Wyatt opened his eyes to morning light streaking over the sky. The storm had blown itself out sometime during the night, leaving the world freshly washed. It felt like a new beginning.
Pins and needles shot through the arm that was pillowing her head, but he tried not to move and wake her. How well had she been sleeping since everything had gone down with Tarwater and Bree? Not well judging by how quickly and deeply she’d fallen asleep last night. Or maybe he’d worn her out. She’d certainly done a number on him.
He flexed his arm and grimaced. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. Again, the complexity and depth of her eyes made his breath crimp. Every single time. Her hair was a mess around her head where he’d run his hands through it. Her lips were soft and full in the vulnerable state between sleep and wakefulness. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
Their conversation from the night before loomed like an approaching waterfall he’d be forced over in a rotting barrel. He cursed the gala and briefly wondered if he could sabotage it. Using broken logic like a tree falling in a forest, if the gala never took place, this thing between him and Sutton wouldn’t ever have to end.
He was being naïve and fanciful. Gala or not, Sutton would eventually come to the conclusion that he fit like a square peg in her round little world. But right here, right now, she smiled at him like they stood a chance at forever.
“Morning, sunshine.” He leaned in to kiss her forehead before working his abused arm out from under her head.
“Morning.” Her sleepy smile morphed into panic. “Morning? What time is it?”
He lifted his head enough to glance at his bedside clock. “Almost eight.”
A shriek accompanied her launch out of the bed. If he hadn’t been so startled, he would have thoroughly enjoyed watching her shimmy back into her clothes. “Late for another date?”
“Yeah, with God. Church starts at eight thirty.”
“Why not skip? I doubt He keeps score.”
“Actually, it’s not God I’m worried about. It’s Mother. And Daddy for that matter. He likes to campaign with a united family front.” She dropped to her knees to look under his bed and came up with her underwear. “Why don’t you come with me?”
“Excuse me?”
She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled them on, giving him a last glimpse of her bare bottom and thighs. “Come with me. I can introduce you around. Might drum up some business.”
He hesitated. He wanted to go with her but not to be seen by the gossips or drum up business for the garage. He wanted to go for no other reason than to be able to sit beside her and hold her hand.
“Okay,” he said slowly as he tossed the sheets aside. “What should I wear?”
Her smile was bright and uncomplicated. “Khakis and a golf shirt or button down is fine. I’m going to have to wear this. We’ll be late getting a seat as it is.”
They shared the small bathroom. She twisted her hair up and stuck a clip in it. He handed her a toothbrush still in its packaging.
Her gaze met his in the mirror. “Do you keep a stash of new toothbrushes for your one-night stands?”
He stopped mid brush. If he had to put a finger on her attitude, he would put it squarely between hurt and pissed. He spit out the foam in his mouth. “Jackson and I tend to buy things in bulk because we hate to shop. Anyway, we aren’t a one-night stand.”
“No?”
He rinsed his mouth and shook his head. “Between now and the gala, I’m going to wear you out, woman. Now brush your teeth so I can give you a proper good morning kiss.”
She ripped the packaging off so fast he had to stifle laughter. While she finished freshening up, he dressed in the same pair of khakis he wore to the pig picking and a button down.
“You look great.” Shyness tinged her smile, which was quite a switch from the wild woman who’d ridden him into oblivion the night before.
He grabbed her hips and fit them together. “So do you.”
His mouth swooped to take hers, but she only allowed a quick peck before bobbing her face to the side and slapping him on the butt. “No time to mess around, stud. We’ve got a back pew to hold down.”
He let her go, her playfulness as much a surprise as her invitation to church was, and followed her down the stairs. They met Jackson coming through the back door of the barn, his sparring gloves on and his shirt off. Wyatt was relieved to see him in one piece.
“How was the track?” Wyatt asked.
“Fast and loud.”
“Did you win?”
Jackson’s eyebrows rose and a rare smile flashed. “… course, I did.”
“You sleep better afterward?”
