Sutton pulled on shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Checking herself in the mirror, she slapped some color into her cheeks before pulling her hair up in a ponytail. Wyatt’s line of questioning made everything go topsy-turvy in her head.
Things had gotten messy, and thoughts of the gala grew an ever-expanding pit of dread in her stomach. He was her rebound. Better to end it before she did something stupid like fall for him. She smiled at herself in the mirror until it looked natural. Fake it until you make it.
Wyatt stood at the sink, his back to her, as he washed the coffee mugs. The man was a sex god who cleaned up after himself. How had someone not snapped him up and put a ring on it?
His ex-girlfriend Candace’s words traipsed through Sutton’s head. He was a drifter in spirit if not actuality, going from one woman to the next. She was only a pit stop. Or even worse, a project.
“I’m ready,” she said softly.
He dried his hands on a dishtowel and turned with a smile on his face. But deeper emotions hid behind his eyes and gave her pause. Her heart stumbled with the sense of vertigo.
“I called Rufus and put an order in. Should be ready by the time we get there.” He led the way to the door, and she locked up behind them.
When they were in his car, she said, “I didn’t think he took calls on Sunday mornings. It’s usually packed.”
“I’m special.” His wink lightened the mood and restored her sense of equilibrium. “Rufus is an old family friend. Plus, the shop orders so many lunch plates we basically keep him in business.”
He left Sutton waiting in the car while he picked up the barbeque, and they were back on the road in five minutes. They filled the time with talk about current events and shared simple things like their favorite movies and TV shows, finding more common ground than she expected.
He stopped off at his loft to grab a quilt and flung it over his shoulder, leading the way out the back of the barn and into the woods. The magic that resided in the woods reached out and pulled her closer.
They crossed from sun to dappled shadows at the tree line. Birds trilled and the wind rustled the leaves. Trailing behind Wyatt, she looked around. It was a typical, normal wood, and the sense of magic dissipated, leaving her with an edge of sadness.
She shook off the feeling and smiled at Wyatt when he turned for her to catch up. “Where are we headed?”
“River’s not far.”
“No gators?”
“Probably not.” His smile was sly and teasing.
“You heard anything from Ms. Effie?”
“A couple of ladies have called for estimates.”
She gasped and slapped his arm. “That’s awesome. So at least two new projects?”
“Not exactly. Mack will give them an estimate of the work and what the car might bring at auction. He’s honest to the core. Sometimes dumping money into a car doesn’t make financial sense if they want to turn a profit. Restoration ain’t cheap.”
“I didn’t realize how difficult it was to woo a client.”
“Kind of like wooing a woman.”
“Har-har.” A root tripped her up, and she grabbed his arm, not letting go once she’d regained her balance. The muscle felt nice under her hand, and he was officially hers for now. The sound of water flowing became louder, and his pace picked up.
“Guess what Mags did,” she said.
“Apply to clown school.”
Her laughter spurted out and echoed back. “She convinced me to sell some of my work at Abigail’s. She even put one of my gowns on a mannequin to display in the window.”
“That’s great. How’d it feel?”
“I was afraid to look. But she thinks it will attract customers.” Her sister’s confidence in her clothes still had the power to bring stinging tears to her eyes. Maybe Sutton would find the courage to go through the front door on Monday morning.
“I have no doubt you’ll be a success.” Wyatt laid a kiss on her temple and gave her a soft smile. “There’s my favorite tree.”
Where the earth fell away to the river, a hulking evergreen stood sentinel. Branches curved to the ground giving it a teepee-like feel. The needles were sharp and piney-smelling. Sutton let go of Wyatt’s arm and hunched to see under the branches, but they were thick.
“Come around here.” Wyatt held back a limb and she ducked under.
Braches as thick as her leg pinwheeled from a huge trunk—the only opening was a lookout over the river that had been trimmed. The ground was covered in brown fronds. Wyatt spread out the quilt and gestured for her to sit.
“This is the perfect hide-out.”
“That’s what we thought too when we were kids.”
She lay down on the quilt and stared up into the spokes of the tree. It was mostly bare inside where the sun didn’t penetrate, leaving a surprisingly amount of room. “Have you ever camped out here?”
“A few times, mostly Jackson and I snuck out here to shirk our work and fish. First time either of us got drunk was out here.” He joined her, shoulder to shoulder.
A few minutes passed with the two of them just being.
“You regret last night?” he asked softly.
