grasp the memory. “Ford managed to pull the trap apart. I was bleeding bad. He wrapped his shirt around my hand and half-carried me home. Aunt Hazel happened to be at the house. She loaded me in her car and drove me to the hospital across the river.”

  “I’m glad Ford was there, and you didn’t bleed to death in the forest.” She didn’t want to dwell on how close Mack had been to death. It could happen to the best of people and in an instant.

  He stared out the windshield, and Ella didn’t push him further. It was none of her business. Except whatever bad blood had formed between the brothers was the reason she was sitting in Mack’s truck on the way to try Rufus’s barbeque for the firs
t time.

  The pine tree–lined isolation of the parish road gave way to the occasional house, then neighborhoods as they drew closer to downtown Cottonbloom. The houses reminded her of her childhood home. Brick ranches with modest yards and the occasional swing set visible over a backyard fence. Hardly the shack Trevor had always teased her about growing up in, but starkly different than the house she lived in now.

  “I guess this is slumming it for you.” A familiar bite was back in his voice.

  “Actually, I was thinking how much this reminds me of the house I grew up in.”

  “Fond memories?”

  How to answer? Her memories were a mish-mash of good and bad, but weren’t everyone’s? Even Mack, who had brothers and aunts and a father who had loved him, bore scars from the past. So did she.

  “Some were. Some weren’t. My parents got divorced when I was pretty young and my stepfather was pretty terrible. I think he resented having to share my mom with us. My brother got out as soon as he graduated and turned eighteen.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother. Are you two close?”

  She turned her head away, sudden tears blurring her vision. “I idolized him. He loved cars. I spent hours watching him tinker on his 240Z.”

  The truck came to a stop in a parking place along River Street, but he didn’t make a move to turn the engine off. The cab took on the intimacy of a confessional.

  “That’s how you knew all about the Datsun.”

  “Yeah. He joined up right after graduation. Marines.”

  “What happened?” Foreboding weighted the question.

  Chapter Seven

  Grief reared and kicked her in the gut. Being in the garage and near the 240Z had rubbed the calluses off her brother’s place in her heart, leaving a raw ache. “Chopper crashed on a training exercise. Seven men died. Grayson was killed before he even deployed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” A tear trickled out, and she wiped it away with the side of her hand, still staring out the window toward the river that divided the towns. Bud-tipped flower stalks burst from the ground. In another week, the river would be framed by riotous beauty and color, but for now, only the potential was there. A potential that could be struck down by something as innocuous as a late frost.

  His hand covered hers, warm and strong and alive. She turned her hand so their palms lined up. Instead of pulling away, he knitted their fingers together and squeezed just enough to convey his understanding and sympathy. It was a simple gesture, but one she appreciated beyond measure.

  The last years of her marriage had been devoid of any compassion and kindness. And since moving to Cottonbloom, she’d denied herself the physical and emotional closeness of a friend or lover. Her loneliness was a living breathing creature she’d nurtured for too long.

  Sitting next to Mack made her want to abandon the creature, but at the end of that road lay heartache.

  She pasted on a smile and disentangled their hands. “I’m starving and as much as you boys have talked up this barbeque, I’m expecting something special.”

  Opening the truck door shattered the sense they were the only two people in the world. The sounds of the river flowing and the clacking of cars crossing the steel-girded bridge threw a cloak of normalcy over the moment.

  What was she doing making personal confessions to the man who had vowed to see her gone from the garage and his life? She’d let stupid emotions get the better of her. A mistake she could ill afford.

  Before she made it off the running board, Mack was there, offering a hand. The scar along the palm took on new meaning. He had shared a memory he’d probably rather kept to himself too. It put them on even ground.

  She slipped her hand in his and allowed him to help her down even though she was more than capable. He didn’t keep a hold on her though, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans before chucking his chin toward Rufus’s. She matched his long stride across the street.

  A redheaded lady backed through the glass door, holding a plastic bag in one hand and a lidded drink in the other. Mack grabbed the handle and pulled it fully open for her.

  “Oh. Thanks, Mack. How’re you and yours doing?”

  “Busy as usual.”

  The woman took a pull on her straw, her gaze assessing Ella. Ella assessed right back. The woman was middle-aged but with a vitality only slightly dimmed by the tired cast of her face.

  “You must be Ms. Boudreaux. I’m Marigold Caldwell.”

  What sort of talk had the woman heard? “Ella, please. Nice to meet you.”

  “You too. Are you a reader?”

  “Mostly business journals and stock reports these days.” Ella didn’t acknowledge the way Mack’s head swiveled toward her, although she buried a smile. Shocking Mack was entertaining.

