Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set

by Grover Swank, Denise

  “I know how to read a calendar,” I replied through gritted teeth. I needed to grab Jess and get the hell out of here. Because if we didn’t leave soon I was going to sucker punch one of the Wraiths’ most senior members and get my ass kicked by his younger brethren. I was good in a fight, but six against one were suicide odds.

  “And you’re a fool if you think you can run our shop and be getting close with that girl, too. She’s too good for you. Quit being a selfish fuck and leave her alone.”

  “Mind your own goddamn business.”

  “I seen it before. Some of our boys thinking they can be with her kind. It don’t work out. Look at your daddy. Look what he did to your momma. He ruined her. You want that for Jessica James?”

  “I’m not one of the Wraiths.”

  Repo’s stony expression abruptly cracked with a little smile that looked more bitter than amused, and he said, “Not yet.”

  Chapter 17

  “The world is a book, and those who don't travel only read one page.”

  Augustine of Hippo

  ~Jessica~

  Two days. Monday and Tuesday.

  Two days of impersonal text messages.

  And all I kept thinking was that these were two days I’d never get back. We had limited time together, Duane and I, so two days without his company made me feel like I was being cheated, like he was reneging on his side of the deal.

  Since Sunday, the most intimate of our exchanges had been via text message, as follows:

  Me: Hey Red, want to get together tonight?

  Him: Can’t.

  Me: I miss you.

  Him: You too.

  That had been Tuesday around 4 p.m. Now it was Wednesday just after noon and…nothing.

  Therefore, I decided to force the issue. It was early release day, so I skipped out right after the bell and I made pie.

  As well I bought the ingredients for meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and collards. Enough to feed eight.

  I asked Claire to drive me over to the family’s house that evening, intent on making those boys dinner, but also getting Duane alone so we could set a few things straight. If I was being clingy and overreacting, I needed to know. Because I wanted to see him every day of the remaining time we had left.

  I wanted to see him every day, talk to him, listen to him laugh and make me laugh. I wanted to kiss him and snuggle against his delectable body. And I wanted to return the favors he’d given me. I wanted to make him feel good and treasured. All the time.

  As we pulled up to the big house, I counted the cars.

  Duane’s sexy machine (the Road Runner) was present, as was Cletus’s Geo Prizm. I was pretty sure the Ford truck was Billy’s, which meant the candy red Pontiac vintage muscle car was Beau’s. Four of the boys were at home.

  Claire—who’d been very supportive of my show up and surprise your boyfriend’s family with dinner plan—helped me unload the groceries from her car and set them on the porch. I told her to drive away before I knocked on the door. They wouldn’t be able to turn me away if I were stranded.

  Plus, I was holding a pie. This was a strategic decision. My momma once told me no one turns away a lady bearing pie. If you want to get your foot in the door, bring pie and hold it in front of you. She called this the pie effect.

  Therefore, with a pile of groceries on the big porch behind me and a still warm apple pie in my hands, I knocked on the door to the family’s house.

  The main structure sat on over fifteen acres backing up to the Great Smoky Mountains National Forest. The house itself had a wide curving staircase, at least seven bedrooms, and beautiful large windows lining the back. It was a big house and had once been very grand. Over the last twenty or so years, the house, and the land surrounding it, had fallen into a state of messy disrepair.

  Winston was their daddy’s name, but their momma came from an old, established Tennessee family with the last name of Oliver, very high-cotton. The house had been called Oliver House until around ten years ago. Her father, Mr. Oliver, had been a politician, a man of business and of considerable money. Bethany Oliver had married beneath her station—or so all my momma’s friends had whispered after Sunday service—by getting hitched to Darrel Winston at the very young age of sixteen.

  They’d had seven kids, he was terrible, and the rest was history.

  The old house had no doorbell, so I waited. Only the butterflies in my stomach keeping me company. When no one answered after a stretch, I knocked again.

  After knocking for the third time with no answer, I worried. I glanced over my shoulder at the line of cars and decided to swat my worry away. Surely one of the brothers was at home. Left with very few options—either walk in uninvited or do a quick survey of the property—I decided to take my pie and go around the back. I figured walking in uninvited would be my last resort.

