Set the Night on Fire

by Laura Trentham

  She’d gotten several texts from her over the last hour. Not wasting time reading them, she hit Megan’s name. Mack was propped up in bed watching her, and she became aware of her total nakedness with a wave of self-consciousness. His flannel shirt was next to the bed, and she scooped it up, sticking her arms in the sleeves as Megan’s phone rang.

  It went to voice mail. She tried again with the same result. Her worry grew. Putting on her glasses, she sat on the side of the bed and scrolled through Megan’s texts. Mostly they consisted of Where RU? and When will you be home? They could be innocuous questions or they could have been sent in a panic. What if Trevor had forced her back to Jackson with him? Or worse. She stared at her phone, waffling.

  “Problem?” Mack had propped himself up on his elbow, the sheet riding low on his hips.

  She held the shirt together and shifted toward him on the bed. All she wanted was to crawl back to him and finish what they’d started. “I’m not sure. It was Megan. She sent a few ambiguous texts, but didn’t answer my call.”

  Her phone rang, and she bobbled it in her haste to answer. “Hello? Megan, what’s wrong?”

  “Who’s this?” A male voice was on the other end. Not Trevor’s cultivated, old-money accent but one as country as cornbread.

  “This is Ella. Who’s this?”

  “Name’s Butch. I got your girl down at the Tavern. Y’all need to come get her.”

  “Is she okay?” Ella continued to stare into Mack’s concerned eyes.

  “She puked all over the pool table then tried to crawl into her car to drive home. Told her I was either calling a friend to pick her up or the police.”

  “I’ll be there in—” She hesitated, unsure of where the Tavern was even located. She lowered the phone and whispered, “How far is the Tavern from here?”

  “Less than ten minutes,” Mack said.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Can you keep her from drinking anything else?”

  The man on the other end made a disgusted-sounding snort. “You’d better bring a barf bag.” He ended the call.

  She sat on the edge of the bed with the phone in her lap for a moment. The worry she felt for Megan was half sisterly and half exasperated.

  “Who was that?” Neither his voice nor face reflected the frustration and anger he must be feeling.

  “Some guy named Butch, and he did not sound happy. Apparently, Megan is blitzed out of her mind, and she threw up on a pool table.”

  “Butch is kind of a d-bag so don’t worry about it.” Mack threw off the covers and walked around the bed, grabbing his jeans on the way.

  She was struck still and mute as he pulled them up. Next, he slipped his shirt on. Only when his body was covered did she snap out of her Mack-induced trance. She grabbed her mostly dry but wrinkled clothes from the bathroom. Hopping, she pulled her pants on, haste making her clumsy. “Could you give me directions to the Tavern?”

  “I’ll do you one better and drive you.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “If she’s as drunk as you say, you’ll need help getting her home.” His voice was so even it might qualify as easygoing.

  “But … but…” She fiddled with a button on his shirt. “Why aren’t you mad?”

  “Why would I be mad?” He paused with his T-shirt half tucked, his face serious but not reflecting a hint of anger.

  “Because our plans got shot? Because we were interrupted before … you know? Because you don’t even know Megan, and this is a major inconvenience?”

  He smoothed a hand over his chin and jaw in a beard-smoothing gesture she’d become familiar with, except he no longer had a beard. He seemed to realize the same and turned the movement into a neck scratch where dark stubble was showing. What would that feel like on her inner thighs?

  He stood in front of her. She stared at the Abbott Brothers emblem with River’s face on it over his heart. When he squeezed her upper arms, she looked up. His head was tilted, his gaze wary but curious.

  “As we already decided tonight is only the beginning, not the end, of whatever this is, and bearing in mind I’m not sixteen or an asshole, then I can deal with a little interruption without throwing a hissy fit.” He squeezed her arms tighter for emphasis. “But, let’s be clear. I’m not doing this for Megan; I’m doing this for you.”

  She fought the warm gooey rush his words released in her body. Mack would be easy to lean on. Too easy. He exuded confidence and competence. She’d given up her independence once at great personal cost. Being beholden to any man meant sacrificing part of herself.

