“Morality, it could be argued, represents the way that people would like the world to work, whereas economics represents how it actually does work.”
― Steven D. Levitt, Freakonomics
~Cletus~
“Where were you on Friday?”
The question startled me. My eyes shot up. Jethro stood on the other side of the counter, wearing a nice dress shirt that made his eyes look green. He was looking at me as though nothing was amiss.
He was up to no good.
I frowned at his sudden appearance. “You look nice. When did you get here?”
“Just now.”
I squinted at him. “Just now?”
“Yep. I let myself in.” He tossed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the door.
I blinked at this news. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Really?” He leaned his elbow on the counter. “I wasn’t particularly quiet.”
“Hmm . . .” I shifted my attention back to the quote for service I was reviewing. Shelly had initiated it. She’d done a good job.
“Cletus?”
“Yeah?” I double-checked her figure for labor, comparing it to the dealer’s website. The labor amount seemed high, but it checked out.
“Where were you on Friday?”
I stilled, bracing for the flashes of memory: Jenn’s eyes as she pressed me back to the bed, her mouth on mine, her hands on me. The images and sensations had been playing on repeat since Friday night. As had the aftermath.
She’d climbed on top of my body and snuggled close, kissing my chest and neck and chin, saying, “I want us to be like this always.”
“Cletus?” Jethro snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Hello? Where’d you go?”
“Someplace nicer than here,” I mumbled. I’d meant it to be a joke, but it didn’t sound like a joke. Maybe it didn’t sound like a joke because it was the truth.
Being with Jennifer, just the two of us, was preferable to double-checking service quotes. Being alone with her was more preferable to anyone, anywhere, and anything else.
And there’s the rub.
We had no place to be alone. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t so keen on living at home and keeping tabs on my brothers. They could keep tabs on themselves.
“Speaking of nice places,” I cleared my throat and endeavored to appear nonchalant, “do you know if Claire is still looking to rent her place?”
“I think so, why? You know someone?”
“I might.” This glimmer of an idea had occurred to me on Saturday and was quickly becoming a wildfire. “I guess I’ll give her a call.”
Claire’s place would be a good temporary fix. It was halfway between Jennifer’s house and the Winston homestead. The old farmhouse sat on two acres of land, plenty of room for Jenn’s garden beds. I’d have to invest in a writing desk for her, someplace close to a north- or south-facing window so she’d have the best light.
“You never answered my question,” my brother pressed.
Jennifer Sylvester loved me. I loved Jennifer Sylvester.
A fact.
Surreal.
She hadn’t said it yet, but I knew the truth. I could tell. Yep.
She loves me.
“Did you ask a question?” I was still thinking on Claire’s place, the ideal privacy it would afford, and the fact that Jennifer loved me.
After cuddling for too short a time, I drove Jennifer home. I held her hand as we walked to the car. I held her hand while I drove. I held her hand as I walked her to her porch. And then I was forced to let go of her hand.
I’d had indigestion since. Not real indigestion; I was suffering from a type of heartburn caused by missing a person.
Agitating matters, I’d spotted an article in The New Yorker on Saturday morning about verbing and wanted to share it with her.
Saturday afternoon, I’d been forced to call Repo—the highest ranking member of the Iron Wraiths other than Razor St. Claire—and request a sit down for the week after Jethro’s wedding. Repo knew us Winstons as kids and used to insist we call him Uncle Repo. He and my daddy used to be good friends, but I had no idea if they still considered each other brothers.
Also of note, I suspected Repo was—in fact—Jessica James’s biological father. I hadn’t shared this theory with Duane about his woman, but I was fairly certain. However, that’s a different story for a different day.
The good news was Repo sounded amused by the whole business with Isaac Sylvester. The bad news was I could hear Catfish in the background making threats.
Then on Sunday, the pastor’s wife had cornered me after church and asked if I knew anything about roses. I did not. But I knew who did.
“Yes, I asked a question. Where were you on Friday?” Jethro asked again.
I scratched my beard. My phone buzzed in my pocket, so I pulled it out and read the screen.
Jenn: I had a lox bagel for lunch and thought of you.
I studied her text for a full minute, re-reading it several times. Jenn and I had sent each other a quantity of texts since Saturday morning. I’d never sent a quantity of texts to anyone. Up to this point in my life, text messaging was for relaying grocery lists and status updates.
But now they were mini-conversations, each holding weight and importance, yet none adequately satisfied the missing-person perpetual indigestion. I wanted to see her. We had too many things left unsettled. It was time to impose order on the chaos and plan our course. It was time to move forward together.