“A few bad dreams brought on by Mack’s crappy couch.” Jackson raised his eyebrows, and Wyatt sent him silent thanks for not interrupting his night with Sutton. He was so out of practice, he hadn’t even given his brother a heads up.
Jackson’s gaze flicked to Sutton and back. “Where are you two headed?”
“Church in Mississippi.” Jackson’s mouth unhinged, and Wyatt held up his hands. “Don’t lecture me right now. We’re late.”
Jackson gave a slight shake of his head and turned his back to them to concentrate on driving his fist through the bag. Wyatt guided Sutton toward his car, a hand on her lower back.
“What is he going to lecture you about?”
“We can take my car. You want to drive?” His avoidance tactic worked if her gasp was any indication.
“You’ll let me drive the Hornet?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Because your car is worth five times as much as mine.”
“I’m counting on you not to run it into anything.” He tossed her the keys, and she scampered to the driver’s side to slip behind the wheel.
The engine growled, and she turned to him with a kid-in-the-candy-shop smile. “The first and only time I got to drive Andrew’s Camaro was the day I brought it into the shop, and I kept it to under twenty-five miles per hour.”
She worked the gearshift and clutch and got them rolling forward with only a small jerk. Once on the road, she hit the gas but maintained control. He never worried the car was getting the upper hand and relaxed back into the seat to watch her.
Her excitement reminded him of his first time behind the wheel of a real car, one with a V8 engine and rear-wheel drive. The experience had turned his love of cars into an obsession. He’d been ten, barely able to see over the wheel and reach the clutch.
His gaze drifted down. Her sun kissed legs worked the pedals, and he drifted back to the night before. He forced himself to watch the road to stave off his body’s natural reaction. Church, they were headed to church.
She pulled into the packed parking lot, maneuvering the car down a long row of trucks and cars to a spot at the end. A few other latecomers trickled through the side doors with them.
Organ music swelled over the murmur of conversations. After exchanging a wave with her mother up front, she took his hand and tugged him toward the back. They settled onto the cushioned pew. He wasn’t much for the hymns or preaching, but the light through the stained glass windows that lined the sanctuary filled him with something resembling peace.
Long ago Sunday mornings squirming between Aunt Hazel and Hyacinth bubbled up. Memories he’d thought lost. Aunt Hazel would pull candy out of her pocketbook to keep him still. Not the cheap peppermints his dad kept around, but the good stuff—chocolates and caramels and taffy.
Something had stuck from those times because the hymns were familiar, and he could recite the prayers word for word. He draped his arm over the back of the pew, and Sutton shifted into the crook of his body. He laid his hand, palm up on his thigh, and without any prompting, she slipped her hand inside.
As if an angel sent him a message from on high, one thought exploded in his head. He couldn’t let Sutton slip out of his life after the gala. His senses sharpened and turned inward, the preacher’s voice a murmur of white noise. He had to keep hold of her … forever.
Yes, the timing was crappy. She didn’t want to get serious, but he could bide his time. You didn’t go into restoring cars without a motherlode of patience. Rebuilding an engine took weeks of delicate work. Even once he was done, he wouldn’t know if he’d been successful until that first crank. It was the scariest, most exhilarating part of his job.
Could he wait until her heart was healed and ready for love again?
A bombastic song from the organist and the rustle of people standing brought him back to reality. Sutton’s attention was taken by an elderly man who’d come in late and sat on their left. Wyatt looked around, feeling like a freshwater fish dumped in the ocean.
Ford stood at the end of their pew, smiling and shaking the hands of the people shuffling out as if he were the preacher. Checking to see that Sutton was still occupied, Wyatt joined the line of people until only he and Ford remained.
“What are you doing here?” Ford’s teeth were clenched in a smile.
“What are you doing here?”
“I asked you first.” His rising ire cut away his smile.
Wyatt shrugged and tried to keep a smile off his face. The game they played was childish but satisfying. “I came with Sutton. Aunt Hyacinth know you’ve jumped the river?”
