A Fallow Heart

by Kage, Linda

  “Yo, Coop,” a female voice called across the room. “We’re starting a new game over here. You want in?”

  He glanced over and made eye contact with B.J. Gilmore. She stood next to Junkyard Ralphie Smardo and pressed an impatient hand to her hip as she waited for him to answer.

  He swiveled his alcohol-pickled gaze toward the dartboard she motioned to, then back, blinking until he saw one B.J., not three. A second later, he instructed his head to give a negative shake.

  “No thanks.” He turned away and concentrated on his drink, needing to rest his forearms on the bar to keep himself upright.

  Though Rio had been by to refill him only a few minutes ago, the waitress who’d been roaming the room paused by his stool. “Hey there, Cooper. You need another drink, sweetie?”

  He nodded and nudged his empty glass across the counter.

  She disappeared with it only to reappear in his line of sight with a new one, sloshed full to the rim with ice and that dark amber he craved. He fumbled for his wallet and thrust a bill at her.

  “No change,” he slurred.

  Her bright red painted lips spread wide. “Why, thank ya, sugar. You’re too good to me, you know that.” She playfully tapped him under the chin with the bill he’d given her and sauntered off.

  His brow wrinkled as he wondered just how much he’d tipped her, but he couldn’t drum up the oomph to care.

  A moment later, B.J. hopped onto the stool adjacent to his.

  After ordering a long neck, she pivoted on her seat to study him. “Coop,” she finally said. “I think this is about the saddest as I’ve ever seen you.”

  He blinked, and then managed to greet her. “B.J.”

  A couple years behind him in school, B.J. and he had always gotten along. She had to be the biggest tomboy he’d ever met, yet the girl had a heart of pure gold.

  “How’s Thad?” she asked after getting her order from Rio and downing a healthy slug.

  “’Bout the same.” He let out a weighty sigh. “Mama went to see him today and said he was having some bladder trouble. But that’s it.”

  “Your sisters?” she asked next.

  He shrugged, hadn’t heard from Stacia or Brendel in a while, though he was sure Loren kept updated fairly often.

  “And Loren’s okay?”

  “Same as ever.”

  “Well, then, what the hell? Did your dog die?”

  He finally lifted his attention. “Huh?”

  “I’m trying to figure out what’s bothering you. And I’m running on empty here. Give me a hand, will you, and tell me what the trouble is. Your girlfriend break up with you or what?”

  Cooper snorted out a bitter sound and ducked his head down to rest his forehead on the edge of the bar. “Don’t you have to actually get the girl before she can break up with you?”

  “Ah, so that’s the deal. You done got women trouble, huh?” She leaned back as if she was some kind of voice of experience before taking another drink and letting out a wise sigh. “Yep, women are nothing but a gossiping nest of busybodies who can’t mind their own damn business. I’ve never had much use for them myself.”

  Cooper lifted a brow as he glanced at her. “Are you allowed to bash your own gender like that?”

  She frowned. “I can do whatever the hell I want.” Then she leaned closer to murmur, “Tell anyone I said that, though, and I’ll have to kick the piss outta you.” She patted him companionably on the back after making her threat, then pulled back and lifted her voice back to normal. “But I ain’t the kind of woman you’re moping on about, neither. No, you men like to get yourselves tangled up with them girly girls who don’t know what she wants half the time.”

  Coop squinted thoughtfully before slapping his hand to his forehead. “Good God, you’re right. What the hell is wrong with me?”

  B.J. sighed sadly. “You’re a man, darling. There’s something sick and twisted inside you, making you relish girly torture. I don’t understand it myself. Never did.”

  “Me neither,” he muttered.

  “Come on,” B.J. nudged his arm. “Play me a game of pool and I’ll try to help you figure out how to get over her.”

  He shook his head at the mere thought of trying to successfully find his way off the barstool. “Naw. Too drunk.”

  She shrugged. “Okay.” Sitting back beside him, she frowned and sipped on her beer. “Have you tried finding yourself another woman?”

  He let out a harsh sound of rejection.

  “Kay,” she answered. “Well, the drinking-yourself-dumb attempt obviously isn’t working. Have you tried getting sober?”