  It took me a bit to circumnavigate the house. Machine parts littered the path. I noticed a busted, old CAT earthmover, dull yellow with patches of rust, sat behind a giant detached garage. I made a mental note to check inside the garage before I walked into the house.

  Thankfully, I spotted a red head with a broad, muscular back about a hundred paces from the back of the house, standing on some sort of covered deck. I squared my shoulders and marched to the structure, seeing that either Beau or Duane was tending to a large, smoking grill.

  When I was about twenty feet away, the redhead—his back still turned—said, “Do you have the sausage?”

  He was Duane. My heart knew.

  The butterflies in my stomach flew to my chest, made breathing a labor. I was nervous. But I was also here, and I’d committed to this ambush. I wasn’t going to shrink away now, even if dinner as bribery was the price.

  But I did have to clear my throat of my nerves before responding, “No. But I have apple pie.”

  Clearly startled, Duane turned fully around, his eyes moving up and down my form. He was surprised and his features were a cloudy mess of stunned relief. I felt a good bit of tension leave my bones when he finally smiled like he couldn’t help it and rushed forward.

  Duane intercepted me on the second step leading to the deck and, paying no heed to the dish in my hand, wrapped his arms around my body and gave me a big, getting-down-to-business kiss. His mouth and hands felt wonderful and possessive, one slipping under my sweater and shirt to grip the bare of my back. I liked the kiss so much, I almost dropped the pie.

  Too soon, but really after a full minute or more, the kiss was over and he was nuzzling my ear. We were both breathing a bit hard.

  “Goodness, I missed you,” I said on a sigh, loving the texture and feel of his beard against my jaw, and his hot breath on my neck.

  “I missed you, too, Jessica.” He nibbled on my ear, whispering my name like it was a dirty word—but not a curse word—a dirty word. Something erotic and scandalous. I had an odd thought then, that I liked my name on his lips more when it was whispered.

  We were interrupted by a voice from behind me. “Is that pie?”

  Duane stiffened a little, but didn’t relinquish his hold on me. Instead, after releasing a frustrated sounding exhale, he lifted his head from my neck. Likewise, I glanced over my shoulder and found Duane’s mirror image strolling toward us; an easy, friendly smile claiming Beau’s features.

  But they weren’t really a mirror image of each other. I decided one of the main differences between Duane and Beau was that Beau’s smiles were easy, freely given; Duane’s smiles were difficult, hard won, and I’d learned to treasure each one.

  “I’ll take that,” Beau said as he breezed past, grabbing the pie from my hand. As he crossed to a picnic table on the deck and placed the dish on top of it he added, “I do love apple pie.”

  “Don’t eat any of that,” Duane said as we both watched Beau lean close and sniff it.

  “I can’t eat it, I don’t have a fork…yet.” Beau looked around the deck like he was searching for something.

  Besides the picnic table and the large s
moking grill, the twenty-by-twenty-foot deck had several Adirondack chairs, a big wooden chest that I suspected was actually a cooler (likely full of beer), and an old wooden hutch painted lime green. The exposed wood ceiling was strung with white Christmas lights, which would come in handy once the sun set.

  Beau walked over to the lime green hutch and dug through a few drawers. Watching his brother, Duane shook his head like he was disgusted.

  “He’s looking for a fork,” he explained, his hands slipping from my body, but then—in the same movement—tucking me under his arm. “Don’t eat any of that pie. It’ll ruin your dinner.”

  “I’m just going to taste it.”

  Duane looked like he was going to protest again, but I cut him off with my question, “When did y’all get this deck? I don’t remember it being here.”

  “Drew, Billy, and Jethro built it for Momma two years ago. She likes having dinner out here, when the weather is nice.”

  Duane was still speaking about his mother in the present tense. It made my heart hurt a bit. I didn’t correct him, but I did give him a squeeze.

