“If Ford is there, I don’t want to scare him off before I can talk to him.” It was a reasonable answer if not exactly the truth. Jackson had hung up because the lilting feminine voice had incited a panic like he was eight again and making crank calls around town with Wyatt. His stomach flickered with remnants of nerves.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take Wyatt or Mack with you?” She had stepped close enough for him to see her big brown eyes under the brim of her cap.
He should take one of his brothers, but he didn’t want one of them. He wanted Willa next to him, holding his hand and telling him without words she would back him up. Willa was stronger than any of them.
He fought the urge to toss her hat aside and kiss her. The knowledge his bed was only steps away was difficult to resist, but eight to five, Monday through Friday, they had to stay coworkers. Except he was asking her to go with him, not as a coworker, but as someone who’d become an integral part of his life.
“No, I want you.” He forced himself to meet her eyes.
Her tight mouth and crinkled eyes gave the impression of wariness. “I need to clean up and change.”
“You left some things in the loft if you want to clean up here.”
“You sure it will be okay? I missed almost two hours this morning.” She glanced around.
“It’s slow between the holidays. Anyway, you’ll be with me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll go by myself if—”
She touched his wrist and slipped her fingers under his sleeve. The caress settled his prickly nerves. “I’ll come, but I don’t want your brothers to think I’m taking advantage of the situation because you and I … you know.”
Considering he’d beat himself to a pulp worrying about the fact he was taking advantage of her because he was sort of her boss, her admission made him smile. “It’ll be fine. Go change. I’ll clear it with Mack.”
She quickstepped to the back of the shop and disappeared through the door that led to the barn. He knocked on the doorjamb of the office. Mack’s face was drawn tight. Stress did not look good on him, and he’d been wearing it too often of late.
“What’s wrong?” Jackson asked.
Mack threw a pen down. “The usual. What’s up?”
“We don’t have another job, so I’m going scouting this afternoon and taking Willa with me.” He posed it as a done deal, not a request.
“Is this work or a date?”
“Work.” The twinge of his conscience was almost painful. He hated lying, especially to Mack, but taking Wyatt or Mack with him would look too much like they were ganging up on Ford. If he was even there. But if Jackson could talk Ford into coming home and negotiating, then maybe some of the strain Mack carried would ease.
Mack glanced away. “You know I like Willa, right?”
“Sure.”
“I hope I didn’t say anything while I was blitzed that was insensitive.”
“You’re worried about her feelings?” Jackson couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Getting soft in your old age, bro.”
Mack cursed and threw his pen in Jackson’s direction, but the smile on his face was welcome.
“You mind keeping an eye on River?” Jackson nodded toward the dog who’d staked a claim on a spot in the corner. One of Mack’s old blankets was folded as a makeshift bed.
“Not a bit. Aside from pooping in my yard, she’s a well-behaved mutt.”
Movement from the corner of his eye drew his gaze toward Willa. She slipped in the back door in jeans, an oversized army-style coat probably from the thrift store, and her ball cap pulled low.
Something uncomfortable squatted on his chest. He trailed his gaze from her hat to her boots, carnally aware of the curves that she hid under the bulky clothing.
“What?” Her eyes narrowed as if she could read his mind.
“Nothing. You ready?” His voice was too brusque, but he couldn’t admit the strength of his feelings to her. Not until everything was out in the open between them. His head and heart were at war.
“What about—”
“Mack’s going to watch River.” He herded Willa outside.
It was chilly but not cold. The sky was a slate gray, and encroaching clouds promised rain. Willa picked up her pace and overtook him on the way to the Mustang, rounding the front to the passenger seat. The sight of her sliding into the car next to him eased his mounting tension. A temporary reprieve.
The car’s heater kicked in as they crossed the river into Mississippi. Willa shimmied out of her coat and tossed it on the narrow backseat. With a lack of her usual grace, she pulled her ball cap off and ran her fingers through her hair, keeping her face averted.
He looked from her to the road and then took a long second glance that sent him over the center line before he corrected. Her hair was a mass of waves on top and trimmed shorter in the back. The color was different too, but not in a way he could put his finger on. He only knew it looked richer and softer than before. His hands squeaked on the leather wheel, and he wasn’t sure how to attribute the rapid beat of his heart.
