Simple Gone South gs-3

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  In spite of the retro processed food that she would have already made, Missy looked pretty happy today.

  “Lucy! You’ve got a real game day shirt!”

  “You can thank me.” Brantley stepped in and hugged Missy. “I have no hostess gift. My gift to you is Lucy Mead appropriately dressed.”

  “You never have a hostess gift,” Missy said.

  “I also got her a sweatshirt. She’ll put it on later.”

  “Oh, good God,” Missy said. “Don’t tell me you’ve started in on her about that. Leave her alone about a damned sweatshirt and shorts.”

  “What?” Lucy asked.

  “Brantley likes the look of shorts and a sweatshirt on a woman. And Keds, with socks—close fitting white socks, to be exact, that come just over the anklebone. I’m surprised he’s not trying to get you to put on Keds.”

  Like she’d been wearing that day in Savannah when she’d worried so much that she’d looked sloppy. Maybe he’d liked the look of her that day as much as she’d liked the look of him, even if their visit had ended on a sour note. Suddenly, she decided. She was going to turn that sour note to a sweet one and she was going to do it tonight.

  Brantley continued to banter with Missy. “She would not put on Keds. I could not make her. And you’re not supposed to know I like that look, Missy. But since you do, I do not apologize. There’s just something about it.”

  “If I’m not supposed to know it, you shouldn’t have gotten drunk that time and waxed eloquent about it all over the place.”

  Lucy would not have expected the warm, poignant feelings that washed over her. So many times she’d been in this house, single and alone, with Missy so gloriously happy with her family. For a long time, Lanie and Tolly had been alone too, but then Lanie had married Luke, followed by Tolly reuniting with Nathan. And Lucy was happy for them, truly happy.

  But she had stood up with three brides at three weddings and she had been left standing alone. And sometimes it was hard to go into a restaurant and sit at a table for eight, with an empty chair beside her. Even on the odd occasion when she had a date, that chair still felt empty. But with Brantley it was different. She didn’t feel alone.

  Now, Beau was running into the room, Harris behind him. They were dressed in matching number twelve jerseys and Brantley was lifting a squealing Beau over his head.

  “If y’all wake up Lulu she’s yours for the day,” Missy promised. “And believe me, if she doesn’t get her nap out, she’s mean. She will bite you.”

  Luke, Lanie, and Arabelle were coming up the walk now with Emma—also wearing a number twelve jersey—running ahead. Luke carried John Luke and Arabelle and Lanie carried white boxes that would be candy from Lanie’s shop.

  “Miss Lucy!” Emma landed at her feet. “I got a one, two, three shirt, the same as Beau!”

  Lucy dropped to her heels. “You look very snazzy.”

  “That’s a one, two shirt.” Harris ruffled Emma’s hair. “And don’t you forget to tell Uncle Nathan when he gets back from the game that it’s way better than an eight, five shirt.”

  “My Aunt Belle is here! She brings presents. Baby Avery went home.” Emma jumped up and down. And she was off.

  Lucy looked up at the hugs and laughter going on all around her. This was family. And she would do well to learn to feel complete here with or without an empty chair.

  “I’m going to find the pigs in a blanket and the cheese dip,” Brantley said.

  “Please do,” Missy answered. “Eat yourself sick; eat it all before anybody whose opinion matters to me gets here.”

  Brantley smiled and blew Lucy a kiss. “Will you be okay?”

  It was the thing a man raised in the south and a veteran of cotillion class would ask his date, but Lanie laughed and pretended to swat at him. “She’s been okay with us without you around for years.”

  Yes. She must remember that, especially after what she intended to do tonight.

  “Let’s get that food put out before the masses arrive,” Lucy said. Tolly wasn’t here to keep them on task, so for today, she would take it up.