  He sent her look. “Only for the past ten years. But seeing her again,” actually being with her, “only made it worse. Everyone else is just a sorry substitute.”

  “Ooh, one of those, huh?” B.J. shook her head sadly. “I do hate a good woman who turns the rest of us into sorry substitutes.”

  “You’re right, B.J.” Coop groaned. “All women suck.”

  “Hey now, I didn’t say that.”

  “They twist a poor, innocent guy into knots until he just wants to lie down and die.”

  “Now, not all women are like that, damn you. All I said was…shit. What did I say again?”

  “Hell, I don’t know,” he slurred. “I forgot what we’re talking about.”

  “We’re talking about women, ya lousy drunk. And how beneficial they are. Your mama’s a woman and she ain’t a heartless, soul-sucking demon bitch, now is she?”

  Coop frowned. “No,” he had to glumly agree. “But mothers don’t count. Neither do grandmas.” He suddenly wanted to defend Jo Ellen too. She wasn’t a bitch, never had been. But defending her to B.J. wouldn’t bring her back. He slumped to a new low.

  “We women are good for more than just cooking and popping out babies, damn it. We…we…”

  “Y’all smell good,” he decided. He loved nothing more than the smell of Jo Ellen’s floral shampoo. He squeezed his eyes closed as more agony claimed him.

  “Yeah, we smell damn good,” B.J. agreed, then elbowed him in the arm and snickered. “Plus, we got boobies.”

  Cooper let out a longing sigh. “I do love boobies.”

  B.J. nodded thoughtfully. “I have a nice rack,” she added after a moment, as if trying to think up something useful to say to fill the silence.

  Sending her a sideways glance, Cooper arched an eyebrow. “Do you? Humph. It’s hard to tell through all the man-clothes you wear.”

  She scowled as if offended and straightened her spine. “Do I hear doubt in your voice? I do have a nice rack, asshole. And I’ll prove it.” Immediately, she began to unbutton the front of her plaid top.

  Blinking, Cooper watched, both his eyebrows rising into his hairline. He must be drunker than he thought, because if his eyes didn’t deceive him, B.J. Gilmore was stripping off her shirt in the middle of Rio’s bar. But as soon as she released enough buttons for the blouse to gape open, he saw she wore a black tank top underneath.

  A skin-tight black tank top that molded to a lovely feminine torso.

  B.J. shrugged the plaid off and arched her chest forward, pulling her shoulders back, to show off the nicely rounded mounds billowing out the front of her skin-tight black tank top.

  Cooper’s jaw sagged open. “Damn, Gilmore. You really do have a nice rack.”

  She preened. “I know, right?”

  He nodded stupidly, agreeing. “I’d definitely motorboat those.”

  Her smile faltered and shoulders fell back to normal. “Motorboat? What the hell does that mean?”

  His own drunken smile slipped. “You know.” He waved his hand sloppily. “It’s where you get your face in between ‘em and…” Instead of describing it verbally, he shook his head back and forth, imitating a vibrating brr sound.

  B.J. stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, which he probably had, explaining a motorboat to a woman. But instead of getting pissed over the idea as any normal female probably would, she studied him
a moment longer. “Huh. And you guys actually get into that?”

  He gave a loose shrug. “Well, sure. We get into pretty much anything involving boobies.”

  “Huh,” B.J. said again, still staring at him as if she feared his head might fall off and roll across the floor next. From the way he felt, the idea didn’t seem too farfetched. “You’re rip-roaring drunk, aren’t you, Gerhardt?”

  Cooper nodded sadly. “Pretty much.”

  The waitress slid up beside him. “Hey, sugar. Need another refill yet?”

  “Na, I’m good.” He cast a curious look at B.J. “You?” When she shook her head, he gave the waitress a messy grin. “We’re good.”

  Ignoring B.J., Nan smiled back at him, leaning closer and lowering the timbre of her voice as she answered. “Well, y’all let me know if you need anything, ya hear?”

  He lifted his hand in a careless wave. “Yeah. Thanks, Nan.”

  As she strolled away, he and B.J. stared after her until B.J. swung around to arch her eyebrows. “She was totally coming onto you.”

  “What?” Cooper frowned, then leaned back behind B.J. to glance after the waitress again. She was kind of putting an extra pop to her hips.