And, in the interest of full disclosure, I couldn’t stop thinking about her body. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things I wanted to do to her, all the ways I wanted to monopolize her time and space
“Cletus?” Jethro asked hesitantly.
“Just a minute.” I held my finger up and typed a quick response.
Cletus: Why’d you think of me? Because I’m fishy? Cheesy?
Jenn: Because it had capers; lox bagels give a whole new meaning to the word “capering.”
I grinned at that. She had this effect on me. Was my case was terminal?
“So, Friday?” Jethro prompted again.
“I was, uh . . .” I scratched my jaw. “None of your business.”
He was quiet for a stretch and I could feel his eyes on me. Finally, he said, “Fine. Suit yourself. I’m here on a mission.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you bringing anyone to the wedding?”
“Yes,” I said, but then frowned. I’d forgotten to ask Jennifer to the wedding. My frowned deepened because, last anyone heard, she’d agreed to go with Jackson James.
“Well?”
“Well what?” My eyes flickered to his, then away.
“Who is it?”
I slipped my phone back in my pocket and glowered at my brother. “Why do you want to know?”
He gave me a patient smile. “It’s Shelly, right?”
“What’s Shelly?”
“Who you’re bringing. You’re bringing Shelly, right?”
“Why would I do that?”
Two lines of surprise and consternation formed between Jethro’s eyebrows. “Because you said—I mean, last I heard you’d decided she was it.”
I thought back over the last several months to my conversation with Jethro in early September. And then I decided I’d been a damn fool.
“No. Not Shelly. Shelly Sullivan is my employee and I’ll thank you not to speak of her in such terms.” I glanced at my watch, remembering that the last time I’d spotted Shelly she was trying to replace a leaky radiator. I needed to check on her progress. It was almost closing and I didn’t want her staying late. She always stayed late. The woman needed to find some sort of work-life balance.
Jethro sounded like he didn’t know whether to frown or laugh. “Are you serious?”
“As an armadillo in a laundry mat.” I turned from the counter and marched to the door at the back of the office.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“I need to close the shop,” I called over my shoulder.
I heard his footsteps follow around the counter and he hastened to keep up. “What happened to finding your life partner?”
“I changed my mind.”
“You changed—”
“My. Mind.” I stopped short and faced him, placing my hands on my hips. “It’s like underpants, Jethro.”
“Dirty and dark?” He smirked.
“No.” I scowled at his facial expression. “A mind is like underpants because people change them all the time.”
“But you don’t.”
“I do change my underpants all the time, Jethro. And, for the record, I think it’s mighty rude of you to assume I don’t.”
He almost rolled his eyes, but caught the urge. “I meant your mind, Cletus. You don’t change your mind.”
I spotted Shelly over by the basin sink. She was scrubbing her hands. “Do as the song says and let it go. You have your answer.”
“So, you’re bringing someone, but it’s not Shelly?”
“That’s right.” I nodded, stepping around my brother.
“Who is it?” he called after me, bringing me to a halt.
I hesitated, giving him my profile. I shrugged. “She doesn’t know she’s going with me yet.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes.”
His green eyes flickered over my person with unveiled curiosity. “How can you be sure she’ll say yes?”
“She’ll say yes,” I answered too quickly, and then caught my mistake too late. Jethro’s smirk was back.
“Fine. I’ll let Sienna know you’ll be bringing a plus-one.”
“Good. Now leave. You could’ve sent me a text to ask me about this.”
“Yes, but then I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to you about the bachelor party.”
My eyes bulged before I could catch the involuntary response. I stared at my brother.
He’d caught me.
Dammit.
“Yes, Cletus. I know all about the bachelor party.”
Schooling my expression, I picked an imaginary piece of lint from my sleeve. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do too, liar.” Jethro gave me an easy smile, laughing, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Duane let it slip.”
“Duane?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Duane doesn’t talk. How could he have let it slip? Did he do an interpretive dance?”
“No. But speaking of interpretive dancing, I know you’re planning on strippers.” Jethro’s tone was flat and edged with displeasure.
I didn’t laugh, but I wanted to. Jethro had no idea. No. Idea.
“It’s just one stripper, Jethro. I think you can sit through one stripper. Besides, you might learn something. We all might pick up some good moves.” With that I clapped my hand on Jethro’s shoulder, gave him a squeeze of assurance, which did nothing to ease the discontent in his expression, then left my oldest brother to his ignorance.