“Your hair.” The words came out between a statement and a question.
“Sutton insisted. Said my hack job didn’t go with the nonhack-job dress she made me.” Her voice lilted uncertainly. She was a combination of bold sass and shy naïveté, and she could pivot between the two in a matter of seconds.
“It looks good.”
“Yeah?” She fiddled with the wavy strands behind her ear.
“Better than good.” He grabbed her hand in his and pulled it away. Her hand was small and soft in his, and he wanted to keep hold of it, but he didn’t. Instead, before he could question himself, he added, “But then I’ve always thought you were pretty.”
The sidelong look she shot him was both thankful and mocking. “I call bullshit. Until a few weeks ago, you never saw me as more than a wrench with a brain and legs.”
“Yeah, well, I never claimed to be more than a blind idiot with a brain and legs.”
“What changed?”
“You were acting like you wanted to leave the garage. Cottonbloom. I couldn’t let it happen.”
“Because I’m an invaluable mechanic?” A teasing bite was in the question.
He chanced a glance over. In contrast to her tone, her face was serious, her eyes wide and searching. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and stared off in the distance where the stretch of road curved out of sight. “Because you’re invaluable to me.”
The longer the silence went on the drier his mouth got. Had he said too much, too soon? The last thing he wanted was to scare her off before he could convince her to trust him with all her secrets.
“Jackson.” His name came on a choked-up whisper. She touched his forearm and his hand loosened around the wheel. She knitted their fingers together. Handholding wasn’t his thing, and it felt a little awkward at first, but as their thumbs danced in a more erotic version of thumb wars, he relaxed.
After several minutes of no conversation, they eased into small talk about seemingly inconsequential things, starting with football. She was a Cowboys fan because that had been her father’s favorite team, but she liked the Saints okay too. Her favorite food was lasagna, and she loved root beer. He relished every tidbit, no matter how minor, that she shared with him.
His Mustang ate up the miles. He drove north into Mississippi sticking mostly to back roads, crossing a two-lane bridge over the Mississippi and back into north Louisiana as dusk was falling. Christmas wreaths and lights still decorated most houses they passed.
His concentration slipped the closer they got to Oak Grove. The drive into town was mostly scrub and pine trees, but as they approached downtown, huge live oaks highlighted a white-columned county courthouse. The downtown mimicked many Southern small towns—its charm past its prime and tarnished, but still visible.
He took a turn off the main street, having committed the directions to his mother’s house to memory. He slowed to a crawl and counted down the numbers on the mailboxes until he reached a small single-story brick house of nineteen seventies heritage. He cruised past going suspiciously slow if anyone was watching them out their front windows.
Willa twisted around in her seat. “Wasn’t that it back there?”
“Yeah, it was.” He fought the urge to keep driving them out of town and back over the Mississippi River. He reminded himself this wasn’t about his mother, but about Ford and the garage and their future. He did a wide U-turn in the deserted street. “Do you see Ford’s car?”
“No, but the garage door is closed.”
He parked on the street, but blocked the driveway, in case Ford decided to make a run for it. He didn’t make a move to open his door.
The yard was well kept, and although rosebushes along the path were dormant and stark, he could imagine them fragrant and blooming. A long-forgotten memory surfaced of full red blooms in a vase on their kitchen table while he ate pancakes. The memory was so vivid, he could almost smell them. What he couldn’t do was picture his mother or remember her voice.
“I’ll be right there with you.” She touched his arm, her voice strong with a confidence he could borrow from.
He nodded, unable and unwilling to put into words what her support meant. He got the door open on the second try. She was already out and waiting for him on the cobblestone path to the slab porch.
His boots felt like clown shoes as he trudged up the walk. Willa pressed the doorbell, the tones slightly dissonant. A shuffle could be heard on the other side, and he ran his hands down the front of his pants. The door opened.
The woman on the other side was a stranger, yet his gaze catalogued familiarities faster than his brain could note them. Wyatt had her eyes, clear gray with a constant twinkle, and hair, almost black but shot through with an attractive silver. And, like with his twin, an instant connection tugged him forward.
“Hi…” What did he call her? Not Mom. “Hi. I’m—”
“Jackson.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she raised a hand as if she were going to touch him, but didn’t. “My son.”