  She fought the desire to accept his help. “I can handle Megan on my own.”

  “I know you can, but that doesn’t mean you have to, okay?” When it was clear she was still waffling, he sighed. “Look, you’re being a good friend to Megan by picking her up and taking care of her, right? Let me be a friend to you.”

  “Is that what we are? Friends with benefits?” Hurt feelings niggled where there should be none. Sex and love might not be mutually exclusive, but it was rare they coexisted in her experience. Anyway, she wasn’t looking for love. No way. Not a chance. Panicked heat wavered through her.

  “I don’t know what we are, but we’re closer to friends than enemies, aren’t we?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Then I’m coming.” He walked out, not giving her a chance to argue.

  She didn’t really want to argue with him. She buried her nose in the collar of his shirt and inhaled. God, he smelled good. And solid, if such a smell existed. Would he notice if she kept his shirt so she could roll around in it later?

  She slipped his shirt off and dressed, the stiffness of her clothes abrading after the soft flannel. The sound of a truck revving drew her outside. The headlights blinded her like the flash of camera, and she fumbled for the door handle.

  The cavernous feel of the interior squashed any remaining intimacy from his bed. She tucked her hands under her legs. The pine tree–lined parish road gave way to houses and a few shops. The next side street he took opened into a parking lot. “The Rivershack Tavern” was on the sign and strings of white lights decorated the front of the bar. It possessed a ramshackle charm.

  Mack drove past the rows of cars and trucks to idle at the front. There was no sign of Megan. He rolled down the passenger side window as a man built like a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound keg of beer sauntered up.

  “Mack Abbott. What can I do for you?” Although the man directed the question at Mack, his gaze and a slight smirk were aimed at Ella.

  “Yo, Butch.” Mack tipped his chin up.

  “You called about picking up my friend, Megan. Where is she? She’d better be safe.” Ella shifted in the seat so Butch would have to deal with her and not Mack.

  “She’s inside at the bar.”

  Ella pushed the truck door open, hopped out, and advanced on Butch, her finger in his face. “At the bar? You were supposed to keep her safe.”

  Her aggression de-smirked his face, and he took a step back. “I have better things to do than babysit a shit-faced woman.”

  “Actually, as a bouncer of this establishment, handling drunk customers should be the main part of your job. I wonder what the owner would have to say about your job priorities. Should I give them a call?” She pulled out her phone and pretended to scroll through her contacts. It was a bluff. She had no idea who actually owned the place.

  “Hang on. Geez. Clint is watching out for her.”

  “Who is Clint?”

  “The bartender.”

  She harrumphed and rolled her eyes. That was like letting a wolf protect the sheep. During her confrontation with Butch, Mack had turned off the truck and joined her.

  “Let’s round her up,” she said over her shoulder, leading the way.

  She stopped inside the door and scanned the floor. Pool tables took up a section on her left, all of them occupied but one. A wet stain marred the green felt. She grimaced, but secretly hoped Butch had been the one to clean it up
.

  Conversation muffled the country music. An equal mix of men and women milled around the tables on the right side of the room. The bar ran along the back and was two-people deep trying to get drinks. It seemed crowded for a weeknight, but from what Ella had gathered, social outlets in Cottonbloom were few and far between—unless church activities counted.

  So this was the place Wyatt had brought Mack to find a hookup. A goodly number of the women were pretty and around Mack’s age. One in particular, a blonde in a V-neck to showcase a set of amazing boobs, yelled out a greeting along with a flirty little wave. “Hey, Mack!”

  Ella’s gaze shot to Mack. He tipped his chin up, a smile on his face, but didn’t call out in return. Without stopping to consider the ramifications, she wrapped herself around Mack’s waist and sent a “hands off, he’s mine” glare her way.

  The woman turned away to continue her conversation with the group she was standing with. Mack laid an arm over her shoulder and leaned in so she could hear him. “Megan is holding down a seat at the end of the bar by the restrooms.”

