That Jones Girl (The Mississippi McGills, Sequel)

by Webb, Peggy

  o0o

  Tess was combing her hair when she heard the knock on her door.

  “Who is it?”

  “Who do you want it to be?”

  Flannigan. Smiling, she laid her hairbrush aside.

  “Is that you, Casey?”

  “I should eat all these strawberries myself.”

  “You brought food?”

  She flung open the door, and there was Flannigan, holding a silver tray of food and the biggest bunch of roses she had ever seen.

  “Roses.” She pressed her face into the blossoms. “I love roses,” she said, smiling at him across the rainbow of flowers. “Where on earth did you get them?”

  “A rose garden.”

  “Whose rose garden?” He merely smiled at her, not answering, and she laughed. “Did you steal these roses, Mick?”

  “I conned these roses, using my considerable charm.”

  “You slept with somebody for roses?”

  He backed her into the room and kicked the door shut behind them. Then he plopped the tray on a small table by the window and pulled her into his arms.

  “Do you consider me charming in bed, Tess, my girl?”

  “I don’t have enough evidence yet to answer your question.”

  He eyed the bed. “We could remedy that.”

  “My food would get cold.”

  She eased out of his arms, and he let her go. She supposed she should be grateful he didn’t put up any resistance. In spite of telling herself that she could make love with him every minute of every day and still not lose her heart, she wasn’t ready to test her theory. At least not yet. Not until she had a chance to recover from their first encounter.

  She sat down in front of the breakfast tray and nibbled a piece of toast. All the foods she had requested were there, even the real butter on the toast. She looked up at Flannigan, lounging casually against the dresser, watching her eat. He’s just an ordinary man, she kept telling herself; but what ordinary man would steal roses for her and bring breakfast on a silver tray to a dingy motel room?

  She wasn’t going to think about all that now, for the trip was just beginning; and if she started thinking Flannigan was special, she’d lose her head for sure. She might even lose her heart.

  She plucked a strawberry off the silver tray.

  “Want some, Mick?”

  “Yes.” He moved slowly across the room, as if he were floating toward her from a great distance. “You remember how I like to eat my strawberries, don’t you?”

  She nodded, never taking her eyes from his. When he was almost at her side, she caught the strawberry between her lips. He leaned down, bracing himself with one hand on her shoulder, and closed his mouth over one end of the strawberry. The sweet juice squished between their lips. They savored the berries, the juice, but most of all they savored the moment. Once again they had slipped back in time, back into a love ritual that came as naturally to them as if they had done it only yesterday.

  They ate all the berries that way, never taking their eyes off each other. And when the ritual was over, Flannigan stepped back and acted as if none of it had mattered. Tess brought her own racing heart under control and pretended she didn’t care. She could eat strawberries with anybody she wanted to—in exactly that way, with berry-flavored lips touching, sharing the sweetness.

  To show him she didn’t care, she ate all her breakfast, every crumb, never backing down from his stare. Why was he watching her that way? It reminded her of their courtship days, when she’d be standing on a stage and could feel his eyes all the way across a crowded room. And everywhere his deep blue gaze touched, her body heated up.

  Now, it was not only heating up, it was melting, running in a puddle at her feet and flowing Across the room toward him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the bed, looming larger than life, as if their recent loving had invested it with magical powers.

  Why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t she say something? Suddenly she couldn’t think of what she could say to this man. Never in her life had she been at a loss for words with Mick Flannigan. Not when they had been friends, then lovers, then husband and wife. Never. And now that they had shared strawberries—and a bed—she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  “How’s...”

  “What about...”

  They both spoke at the same time. Mick pulled a cigar from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth, unlit.

  “Ladies first,” he said.

  “I’m no lady.”

  “You’re the grandest lady I know.”

  “Really?” She was as pleased as if he had pinned a medal on her chest. Although she’d never aspired to be a lady, primarily because Aunt Bertha had tried so hard to make her into one, she was inordinately pleased that Mick considered her to be a grand one.

  “That you are, Tess, my girl.”

  He crossed the room and took the black rose from the jar. Then he snipped off the long stem and all the thorns and tucked the rose behind her ear.

  “A special rose for a very special lady.”

  “Mick.” She caught his hand and pressed it against her cheek. “Don’t make me like you too much.”

  “Are you liking me, Tess?” He brightened like the newly polished earth after a good soaking rain.

  “More than I should.”

  “By whose rules?”

  “Mine.” She released his hand and pushed her chair back from the table. Facing him almost nose to nose, as was her habit, she told him the truth.

  “Mick, I like the way you look, I like the way you smile, I like the way you make me feel in bed. But I don’t like the idea that I might fall in love with you all over again... So I’m not going to.”

  “Good. I’m not going to fall in love with you, either.”

  Blue eyes clashed with green. Neither of them would back down. It was OToole who saved them from their own stubbornness. He got off his perch on the bed and sashayed across the room until he reached his mistress. Then he wound himself between her legs. When she ignored him, he put his paw on her legs and gave an unholy yowl.