He stood there like a mute, his mouth working, but nothing making it out of the tight squeeze of his throat.
“I’m Willa.” She saved him by sticking out her hand and taking his mother’s still raised one in a shake. “We’re here because…” She paused as if leaving him an opening, but he was stuck and unable to take it. Finally, she asked, “Is Ford here?”
“Not at the moment, but he’ll be back shortly.” His mother stepped back and gestured. “Please come in.”
Like a robot, he moved forward. His mother ushered them into a den with brown carpet and brown wood paneling all around, even the ceiling. It was dim and cavelike. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or hot chocolate, maybe?”
Another buried memory surfaced—a woman making hot chocolate for him after a nightmare. He’d inserted Aunt Hyacinth into the memory, but the woman had been his mother. She fidgeted and stared at him. Was she trying to locate the little boy he’d been in the man before her?
“Hot chocolate would be welcome.” His voice came out rougher than usual. “It’s a mite chilly out.”
“Make yourselves at home.” She flashed a smile, a set of dimples creasing her cheeks for an instant. He took a step back, seeing a piece of himself in her for the first time.
“You okay?” Willa whispered.
“I don’t know.” He was too restless to sit and pretend this was a normal visit. A line of photos on the mantel drew him farther into the room.
With a jolt, he recognized old school pictures of all of them. Aunt Hazel and Hyacinth’s work, no doubt. They had always asked for extras for their wallets. He picked up the picture at the end. He and Wyatt were in their caps and gowns at high school graduation, their arms across each other’s shoulders. Wyatt’s smile was open while he was barely smiling at all.
Willa was by his side, stroking his arm lightly. A throat cleared, and he turned with the picture in his hand. His mother held two steaming mugs.
“You hate me.” It was a statement. “I get it. I hate myself for leaving the way I did.”
She set the mugs down on the coffee table and took a seat in an old wooden rocking chair with a plaid ruffled seat cushion tied to the back rails. It too held a vague familiarity.
Hate was too simple and easy a feeling. He sank down on the couch and stared at the bobbing, dissolving marshmallows on the surface of the hot chocolate. “Why did you leave?”
The squeak of the rocking chair brought his attention back to her. Her head was tilted toward the ceiling, but her eyes were closed as if she were looking inward or backward for the answer. “I was young and overwhelmed with the four of you. No, more than overwhelmed. I was depressed, and it got worse with each one of you. I thought something was wrong with me. Your father was obsessed with the garage and—”
“Don’t blame Pop.”
She opened her eyes and met his anger head-on. “He didn’t know how to help me. The more I cried, the more he retreated to the garage. The day I almost hurt you is the day I left.”
“Hurt me?”
“You’d had an accident in your bed. Shouldn’t have been a big deal, but I almost hit you. You were barely four. I packed a bag, told Ford to look after all of you until Hobart was done working, and left.”
He racked his memory, but came up with nothing. He didn’t remember the day she’d left, just a gradual fading of before into after. “I don’t remember any of that.”
“I regret leaving, but I would have regretted hurting any of you boys even more. I missed you all terribly, but I thought I was doing the right thing by staying away. It took therapy and going on medication before I got myself together. By then, your father wanted nothing to do with me.”
“You contacted him?”
She nodded. “Many times over the years, but he stonewalled me. Finally, I went to your aunts.”
“When did Ford find you? Or did you find him?”
“He called me a few months ago.” Her gaze skated off to the side, but a hint of strain pulled lines out of her forehead. For the first time her youthful face betrayed her age.
“He wanted money?” His gut knew the answer to the question.
She gave a brusque nod and didn’t look over at him.
“Did you give what he asked for?”
“I gave him everything I could afford.”
The kid in him that had heard his pop rail against her selfishness countless times decided she deserved it. The grown-up part of him recognized she didn’t. Like Willa, she was trying to atone for her mistakes.
“Ford’s taking advantage of you,” he finally said.
She swept her gaze to his. Her sadness sped through him. “I know, but I would do anything to make up the past to you. To all of you.”
“Did he tell you what the money was for?”
“He said the garage was in financial trouble.”
