“Stop.” The simple word was all he could manage at the moment. Shock had zapped his heart into a rhythm that left him feeling like he’d crested a hill too fast in his Mustang. Scary and exhilarating.
She didn’t look like his Willa. Not the girl who worked by his side and made him laugh and was his constant. Not even the Willa he’d discovered in his bed. She was a woman with an intimidating sophistication. He’d always felt more experienced and in control of whatever they were doing. For the first time, he wondered what a woman like her was doing with a grease monkey like him.
His gaze didn’t know where to land. On sexily tousled hair that begged for his hands while he kissed all the gloss off her pink lips. On vulnerable eyes that had been outlined and mascaraed to emphasize the brown and gold. On the narrowness of her shoulders or her delicate-looking collarbones or her breasts …
Lord help him but the strapless dress did something amazing to her curves. A primal need fired inside of him. He wanted to skip the stupid party and take her somewhere private. He wanted to run his hands under the skirt, peel the top down, and feast. He’d keep her in bed all night, all week—hell, all year. It was his New Year’s resolution.
His legendary control was close to breaking. What was it about her? Or was it everything about her? Engines with all their moving parts and complications were easier to figure out.
She propped her hands on her hips and the corner of her mouth pulled back in a look he recognized as the precursor for one of her barbs.
“What is your problem, Jackson Abbott? It’s not like this was a blind date. In fact, you’ve seen more of me than … anyone, actually. If you don’t like it, then you can kiss my you-know-what at midnight.”
He almost smiled. Her makeup and hair might be more stylish and her body rocking in the bombshell dress, but inside she was most definitely still his Willa.
He stepped closer. She was almost as tall as he was. His gaze finally made it past her hips to skim her long legs and down to a pair of ridiculously high heels. His imagination went wild with possibilities. “My problem is that I’m a jackass.”
She blinked, her mouth opening then snapping shut. When she spoke, her voice had softened into a whisper. “Not usually.”
“An idiot?”
“Maybe a little.” She glanced down and back up at him through her lashes. The gentle, flirtatious look hit him like a punch. This time his heart kicked like he might require someone to call 911. “Do I clean up good?”
He knew what she wanted to hear and later, in the dark solitude of his bed, he’d tell her and, even better, show her. But, for now, he tempered his response, hoping to get a rise out of her. “Not bad.”
She stepped forward and punched his arm. It might have stung if she hadn’t tipped to the side as her fist made contact. Her eyes popped wide and a little huff escaped. With reaction times honed on the racetrack, he wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing her flush with his body.
“You sure you know how to operate those shoes?” This time he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.
“They don’t require a license. And I was doing fine until you showed up.”
Her admission made him feel slightly better. He wasn’t the only one who was off balance. Her body notched into his perfectly with the added inches the heels lent her. His focus dropped from her sparking eyes to her mouth. Maybe he’d kiss the gloss off them right now. His lips hovered an inch from hers. So close he could feel the ramp-up of her breathing. Or was that his breathing spinning out of control?
“You two ready? Oh, sorry.” Wyatt strolled into the den, his hands shoved inside his pockets, his tartan suit tie replaced by a blue and gray striped bow tie. He didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, he looked like he was ready to burst into laughter.
Jackson supposed this was payback for the time he’d nearly walked in on him and Sutton. He’d snuck out and let them get on with it though. Didn’t look like Wyatt was going to be as polite.
“You look like an effing waiter,” Jackson said as he stepped away from Willa. Except he didn’t completely release her, only slipped his hand around hers and squeezed.
“I know, but Sutton thinks I look hot, right, darlin’?”
Sutton joined them, a wrap around her shoulders and a clutch tucked under her arm. Wyatt pulled at his collar and slipped his arm around her.
“You know it, babe.” Even though her smile was directed toward Wyatt, Jackson could feel the radiating happiness.
“That’s all that matters.” Wyatt kissed her nose. “Ready to roll?”
Jackson opened the car door, and Willa slipped in with a smile that struck him as very un-Willa-like. It held different sorts of secrets. Sexy ones. The silence between them held a new quality. It wasn’t the comfortable silence they enjoyed in the shop. Working together under the hood of a vehicle didn’t require them to speak with words. They could read one another’s minds.
He had no clue what she was thinking right now. Ever since they’d had sex … No, even before. Ever since he’d let himself see her as more than a mechanic, he’d wandered in blind confusion where she was concerned.
Her face was turned toward the passenger window, and her hands were knitted together on her lap, the set of her bare shoulders tense. She acted more like she was waiting for a dentist appointment than headed to a party.
“If it’s not fun, we can leave,” he said.
“I’ve never been to a New Year’s Eve party.” She huffed a laugh. “I’ve never been to anything fancier than a kegger right out of high school. Sutton’s friends are doctors and lawyers and professors. It doesn’t matter what I wear, they’ll know I don’t belong.”
He laughed, and she shot around to face him, the slightly pissed-off expression much more familiar.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“No. Yes.” He shook his head and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve probably read more books than everyone at this party put together. We don’t call you Encyclopedia Brown at the shop ironically. You know something about everything. I’m the one who should be worried.”
“How do you mean?”
“I can talk cars and racing all night long. How far is that going to get me with this crowd?”
“It got you pretty far with me.” A flirty promise was in her voice, and he whipped his head around.
“Yeah, well, you’re special.” He tightened his hands on the wheel and stared at the tail end of Wyatt’s car.
“Am I?” she whispered. She brushed the sleeve of his jacket, and although it was impossible, the touch of her fingertips seemed to burn through the layers of fabric to leave his skin tingly.