  “I hate to ask, because I don’t want you to think I’m not happy to see you,” Duane pulled away, just far enough that he could look into my eyes, “but what are you doing here other than to bring me pie?”

  Cletus walked past us at just that moment, and Billy wasn’t far behind. This was good timing because now I could announce my plans to all of them.

  “I’m actually here to make dinner for you and your brothers,” I responded happily, gesturing to the pie Beau had placed on the picnic table. “The pie is for dessert. I hope you like meatloaf.”

  “Oh, Jess…” Duane appeared to be completely torn and his voice held true regret. “I wish you’d talked to me about your plans ahead of time. Tonight is sausage night.”

  “Sausage night?”

  “Yes. Cletus Winston’s famous sausage is famous.” Cletus uncovered a heaping platter of raw sausage that he’d set next to the smoking grill. “These boys have been looking forward to my sausage all…week…long.”

  “Cletus.” Billy’s tone held a warning as he claimed the Adirondack chair nearest the grill, nodding to me as he sat, “Evening, Jessica.”

  I noted that Billy’s Tennessee accent was back, thicker.

  Cletus cocked an eyebrow at his older brother, clearly not impressed with Billy’s tone. “You’re going to tell me you haven’t been salivating for my sausage?”

  I had to cover my mouth with my hand and press it there, hard. Otherwise I was going to launch into a fit of hysterical giggles.

  Duane scowled at his older brother, then squeezed my waist, drawing my attention back to him. His mouth curved to the side when he saw me struggle to contain my laughter, but he made no remark on it. Instead he moved us to the picnic table, set me on his lap, and opted to clarify the situation.

  “See now, since there’s five of us left here—with Ashley back in Chicago, and Roscoe at school—we each have a night of the week where it’s our responsibility to cook, then we fend for ourselves on the weekends.”

  Beau, unable to find a fork, gave up his search and pulled three beers out of the wooden chest, setting two down in front of Duane and me before claiming a seat across from us.

  “Thank you, Beau.”

  “You’re welcome, Jess.”

  “Cletus takes a trip to Texas twice a year to spear hunt wild boars, and so once a month he feeds us wild boar sausage,” Duane continued.

  “Spear hunt?” I knew my eyes were bulging out of my head. “Wild boar? Aren’t those things huge?”

  “Let’s just say, they make a lot of bacon. And sausage.” Cletus indicated to the plate of sausage again, then poked at the smoking coals in the grill with a long grilling fork.

  “I can’t believe you spear hunt. Isn’t that terribly dangerous?”

  He shrugged. “Well, now. I don’t think it’s respectful to shoot a boar from the comfort of a hiding place and while wielding a firearm. That’s not a fair fight. Nowadays I feel like people are too far from the food they eat. How many people do you know would eat a steak if they had to slit its throat, electrocute it, and watch all the blood drain out.”

  “Ugh, Cletus! Really?” Beau made a face. “I was hungry, before you started bringing up slaughter houses.”

  “My point is, if I’m going to kill a wild animal, I don’t see why I should make things easy on myself.”

  “He does it with a bunch of native American fellas, good guys. They all get together and run around the forest in loin cloths,” Duane supplied before tipping his beer back and taking a long pull.

  I watched with fascination how his lips wrapped around the bottle, how his throat worked as he swallowed. By the time he took it from his mouth and caught an errant drop with the tip of his tongue, I felt a little dazed. As well, I’d completely forgotten what we were discussing.

  When he finished he glanced back at me, but then his brow furrowed in question—likely at my dreamy expression. “Hey, Jess. You okay?”

  I nodded, sighed, and wished he’d been licking an errant drop of something off me. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “You look a little hot.” This came from Beau and I found him watching us, mischief behind his eyes. So I frowned at him and his teasing. He mimicked my frown, though not quite successfully because his mouth curved into an impish smile immediately after. “Maybe Duane should show you around the house, it might help you cool off.”

  “Sitting so close to my sausage likely has you overheated and excited,” Cletus mumbled as he indicated to the grill with his chin.