I crossed the shop to where Shelly was scrubbing her hands, smirking to myself. I wasn’t typically a smirking to myself kind of person, but this situation definitely called for clandestine smirking.
She glanced at me, her eyes sliding to me, then away. “What do you want?”
I opened my mouth to respond but Jethro shouted from across the shop, “I am so afraid, Cletus.”
So I shouted back, “Think of Sienna. She’ll thank you.”
Then I turned my attention back to Shelly. She’d lifted an eyebrow at me. I wiped my expression.
“When do you think you’ll be done for the day?”
“Now. Why?” Shelly moved her attention back to her scrubbing.
“Oh.” I nodded. “Good. That’s good.”
Apparently I didn’t need to lecture her about work-life balance. For now.
“Also, I’m taking two days off next week.” She turned on the water, rinsing the suds from her fingers.
“That should be fine. Duane is leaving a week from Thursday, so if you have any questions for him before you go, make sure you ask before then.”
“Why do you need the days off?”
Both Shelly and I looked to her right, finding Beau with his arms crossed and a thoughtful frown on his face.
I noted that her back and neck stiffened at his question and she tilted her chin an inch, like she was preparing for a fight. She didn’t answer straightaway, but when she did her voice was more aloof than was typical.
Which was very aloof.
“My brother had a baby. He wants me to see it.” Shelly picked up the soap and began scrubbing again.
I frowned at her hands. They were already red from her washing and, from what I could see, completely clean.
Beau blinked at Shelly’s cold response. “Don’t you want to see the baby?” His tone was patient and gentle and surprised the heck out of me. I’d never heard him speak to her with anything but contempt.
She didn’t reply. As the time stretched, I lifted my eyebrows at her then shifted my attention to Beau. My brother continued staring at her profile. Waiting.
Something was off. Something about the way he looked at her . . .
He fancies her.
I saw it, clear as day in the set of his jaw and the complete lack of pretense in his expression. He wasn’t being smooth or flirtatious. But, if I reflected on the matter, smooth and flirtatious would likely be completely lost on Shelly Sullivan. The more I studied the tension between them the more certain I became. If I had to place a bet, I’d even say he fancied her against his will.
Meanwhile, she was ignoring him.
Silence mounted, growing heavy, and still he waited.
As elucidating as the last five minutes had been, I couldn’t spare any more time as a bystander. Plus I didn’t have any popcorn to eat while I gawked. I had things that needed doing and not enough time to do them.
“Well,” I said suddenly, making Shelly jump just a hair. “I’m sure I’ll see you again between now and your trip, but if I forget to say so, safe travels, Shelly.”
I turned and I left, making a mental note to clear the air with Beau as soon as possible, inform the man I had no interest in Ms. Sullivan.
Consequently, his interest in Shelly—willingly or not—was excellent news. Not only would it be good for business, but she would also be good for Beau. She was unique in many ways, not the least of which was her imperviousness to his charm.
I couldn’t wait to meddle.
***
Shelly left the shop.
Then Beau left the shop five minutes later.
I ignored the transparently suspicious timing. I needed to set my own affairs in order, and that meant calling Claire McClure about her house.
She didn’t pick up her phone, so I left a message, told her I’d be stopping by her place and would let myself in. I knew where she kept the spare key as Jethro and I had been maintaining the place since she’d left town.
I’d just left the office to lock up the garage when I heard footsteps, gravel crunching under shoes. I turned and spotted Kip Sylvester in his suit, approaching from the parking lot.
Instinctively, I straightened my spine. I had no business with Kip Sylvester. He had his family’s BMWs maintained by the dealer. That meant he paid retail on all repairs and only a fool paid retail.
“Evening, Cletus.” He stopped at the edge of the garage, giving me a practiced smile. “Long time no see.”
“Mr. Sylvester.” I nodded once, somberly. “What brings you out to the shop tonight?”
“Oh, I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by.”
“I see.”
He was quiet as he glanced around the shop, the tools lining the walls, various toolboxes and machinery. Then his eyes lit on the car to my left.
“Holy smokes, is that a—”
“Yes, sir. It is. A 1956 Jaguar.”
“Whoa. That thing’s a beauty. Are you working on it for somebody?”
“Yes. I’m working on it for me.” That was a falsehood. It was a wedding present for Sienna, but he didn’t need to know that. Kip Sylvester had once made an idiot of himself in front of my future sister-in-law. He was beyond star-struck whenever he spotted her.
