“Back off,” Seth said, and swung the cake beyond her reach. “Put it in the fridge. Now, come on. I’ll take you to dinner and buy you chocolate cake for dessert.”
“I’m not dressed.”
“You’re clean, aren’t you? You smell like soap and your hair’s still damp. In country terms, you’re dressed for a formal dinner.”
She took a deep breath, considered for a second that seemed much too long to him, then said, “Okay. Let me check on the babies and get my purse.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
HE WISHED HE could offer Emma the sort of fancy dinner she was used to. Instead, they ended up with country fried steak, salad and fresh vegetables at the café. She turned down the chocolate cake on the menu. “It’ll go straight to my arteries or my thighs,” she told Velma.
“Sorry it’s not fancy or French,” Seth said. “Pickins are limited.”
“Can’t get tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes this early in the city. And I love okra. Don’t apologize. Anyway, I forgot to have lunch, so I could eat the rest of the cow this came from. And an entire chocolate cake is waiting for tomorrow. When will people get there?”
“Not too early. Nine or so.”
He saw her go instantly on alert. “That early? I’ll have to have coffee and orange juice and fresh doughnuts at a minimum...”
He reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. He could feel her trembling. “Whoa! Not one mouthful. You give them doughnuts and coffee, we’ll never get any work out of them.”
“But I can’t just...”
He shook his head. “Yes, you can. We’ll be through in time for lunch. This isn’t tea at the White House. It’s a work party and a picnic. Those boys of Earl’s are good kids, but they go into overdrive. You’ll probably need to help Janeen keep an eye on them. Make sure they stay out of the back pasture. They’re perfectly capable of falling into the lake or bringing what remains of the old barn roof down on their heads.”
“How old are they?”
“Earl Jr. is eleven. Carl is eight. They’re tough and self-sufficient, but they’re still boys.”
Seth had parked his SUV a block away from the restaurant. The night was perfect for a stroll down Main Street. Seth longed to take her hand, but figured she’d look at him as if he’d lost his mind. They’d both gone silent, and yet it was the companionable silence of two people who were beginning to know each other and liked what they found.
They were nearly at the car when a voice said, “Seth? Is that you?”
Seth froze. Instinctively he reached for Emma’s arm and held her back, as though they were walking into danger. In a sense, they were. A second later, he said, “Come on.” He clicked the lock, opened the door for her, then put a hand on the small of her back to move her into the car.
He felt her stiffen.
“What?” she said and turned back.
He knew the man who stood ten feet from them by the only streetlight on their side of the street. “Get in,” Seth snarled.
She stared up at him. It had definitely been a snarl. She could picture him using that tone on DUIs or poachers as he shoved them into his squad car. He reached up as though to place a hand on her head the way cops did when they put a suspect into a squad car.
“Seth? Wait a minute.” The man walked toward them fast, apparently afraid that Seth would slam the door and drive off.
Seeing Seth’s expression—tight mouth, angry eyes —Emma decided he planned to do just that.
She laid her hand on his arm, felt the muscle tighten. He intended to be rude.
Emma didn’t do rude, unless she knew why and generally not even then. The guy who’d called Seth seemed like an ordinary middle-aged man. He was almost as tall as Seth, but a lot thinner. His hair was gray and cut short. He didn’t have a beard and was freshly shaved. He wore a respectable polo shirt, clean jeans and a dark brown hoodie. He didn’t seem homeless or drunk or drugged out, and he didn’t smell.
“Maybe you could introduce me to this pretty lady,” the man said. His voice sounded scratchy, as though he didn’t use it very often and had pickled it in cigarettes or alcohol. The smile he turned on her, however, was pure charm.
Emma noticed he stopped slightly beyond Seth’s reach but close to the light from the open door of the car. In that instant, she knew who he was. Seth’s father. “How do you do, Mr. Logan,” she said, “I’m Emma French.” She stuck her hand out to shake his.
Seth startled her by putting his hand on her forearm none too lightly, pulling it out of shaking range and holding it against his side, as if he was afraid of contagion. He didn’t speak to the man.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Emma.” Another flash of that killer smile. She’d never seen Seth smile like that.
“We have to go,” Seth said. “Now.” He dropped his hand and turned to walk around the car to the driver’s side.
“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Logan,” she said. It wasn’t nice, but being polite was imprinted in her. She climbed into the car, and Seth’s father closed her door. He barely had time to step back before Seth turned on the ignition and laid rubber out of his parking spot, then narrowly avoided sideswiping a pickup that was driving peacefully down the street beside him.
“Hey, tiger, we’ll get whiplash,” Emma said. Her attempt at lightening the atmosphere fell completely flat.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered. Much scarier than if he’d shouted.
“Do what? Act like one polite human being to another?”
“He’s not a human being. He forfeited that designation a long time ago.”
“You don’t mean that. He’s still your father, whatever he did.”
“He’s a killer. Anyone who kills another human being—even worse, his own flesh and blood—is something other than a human being.”
“You don’t mean he actually killed somebody.” But she remembered Barbara’s rather vague comments about Seth’s younger sister...