  He guided her in the right direction, cutting through the crowd with a series of handshakes and “How’ve you beens?” It seemed like Mack knew everyone, and everyone liked him. When one man asked a car question, Mack clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Got something to take care of right now, Rick, but bring her by the shop anytime.”

  Mack parted the crowd at the bar. Megan was slumped on a stool at the end with a coffee mug, her chin propped in her palm as she talked to the man behind the bar handing out beers and mixed drinks. Although the bartender wasn’t watching Megan, he smiled at something she said.

  Mack said, “Yo, Clint. We’re here to get Megan out of your hair.”

  Clint uncapped a bottle of beer and thumped it on the bar where it disappeared into the crowd. He wiped his hands on a towel thrown over his shoulder and came to prop his arms on the bar in front of Megan. “No bother. She’s a happy drunk.”

  “You’re cute, even if you are kind of scruffy. Isn’t he cute, Ella?” Megan reached out and tugged Clint’s dark beard. Clint laughed and shook his head. His beard was longer and thicker than Mack’s had been but well groomed. It was hard to get a read on his age, but his dark eyes were kind and crinkled when he smiled.

  “Sure, he’s real cute.” Ella had learned early on that to disagree with an alcoholic stoked unwelcome drama. “You ready to go home and sleep it off?”

  Megan spun around on the swivel barstool and slid to the side like a toddler thrown off a merry-go-round. Mack caught her under the arms, and she tipped her head back and grinned. “Hello, there. You’re pretty cute too but Ella has called dibs.”

  “Dibs?” Mack asked.

  “Yep. She said, ‘Mack is mine so quit shaking your ass in his face.’”

  “I did not!” Ella caught Mack’s amused gaze. “I didn’t say that.”

  “I’m paraphrasing.” Megan stepped away from Mack and swayed.

  Ella notched herself against Megan, a steadying arm around her waist. “Clear a path for us, would you, Mack?”

  Ella guided Megan in Mack’s wake until they were outside. He lifted Megan into the back seat of his truck and had them heading over the bridge into Mississippi within a few minutes.

  “I don’t feel so good.” Megan’s voice wavered from the back.

  Mack lowered her window, and Ella turned to monitor her. Megan leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes, the cool wind whipping her hair around her face.

  Mack pulled into Ella’s driveway. The two of them managed to get Megan into the house and to the bathroom off the guest room. She fell to her knees in front of the toilet and threw up.

  “I’ll wait out here.” Mack thumbed over his shoulder and retreated.

  Ella wished she could do the same. Instead, she sat on the edge of the tub and rubbed Megan’s back until her heaves faded into a moan.

  “I made a fool out of myself.” With her head still down, her voice echoed off the porcelain.

  “It’s not the first time someone has gotten drunk there. It is a bar, after all.”

  “Not that. The job thing. Why did I think I was qualified to do anything?”

  “No offers?”

  “The pizza place offered me a waitressing job alongside a bunch of high-schoolers.”

  “What about Regan Fournette’s interior design shop?”

  “She didn’t come right out and say I wasn’t qualified, but she did not act enthused at my resume. She said something about being in touch, but I know a blow-off when I hear one.” Megan plopped on her butt next to the toilet, her arm across the seat.

  “It was one day, Megan. Are you going to give up already?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. It would be easier to just pretend everything is okay.”

  “Would it? It’s not easy to watch the days of your life waste away without any purpose or happiness.”

  Megan lifted her head and focused bleary eyes on Ella. “I should keep trying?”

  “You should take two aspirin, drink a glass of water, and go to sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

  Megan nodded and Ella helped her to her feet. Squirting some toothpaste on a toothbrush, she handed it to Megan while she went to the kitchen for water and medicine.

  “Everything okay?” Mack’s voice from the darkness prodded her heart into a quickened rhythm. He was almost lost in the shadows of the couch in her den.