  “She wants to crawl inside your pants with you,” B.J. charged.

  “No…” But when he swiveled his attention back to Nan, she met his gaze and smiled, fluttering her fingers at him in a flirtatious wave. He shuddered and zipped his attention to B.J. “You think?”

  B.J. nodded. “Oh yeah.”

  “Oh, God,” he uttered.

  He swallowed and felt slightly sick to his stomach. He’d craved feminine companionship since the moment he’d pushed Jo Ellen out of his life. But he craved companionship with only one woman. And Nan Lundy was not that woman.

  “So, you’re not interested in hitting that or what?” B.J. demanded, sounding more than just a little curious.

  He focused on the tomboy. Why did she care if he returned the waitress’s interest or not? “Uh…No. Sorry.”

  Her face brightened. “Great. Because I already had plans for her.”

  Eyes widening, Cooper gaped at B.J. She’d always been a tomboy, sure, but for some reason he’d never figured she swung that way. Strange.

  Then she threw him for another loop when she didn’t lay claim on Nan for herself, but called across the room, “Hey, Ralphie. Get your ass over here.”

  Ralphie dutifully trooped forward. “What’s up, B.J.?”

  Setting her forearm on top of Coop’s shoulder, she motioned toward the waitress who was sneaking another glance their way. “Nan over there was just asking about you. She thinks you’re pretty cute.”

  Smardo’s eyes bulged. “Really?” Ogling Nan, he blushed when she smiled in their direction…at Cooper. “Holy shit,” he breathed. He turned to Coop and demanded. “What’d she ask about me?”

  When B.J. kicked him under the bar, Coop sputtered. “Uh, she…she said you seemed…sweet.”

  B.J. sent him a look to tell him sweet was not the word to use, but Ralphie didn’t seem to care. “Sweet?” he repeated reverently.

  “Yeah.” B.J. shoved him in Nan’s direction. “She wanted to know if you had yourself a woman or not. So, why don’t you mosey over there and talk to her, you ol’ sweetie pie, you? Show her how available you are.”

  As soon as he stumbled away, hurrying after Nan who’d just moved to another table, B.J. whirled back to Cooper. “Sweet?”

  He shrugged. “What?” He thought he’d done just fine on the spur of the moment like that, and as drunk as he was.

  She rolled her eyes. “From what freaking lame hole did you pull out the word sweet? My cousin’s grandma is sweet. Guys don’t want to be called sweet. Jesus Christ, Gerhardt, no wonder why you’re having woman troubles.”

  “What?” he said again. “It’s better than nice.”

  With a sigh, she slumped onto the barstool beside him. “You still could’ve come up with something more than sweet.”

  “Well, what the hell?” he demanded. “I didn’t know I was going to be roped into playing cupid. Give me a little warning next time. What was that all about anyway?”

  She shrugged. “Aww, nothing really. He’s been complaining about wanting a woman lately. I was getting tired of hearing him yap about it, so I thought I’d try shoving those two together.” With a rueful grin, she added, “Hey, who knows. Maybe they’ll hit it off and he’ll see some motorboat action between her boobies tonight, huh?”

  As she nudged him with a knowing smirk, someone coughed out a surprised kind of choking sound behind them.

  B.J. whirled to see who’d overheard her comment and promptly stumbled into Cooper, her smile dropping flat when she focused on the interloper’s face.

  “Grady Rawlings?” Her suddenly pale features filled with shock as she blinked. “What’re you doing here?”

  Hearing Jo Ellen’s brother’s name, Cooper lifted his head and focused on Grady who, he noted, also seemed surprised to see Gilmore had a decent rack under all her man-clothes.

  Rio approached them and hefted a filled brown paper sack onto the bar. “Hey, Grady. Here’s your order of ribs to go.”

  “Amy was craving barbeque.” Flushing, Grady jerked his attention away from B.J.’s tank top and lurched around her to sidle up to the counter and pay for his supper.

  Cooper cleared his throat. “Heard she was pregnant,” he offered, wondering how he could shift the conversation to make Grady mention Jo Ellen’s name because he sure as hell refused to ask about her.

  “What?” B.J. squawked. “Amy’s pregnant again?”