  * * *

  According to Missy, barbecue could not be cooked correctly at home without digging a pit and procuring hickory wood. Since she had no desire to ruin her landscaping, she had bought masses of pork, wings, chicken, and ribs from the best place in town, Depot Barbecue. However, the baked beans, corn casserole, slaw, and two kinds of potato salad were all her doing. She’d even made the pickles and the sandwich buns.

  “You can’t tell anyone, Arabelle,” Missy said as she arranged deviled eggs on egg plates.

  “Can’t tell that you bought the meat?” Arabelle looked puzzled and sniffed the pork. “This is from Depot Barbecue. Everyone eats there. They’ll recognize it.”

  “Oh, no,” Lanie said. “You don’t get it at all. She doesn’t want anyone to know she made the other food. She always lies and says she buys it. She doesn’t want anyone to know she can cook.”

  Arabelle laughed a pretty laugh to go with her pretty face. She had dark hair and bright blue eyes like Luke and Emma. “I won’t tell. I don’t understand but I am good at keeping secrets.”

  “You’d understand if you lived in a town that had as many bake sales as this one does. They would wear me down to nothing.”

  “Missy, how many guests do you think you’ll have?” Lanie asked as she started to count out plates for the buffet.

  “Oh, who knows? We should put out twice as many plates as we’ll have people because some will go back and get a clean plate. I’d say fifty plates, but Harris is always inviting random people without telling me, so make it sixty. We can pull out more if we need them.”

  “I’m afraid Brantley might have done a little of that inviting this year,” Lucy said. “Did he tell you he invited Will Garrett?”

  “No,” Missy said. “But that’s fine. What’s one more? And we like Will.”

  “Only one more?” Arabelle said. “What about his wife?”

  “Will doesn’t have a wife,” Lucy said. At least he’d never mentioned one and she was pretty sure he didn’t wear a ring. “Though, I could be wrong.”

  “No,” Missy said with certainty. “Will’s not married. Never has been. I’d know it.”

  “No fiancée?” Arabelle persisted, as she poured Missy’s homemade barbecue sauce into a serving bowl.

  “No,” Missy said. “Never been engaged. Though come to think of it, it seems there was some rumor going around about that. But it wasn’t true. Why?”

  “Nothing,” Arabelle said. “I guess I heard the same rumor. No matter. Missy, do you want this barbecue sauce from the Depot put out too?”

  “No. I control the sauce in this house and they are going to eat mine.”

  * * *

  An hour before kickoff the guests arrived in droves, including a classmate of Brantley and Missy’s, Ila Jo Gentry, who was in Merritt from Indiana for the holiday. Her husband, Jerry, wore a Notre Dame jersey.

  “Are you going to send him home?” Lucy asked Missy.

  “No. I guess I need to make my rules a little clearer next year.”

  Lucy did not point out that there was no way Missy would don anything herself that lauded a team other than her own alma mater’s.

  There were the usual suspects in crimson: the Cochrans, the Bennets, the Eubanks—all couples, all with children—plus Millie Carmichael, Jessilyn Chambers, and Jill St. John’s fiancé, though Jill was wearing the orange and blue. Besides Jill, other members of the Auburn contingent consisted of Carla Ashley, Larry and Jackie Joseph, and veterinarian Christian Chandler’s entire family.

  When Will Garrett arrived twenty minutes before kickoff, it was impossible to tell by his attire—pressed jeans and a green starched oxford cloth shirt, devoid of any sort of logo—which team he rooted for, or if he cared. No one called him on it, maybe because baby Lulu was awake and in full overdrive or because Will wasn’t the kind of man you called on anything.

  Most o
f the men settled into the den where the huge plasma TV hung, while the women divided themselves between the sunroom and the living room.

  “I’m surprised you don’t want to be where the big TV is, Missy,” Arabelle said as she settled into a chair in the sunroom. Missy had steered serious fans to the sunroom and talkers to the living room. The older children were on the screened-in porch with the two teenagers Missy had hired to watch them.