Jackson rubbed a hand over his jaw to stem a curse. “The garage is fine. Ford’s dug a hole with a bookie down in Baton Rouge.”
“Gambling.” His mother laid a hand over her chest, shock flittering over her face before her expression steeled itself. “I would have still given him the money.”
“Don’t give him any more. I’ll cover his debts.” His offer pulled a soft gasp from Willa.
The sound of the front door rattling sent all three of them to their feet. “That’s him,” his mother whispered.
Jackson waited. Ford would have recognized the Mustang, of course.
“If it isn’t my little brother.” Ford propped himself in the doorway, his cheeks reddened, his eyes bloodshot. The smell of bar smoke and whiskey soured the room. He looked like shit.
“We need to talk,” Jackson said softly.
“Catching up on the past twenty-five years with our mother?” He weaved his way to the couch, his eyes fixed on Willa, whistling softly. “If I had known what you were hiding under those coveralls, I might have made a move.”
Jackson took a step forward to lay into Ford but stopped short. If he hadn’t been watching Ford so closely, he might have missed the flash of self-disgust. Was Ford trying piss Jackson off on purpose?
“She’s off the market.” Jackson forced his voice calm.
“I’m not a car, boys,” Willa muttered.
A shot of humor cooled Jackson’s burn of anger, and he sat. Willa sank down on the edge of the cushion to his left, and Ford sprawled across a love seat on the other side of the coffee table. Their mother was a gray-faced statue in the rocking chair. Anxiety zinged around the room like a pinball machine.
Jackson picked up his hot chocolate and took a sip. “Your bookie came by the shop.”
“Which one?”
Abandoning his mock casualness, Jackson set his mug down with a thump, his stomach souring. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘which one’? How many people do you owe money to? And how much?”
“None of your business.” Ford’s gaze flicked to their mother.
Ford was not their mother’s problem. As much as the brothers cursed and railed against him, Ford was their problem. He could pay their mother back with the money Jackson planned to offer to get him out of trouble.
“How much did she give you?” Jackson nudged his chin toward their mother, but didn’t take his eyes off Ford.
Ford took a check out of his shirt pocket and held it out long enough for Jackson to see their mother’s name scrawled at the bottom. Belinda Abbott. The fact she hadn’t shed their name was like a bloodletting.
“Didn’t cash it.” Ford ripped the check into tiny pieces. “It would have only been a Band-Aid. I need a chunk of big money fast, so I’m selling my stake. The deal is in progress.”
A numb acceptance came over him. It was the outcome he’d been dreading, yet he wasn’t surprised. “Why didn’t you come to us? We would have paid off your debts without you having to sell out.”
“And then what? Mack would have rubbed it in at every turn. Anyway, I don’t want to work at the shop. Never did.” A sadness cloaked Ford’s bravado, making him appear smaller and less sure of himself. “I couldn’t be the man Pop wanted. It was always Mack even if Pop couldn’t see it.”
“Any chance you could cancel the deal?”
“Too late.” Ford rubbed his hands together, his gaze down. “I’ll pay my debt and have enough left over to make a life somewhere else. I’m headed to Memphis.”
“What’s going to happen if you gamble your way into debt again?”
Ford’s half-shouldered shrug wasn’t reassuring. “I won’t. I’m going to make something of myself without being compared to Mack every hour of every day.”
More than the garage had trapped Ford. Jackson worried his brother’s feelings of inadequacy would be an even stronger cage, but what could he do at this point except damage control?
“Who’d you sell to?”
“Can’t say until the papers are signed. Mack would try to stop it.” Ford’s voice was devoid of emotion. “But some fresh blood might do the shop some good.”
Fury rolled through Jackson like a thunderstorm. The garage should only be owned by Abbotts. It was their pop’s legacy. He squeezed his hand into a tight fist, ready to let loose. His focus narrowed on Ford, the accumulations of past and present suffocating. A soft touch dissipated the storm. Time and space widened, and he forced his hand to open if not exactly relax. Willa’s touch restored a sense of order in the chaos.
“I can’t do this.” Jackson stood and skirted around the coffee table. With his hand clamped around Willa’s, she was forced to follow him.