  “I’m the librarian across the river. Come over and see me. I’ll get you hooked.” Her smile was impish and demanded a smile in return, so Ella let hers loose.

  “How’s Dave?” By contrast, Mack’s voice was even grimmer than usual.

  Marigold’s smile dimmed. “Getting better. He’s supposed to be resting but I caught him trying to clean the gutters the other day. That man will be the death of me.”

  “When will he be cleared for work?”

  “Soon, we hope.” Marigold threw her shoulders back and gave a little headshake as if it were that easy to cast off her worries. “Tell Willa I got her book in. It’s waiting behind the counter.”

  “I’ll let her know. You call if there’s anything we can do to help, you hear?” Mack leaned in and gave Marigold a one-armed hug.

  Marigold’s smile fell and her eyes closed as she leaned into Mack’s shoulder. He couldn’t see her, but Ella could. Then, her smile was back. “If the Lord is willing, we’ll get along fine. See y’all later.”

  With a wave she jogged across the street to an older sedan that had seen its best days at least a decade earlier. Even after Ella followed Mack into the bustling restaurant, she looked over her shoulder until Marigold pulled away.

  Mack put in his order and three to-go orders for Wyatt, Jackson, and Willa, then raised his eyebrows at her and waved her forward. The man behind the counter had tattoos visible at the roll of his sleeves. The years reflected in his eyes were far older than his body.

  “What can I get you, ma’am?”

  “She’s been living over the river for a year or more and never been here, Clayton. Can you believe it?”

  “That’s a darn shame. Clayton Preston.” The man behind the counter offered a hand, and she shook it.

  “Ella Boudreaux.”

  She could tell by the way his eyes darted to Mack that he had heard about her. “Might I recommend the pork plate? You can pick any two sides, but the green beans and slaw are especially good today.”

  “Sounds perfect.” She reached into her purse, but Mack stayed her hand.

  “I got this.” He handed over cash.

  “You two eating here or heading back to the garage with it?”

  “We’ll eat here, but pack up the rest, would you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  While they waited at the counter, Ella rocked back and forth, searching for something to say. “Did you remember extra sauce for Jackson?”

  “Yep.”

  Clayton returned with two plates piled high with food. Mack took both and led the way to an empty table in the corner. It was barely big enough for the two of them.

  For a few minutes, the silence was punctuated only by Ella’s exclamations on how good everything was.

  “Glad you like it. It’s my favorite place to eat.” Mack jabbed his spork into his slaw.

  “Has it been here a long time?”

  “All my life, which means forever for me. Pop used to bring me and Ford down here on Saturday mornings when the shop was closed. He’d meet a bunch of his friends for coffee and gossip. Ford and I would pretend our iced teas were coffee and talk about important things like which Hot Wheels cars were
our favorite. The smell of smoking pork butts permeated everything. Then before we left, he’d get each of us a fresh smoked pork sandwich for the road. So good.”

  He shook his head, a smile on his face, and speared some pork into his mouth. It was the second time he’d mentioned Ford, and not in a disparaging way, but fondly. Had something shifted in his attitude toward his prodigal brother?

  “Where is Ford? Have you talked to him lately?”

  Mack moved his food around like a little kid trying to hide his vegetables. “He’s in Memphis. At least I think so.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Surviving. I hope.”

  The loss of Ford obviously bothered him in ways he wasn’t willing to admit to her or even himself. She glanced up at him through her lashes. “Have you tried calling him?”

  “He doesn’t want to hear from me. Too much water under that bridge to cross.”

  Because Ella had lost a brother she had no chance of regaining, she had little patience for Mack’s attitude. She jabbed her spork in the pork, sat back, and crossed her arms over her chest, her foot jiggling to mirror her agitation. “Bridges can always be crossed.”

  “Not ones burned to cinders.”

  “Bridges can be rebuilt with time and effort.”

  “Ford didn’t put the effort into the garage.” A hint of his frustration with the conversation flashed across his face. “What would you do? Would you look for him? Is he due an apology after what he did?”

  He made a dismissive gesture toward her, his meaning clear. Ford had inflicted her onto Mack and the garage. Even though he’d not made any bones about the fact he didn’t want her around, she’d hoped they were moving past the simmering animosity and into new territory. Not friendship maybe, but a mutual understanding.

  “Does it have to be about who’s right and who’s wrong? Maybe both of you are owed an apology from each other. If my brother were alive, I wouldn’t waste a single second. I would find him and bring him home.”

  “This is different.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But nothing’s going to change the fact he’s your brother.”