Set the Night on Fire

by Laura Trentham

  She’d craved his praise for the long years of their marriage and had never received it. While his words were gratifying, she didn’t need them anymore. “Thank you for admitting that.”

  Trevor licked his lips and gave her a look from under his lashes. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to loan me—”

  “Way to ruin a warm, fuzzy moment. It’s time for you to go.” Ella pointed toward the door.

  “Megan?” Trevor faced her.

  “It’s over, Trevor. I’ll be contacting a lawyer to start divorce proceedings.”

  He blinked back tears and nodded. “I deserve it.”

  Ella didn’t voice her agreement. Kicking a low-down dirty dog while it was injured wasn’t fair. She followed him to the door. “You’ll get through this.”

  “Things won’t be the same.”

  “Nope. Can I give you some advice?”

  “On real estate?” He perked up.

  “No. On life, you moron.” She shook her head, feeling confident her words would be lost on him. “Spend some time alone and figure out what you really want.”

  “Like you?” His voice was mocking. “Are you and the mechanic done?”

  As she didn’t know how to answer, she went with a classic comeback. “That’s none of your business. I wish you all the best.” It was almost the truth too.

  She stood on the front porch until his car disappeared. The moment had the feeling of finality. A least for her. Megan would have to bear the legalities and emotional baggage that came with the divorce.

  Holding herself, Megan stood in the hallway looking younger than her years or experience. “I almost went back with him. He actually started to make sense right before you showed up.”

  “Why didn’t you call or text me?”

  “I did. But my calls went straight to voice mail.”

  “My phone died last night.” Ella chewed the inside of her mouth. “Megan, this is what you want, right? A divorce?”

  “I never thought I’d be divorced at twenty-five. It … well, it sucks, but I don’t want to be married to him either.” Megan stood up a little straighter. “Regan Fournette offered me a job.”

  “Are you serious?” Ella played dumb, but didn’t have to fake her enthusiastic support. “That’s fantastic. You’re going to kill it.”

  Optimism brightened Megan like a sunrise. “I’ll start with a two-week trial run, but I can do it. I know I can.”

  “Let’s celebrate with ice cream.” Ella made straight for the freezer.

  “But it’s lunchtime.”

  “I need to drown my sorrows, and ice cream is less troubling than hitting the bottle before happy hour.”

  “What happened? Something with Mack?”

  “Yes, Mack Abbott has rolled over me like a semi.”

  “I assume you don’t mean that in a sexy way?” Megan took a stool at the island.

  “In a sexy and a non-sexy way. Basically, every which way you can imagine, I’ve been flattened.” Ella plonked two bowls of ice cream down and slid onto the stool next to Megan. “He’s going to borrow money from his cousin to buy me out.”

  “You don’t have to sell. Tell him no.” Megan licked her spoon and half-shrugged.

  A month ago saying no would have been easy, satisfying even, but no longer. “If he doesn’t want me, then I’m not going to force myself on him.”

  “But you’ve fought so hard to get them to accept you.”

  “Things have changed. I want Mack to want me around, and I don’t think he does. Not at the garage anyway.” She stuck a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, the resulting brain freeze minor compared to the stabbing pains of her heart.

  “What’s the plan? Because you always have one.” Megan swiveled to face her.

  Ella licked her spoon and raised her eyebrows at Megan. She was right, a plan had been formulating since her dash from the garage and Mack. “If you’re up for it, you and I are going to go see a lawyer. This afternoon if I can pull some strings. We’re going to take our lives back.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mack paced beside his truck, itching to get behind the wheel and tear through the parish to find Ella. Except, he had no idea where she was. He’d called and texted and went to her house to find her car gone and no one there to answer his knocking.

  He didn’t know whether he had something to worry about or was acting like an idiot. They weren’t attached at the hip or even committed to each other. A few hours of radio silence meant nothing. But they’d shared something important the day before and had an amazing morning. His instincts might be rusty, but a discordant feeling had him fretting.

  “What’s got your panties in a wad?” Wyatt stood in the open bay door, wiping his hands on a towel. They’d pulled the Corvette into the bay and already started work on her.

  “Ella isn’t returning my calls.”

  Wyatt sighed a put-upon sigh. “What did you do?”

  Mack stopped and pointed at himself. “What did I do? Why do you assume it was me?”

  “Because it obviously wasn’t Ella. She’s too smart.”

  “That is the most ridiculous—”

  A car coming down the parish road cut him off. He quickstepped to the edge of the parking lot, but it wasn’t Ella. Disappointment coursed through him.

  The silver Lexus slowed, turned on its blinker, and pulled into the parking lot. Mack didn’t recognize the man who got out of the car. He was tall and dark-skinned. His black-rimmed glasses and rumpled suit gave him a teacher vibe.

  The man glanced around, his gaze landing squarely on Mack. He straightened the ends of his LSU yellow-and-purple tie and approached.

  “Mr. Mack Abbott?”

  “That’s me. What can I do for you? Problem with the car?”

  The man glanced over his shoulder toward his car with a surprised expression. “No, I’m not here about my car. My name’s Victor Halstead.”

  Mack exchanged a handshake with the man.