He stopped in the doorway of the den and looked back at his brother. Ford was leaning over, elbows on knees, his head in his hands. Ford had taught him how to swim in the river and where the best places were to catch a fish. He wasn’t a bad man, just a lost one.
“Ford.” Jackson barked his name and waited until Ford shifted to meet his gaze. “You’re my brother and I love you, dammit. If you need help, you call and I’ll answer.”
He was sure he wasn’t imagining the tears in Ford’s eyes when he nodded. Jackson held his stare a moment longer before hitting the front door. His mother followed them out onto the porch.
“Please don’t go.” Her voice was pinched in a squeak of emotion. “I can make dinner.”
Night fell like a blanket over them, clouds blocking the rising moon. Jackson faced his mother. It was bizarre that the momentous occasion of reconnecting with his long-lost mother had been overshadowed by Ford. “I can’t stay.”
“Can I see you again? Or can we talk? Your brothers…?” She held her throat as if the question hurt. Or maybe it was the answer she dreaded.
Wyatt would see her. He was the one who had been feeling the family out after discovering Aunt Hazel had been in contact with her. He wasn’t so sure about Mack. He had been older and wrestled with memories of her that he and Wyatt had been too young to form.
“They don’t know I came up here today. Let me talk to Wyatt first. Pretty sure he’d like to see you.” She looked so starved for information, he added, “He got engaged over Christmas.”
“Did he? To a nice girl?” Her smile was tremulous and her eyes watery.
“Very nice. From the Mississippi side of Cottonbloom.”
“I’m glad.” She looked away and swallowed, but when she spoke again, her voice was teary. “I wasn’t a mother to you boys, but I’m begging for a chance to be forgiven. I’ll be in your lives as much or little as you’ll allow.”
Sincerity was all he sensed. The most he could offer at the moment was a nod and a warning. “Don’t let Ford take advantage of your guilt, because he will. He already has.”
“He’s my son, and he needs me.” The simplicity shattered Jackson’s false sense of calm.
His heart bled a little more for what they’d lost as children, and he tightened his hand on Willa’s. Instead of doing something foolish like giving his mom a hug, he dug out one of his cards and handed it to her.
“Call me if you need help with him. Or to talk or whatever.”
She ran a finger over the embossed logo and numbers, her eyes downcast. “Hobart did real good with you boys. He’d be proud. I was so terribly sad to hear of his passing last year. I loved him.”
Loss was a strange thing. Some days the pain of not having his pop around was like a room he could close off and ignore. But, in this moment, even though it had been more than a year, his pop’s death crashed through the walls that had formed around his emotions like a wrecking ball. The pain felt as fresh and eviscerating as if his pop had died yesterday.
His pop’s feelings about his former wife hadn’t mellowed over the years, and Jackson had a pretty good guess as to what he would have said about this meeting and the tentative connections forming. But his pop hadn’t been infallible. He’d been blind to Ford’s unhappiness and Mack’s potential.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” He reached out and covered her hands with his own and gave a brief squeeze. Hers were cool but smooth. What had she done all these years? All of a sudden, he wanted to stay and find out.
Instead, he turned and walked away, not looking back. Willa was at his side, saying nothing, but the worry in her face didn’t go unnoticed. Only when they were back in the Mustang and out of town did he speak. “Did I break your hand?”
“Only a momentary cutoff in my circulation.”
“Thanks for … well, everything.”
“All I did was stand—or sit—next to you.”
“Exactly.” At his side was where she belonged.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” Her hands were tucked between her legs and her shoulders were hunched forward.
“It’s not good.” He eased his foot off the accelerator when it crept up to eighty. Getting pulled over would be the crap topping on an already shitty day. “Any guesses who he might have sold to?”
“Best-case scenario, he sold to another mechanic looking to expand or play a silent-investor role. Worst-case, he sold to someone who has it in for the garage, but it’s not like you boys have any enemies, right?”
“True.” Superficially, her answer seemed correct, but as he ruminated on it, names popped into his head. “Ah, hell.”
“What?”
“Don could probably afford to buy Ford’s shares.”
“Who’s that?”
“The driver who was at the track.”
“The one you punched?”
He grimaced. A wreck on the track was one thing, humiliation in the pits was another altogether. For the most part, racing was still a man’s sport at the local dirt tracks which meant testosterone rose to obnoxious levels more often than not.