  Ella shuffled halfway to him, wanting nothing more than to cuddle into him and feel his arms around her. Craving comfort didn’t mean she was weak, did it? She’d never felt equal to Trevor. He’d never let her feel equal to him. With Mack, the dynamic was different. Had she changed or was Mack unique?

  “I figured you’d hightailed it home,” she said.

  “I figured I’d stick around in case you needed help picking her up off the bathroom floor.”

  “She’s up. Or at least she was. Let me get some aspirin in her. I’ll be right back.” By the time she returned to the bedroom, Megan had changed into a T-shirt and was curled on her side in bed, snoring softly. Ella set the water and pills on the nightstand and pulled the door shut.

  “How is she?” Mack asked. He lounged into the corner of her couch, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his hands linked behind his head. A stance that spoke of total comfort with his surroundings. No, it was more than that. He was comfortable in his own skin, which in turn lent him an aura of confidence anywhere he landed. His attractiveness quotient rose even higher.

  A tiny voice in her head fought to put some distance between them. They’d gone from enemies to lovers fast enough to give her emotional whiplash. She took two slow steps toward him, but before she could stop herself, she quickened her pace and crashed into him on the couch. Heaving a huge sigh, she notched her face in his neck and wrapped her arm around his thick chest.

  “She’s going to feel like crap in the morning. She was talking about going back to Trevor. It’s the path of least resistance, but I wish she could see it’s a dead end.” The smoothness of his face was still a revelation. She walked her fingers up his chest to stroke his jaw.

  “The job hunt didn’t go well?”

  “No, it didn’t.” She chewed on her lip. “I wonder if I could talk Regan Fournette into hiring her on a trial basis.”

  “I would imagine she needs the help, considering how much time she spends up at the statehouse. Although, Fournette Designs is doing well for Sawyer and Cade, so I doubt she needs the money.”

  “Do you know the Fournettes well?”

  “The twins are around the same age as Sawyer, so I knew him better than Cade. The Fournettes had a rough childhood. Lost both their parents young, but they’re nice guys. Honest. Loyal. They always use us for any car repairs.”

  “What about Regan? How well do you know her?” Maybe he could put in a good word for Megan. Not that she’d done much to earn it.

  “Not well at all. She was a ’Sip.”


  “A ’Sip?”

  Mack chuckled and played in her hair. “If you live on the Mississippi side of Cottonbloom, you’re a ’Sip. Louisiana is full of swamp rats. The two sides have coexisted like warring countries for decades.”

  “Is it still bad?”

  “Lots of Louisiana folks invited to your fancy parties?”

  She blinked as her mind whirled, unable to identify a single one. Although, there were plenty of successful business owners on the Louisiana side of the river. Why weren’t they invited? “Prejudice against swamp rats? That’s so old fashioned.”

  “Don’t worry, it goes both ways. Swamp rats think the folks on the Mississippi side are stuck up and too big for their britches.”

  “Am I a ’Sip?”

  “You could be. But you’re down-to-earth enough to be a swamp rat.”

  “What about Wyatt and Sutton?”

  “Sutton caught some heat for slumming it with my brother.”

  “That’s terrible.” Ella sat up, her hand braced on Mack’s chest. “I remember the fight Wyatt had with Andrew Tarwater at the gala last fall. That was the first overture Ford made in terms of selling his share. If I’d known…” What would she have done? Walked away? Considering how everything had played out thus far, saying she would have passed on the deal would be a lie.

  “But you didn’t.” Although his statement could be construed as judgment, he circled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “Anyway, eventually I’ll be able to buy you out.”

  It was safer not to discuss the what-ifs and wherefores of the murky situation they found themselves in. At least he was honest. He wouldn’t quit until he’d wrested her portion of the garage back into Abbott hands, of that she had no doubt. Part of her even admired him for it. It was his family legacy, and family was the most important thing to him.

  “Ella?” Megan’s weak-sounding voice carried to them.

  “I should—” She gestured down the hall.

  “Yeah. I’m going to take off, but I’ll be by to pick you up in the morning. Is eight too early?” He rose and made his way toward the front door.