  Grady narrowed his gaze on her with an unreadable inspection that made the tomboy who never backed away from anyone or anything in Cooper’s experience edge closer to him as if seeking safety.

  “She is,” Grady confirmed quietly.

  B.J. blinked then grinned. “Well, congratulations, slim. Give her my best.”

  His face softened. “Will do.” Grabbing his take-out, he tipped his head toward Cooper. “Gerhardt.”

  “Yeah. See ya.” Coop managed to lift his hand in farewell.

  But as Grady turned away, Coop panicked, tempted to holler after him and demand to know how Jo Ellen was.

  Somehow managing to hold his tongue, he watched Grady leave the bar without a word about his sister’s welfare. With a groan, he let his head fall forward to thump against the surface of the bar. God, he was so messed up. Why couldn’t he just get her out of his system already?

  “Well, hell.” B.J. bumped his elbow. “Even Tommy Creek’s golden boy and the ultimate image of purity and perfection, Grady freaking Rawlings, knows what a motorboat is.”

  She obviously hadn’t caught golden boy checking out her boobies then, Coop decided, or she’d probably be going off about that too.

  “Damn,” she grumbled. “Now I really feel like an ignorant, dumbass schoolgirl. Why didn’t you tell me what a motorboat was years ago, Coop?” When he didn’t answer, she slapped his shoulder. “Hey. I’m talking to you.”

  “Humph?”

  “That’s it,” she said, grasping his bicep hard and hauling him upright. “You’re too drunk to stick around here. Looks like it’s time I give you a lift home.”

  He shook his head. “No. Don’t wanna go home. Might worry Mama if I come stumbling in like this.”

  With a sigh, she nudged him off the barstool anyway. “Then, I guess you can crash on my couch. It’s not like I’ve never had a plastered brother roll in during the middle of the night to sleep off a drunken stupor before.”

  “Rudy?” Coop guessed. He didn’t think anyone in Tommy Creek drank the way B.J.’s youngest brother did.

  B.J. shrugged her plaid shirt back on. “Who else?”

  “Hey, you don’t have to cover those up,” he complained, frowning when she went as far as to button the shirt together.

  “Too bad. Show’s over, bud. Let’s get you settled in for the night.”

  He grumbled but tripped afte
r her. “Honestly, Gilmore. You should go around like that more often.” He squinted his eyes as he tried to focus on her back, but the view kept blurring. “I bet if you tucked your shirts in every once in a while, we’d be able to see if you had a nice ass too.”

  “I do,” she called over her shoulder.

  Well.

  He wouldn’t mind discovering that fact for himself. His eyebrows arched with interest as he hurried after her. Maybe B.J. had been right; there was a better way to force Jo Ellen out of his mind than getting rip-roaring drunk.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When he pushed out of the bar and into the warm night, Cooper turned left toward his truck and began to dig his keys from his pocket, but B.J. grabbed his elbow. “This way, bud. My rig’s parked over here.”

  “Right.” He stumbled after her. “You’re driving. I forgot.”

  “I figured you did.” She didn’t let go but dragged him along behind her, not even slowing her pace when he stumbled over the toes of his boots. Shaking her head sadly, she sighed. “Gah, you sloppy drunks are all the same.” Stopping in front of the passenger side of her truck, she yanked the door open. “Up you go, bud.”

  He blinked at her, wavering back and forth as he tried to stand steady. “Did you just open the door for me?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah. What of it?”

  “I’m the guy,” he slurred, moving past her to climb up into the cab. “Tha’s what I’m supposed to do for you.” Christ, this was why he hated lifted four-wheel-drives. They sat up way too tall, though his own Ford probably sat up an inch or so higher.

  He tripped and banged his shin on the floorboard. When he began to stumble into the interior, B.J. caught his arm. “Whoa, there, partner. Watch your step.”

  Her assistance reminded him too much of the night he’d helped Jo Ellen into his truck when she’d been drunk. “I got it,” he snapped, yanking his arm from her and scowling.

  She gaped back, surprise creasing her features, and then lifted her hands in surrender. “Fine. Do it your own damn self then.” Spinning away, she tromped around to her side of the truck and climbed in with all the agility and grace he lacked. She’d slammed her door and started the engine by the time he finally fumbled his way inside. Then without a word to him, she drove away from the bar.