“And Sutton’s ex would love to stick it to Wyatt.” Jackson banged his skull against the headrest hard enough to add to his headache. Andrew Tarwater not only had the money but a strong motive. Granted, Tarwater had been caught cheating with Sutton’s best friend, but the man hated Wyatt for taking advantage of his stupidity.
“And what about Mack? Any disgruntled customers with means?” she asked.
“Anything is possible. He’s been keeping things to himself the last few months.” Jackson muttered a curse. “Tarwater is the most likely buyer.”
She turned toward him. “Three-quarters of the business is still under your control. What can he really do?”
“Make our lives a living hell? Blackmail the bank into calling our loan?”
She fell silent. The Mustang ate up the miles, his anxiety growing the closer they got to Cottonbloom. Not only would he have to break the news about Ford finding a buyer, but he had to handle the delicate task of discussing their mother.
He glanced over at Willa. Without her calming presence, he might not have been able to keep from jumping Ford. Truth be told, he might have turned the Mustang around before he’d made it over the Mississippi.
“Thanks for coming with me,” he said.
“Anytime you need a wingman—er, girl—I’ll be there.” Her smile was a little sad, a little knowing, and a lot beautiful.
He took her hand and pressed his lips against the pulse point of her wrist. Was it his imagination or did it jump?
He pulled into the garage’s parking lot and stared out the windshield, the silence eerie after the hours spent with the engine growling. The moon was haloed by clouds, giving it a yellow cast.
“You guys have lots to discuss. I’ll head home.”
“No.” The word came out harsh. “I want you to stay.”
“Why?”
Because you’re as good as family, he wanted to say but didn’t. He wasn’t sure she would appreciate the sentiment. “The business of the garage affects you as much as it does us.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “I don’t own a stake.”
“You’re our only employee. That must count for something.” When she didn’t respond, he tried to keep the begging out of his voice. “Please, Willa.”
“If you need me, I’ll stay.” She pushed the car door open.
No lights shone from Mack’s house, but his truck and Wyatt’s car were out front. He led Willa around the side of the garage to the barn. His twin’s laugh traveled through the space, and his step stuttered. Willa gave him a nudge in the small of his back.
Mack saw him first. “Did you two find anything worth the effort?” He headed to the fridge without waiting for an answer and held out two cold cans of beer. Willa waved him off, but Jackson popped the top and took a swig, hoping it would give him courage.
“I lied.” His soft words launched like a grenade. Everyone stilled for the explosion.
Wyatt shifted forward on the couch. “I had a feeling something was up. Did you find Ford?”
Jackson wasn’t surprised Wyatt cut to the heart. “I found him.”
“Good or bad?” Mack asked.
Jackson hesitated, not sure how to frame the complications of the day. Mack popped the top of the beer Willa had rejected and drank half in one go.
“You’d better tell us everything,” Mack said when he came up for air.
Willa gave Jackson a nod and tight smile. It was enough.
“I tracked Ford down at our mother’s house in Oak Grove.”
Mack opened his mouth then clamped it shut and looked off to the side. Wyatt’s eyes sparked and energy released through his tapping heel. “What was she like?”
“Nice. Normal. Still pretty and young-looking. You look a lot like her, Wyatt.”
“Nice? She abandoned us. Have you forgotten that?” Mack crumpled the beer can against his leg and tossed it toward the bin. The discordant clang upped the tension.
“I’m not saying we have to invite her over for the holidays, but she seemed sorry and sincere and wants to mend things.”
“There’s no mending what she did.” The bitterness in Mack’s voice poisoned the air.
Jackson exchanged a telling look with his twin. “We can discuss our mother later. It’s Ford that’s the more immediate problem.” He took a deep breath. “He’s in the process of selling his stake.”
Mack closed his eyes, his head falling back and his lips mouthing something—a prayer, a curse, either would be understandable. “To who?” he finally asked aloud.
“He wouldn’t tell me; afraid if he did, you’d try to kill the deal, but the obvious person would be Tarwater.” Jackson kept any blame out of his voice. Even though it wasn’t Wyatt’s fault, he would beat himself up anyway.
Wyatt groaned and ran both hands through his hair, linking them at his nape. “What a d-bag.”