“No.” The word came out more forcefully than she intended, but at least it was the truth. She was tired of the last two weeks of deception. She turned her head to look at him. “Last night was … something else, right?” She’d wanted to say “special” but wasn’t sure it would qualify as such for him.
He rolled to his side and gave her a kiss that tasted of coffee and pine. “It was amazing. You were amazing.”
She didn’t care if he was giving her line, it was exactly what she needed to hear. He trailed his hand up her leg, the rasp unbearably arousing, her nerve endings singing. His fingers slipped under the edge of her shorts and her butt canted toward him instinctively.
She grabbed his shirt in both hands and pulled him closer, wanting him over her. A repeat of last night.
He resisted. “We can’t.”
“I don’t care if someone sees us.”
“We’d be safe enough from prying eyes, but I don’t have a condom.”
“I don’t care.” The desperation of her voice took them both by surprise, and she crash-landed in reality. Heat suffused her face, words caught in her throat.
“I don’t want a quickie out here in the woods, worrying about roots and fire ants. I want to spread you out on my bed and spend all night loving you.”
His words sent a different sort of heat streaking through her body. She let go of his shirt and linked her fingers around his neck. Their lips met again, but this time the urgency was overridden by a sweetness that had her heart squirming.
She wasn’t sure how long they kissed, their hands exploring each other’s bodies over their clothes. Was this what it felt like to be a lovesick teenager?
He lifted his head and blew out a long breath. “Our food’s probably cold.”
“I don’t care.” This time she laughed as she said it.
“That’s treading close to sacrilege. And on a Sunday too.” He tsked and sat up.
She didn’t protest, turning her face into the quilt. It was from his bed and retained a hint of his scent and … something sexier. Maybe the imprint of their night together. Later. They would have a later. The thought muffled the timer ticking down.
They shared the cooled food, trading stories about their childhoods. Or mostly Wyatt told tall tales about running wild through the woods. Funny stories but with an overtone of melancholy that spoke to her stronger than words, considering the solitude of her own childhood.
Her phone chimed a text. She glanced at the screen. Her father inviting her to Sunday dinner. Although his choice of words veered toward insistent. She turned her phone over. Reality wasn’t welcome.
They spent another hour wading in the river shallows and skipping rocks. She wiggled her toes in the mud. Her makeup was probably long gone, her hair was a windblown mess, her clothes streaked with dirt, yet she didn’t care. Wyatt had climbed onto the bank and was cleaning up their picnic. Mundane chores that he performed with an economical grace.
Gray shimmered through the clear water, drawing her eye, and she reached for the object. It was the half shell of a river oyster, the inside smooth and pearled, the gray complicated by a multitude of colors. She closed her hand around the roughed edges and held on tight.
“Are you ready?”
What would he say if she said no? If she begged him to stay under the evergreen all night wrapped in the quilt. Instead, the part of her that didn’t believe in magic smiled and nodded.
* * *
On their walk back, Sutton slipped her hand into his. People held hands all the time, but the simple gesture gave him hope that whatever was growing between them didn’t have to die after the gala. He would build a careful case as to why they could work, but he could start by showing her. Another fiery roll in his sheets would make a strong point.
Raised voices echoing from the barn blew his plan to smithereens. Even if he could ignore the fight brewing, no way could they slip up the stairs to his loft undetected. He pulled her to a halt before they cleared the tree line and his brothers noticed him. He wasn’t sure what to say and only shook his head, but she understood.
“Daddy wants me home for Sunday supper anyway,” she said. “Unless you need backup?”
“Better if you go on. I’m sorry. Not the way I wanted the day to end, believe me.”
“Me either, but I understand.” She kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand before letting go and putting space between them on their approach to the barn. She gave a little wave and disappeared around the side.
Ford and Mack were squared off. Jackson was off to the side like a referee. Only when Wyatt heard Sutton’s car start, did he step closer, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
As kids, the brothers were competitive and obstinate and could fight like feral cats, even Wyatt and Jackson on occasion, but Mack and Ford had nurtured and tended their animosity toward each other into adulthood. One part personality driven and one part sibling rivalry, it had festered into something darkly dangerous.
“What’s going on?” Wyatt asked, treading softly with his voice, afraid of setting Mack and Ford off like a trip wire.
“Mack’s an asshole,” Ford said.
“Better that than being a traitor,” Mack shot back.
Mack was the biggest of all of them and quick to anger under the best of circumstances. Ford was a talented manipulator, which is probably what made him an excellent salesman, and could stretch Mack’s patience reed thin in a matter of minutes. Without their father around to diffuse the situation, Wyatt feared a trip to either the hospital or police station—hell, maybe both—was on the horizon.