“Aren’t you taking this plan to drum up new business a little far? Someone’s going to get hurt.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” A protectiveness rose and drowned out any humor from the situation.
“Andrew’s told me his theories and none of them involve the two of you actually dating.”
“Are you and Tarwater besties now or something? I’d watch your back with that one,” Wyatt said.
“I don’t think he’s the one I need to worry about stabbing me in the back.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Please, you know exactly—” Ford put on a sunny smile like flipping a switch. “Hi, Sutton.”
Sutton looped her arm through Wyatt’s. “Hi, Ford. Nice to see you.”
“Actually, I needed to chat with your father. Do you know where he disappeared to?” Ford asked, any hint of his animosity toward Wyatt vanished.
“Looks like he’s already made a beeline for the parking lot.”
Ford shifted so Sutton couldn’t see his face, but Wyatt could. His expression took on the feral toothiness of a predator ready to attack. “I’ll be talking to you later, little bro.”
Wyatt resisted the urge to flip his middle finger in response. Anyway, the dig was weak. Ford might be the oldest, but Wyatt had two inches on him and working in the garage had made him tougher and stronger. All Ford’s Mississippi socializing and golf afternoons were taking a toll.
“Does my brother make regular appearances on Sunday?” Wyatt leaned in to whisper his question to Sutton, keeping his eyes on the back of Ford’s head.
“Every Sunday for the past few months.”
Was Ford forging connections to help the garage or was he inserting himself into the social strata he’d pined for from afar? He sure as shit wasn’t coming because he’d found religion. Before Ford was out of sight, a group of women surrounded them, their voices blending into a high-pitched chatter that reminded him of a murder of crows.
Although they seemed to be directing their outpouring of words toward Sutton, their gazes examined him as if trying to determine his species. Sutton performed introductions and their names—Emily and Chloe and Olivia—were as trendy as their clothes and blowouts and their beauty pageant smiles. They were virtually indistinguishable.
Sutton, on the other hand, looked delightfully unkempt. She was make-up free, and her hair mussed. She looked like she’d rolled out of bed after spending the night out doing very naughty things. Which as a matter of fact, she had.
She leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Quit that.”
“What?” He attempted a look of innocence, but was pretty sure it came off like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Quit stripping me naked in your head.”
“I wasn’t doing anything of the sort.” He dropped his faked outrage for an insinuating rumble. “But now I am.”
“Wyatt.” The playful slap she gave him was accompanied by a flush of color, but not one of embarrassment. No, it was all arousal. What would she do if he tossed her over his shoulder and headed back to his bed? What would the upper crust of Cottonbloom, Mississippi, think?
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. More than anything, the gesture turned him from an outsider into someone who belonged. Belonged at her side.
One of the crows gained his attention. “Will we be seeing more of you on Sundays, Mr. Abbott?”
Not sure how to answer that question, he sidestepped it. “Call me Wyatt. I’d hate to be confused with my brothers. I suppose you ladies are acquainted with Ford?”
“Ford is an absolute sweetheart, isn’t he?” The other women nodded and murmured their agreement. Wyatt pasted his lips shut and hummed to keep from speaking his mind.
Sutton tugged him backward down the pew and toward the back door. “I’ll see y’all at the League meeting on Tuesday. Wyatt and I need to scoot.”
The sunshine was blinding, but the storm had ushered in a cool front that dropped the humidity and turned the temperature pleasant. Escape was in sight when an older, distinguished looking lady flagged Sutton down.
“Mrs. Carson probably wants to talk about the centerpieces for the gala. Can you give me a minute?”
“I’ll wait at the car.” He took a few steps backward. She bent down to put her head close to the older lady.
He turned, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and ambled toward the Hornet, his gaze on the faded yellow lines of the parking lot.
“Glad I caught you alone.” Ford’s low voice came from the shade of a white flowering crepe myrtle on a landscaped bank.