  “As I was saying…” Duane’s tone held a note of exasperation as he swept Beau and Cletus a hard look before turning his attention back to me. “Billy cooks Mondays, Beau is Tuesdays, then Cletus on Wednesday, me on Thursday, and Jethro on Friday.”

  “We have a schedule,” Cletus volunteered. “We like our schedules, they keep things orderly.”

  “So, who’s filling in for Jethro on Friday?”

  “He left casseroles—lots of them—in the deep freezer,” Billy answered in a flat tone.

  “Hey, you could make us dinner on Friday. If you want,” Beau suggested.

  Duane shook his head before I could answer. “No. Jess and I will make dinner together tomorrow, on my night.”

  “That’s cheating,” Billy protested.

  “There’s no rules. And are you really going to turn down Jess’s meatloaf?”

  Billy didn’t respond to Duane’s question verbally, but instead allowed his icicle eyes and disapproving silence to answer for him.

  “Can you come back tomorrow?” Duane turned me in his arms slightly, his voice low and gentle.

  “Yeah. I can come tomorrow. No problem. Do you mind if I leave everything here tonight?”

  Duane shrugged. “We have plenty of space in the fridge, now Cletus has removed his sausage.”

  “Okay,” I nodded, leaned forward, picked up my pie again, and made to stand. “Well then I guess I’ll go—”

  A chorus of, “No!” and “What? Where are you going?” and “Put that pie down,” and other protests kept me from going back to the front porch to collect my things.

  “You should stay.” Billy gave me a half smile that was completely unexpected, as were his words. “Stay and have dinner with us. Your company would be a welcome change.”

  “Yes. Stay. Even if you’re a big eater, there’s plenty of my sausage for you.”

  “Cletus!” His name was exclaimed in a unified shout by the other three brothers, each shooting him their own unique version of a dirty look.

  “Well…” I glanced at the pie in my hands, biting my lip so I wouldn’t laugh, and turned my attention to Duane. “I guess everything will keep until tomorrow.”

  “Oh, no. We’ll eat that pie tonight. You make a new one for tomorrow to go along with your meatloaf.” Cletus nodded like this was already decided.

  “If you’re taking requests, I’d really like a
nother apple pie.” Beau gave me a wink from across the table.

  “She is not taking any pie requests from you,” Duane barked at Beau.

  “Fine, fine! No need to get your britches twisted, it’s not as though I was offering her my sausage, like some people. I’m just saying, since she has to make a new pie irregardless, she might as well make another apple pie.”

  Billy lifted his beer toward Beau, his tone completely condescending as he remarked, “I feel I must tell you, Beau, that there is no such word as ‘irregardless’. It’s just regardless.”

  “Stop correcting Beau’s terrible grammar and go get the bigger bag of charcoal.” Cletus kicked Billy’s chair. “These flames aren’t adequate to cook my sausage.”

  I was fighting another grin when Duane leaned close, removed the pie from my hands, and set it back on the table. He slid his hand back around my waist, sending lovely tendrils of warmth through my body. “Ignore them,” he whispered, his hot breath on my neck making me shiver. “They’re just trying to get you to make more pie.”

  “I don’t mind,” I whispered back. “The crust recipe made enough for two, so it’s just a matter of making the filling.”

  “Go show Jessica around.” Beau flicked his wrist toward us, waving us off while giving me a conspiratorial look. “She hasn’t been here in years. Go show her the upstairs.”

  “The upstairs?” Duane made a face. “There’s nothing upstairs except the bedrooms.”

  “He means, go spend some time being physically intimate with your pretty girlfriend until dinner is ready,” Cletus supplied, not sparing us a glance. He was frowning at his coals. “We’ll make a ruckus and call you down when it’s time to eat.”

  Duane scowled at Beau. Beau shrugged, the arch of his eyebrows and his pleased smirk were positively devilish.

  “We’ll go inside and unpack the groceries for tomorrow,” Duane said pointedly, and continued to glare at Beau.

  “You do that. You go unpack those groceries.” His twin nodded, still looking unrepentant. “You unpack those groceries so hard.”