Jackson wasn’t sure if he was referring to their brother or Tarwater. “Ford’s taking the money to pay off his bookies. The hole was way deep. He plans to make a clean start in Memphis.”
“Any of us really think Ford can give up gambling?” Mack paced.
Their collective silence could fill an old-school encyclopedia.
“If it means anything, Ford seemed … broken. Trying to live up to Pop’s expectations when it was never what he wanted got to him. Said you should have been Pop’s favorite, not him.” Jackson punched Mack lightly on the arm.
“Is Tarwater going to be at the New Year’s party at Sutton’s?” Willa asked.
Mack stopped and stared as if he’d forgotten she was there.
“Hell, no,” Wyatt said. “Her parents blacklisted him.”
“Get him invited. If he’s sworn Ford to secrecy, then he wants the upper hand. You should confront him and put him on the defensive.” Willa picked at her fingernails but she was looking at them from under her lashes. “He’s a butt kisser, right? He’ll be on his best behavior with Sutton’s daddy around. In fact, can her daddy apply pressure to get him to sell it back?”
Mack’s focus bounced to Wyatt. “You think the judge could work a deal?”
“He and Pop were friends, and I’m engaged to his daughter. I don’t see why he wouldn’t help. Tarwater’s made no secret about the fact he wants to run for Mize’s judgeship as soon as he retires. Or before. Let me grease some wheels.” Wyatt rose, pulled out his phone, and retreated to the back of the barn.
“Good idea, Willa,” Mack said.
Jackson smiled at her. He expected her to be preening from Mack’s rare compliment, but instead her face was serious, reflecting troubles he couldn’t identify.
“Listen, you guys have lots to discuss. I’m going to head back to my place.” She tucked her hands into her back pockets and shuffled toward the door. Something in her face stopped Jackson’s protest even though he didn’t want her to go. The squeak of the back door on her exit expanded the fissure in his chest.
Wyatt returned with a grim smile. “The judge will personally invite Tarwater tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Let’s sleep on it and brainstorm options over coffee.” Mack’s voice was steely as he walked to the door.
A few beats of silence fell. Wyatt’s arm was draped over the back of the couch in a pose of relaxation, but his bouncing foot gave him away. “What was she really like?”
“She had our high school graduation picture on her mantel. And other school pictures of us around.”
“I’ll be damned,” Wyatt muttered. “Has she lived in Oak Grove all this time? What does she do for a living? Does she want to see me?” The eagerness in Wyatt’s voice recalled something childlike.
“Of course she wants to see you and Mack. But listen, I don’t know anything about her. Not really. She never remarried and is still using Abbott as her last name. But for all I know she could up and move again.” Even as he issued the warning, he didn’t believe it.
“You have her number?”
Jackson fished the piece of paper with her info out of his pocket and handed it over. “She wrote Ford a check that he ended up not needing because of the sale, but I’m worried.”
“Worried Ford will bleed her dry?”
“Something like that.”
Wyatt glanced over his shoulder to the door. “You think Mack will come around?”
“Let’s you and me pave the way. Feel her out before we drag him down that road.”
Wyatt stood up and stretched. “Good idea.”
“Where’s Sutton?”
“Working on final details of the party with her mom.”
“You want to crash here? It’d be like old times.” Jackson, who usually craved solitude, suddenly dreaded heading to the empty, quiet loft.
“Nah. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll wait for her at home.” Wyatt slipped on his jacket and sent Jackson a not-so-subtle side-eye. “Why did Willa head out?”
“I don’t know.” Jackson kicked at a buckling board. He’d get his tools out and fix it. Or maybe he’d go a couple of rounds with the punching bag. It wasn’t that late.
“Things are progressing between you two though, right?”
“I guess.” He wanted to talk to Wyatt about the information he’d obtained about her car registration, but it would only compound his sense of betrayal.
“Okeydokey.” Sarcasm was rife in Wyatt’s voice, although it vanished when he clapped Jackson on the back on his way out the door. “Hang in there. Time has a way of unraveling complications and getting to the heart of the matter.”
His heart didn’t feel like it even belonged to him anymore. The silence reverberated in his ears. Oh hell, it didn’t.
His heart belonged to Willa.