“For you?” he questioned, like he found this information remarkably surprising.
“Yes.”
The man looked between my automobile and me. He was confused, that was clear. What wasn’t clear was why he was here. I didn’t want to guess.
“Why are you here?” I asked with a hard voice and gave him a hard look. Chitchatting with banal Kip Sylvester was like being interrupted by a pack of diuretic dogs.
“Oh, you know, just . . .” he started, stopped, sighed, smiled and shrugged like he gave up. “I’m here because of Jennifer.”
My eyebrows lifted on their own accord, without my consent. “Jennifer. Your daughter, Jennifer?”
“That’s right. I heard about what happened . . . the other night.”
Schooling my expression into an affable mask of bemusement, I scratched the back of my neck. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
He sighed again. “I was afraid of that. Look, Cletus, you’re a nice boy.”
I’m not. I’m really, really not.
“Thank you, Mr. Sylvester.”
He continued as though I hadn’t spoken, clearly having rehearsed a speech prior to his arrival. “But Diane and I, we have big plans for our daughter. You know she has over one million followers on the Instagram? And lots more on the other social media sites.”
I knew this. Even so, I said, “I did not know it was so many.”
“Well, she does. That little girl carries a lot of star power, and her momma has worked real hard to make her what she is and to keep her reputation spotless. You understand, we can’t be having her acting recklessly, and getting involved where no good can come of it.”
I stood straighter at his implied insult. Now usually I don’t bother getting offended by people as pointless as Kip Sylvester. But, despite being bland as unflavored oats, Kip wasn’t quite pointless anymore. He was Jenn’s daddy. She thought she owed him love and respect, and unfortunately that made him somebody.
I took my time deliberating while he watched me with a tepid smile.
Then he said, “You understand,” and nodded like things were settled. He turned to go.
Before I could catch myself, I asked, “You don’t like Jennifer associating with me?”
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide like my blunt words concerned him. Kip lifted his hands between us, like he might do with an angry dog.
“Now, don’t take offense, but it’s not you we have a problem with, not precisely. It’s her associated with young men in general.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really. She’s been sheltered, doesn’t understand things the way someone her age usually would, and that’s on me, but—”
“What about Drew Runous?”
Kip snapped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked. He blinked several times before asking, “Dr. Runous?”
“Yeah. If memory serves, there was a story going around a while back about Jenn driving out to the ranger station, dropping off some baked goods, and then—”
“Yes. I’m familiar with the story and it’s true. Bless her heart.”
Did he just bless his own daughter’s heart? My blood pressure spiked.
He continued, “But Dr. Runous comes from a quality family. His father is a senator in Texas. It wasn’t an association we’d shy from, if the opportunity had presented itself.”
“And my family isn’t? Quality?” I fought to keep my tone even and my expression benign.
Rationally, I knew what Kip Sylvester thought didn’t matter. It didn’t. As Jennifer’s somebody, if he made trouble for me, I’d make trouble for him. He didn’t know it yet, but he was going to bless my union with his daughter and then he was going to support my wishes in all things, including but not limited to forcing his wife to back off my woman.
So why his opinions made my temples ache wasn’t entirely clear. All I knew was, with every foul sentence he’d uttered, my anger swelled.
Kip shook his head quickly, denying my last question. “Not at all. That’s not at all what I meant. Your momma was an Oliver. Your family is as old as the Paytons and Donners in these parts, on your momma’s side. In fact, I haven’t discouraged Jennifer from your brother Billy. He’s got a good head on his shoulders and has always shown the kind of ambition I’d like in a son-in-law.”
Wow . . .
WOW.
He is more of a narcissistic parasite than I thought.
I nodded and ground my teeth, plastering on a faint smile. I began drafting a mental list of all the pie I’d eaten over the last year, who’d baked it, and whether it had been seasonally appropriate. It was a complicated ranking, because I liked pie, and the only thing keeping Kip Sylvester from my temper.
I was angry. A lot angrier than I should have been.
“Look, Cletus. Here’s the crux of it. We don’t like the idea of Jenn having . . .” he seemed to be struggling for the right words, finally settling on, “casual male friends. If she has a friend in you, then it might give her ideas.” The principal sighed again. He did a lot of sighing. It was irritating.
“Oh. I see. You don’t want her to have ideas,” I said, again before I could catch myself.
“Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly right.” He nodded quickly, smiling. And then, as though realizing what he’d just said, he shook his head vehemently. “Wait, no. That’s not what I meant.”