“He was responsible, whatever he tells himself. I don’t want to discuss it.”
“You say something like that and you expect me to ignore it?”
“Like I said, I don’t want to talk about my father. I didn’t know he was back in town. If I had, we’d have driven to Somerville for dinner.”
“It’s a small town. You can’t live your life hiding from him.”
“He needs to be the one doing the hiding. Anywhere else but around here.”
At that moment his cell phone rang. Emma jumped. Seth caught his breath and glanced at the display on the dashboard.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” she asked. “Could be poachers were spotted or something.”
“I know who it is.”
The phone stopped ringing and went to audio. “Seth, I know you’re there. Call me right now. I mean it.” A woman’s voice.
“Well, pull over and call her,” Emma said. Girlfriend? Ex-wife? She felt a stab of jealousy she had no business feeling.
The phone began to ring again. This time he picked up. “I know you’re there,” the voice said again. “Call me right this minute or I’ll drive straight out to your house and snatch you baldheaded.”
Not a girlfriend, then.
“It’s my mother.” He pulled over and parked, but left the truck running.
“Let me get out and give you some privacy,” Emma said and reached for the door handle.
“No! Don’t move. You might as well hear this.” He punched the phone hard enough that Emma was afraid the button would snap. Of course, he would have his mother on speed dial. Obviously also synced for hands-free speaker, so he wouldn’t have to stop if he got to call out.
“I’m here,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m sitting by the side of the road, and I am not alone, as you no doubt already know. He must’ve called the minute we drove off.
If you’re trying to intercede for him, don’t bother.”
“Hello, whoever you are with my son,” the disembodied voice said. “I hope I haven’t spoiled your evening.” The woman’s voice was low and very Southern, not unlike some of Emma’s friends’ mothers.
“How do you do, ma’am,” Emma said. She didn’t protest that Seth’s mother hadn’t spoiled their evening, because obviously she had a hand in it.
“My son is being a jackass. He doesn’t do that often, but makes a doggone good job of it when he does.”
“Mother,” Seth growled. “Why didn’t you warn me he was back? He’s not staying with you, is he?”
“Your father—and he is your father, however much you wish he wasn’t—is staying in a room downtown somewhere. I do not know where. He’s got a piddling little job selling hardware out by the expressway. Staying with me? The very idea!”
“Yeah, right.”
“Now you just hush up and listen. He’s sober, Seth. Has been for over three years. He showed me his two-year Alcoholics Anonymous pin.”
“Which he probably stole.”
Heavy sigh down the line. “Now, you stop that. I’ve been tellin’ you for years to let go of all that anger. It’s hurtin’ you a darned sight more than it’s hurtin’ him. He’s trying to get his life straightened out.”
“So you’ll take him back?”
“Certainly not! But I don’t hate him. He gave me you and Sarah...”
“Then he took her away.”
“You don’t have to take him out to dinner, but you could at least speak to him in the street,” she said.
“You might let him get away scot-free with killing Sarah, but I can’t. So far as I’m concerned, he gets a life sentence, no parole. Let Saint Peter decide after he dies whether he goes up or down. At that point, it’s out of my hands.” He clicked off the phone.
“You just hung up on your mother!” Emma squealed. “Call her back and apologize.”
Seth started the truck and pulled into traffic. “I’ll call her later.”
“This is none of my business,” Emma said. “I’m sorry if I made things worse with your father.”
“Not your fault. You had no way of knowing who he was when he waylaid us.” He growled like a wounded grizzly bear. “I already told you I don’t want to talk about it.”
She was out of his truck and on her front porch before he could open the truck door for her. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said in her coolest voice. “At least the first part.” He stood at the foot of the porch stairs. His body language showed he was still angry. His voice said he was disappointed, as well.
“You’re still coming tomorrow morning, aren’t you? And doing the grilling?”
“Of course. Emma, I’m sorry you heard all that.”
“Don’t be. Don’t people say that every family is more or less dysfunctional? We all drive each other nuts.” She came back down the stairs, held out her arms and hugged him. It took him a second to react, then he nearly crushed her ribs.
She stepped away from him and was across the porch and into her house before he was in position for a good-night kiss. Which obviously she didn’t want. He couldn’t blame her. Maybe he had acted like a jackass, but that was simply the way it was, the way he was. The situation wasn’t about to change until his father left town again. As he would. On his own. If he took too long, Seth would do it for him.
He walked back across the road. Emma was right—he’d have to call his mother and apologize. She’d want to know all about Emma.
Yeah, he’d like to know all about Emma, too. Right now he wasn’t sure where he stood with her or where he wanted to stand. All he knew was that he ached to hold her, make love to her—and the hell with everything else.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EMMA WAS UP at the crack of dawn to see to the skunks, but also to set up for the picnic. Maybe tablecloths and linen napkins was going a little overboard for hamburgers and hot dogs, but she wanted to show the people who were kind enough to help build her kennel that they were important to her.