Sutton’s declaration from the night before popped into his head. Was he more like their pop than he thought? Jackson had taken up his usual stance on the edge of the action, observing and never stepping into the fray. Without either of the aunts there to take them to task, Wyatt was the only one who stood a chance at brokering a peace.
He inserted himself, forcing Ford and Mack out of reach of each other. “What’s the problem?”
Without taking his eyes off Ford, Mack said, “Ford seems to think I’ve sent you into Cottonbloom, Mississippi, to stage a takeover of his territory.”
“I told you this morning that Mack has nothing to do with it.” Wyatt turned to Ford.
Ford pivoted around. “It was all your idea?”
“First off, I was up there because Sutton invited me.”
“Her father’s been talking up the garage. What’s he getting in exchange?” Ford asked. “Or maybe I should ask what are you giving to Sutton in exchange?”
A hint of salaciousness undercut the question and put Wyatt on the defensive. “You’d best stop right there, brother.”
“You always did love your projects. You’re taking advantage of her after Tarwater dumped her.”
“That’s bullshit. She dumped him after she caught him with—” He bit his tongue until he could taste blood. Ford had goaded him into saying too much.
“So it’s true. Tarwater was cheating on her.” Ford mulled the words as if determining their value to him. He turned his pointed gaze back on Wyatt. “Are you two dating or what?”
“We’re hanging out.”
“And is the Judge talking up the garage because you’re hanging out?”
“I don’t know.” His eyebrow twitched and he pressed his thumb along the bone, hoping Ford hadn’t noticed.
“Goddamn, you are whoring yourself out for business. She must be desperate. How much longer can you milk the situation? I’m sure you’re itching to move on.”
Before he could consider his action, he had Ford’s starched dress shirt in his fist and Ford’s body up against the wall, his forearm pressed against his throat. “If I hear you talking about Sutton like that, I’ll rip your innards out through your throat. You got me?”
A smile hovered at Ford’s mouth. Wyatt had given up too much information. Mack patted Wyatt’s shoulder, and he stepped back.
Ford rubbed his neck. “I guess after Tarwater she was looking for a different experience, but she’ll get tired of dirty picnics in the woods and this place and you.” He gestured around the barn, ending with Wyatt.
His words jerked Wyatt back like a punch. Too much truth resided in the insult.
“You’re not planning to go to the gala, are you? You’ll only mess up my plans and make the garage look like some hick operation.”
“Too bad. I’m going.”
“I would advise against it. No telling what might happen if you show up.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m protecting our business.” Ford smoothed a hand down the front of his linen shirt, but the wrinkled imprint of Wyatt’s fist remained.
Mack’s forced nonchalance did a poor job covering the tension hunching his shoulders and drawing his hands into fists. “Only one problem with that logic, bro. I’ve had more calls booking estimates in the last week than in the last year from your efforts.”
“What are you talking about? The Judge can’t be that influential.”
“Seems like our boy Wyatt is doing fine without the Judge’s seal of approval. A Ms. Eckert called and raved about Wyatt. She wants us to restore her late husband’s 1959 Cadillac and take it to auction. Apparently, there’s a widow’s walk of classic cars collecting dust, and Effie down at the Quilting Bee has passed our info along to several of her friends.”
“That dried up old prune had a ’59 Caddy sitting in her garage?” Ford tacked on a four-letter word.
Wyatt refrained from giving Mack a high five, but couldn’t stop himself from taunting Ford. “You’d have been better off spending your time down at the Quilting Bee instead of the golf course.”
Ford didn’t answer, but his expression said bridges were burning to ash. He left without another word. The slam of the heavy back door to the garage reverberated.
Jackson broke the silence. “So that’s what you’ve been up to. Cozying up to the ladies at the Quilting Bee.”
Wyatt went to the fridge, grabbed three beers, and handed them out. The cold beer extinguished a good portion of his anger, leaving only dread in the pit of his stomach. “Crossing paths with Ms. Eckert was total chance. The Quilting Bee was actually Sutton’s idea. I’m not a user or a faker like Ford.”
Mack uncapped his beer and pointed it at Wyatt. “You don’t have to fake it. You’ve got something none of us have, including Ford.”
Mack didn’t hand out compliments often or easily. Perfection in the garage was expected, therefore not to be cheered.
“What’s that?” Wyatt asked.