  Victor cleared his throat. “I’m actually here to present you with these.” He held out a sheaf of papers.

  Mack glanced from the papers to Victor’s earnest-looking expression back to the papers. Incredulity crept into his voice. “Are you serving me?”

  “Nothing of the sort. I’m a lawyer, not an officer of the court. This is a contract detailing the sale of my client’s portion of your business back to you. At a very favorable—ridiculous, actually—price.”

  Mack stared at the stark-white papers. His head swam, and his heart kicked at his ribs. This is exactly what he’d wanted and hoped for and dreamed about. He was going to be sick all over the man’s shiny brown loafers.

  “Give me the CliffsNotes version.” Mack’s voice came out like gravel.

  “Basically, you transfer the money into the account listed, sign the papers, and the transaction will be final. If you want to take care of this right now, one of your brothers can witness, and I can notarize the contract.” Victor moved the papers closer to Mack, forcing him to take them. It felt like a surrender.

  “I need to talk to Ella before I sign anything.”

  “In that case, I’ll leave the contract with you and head home, Mr. Abbott.” Victor checked his watch. “I don’t usually work on Saturdays.”

  “Doing a favor for Ella, are you?” Mack’s hand tightened, wrinkling the papers.

  “A favor she’s paying me well for.” The man’s grin was boyish. Ella would chew him up and spit him out. “My number is listed on the cover page. Call me and we can make it legal at your convenience.

  “Make it legal,” Mack muttered as the man drove away. The words went on repeat, and a shot of adrenaline had him feeling queasy. Make it legal. Was that the answer?

  “This is a good thing, right?” Wyatt sounded as unsure as Mack felt.

  “I guess so.”

  “You can buy her out, but still date her. It doesn’t have to change things.”

  But it would change things. Mack wasn’t naïve enough to thi
nk that his and Ella’s relationship wouldn’t be affected by something so monumental. He rolled the papers up and tucked them into his back pocket. “I need a drink. Care to join me?”

  “Watching you get plastered and rail on the world sounds delightful compared to what I have to do tonight. Sutton has strong-armed me into working on seating arrangements for the rehearsal dinner. Isn’t a chair a chair?” Wyatt’s half smile was indulgent.

  “I do not envy you.” Even as Mack said the words, he recognized the lie.

  “Jackson’s already gone up to the loft with Willa. You want me to holler at him?”

  “I don’t need a babysitter. You head out. I’ll close up the shop. I don’t have anything better to do apparently.”

  Wyatt waved out the window and tapped the horn twice as he drove off. Mack went through the motions of locking up the garage. The contract was like an anchor in his back pocket. For what seemed like too often recently, his decision-making process was stymied.

  Part of him wanted to take Wyatt’s advice. Sign on the dotted line and get Ford’s percentage back into his hands. It had been his goal from the outset, after all, and would remove the garage as a sticking point between him and Ella. On the surface, it was a win-win. Or was it?

  She had thrown herself head and heart first into planning the car show. She wanted to help Marigold and Dave in their time of need as much as she wanted to see the garage succeed.

  By signing the contract, he would be taking that away from her. And he had a feeling, before coming to work at the garage, she had lacked direction and purpose and passion. He could only imagine how he’d feel if the garage was taken away from him.

  Two choices bubbled up through the mire. He could leave the situation to fester or he could confront her. His experience with Ford taught him festering led to fractures and encouraged doubts and resentments. The thought of whatever was going on with Ella ending with such rancor made him feel ill. If it actually happened, he might not survive.

  He stuffed his hands into his front pockets and meandered toward his house. Halfway across the yard, his aunts’ Crown Vic came into view around the curve. He met them in the parking lot. Hyacinth rolled the driver’s side window down and cocked her elbow on the sill. “Hi-ya there, Mack.”

  “Hey, Aunt Hy.” He ducked slightly to catch his aunt Hazel’s eyes. “What can I do for you?”

  “We were on our way to our bridge group and thought we’d perform a little drive-by. How are you?” Hazel asked.

  Her question wasn’t born out of mere politeness, but a knowing of what had transpired between him and his mother and Ford. Unless his aunt Hazel really was a witch, she couldn’t know about the papers in his back pocket.

  “Life is moving right along.”

  Hazel leaned over the console to see him better. “Things with your mother and Ford are worked out?”

  “Worked out? Let’s not go crazy. But we left things better than they’ve been in years. You’ll be happy to know I invited both of them down to Cottonbloom.”

  “Will Ford come home?” Hyacinth’s voice reflected a rare somberness.

  “I don’t know if Cottonbloom will ever be his home again, but I’ll get him back down here for a visit. He seems to be getting his life straightened out up there.”

  Hyacinth squeezed his arm with a thin, bony hand, the one part of her that reflected her years. “A visit would be most welcome. Hazel and I have been thinking we should have done more.”

  As he waved the aunts off, the “more” bothered Mack as well. But how much more, and exactly what he could have done for Ford was a mystery. His regrets were a burden he would bear until their family life reached a new equilibrium.

  Ella was the here and now, and he vowed to do anything and everything to make it right with her. He would leave no room for regrets. If she rejected him, he’d live at least knowing he went down fighting.