  She scooped to pick him. “Poor OToole.” She rubbed her chest and planted small kisses on the top of his head. “Poor lonesome cat. Is everybody ignoring you?” She cuddled him close and rubbed her face against his soft fur. “Don’t worry, old darling, I’m not going to let you get lonesome, not for one single minute.”

  “If I’m ever reincarnated, I’m coming back as a tomcat,” said Flannigan, marching toward the door.

  “Flannigan,” Tess called. He turned, and they stared at each other. “You already are a tomcat.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tess and Flannigan took Casey to buy new clothes. They sat on plush-backed chairs in Reed’s, the finest department store in Tupelo, watching as Casey paraded in front of them, strutting with his chest puffed out, showing off one new outfit after the other.

  “My old clothes are fine,” he said, fingering his new twill slacks and striped oxford cloth shirt. “I don’t take charity,” he added, preening in front of a three-way mirror.

  “This is not charity,” Mick insisted. “Consider this an investment. How are Tess and I going to get anybody to claim you if you don’t look spiffy? If we don’t polish you up some, we’ll never get you off our hands.”

  Casey grinned, then disappeared into the dressing room once more.

  “Flannigan, you’re going to hurt his feelings.”

  “Casey and I understand each other.” Mick leaned back, pleased with himself. “Besides, didn’t you see the look on his face? He hasn’t had this much fun in years.”

  “Neither have you?”

  “What?” He swiveled to look at Tess.

  “You should see yourself, Mick. You’re as proud of that old man as if he were really your father.”

  “What about you, my girl? I thought I saw a daughterly twinkle in your eye when he modeled those Cuban shorts.”

  “Bermuda. The shorts were Bermuda.”

  “
I knew it was one of those islands. I’m a blue jeans man, myself.”

  They faced forward again, waiting for Casey to return, but neither of them denied their instincts. As Mick thought about it, he decided he was having the time of his life. Funny how an ordinary outing to a department store could be more satisfying than flying into a strange city and walking strange streets to see if anything exciting beckoned to him.

  Suddenly the thought of flying into yet another town filled him with an odd sort of weariness. Maybe he was getting too old to chase rainbows. Or maybe he just didn’t know which rainbow to chase anymore.

  Casey returned in a plaid sports coat and linen slacks. They ended up buying him a modest wardrobe, including underwear. He selected an assortment of undershorts featuring Snoopy and Superman and Garfield.

  “Do you have some plans there, Casey?” Mick teased.

  “Maybe I’m planning to let you borrow them. You’re the one who does all the tomcatting.”

  Tess pretended she didn’t hear them. The night in Flannigan’s embrace rose up in her, and she suddenly wanted this journey to last forever. Behind her, Mick and Casey laughed and joked and carried on like old friends. She pictured the three of them, climbing into the rented brown Ford and riding west, into the setting sun. She even heard theme music playing—”Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” She and Flannigan used to sing it whenever they traveled. Maybe they would sing it again.

  All of a sudden she felt lighthearted. Turning back to Mick and Casey, she said, “Next stop is the barbershop.”

  It was afternoon by the time Tess and Mick had Casey ready to travel. Sitting in conference in unit four, they decided to travel by car rather than Mick’s plane. The car was Casey’s choice, mainly because he fancied the idea of the three of them on the road together.

  “On a search like this,” he said, “I’m going to have to depend on places to jog my memory. Now, it seems to me I can see places better from the ground than from the air.”

  “Don’t you think we should start our search right here in Tupelo?” Tess asked.

  “I’ve pretty much scoured this area,” Casey said. “I thought we might head south, down toward Vicksburg.” Vicksburg sounded romantic to him.

  “Is there any particular reason you’ve chosen that city?” Tess was beginning to have a few doubts about the success of their venture, especially with Casey in charge. She glanced to Mick for some help in the matter. He winked at her and blew two smoke rings in her direction.

  “It’s just a feeling I have.” Casey crossed his hands over his heart. “A feeling in my heart.”

  “Probably indigestion,” Mick said. He and Casey laughed. Tess didn’t find it all that funny.

  “I don’t know about you two clowns, but I’m planning to get on the road.”

  Casey sat back, twirling his gold-tipped cane and smiling as Tess swept from the room. Mick took a long draw on his cigar and watched the door long after she had disappeared.

  “Well,” Casey finally said, “aren’t we going after her?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’ll be back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she has four suitcases and nobody to carry them. She’ll come back in here, smiling that pretty smile of hers, and she’ll say, ‘Mick, my suitcases need loading.’“ He laughed. “I’ve always enjoyed watching Tess Jones at work.”

  He took his cigar out and studied its glowing tip. “Besides, I want to finish my cigar before we start toward Vicksburg.”

  He leaned back and puffed contentedly, thinking of Tess and her four suitcases next door. He loved to feel needed. Although Tess was probably the most independent, free-spirited woman he had ever known, she always made him feel needed.

  o0o

  Next door, Tess gave OToole a treat so he would travel without complaint. While he was eating, she put the last few items into her suitcases, and then started out the door to get Mick.

  “What in the world are you doing, Tess Jones?” She marched back into her room, still giving herself a lecture. “Next thing you know, you won’t even be able to take a bath without Mick Flannigan there to scrub your back.”