  “Lord, no. It would take a Marine Corp Special Unit to get me in there. You can practically taste the testosterone pouring out of there.”

  “And what does testosterone taste like?” Laura Cochran asked.

  Like Brantley, flashed through Lucy’s mind. And she hadn’t had a nearly good enough taste today.

  But Missy answered without missing a beat, “Like pigs in a blanket.”

  Lanie looked toward the TV. “Y’all watch for Tolly and Nathan.”

  “Lanie.” Missy put Lulu in the nearby play yard with John Luke, who had pulled up and was dropping blocks over the side. “There are 101,821 people in that stadium. We are not going to see Tolly and Nathan—though we might see Kirby on the sidelines. His number is ten.”

  “We might see Tolly and Nathan,” Lanie insisted as she patiently picked up the blocks and gave them back to her son. “If we watch.”

  And just then ESPN sideline reporter Audrey Evans appeared on the screen and said, “I’ve got former Crimson Tide All-American Nathan Scott with me.” And Nathan’s face appeared on the screen.

  Pandemonium broke out throughout the house, even from the Auburn fans.

  He was one of their own.

  * * *

  It was an afternoon of food, fun, and, of course, football.

  It was also an afternoon of Brantley, with him appearing every so often to offer Lucy a drink or just say hello.

  During halftime, he wandered into the kitchen, where Lucy was loading the dishwasher, to try to convince her to put on that sweatshirt.

  “It’s eighty degrees in here,” she told him. “Missy just cut down the air.”

  “All the more reason for you to need a sweatshirt.”

  “I’m good,” she’d said. “Go back to the man cave.”

  He gave her shoulder a little squeeze before he left, and Ila Jo Gentry laughed.

  “I’m glad I was around to witness that,” she said. “It was worth coming from Indiana to see.”

  “What?” Lucy asked.

  “Brantley Kincaid besotted.” If only that were true.

  She looked across the way and noticed Arabelle standing by the fireplace in what appeared to be an intense conversation with Will Garrett. She idly wondered what that was about, but she was soon distracted by Brantley’s reappearance.

  He carried two straight bourbons. “Here, baby. I thought you might want a fresh drink before the second half.” He gave her a brief kiss, so brief but so important because, even here among her friends, it was a ticket to fitting in, to belonging.

  And she vowed that, though it wouldn’t last forever, she was going to make this last as long as she could.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Can you believe that game?” Brantley asked in an indignant voice as he held the door and helped her into his SUV. “I thought we were actually going to lose there for a while!”

  Why he was so astounded, Lucy didn’t know. Alabama might have been the clear favorite this year, but where this rivalry was concerned, all bets were off—no matter who had the better team. For most Alabamians, this was the most important game of the season, far outweighing any bowl game or national championship. Losing this game got coaches fired; winning it guaranteed multimillion-dollar contracts.

  But he ranted as he drove and she took pleasure in it—such pleasure that she barely noticed where he was going until he pulled into the garage between Miss Caroline’s house and the carriage house.

  “I thought you might want to see the kitchen cabinets,” Brantley explained.

  Yeah. That’s it. That’s exactly what she wanted to see.

  She made a show of looking at them, though they were precisely what she expected. She had designed them and there was never any question of Will’s work. She opened each satiny maple door, and pretended to admire the precision.

  Brantley came to stand in front of her and shifted his weight to one leg.

  “So. I talked to Will today. He wants to take me to this architectural salvage place he knows in Georgia. I thought I knew them all, but he says this one is small but select. Great stuff. Might have some things we can use. He’s available Wednesday and we’d be gone overnight. We’re going in his truck so we can haul back anything we buy. It’s one of those big luxury jobs with plenty of room for you. I want you to go.” He leaned in toward her.

  She shook her head. “I can’t, Brantley. Much as I would like to. I have a few clients that I have got to finish up with if I am going to give this project my full attention. The first of the year will be here before we turn around.”