“Likeability. Real charm. You exude trustworthiness.” Mack killed half his beer in one go and wiped his mouth before saying, “Probably why women have always thrown themselves at your feet.”
“I don’t think Wyatt cares about how many women his honeyed tongue attracts anymore.” Jackson took a measured sip. “You’ve gotten attached to Sutton Mize.”
Twin powers had screwed him once more. Wyatt’s response was a shrug and retreat for another beer. He leaned against the jamb of the wide-open double barn doors and slipped to sit on his heels, his arms resting on his knees and his hands dangling.
Jackson mirrored his position at the other door, while Mack lay back on the couch, a beer cradled in his elbow. A few minutes passed in silence until Mack snuffled a snore from the couch.
“Thanks for giving us privacy last night. I should have warned you,” Wyatt said.
Jackson chuckled. “I had a foot inside before I realized what was up. Your bedroom door was wide open. Looked like you were having fun. What are you going to do about her?”
“She made it clear from the outset she’s not interested in anything long-term or serious.”
“But you are.” It was a statement that Wyatt didn’t bother denying. “Change her mind, then.”
“I’m trying.” Wyatt traced a series of interlocking circles in the dirt. “I’m worried I care way more than she does.”
“You might not have the upper hand, but I wouldn’t be too sure she doesn’t care.”
“Sure, she likes me, but she can live without me. In a few years, I’ll be a fond memory and that’s it.”
“Can you live without her?”
Wyatt was thankful Jackson wasn’t teasing him or making light of the situation. “She just got out of a serious relationship. She’s not ready.”
“Then wait until she is.”
Jackson made it sound easy, and maybe it was that easy. Except waiting her out would be agonizing. Wyatt wanted all of her and wanted it yesterday.
“You’ll figure it out.” Jackson pushed up and went to stand over Mack, and said softly, “I’m worried about him. He’s working himself to exhaustion.”
“I know.”
In sleep, Mack’s sharp edges smoothed, and he looked years younger. Wyatt was reminded of the hours in the tree and looking down into Mack’s face. Even then, he’d been more mature and serious than any of them. As if wisdom had imprinted on him in the womb.
“If we could diffuse the Ford situation, it would help,” Jackson said. “My guess is he’s using that threat as leverage for something else. Not even Ford would sell his share out of the family.”
The surety reflected in Jackson’s tone should have set Wyatt at ease, yet it did nothing to diminish the premonition something bad was lurking to bite them on the collective ass. Not worse than getting his heart ripped out by Sutton, but pretty bad.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Wyatt said.
They left Mack to nap and wandered into the garage. Jackson stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked at some tools left on the floor. His restlessness registered as unusual and expectant. Wyatt had been so caught up in his own problems, he almost missed it.
Wyatt propped his arm up on the hood of the car sitting over the pit. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”
“What? Nothing.”
Twin powers went two ways, and Wyatt knew his brother was lying. “Bullshit. Tell me.”
“Do you know how annoying that is?” Jackson sent him a side-eye.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“You noticed anything strange going on with Willa?” Jackson kept his gaze down, his feet shuffling various bolts and washers and a screwdriver from side-to-side as if looking for something of vast importance.
“I’m gonna be honest. She’s never qualified for normal, even for around here.”
Willa Brown was as secretive and closed-off as Jackson. Maybe that’s why they made such a good team. Wyatt made it his mission to get her to smile or laugh every day. He had a feeling she hadn’t had a chance to do enough of that over her life. But that was only a guess, because she’d rarely volunteered information about herself.
“Ever since Pop died, she’s been acting weird.”
“Maybe she misses the old man. They were pretty close.”
“Yeah, maybe, but things have gotten worse the last few weeks.” Jackson usually kept worry of this magnitude contained to his cars.
“She’s like you—an observer. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s picked up on the tension. I’m going to throw out a crazy idea here, but stay with me … why don’t you ask her what’s going on?”
“We talk about cars, not personal stuff.”
“You’ve been working side-by-side for two years. Asking her if everything is okay at home wouldn’t be out of left field. Does she have a boyfriend?”
“No.” Jackson jerked as if a fire ant had bit him in the unmentionables, the single word reverberating against the concrete before he added in a softer tone. “Actually, I’m not sure.”
“This thing with Ford has us all skittish. That’s probably all it is,” Wyatt said with more confidence than he actually felt.
Jackson made a noncommittal noise, kicked the bolts like he would a rock down the road, and headed to the door. “I’m going to hit the shower.”
If Sutton was right and Wyatt was the glue of the Abbott family, he was thinking he might be defective.