  Around the fifth call that went unanswered and unreturned, he accepted she didn’t want to talk to him much less see him. What had happened between the time he’d left her in his bed and now? Not bothering to turn on the TV, he threw the contract on the coffee table, sat in his armchair, and stared at the innocuous paper spelling his possible doom.

  In the silence, his thoughts veered toward chaos. He’d go crazy if he sat here all night thinking about her and wondering what she was thinking about him. His choices included getting drunk by himself or being productive. Decision made, he made his way out back to his metal working station.

  None of his current projects grabbed his interest so he picked up a sheet of metal and began cutting and working it. Curves emerged. Without conscious thought he’d fashioned the first petal of a magnolia flower. He continued until he’d completed a magnolia bloom made from metal. More than anything, what he’d created represented Ella. A delicate beauty with indomitable strength.

  What he wanted—needed—was the real thing. The real woman.

  He showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Laying the contract in the passenger seat, he set out across the river. He had no plan and no idea what had driven her to such drastic measures. In fact, he couldn’t even put a finger on how he was feeling. Anger. Desperation. Disappointment.

  Her car was in the driveway, and he blew out a slow breath, preparing himself for what might be an epic fail.

  He rang the doorbell. Megan answered, her gaze darting to the papers in his hand then to his eyes. She didn’t greet or question him, only opened the door and made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

  He skipped any polite preamble. “Where is she?”

  “She’s taking a walk out back.”

  He nodded once and made his way to the sliding doors between the kitchen and den. A large deck jutted from the back of the house with stairs leading down to a field. A magnolia tree stood halfway between the house and river and injected a sense of fate.

  Full night was upon them, the call of insects growing louder. He stopped where the light from the house petered into darkness. No sign of her, but he could feel her close. The magnolia tree was his beacon in the half moon.

  When he was a dozen feet away, she stepped out of the glossy green leaves. She was in jeans and a thin white T-shirt that glowed in the moonlight like one of the magnolia flowers at her shoulder.

  “What are you doing here so late?” Instead of the expected animosity, there was only curiosity.

  “Your buddy Victor dropped the contract off.”

  “Hours ago. Why didn’t you sign it?”

  “I needed to talk to you first.”

  “It’s a dream come true, isn’t it? It’s what you’ve wanted since I started.”

  “It’s what I wanted when you started.” He moved closer.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Not exactly. Yes, when you started, I wanted to buy you out, but things have changed.”

  “Have they?”

  “I sure thought so this morning.”

  “I thought so too, before I heard you and your cousin.”

  His head whirled, and his reaction was knee-jerk as he unspooled his conversation with Landrum. “You were eavesdropping?”

  “No.” The adamant denial lost its punch with the way her gaze dropped from his. “Not on purpose anyway. I was in the office grabbing my laptop when you two came in. I was going to step out, but I heard his offer.”

  “Then, you also heard I didn’t accept it.”

  “You didn’t turn it down either.”

  “He caught me off guard.

  “You want the garage in Abbott hands. I get that. In fact, I’ve been selfish for hanging on. I told myself when you had the money, I would bow out like the lady I pretend to be. So, it’s yours. All you have to do is sign.”

  He crumbled the papers in his fist. “Drawing up a sales contract and having your pretty-boy lawyer deliver it was pretty low.”

  “I thought it would be less messy this way.” She crossed her arms over her chest and popped a hip. “Sign those, and I’ll b
e out of your hair and the garage for good. This is your dream come true.”

  His dream come true. Why did she keep saying that? He let the statement roll around his head and heart until the truth crystallized. “Nope.”

  It wasn’t enough to wad the papers into a ball. He had to destroy the contract. He ripped the pages down the middle, then ripped them again and again, until the breeze caught some pieces and sent them whirling into the air.

  “I’ll have Victor print another copy and drop it off Monday morning.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’ll rip it up too. And if you send me another copy, I’ll run over it and leave rubber marks. Or dip it in oil. Or take a blowtorch to it. Whatever it takes.”

  She shook her head and gave an exasperated little sigh that she somehow made sexy. “What is wrong with you? I’m giving you everything you wanted.”

  “What about what you want? I thought the garage was important to you. What about your brother? The car show? Marigold and Dave?”

  “The garage is—was—important to me.” She ran a hand through her hair.

  He took a step closer. “Am I important to you?”

  The silence was unnerving. Finally, her voice thick, she said, “What do you want from me?”

  “I want anything and everything you’re willing to give me.” He stuffed the pieces of the contract into his pockets and ran his hands down the legs of his jeans. Nerves set off tremors in his body.

  “I’m basically giving you the garage. What could be more important than that?”

  “You. You are more important to me than the garage.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple,” he said. “I want you more than I want the garage.”

  “Simple? You want me to keep my share of the garage?”

  “I want to see you every day at work. Hell, I want to see you every night in my bed. What I don’t want is for the garage to come between us.”

  “There’s an ‘us’?” She obviously wasn’t a believer. Yet. And could he blame her?

  “I sure thought there was an ‘us’ this morning.” He stepped closer. “I love you, woman. Don’t you know that?”