Instead of laying into Ford with his suspicions, Wyatt tried a different tack. “You know what yesterday was, don’t you?”
A shadow of reflected grief passed over Ford’s face. “Yeah. Didn’t see any reason to show up someplace I’m not welcome.”
“You’re our brother; you’re always welcome, but a promise not to sell out to some third party would relieve the tension around the shop.”
At Ford’s long silence, Wyatt thought he might have gotten through to his older brother. Ford stepped closer, and Wyatt braced for a hug.
“You need to head back over the river, keep doing what you’re good at, and let me handle cultivating connections that will turn into projects.” Ford’s tone was dismissive.
Resentment that Wyatt had stuffed away for years sprang out like a trick snake from a can, and he shoved Ford’s shoulder. “You want me to stay in the pit, elbows deep in grease. That about right? You have no fucking idea what I’m good at. I could have gone to college like you. You’re not some special snowflake.”
Ford adjusted his sport coat. “Threatening me like we’re on the school playground only proves my point. You’re not the kind of man we need to take Abbott Brothers Garage and Restoration to the next level. And neither is Mack.”
Shoved somewhere deep inside him was the fear that Ford was exactly right. “And you are with your fake smile and fake manners?”
Ford glanced over Wyatt’s shoulder and stalked off.
Sutton touched Wyatt’s arm, and he startled.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Not really, but nothing I can do about it right now.” Or at all, he feared. Ford had deftly sidestepped any promise of not selling out. Was that by design? He shook off the confrontation.
The sky was blue, the sun was out, and Sutton was at his side—for now. He wasn’t one to let opportunities vanish through indecision.
“How about we grab some of Rufus’s barbeque and head back to my place for a picnic in the woods?”
“Only if we can stop by my house long enough for me to shower and change.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He slipped behind the wheel. The growl and vibration of the engine helped stamp out the residual anger and worry from his confrontation with Ford.
Her house was a less than five-minute drive from the church. She stowed her purse and shoes. “Do you want to brew some coffee while I get ready? Everything is in the cabinet above the pot,” she said before disappearing down the short hall and closing the door.
His faint hope she’d invite him into the shower to keep her company died a quick death. That was okay, though; he’d have all day and hopefully all night with her. He busied himself with the coffee maker, the aroma filling the room.
As he was pouring himself a cup, the doorbell rang, followed immediately by a brisk rapping. No use in pretending no one was here considering his car was out front. He tiptoed toward the door and peered down the hall. Hearing nothing, he continued on toward the shadowy figure he could see on the other side of the door.
A bad feeling simmered in his belly, but he forced a smile and opened the door. Sutton’s mother stood frozen with her hand raised for another knock. When it became clear she wasn’t going to say anything, he stepped aside and gestured her in. “Good morning, Mrs. Mize. Coffee just finished perking. Want a cup?”
“Where’s Sutton?” She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and brushed by him, heading straight to the kitchen.
“Shower.” He didn’t miss the pointed gaze she aimed in his direction, but chose not to acknowledge it.
A faded version of Sutton, Mrs. Mize had straighter blond hair cut into a chin-length bob. She cut a trim figure in her rose-colored Sunday suit. Fine lines etched her eyes and mouth, but he could tell she fought the encroachment with every weapon available. Only her neck and hands betrayed the creep of years.
It was the color of her eyes that marked the biggest difference with Sutton. Mrs. Mize’s were a light, clear blue, not the complex swirl of her daughter’s. If eyes were the window into the soul, he wondered what the difference meant.
She poured herself a coffee, obviously familiar with where everything was stored in Sutton’s kitchen. With both hands wrapped around a mug, she turned back to him. Her intense scrutiny amped up his nerves, and he fought the urge to look away or squirm.
“You were at church today,” she said.
“Sutton invited me. It was a very nice service.” If the woman asked him any specifics about the sermon, he was screwed. His mind had been wholly occupied with Sutton.