“Hmm.” I squinted at him, taking perverse delight in how his face was turning an unnatural shade of red. “I don’t know, Principal. I think that’s exactly what you meant. The way I see it, you and Mrs. Sylvester have a lot invested in your daughter not having ideas.”
“Now, Cletus, son. Don’t be putting words in my mouth. That’s not how it is.” He lifted his voice, growing tense.
His anxiety had a cooling effect on my temper. I was still angry, but instead of being hot-headed, the fury I felt had turned frosty.
“Oh, now, Kip, I think we’re both saying the same thing here.” I smiled and shrugged. “You and Mrs. Sylvester need your daughter with her reputation intact, her brain free of the worries that come from independent thought. Makes sense to me.”
His frown deepened. He looked disconcerted.
I reached for a rag to wipe my hands. “If she were to ‘go rogue’ and pursue a relationship with someone who didn’t bolster her image—and therefore the brand you and your wife have so painstakingly created—then that might interfere with your plans and financial well-being. Right?”
“Uh, well . . . right. But—”
I nodded somberly. His features relaxed. Seeing the somber nod usually made people relax.
“Mr. Sylvester. Sir. You don’t need to worry about me.”
He sighed again, a big exhale of relief. “Thank you, Cletus. That’s great to hear—”
“I won’t tarnish her image. Not one bit. Whereas you, on the other hand . . .” I stopped nodding, held his gaze with mine, allowing just a touch of my anger through the wall of self-control.
His eyes widened and I was gratified by the edge of fear in his voice as he asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Just that it wouldn’t look good if it was known that the sweet Banana Cake Queen’s father has been carrying on an affair with his secretary for the last—oh, let’s see—four years?”
***
I didn’t tell her I was coming. I didn’t even know myself until I cut the engine and discovered I’d arrived at the Donner Bakery parking lot right off the kitchen.
It was still Monday night. I’d just left her father to marinate in my threat. At first, as was typical, he’d denied my accusation. The usual order was: denial, anger, then bargaining. Bargaining was usually my favorite part. Not this time. Something about bargaining for his cooperation left my mouth tasting like sawdust and lemon.
I wanted him to accept that Jennifer’s decisions belonged to her and her alone. Who she associated with, what she wore, what she did wasn’t up to him, or his wife, or their son.
He refused to accept that his daughter was capable of making her own decisions. However, in the end, he conceded to my demands that he not interfere. We’d made terms: he would back off and support my courting his daughter and I wouldn’t filet his life.
I stared at the back of the building, knowing Jennifer was inside. Jennifer’s car was parked closest to the door. My heart did one of its kamikaze leaps against my ribcage.
I’d missed her. I was asphyxiating with how much I’d missed her.
She’s busy. You should let her work . . .
Instead, I set forth.
After the unpleasantness with her daddy, I needed to see that she was well. I decided there was no harm in stopping by for a few minutes. Maybe I would show her The New Yorker article on verbing. Maybe I’d just stare at her and listen to her talk. That sounded nice.
I strolled with purpose to the back door. I knocked. I waited. There was no answer. I knocked again. Still no answer.
Finding the door open, I frowned. The door shouldn’t have been unlocked. I would have to remind her to lock it when I left and make sure it was locked from now on.
“Jennifer?” I called, closing the door behind me, locking it, and searching the kitchen. The lights were on, a mixer sat on the counter with ingredients and such scattered about, but she was nowhere in sight.
I was just about to search the front when she appeared from the back pantry, carrying a bag of flour. I stopped dead in my tracks as my eyes moved over her form. Her back was to me and it was completely naked from her neck to the tie around her waist.
Jennifer had on an apron, red lace underwear, stockings, and nothing else.
I must’ve made a sound, though I didn’t recall doing so, because she spun, her eyes wide, and gasped.
“Oh my God!” Jumping, she dropped the bag of flour and it spilled over the floor. Her hands flew to her chest—which was mostly covered by the apron. Mostly.
She breathed out, closing her eyes, then her next breath was a relieved laugh. “Oh my God, you scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I was too busy re-memorizing every curve of her luscious body, barely concealed by the thin layer of cotton. My mouth watered. I wasn’t fixating on a fantasy or memories from Friday because the generosity of reality drove every other thought from my mind.
Silence both stretched and thickened . . . and so did other things.
But then she lifted her lashes, looked at me with her impossible violet eyes, and said in her sweet way, “I missed you.”