  He frowned, like he was trying to decide if she was being coy or if she really couldn’t spare the time.

  And suddenly, the thought of being away from him for a night—for two days—left her feeling bereft.

  Bereft—a word as old-fashioned as the crystal sconces and ornate woodwork that she loved, as old-fashioned as the feeling coursing through her.

  She grabbed handfuls of his t-shirt and pulled him to her. He tasted like bourbon, like he had that night in Savannah. But tonight, she tasted like bourbon too, and not that silly affected lime and club soda that she had fancied so sophisticated. She was a woman with some experience, a realistic view, and a made up mind.

  That heavy spring Savannah air was with them, right here in Merritt, Alabama, on an Indian summer November night.

  And they both knew it. Brantley pulled away, cocked his head to the side, and gave her a questioning look. But, for once, he didn’t say a word. The air around them was doing their talking.

  She barely hesitated. Caroline Brantley wasn’t the kind of woman to arrive unannounced and uninvited on her grown grandson’s doorstep, much less his bedroom, no matter who actually owned the property.

  Still, one couldn’t be too careful. “Lock the door,” she said. And without a backward glance, she climbed the stairs.

  By the time she stood beside that decadent chocolate, caramel, and champagne bed, Brantley had caught up with her. His arms went around her from behind and he lifted her breasts, kissed that spot on her neck, and rolled his erection against her bottom—all in the same moment.

  Her knees gave away.

  He caught her and his laughter was low and sweet against her neck. “I’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

  He turned her around, lifted her to the bed, and proceeded to undress her, kissing as he went.

  “I’ve got to ask you, Lucy Mead,” he said against her shoulder. “Is this it? Just in case I’ve got it wrong. ’Cause if this is another tease and tickle session, I can go with that. But I need to break it to some of my body parts.”

  She laughed. He always made her laugh. That was almost as good as his mouth on her breast. Wait. Well, maybe not.

  “No bad news for your body parts,” she said.

  By now she was naked. “Thank God!” He pulled her to him, threw back the covers, and turned her face down in a cloud of wonder and began to kiss his way up her spine, all the while letting his fingers dance across her thighs, bottom, and over her ribs.

  The bed was even better than she had imagined. The soft feathers beneath her, the sheets that felt like cool whipped cream, and the silk pillows made for a sublime tactile experience only surpassed by Brantley’s hard bronze body and warm skin against her.

  “I was dangerously close to playing the blue balls card with you.” He rolled his throbbing penis against her buttocks and she shifted until she felt the pulsing between her thighs.

  “I read somewhere once that was a lie,” she gasped.

  “Not a lie.” He cut
his own words off with his mouth against her neck and his tongue just so. She tightened her thighs around him to feel him better, to let him feel her better. “Maybe a lie,” he said heavily. “But who cares?”

  With that he rolled to his back, pulled her on top of him, and urged her thighs apart until she was straddling him.

  “How’s this?” He parted her and notched her against him in the most intimate way possible. “Slide against me. Yes.” He closed his eyes. “Harder. Now, kiss me.” And dear God, he opened his mouth and touched his tongue to his top lip. He did that for her and it made her stomach turn over.

  When she shifted her body to bring her mouth to his, an unexpected jolt of pleasure made her cry out and buck hard against him.

  He turned her on her back. “Lucy. I know what store is set by foreplay and there’ll be more of that next time. But, for now, it’s over.” He reached into the bedside table and pulled out a foil packet.

  She couldn’t have agreed more. “And high time,” she said. “We’ve had days and days of foreplay.”

  And finally, she opened up to him and he entered her, making them one. She thought, after such a long wait, it would be over quickly. But no. He took her to the edge, and pulled back again and again. He whispered that she was beautiful and that she felt wonderful. He moved in circles clockwise and then counterclockwise, until she cried out with pleasure and frustration.

  Until, finally, he drove deep into her and urged her to rock against him.

  “I want to feel you come, Lucy.”