Mrs. Mize put her mug on the counter, slowly and carefully, as if gathering her thoughts. “Can we talk honestly, Mr. Abbott?”
“I’d prefer that to pussyfooting around.”
A smile flashed so quickly, he blinked, sure he’d imagined it when confronted once again by her funereal face. “My daughter recently ended a very serious relationship.”
“I’m quite aware. I was there as a witness.”
She hummed. “Is what Sutton told us true?”
“If you’re talking about pulling another woman’s panties from under the seat of Tarwater’s car, then yes. Sutton wouldn’t lie to you.” Or would she? He had no idea what she’d told her parents about him or them.
“In that case, good riddance. I need to make sure my husband no longer includes Andrew in his foursomes for golf. He’d like to pretend it never happened, but some things can’t be forgiven. Sutton is too good for Andrew.” The steel in her voice indicated that while the judge might rule the courtroom, his wife ruled everything else.
“I agree on all counts.”
Mrs. Mize picked her coffee back up and took a sip, her eyebrows rising. “She’s too good for you too. You have the reputation as an excellent mechanic and quite the ladies’ man.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear. Except about my skills under the hood of the car. That’s all true.” When her expression didn’t change at his thin attempt at humor, he rubbed his nape and shifted on his feet. Looks like he was having his coffee with a side of honesty. “Your daughter is amazing and funny and beautiful and I … like her. A lot. Last thing I want is to hurt her.”
What he didn’t add was that he was at high risk for getting demolished by her. Totaled, in fact.
She harrumphed, the corner of her mouth drawn back. Between the caffeine and waiting for her verdict, his heart thumped so hard it was a wonder she couldn’t see it. She must have taken lessons passing down judgment from her husband.
“That coffee smells divine.” Sutton came around the corner with a white fluffy towel wrapped her body, showcasing her long legs. “Mom!”
“You sat so far away that I didn’t have a chance to chat with you and your young man after the service.”
“I guess you two have had a chance to talk now?” Sutton pulled the towel tighter around her body and shot him a panicked look.
“We have. Maggie and I were going out for lunch since your daddy will have his butt planted in front of the TV all afternoon with a bag of Cheetos. But it seems you have plans and I’m going to get out of your hair.” She deposited her mug in the sink and nodded at Wyatt. “Nice to see you again, young man.”
She stopped to give Sutton a kiss on the cheek and whisper something in her ear that had her glancing in Wyatt’s direction. “Toodleloo, kids,” she called out on her way out the door.
“How awkward was that?” Sutton asked.
“On a scale from one to ten? At least an eleven.”
“I knew I should have gotten dressed, but I thought—” She covered her mouth.
“You can still think. We can think.” He grabbed the long edge of towel, leaned against the counter, and pulled her between his legs. “I’m always in the mood to think.”
“No way can I think after walking in and seeing my mother in the middle of my kitchen. Did she embarrass you?”
“She was feeling out my intentions. It was actually really sweet.”
“What did you tell her?”
He wasn’t quite ready to quit pussyfooting around with her. “Promised not to hurt you.”
She slapped his shoulder. “Why’d you do that? She might come after you with my granddaddy’s old shotgun after we part ways.”
“Explain to me again why we’re doing this?” He wasn’t sure what he was asking, but he was getting more confused by the day.
She backed away, clutching the edges of the towel together. “You were okay with this last week.” The defensive edge to her voice bisected his chest and left his heart exposed.
Life could change in a week. Life could change in a day, an hour, a single moment in time. His pop’s sudden death had taught him that. The problem was his life had changed because of her, but her pivotal moment had been when he’d pulled those panties from under the seat. It had nothing to do with him. He had merely been a bystander.
The question now was what to do about it. Was he a quitter or a fighter? He had twenty years of evidence to support the fact he never backed down from a challenge. It had gotten him stuck up trees and beat up on the playground, and he wasn’t ready to give up on her.
“I’m still okay with it.” He tugged her close and brushed his lips across hers. “Go get dressed. I promised you a picnic.”