She wasn’t unused to getting up early. When a meeting started at nine in the morning, she always had the setup checked by eight. That meant leaving home at seven. The town house on Mud Island was no more than two miles from the office, but she still drove her SUV from one parking spot to another. If she left it at home, guaranteed she’d have to make a quick trip to see a client in Forrest City or the suburbs of Memphis. Today, however, she wouldn’t be moving it from the side yard—the other side from where they were finishing the kennel. She was as jumpy as if she was doing a presentation for the CEOs of a dozen Fortune 500 companies.
At ten o’clock a giant silver crew cab pickup pulled into the yard and parked. Before it had stopped moving, all four doors opened, and a pair of half-grown boys tumbled out of the backseat while an attractive woman climbed out of the passenger side. She was carrying a big covered plastic bowl.
Earl came from the driver’s side. “Hey, Emma, how’s your foot?”
She’d prayed he wouldn’t mention her catapult into the azaleas. At least he didn’t go into big explanations for his wife.
“Fine, Earl. You do know how to wrap a sprain. Hey, you must be Janeen.”
She’d been interested to see the woman Earl had married. No sense in putting out her hand. Janeen was using both to hold the potato salad above the boys’ heads.
“Momma! This is the perfect tree!”
Emma turned as the smaller of the two boys grabbed his brother’s shoulders and began to climb up him as though he were a ladder.
“Boys! Get down here this instant and come meet Miss Emma,” Janeen said.
“Now!” Earl’s voice got a reaction that Janeen’s hadn’t. The larger boy shrugged his brother off his back. He rolled on the ground and howled.
“Get over here!”
Grudgingly, the older boy—Earl Jr.?—reached down and pulled his brother to his feet. “Aw, hush, Carl, you’re not hurt.”
Both boys raced over and jammed on their brakes one stride from their mother, who still held the potato salad over their heads. Emma almost reached for it, then dropped her hands. Grappling for possession would probably cause the whole thing to wind up on the ground.
“Hey, Miss Emma, I’m Earl Jr.,” the taller boy said. “This here’s Carl, squalling like a stuck hog. Shut up, Carl.”
Amazingly, he did. In an instant his particular weather had morphed from storms to sunshine. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the boys each gave Emma a smile that was as glorious as her brother, Patrick’s. They had wheat-blond hair like their father’s, and blue eyes that came from both parents, although Janeen’s hair was a suspicious strawberry blond, cut short and falling in waves around her heart-shaped face. The boys probably looked angelic asleep at night. The rest of the time—Emma remembered the cartoon character that moved so fast it was a blur.
“That’s the right tree, isn’t it, Daddy? Come on, let’s put the rope up.”
“Earl Jr., Miss Emma hasn’t heard about the plan yet. She may not want you climbing her tree.”
“But it’s the right one, Dad! I can do it. I don’t need Carl.”
“Janeen, come on in the house, and let’s get that potato salad in the refrigerator.” Emma led the way while the discussion about the rightness or wrongness of the tree went on in the background. Why the argument, she had no idea.
“This is charming!” Janeen said as she walked into the great room, which gave a whole new meaning to shabby chic. “Just right for one person.”
“It will be charming if I stay here long enough, which I probably won’t. In any case I have to get it ready to rent when I leave. This is just a stopgap between jobs. Here, let me have that bowl. It’ll fit in the refrigerator, but I may need to do some rearranging.” She moved around a couple of platters, slid in the
bowl and closed the fridge door. “What’s all this about my tree? They’re not considering cutting it down, are they, because...”
Janeen laughed and sat on one of the stools at the counter. “Lord, no. It’s supposed to be a surprise for you, but actually, it’s more to keep the boys occupied and out of the way until the kennel’s finished. As you can see, they tend to get above their raisin’ when they’re out in public. Entirely too much energy. That comes from Earl’s side of the family.”
“So the tree?”
“Earl and the boys brought all the stuff to put a bag swing on that tree. Only takes one rope, and a big burlap bag stuffed tight. You hang the rope...”
“Oh, I know! I had a bag swing on that very tree when I spent my summers here! I loved it. I wanted a swing made from an old tire, but Aunt Martha said I’d get filthy every time I swung on it, so we ended up using the bag instead.”
“Well, I’m sure they’ll have it up and swinging before everybody else gets here to work.”
Emma started for the front door, but Janeen laid a hand on her arm. “I suggest we hide in here until the preliminaries are complete. I’ve heard that going to a rock concert can ruin your hearing, but probably not as much as Earl and my boys hashing out how to do anything. Besides, we wanted to give those two something that was far enough from the kennel that they wouldn’t try to use the chain saw.”
“Even I wouldn’t use the chain saw,” Emma said.
“You’re not a boy,” Janeen said. “Earl Jr. will try anything, and what he tries, Carl demands to try, as well. We’ve told them they are not to pick up a tool, power or otherwise, and to stay out from under everyone’s feet. That doesn’t mean they’ll do it.” She cocked her head. “It’s too quiet. Come on.”
They were just in time to see Earl Jr. shimmy up the trunk of the old water oak farthest from the kennel and slide out on the big branch that stretched straight and strong ten feet above the ground.
“That high?” Emma whispered while visions of her homeowner’s liability insurance danced in her head. “Earl? Do they have to go so far up?”
Tennessee Rescue Page 13