  She picked up the phone and dialed the front desk.

  “This is Tess Jones in unit three. Can you send a bellboy to take my bags to the car?”

  “A bellboy? Did you say a bellboy?” The man on the other end of the line hooted with laughter.

  “That’s what I said. I have four, and three of them are extremely heavy.”

  “Lady, this is not the Beverly Hills Hotel. We don’t have bellboys.”

  Tess gave a fleeting thought to charm or bribery or both, then changed her mind. She’d show that Flannigan. If she didn’t miss her guess, he was sitting next door, smoking his cigar and laughing, waiting for her to call him.

  “There’s more than one way to skin a cat. Pardon my language, OToole.” She started toward the door. “Wait here,” she told her cat. “I’ll be right back.”

  She eased out the door, humming to herself.

  Twenty minutes later she pounded on Mick’s door.

  “Flannigan. Open up.”

  He winked at Casey. “See. What did I tell you?” Tess was standing in the doorway with the sun in her hair. He lounged against the doorframe, drinking in the sight of her. “You’ve come for my help, I see.”

  “Your help? Why, Flannigan. All I have to do is snap my fingers, and at least six men come to do my bidding.” Her arms were still sore from lugging her heavy suitcases, but she didn’t tell him that. Instead she stepped aside and nodded toward the Ford. The engine was humming, and the door on the driver’s side was ajar.

  “I came to say that I’m off to Vicksburg, in case you want to come along.”

  “The engine’s running.”

  “I know that. I hot wired it.”

  “You hot wired it?”

  “Why should that surprise you? You taught me how.” She reached up and pinched his cheek. “Don’t be getting any ideas that you’re indispensable, Flannigan.”

  With that final word she pranced off toward the car, looking for all the world like a high-bred, high-strung champion filly.

  After Flannigan had finished laughing, he strode after her. She was already sitting behind the wheel, humming along with a blues song that was blaring from the radio.

  In one smooth motion he slid under the wheel, lifting and pushing her to the passenger side. Then he slid across and wrapped her in his arms.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He smiled into her eyes. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “If you’re thinking of love in the afternoon, please remember that this is not your hearse.”

  “No curtains?” He glanced into the backseat and pretended to be crushed. “I can’t tell you how that disappoints me.” He held her a fraction of a second longer. “This is not about making love, much as it pains me to disappoint you.” Grinning, he moved back under the wheel. “I’m driving.”

  “Now I know why I liked Carson better than you: He was never bossy.”

  “Then he was no challenge at all for you. I’ll bet you were bored out of your mind.” He banged the door shut harder than he had meant to. Not only did he hope Carson had been boring, but also impotent.

  With black thoughts racing through his mind, he put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. Suddenly he slammed on the brakes.

  “What’s the matter?” Tess asked.

  “We forgot Casey.”

  “I didn’t forget Casey. You forgot Casey.”

  Mick pulled the car back into the parking slot. She sat in the front seat, holding her heavy hair off her neck as Mick sprinted back into the motel. Not only had they forgotten Casey, they’d forgotten Mick’s bag as well. Things were getting out of hand between them. Tess could see that.

  “I have to do better than this, OToole,” she told the cat, who was already drowsing in the sun
on the backseat.

  Mick disappeared briefly into the motel room, and while he was out of sight, Tess changed her mind about how she could deal with him. It had all been well and good to stand in an empty motel room and vow she could go to his bed as many times as she liked and not lose her heart. That had been before the strawberries and the silver platter and the single black rose tucked into her hair. That had been before he had declared her to be the grandest lady of all.

  “Ahh, Flannigan.” She sighed, watching as he came out the door with his duffel bag in one hand and Casey in tow. “You never lost an ounce of your charm, did you?”

  Mick was laughing at something Casey was saying. Tess’s heart climbed up into her throat, and tears gathered behind her eyelids.

  “Don’t make me wish for things I can’t have, Flannigan,” she whispered. “Don’t make me want you and Casey to be real.”

  The two men disappeared behind the car to stow their bags in the trunk. What was she doing sitting in a car headed to Vicksburg, Mississippi, with one man she didn’t dare love and another man she wasn’t sure she could trust?

  “Ready?” Mick slid back into the driver’s seat, and Casey settled in beside OToole.

  “Ready,” she said, never turning her head to look at him. Somehow it seemed important not to look at him now that they were actually on the road, going to a specific destination. They used to love traveling together.

  She was determined that this trip would not be another nostalgic journey into the past.

  Afternoon traffic was heavy, so she didn’t talk while Mick drove across town to the Natchez Trace Parkway. When he was on that lonely and beautiful stretch of scenic road, she leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes.

  “Sleepy?” Mick asked.

  “Yes.” She didn’t look at him.

  He drove a while in silence.

  “You can put your head on my shoulder,” he said at last.

  “No, thank you.”

  “I just thought you might be more comfortable that way.”

  He watched her out of the corner of his eye, admiring the way her skin looked in the sunshine pouring through the window. Like soft, ripe peaches. He was hungry just looking at her.