The moment tipped into a potent intimacy. He wanted to pull over and show her how special she was to him, but he didn’t let himself. A dark part of him laughed at his attempt to control his feelings. The truth was deeper and more damaging. There was no “letting” himself do anything, it had happened. He had already fallen for her.
He was saved by their arrival at the Mize mansion. Every window blazed with light and the columns in front were wrapped in twinkly white lights. Cars lined the drive and street leading up to the house. Wyatt gestured out his car window in a follow-me gesture, and they bypassed the parked cars to twin spots near the front.
“It’s so pretty,” Willa said with her face pressed close to her window.
He turned the Mustang off and reached for her wrist before she could open her door and climb out. “You realize that Sutton’s your friend now too.”
Her smile held a hint of sadness. “I’m not sure what to do with a friend.”
“You could try trusting them.” His voice came out harsher than he intended.
Her eyes narrowed on him before she turned away and slid out. By the time he joined her, her face was bland and he couldn’t tell if the flash was anger, suspicion, or a figment of his imagination.
After obtaining the information about her car registration from Gloria, he had made a resolution to keep it to himself, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to stay silent. The urge to confront her and excise the poison was growing every minute.
He pressed his lips together and offered her his arm. She looped hers through his. He had to steady her twice on their walk over the uneven cobbled driveway to the front door. Sutton opened the door and a swell of soft music and the buzz of conversation enveloped them.
Sutton’s parents greeted people in the large foyer. A wide oak staircase rose to a second-floor landing, dominating the entry. A chandelier threw crystal-fractured light into the nooks and crannies. A dining room off to the left had a table covered in food and a buffet stocked with drinks and manned by a tuxedoed bartender. To the right was a great room with furniture pushed against the walls and people milling around.
Wyatt shook hands with Sutton’s father. A quick whispered exchange passed between them and Wyatt’s smile dropped.
Sutton hugged her parents and waved him and Willa closer. “This is Willa, and you probably remember Jackson, don’t you, Daddy?”
While Jackson shook Judge Mize’s hand, Sutton’s mother gave Willa’s cheek an air kiss then took her hands and held them up, examining her head to toe. “Lawsy, you certainly are doing Sutton’s dress justice. Very pretty.”
Her blush was obvious even through the makeup. “Thank you, ma’am. Sutton is amazing, but I’m sure you already know that.” The sincerity and charm in the compliment turned Sutton’s mother into Willa’s champion right in front of him.
Sutton and Wyatt drifted to the side to talk to someone Jackson didn’t know, their arms locked around one another. Jackson turned back to Judge Mize. “Thank you for inviting us, sir.”
“Considering we’re soon to be family, I hope we’ll be seeing lots more of you. Is Mack coming?” He glanced over Jackson’s shoulder.
“Later. For the meeting. Is Tarwater here?”
“Not yet.” Troubles shadowed the judge’s eyes. “I certainly understand the motivation to confront him. Lord knows, I’ve wanted to take Andrew behind the shed a time or two for how he treated Sutton, but have a care how you approach him. He’s slippery.”
That was a nice way to put it. “We’ll try.”
It was all he could promise. The combination of Mack, Wyatt, and Tarwater with the added specter of Ford’s betrayal had the makings of a Molotov cocktail.
The judge nodded absently at Willa, but his focus was on the next arrivals, and Jackson drew Willa into the great room, scanning for Wyatt, but he was nowhere to be found. In fact, Jackson didn’t recognize anyone. Crossing the river was like entering another world.
“What are you thinking about?” Obvious nerves had her fidgeting.
“I’m thinking how weird it is that I grew up a stone’s throw from most of these people but I don’t know them and they don’t know me.”
“Not even from the garage? I see Ms. Vera across the way.” She smiled and gave a wave to a white-haired lady who looked vaguely familiar. He squinted in the woman’s direction, and Willa laughed. “The Olds 442?”
“Ah, now I remember.”
She turned until she was leaning against the wall between a couch and a painting of dogs on the hunt. “Do you see little car heads instead of people’s faces? And instead of names, do you label people as a make and model? Like, there’s Ford Taurus. I wonder how his mama, Toyota Corolla, is doing?”
He smiled and propped a shoulder on the wall, his back to most of the room. The position put them close and lent a sense of solitude, however false. “Cars aren’t inherited like hair color or eye color or build or something. They’re an extension of a person’s personality.”
She rolled her eyes. “What does my POS say about my personality?”
He hesitated at grasping the opening she’d provided. What did it say that she’d taken a dead woman’s name and car? “It says that you’re desperate and scared and want help.”
She straightened and turned to face him. The hardness in her eyes aged her years in a millisecond. “I’m doing fine, thank you very much.”
God, she could turn as prickly as a blackberry patch, but the sweetness she protected was worth it. He reached for her cheek, but she jerked her head back. It didn’t deter him. He slipped a hand around her nape and held fast, her hair tickling his wrist. “I didn’t say you need help. You want it. I wish you’d let me help you do more than just survive.”
Her neck relaxed and her head fell back, her lips parted slightly. This time he didn’t resist and dropped his mouth to hers for a kiss, brief but sweet. He knew better than to take her yielding as a surrender, but maybe he’d won another skirmish.
Their eyes were still locked when Wyatt’s voice cut between them. “… here he is, but I doubt he’ll play.”
Judge Mize probably wouldn’t take kindly to Jackson punching his future son-in-law for being a pest. He turned his head and ground the single word out. “What?”
“You really don’t want this ray of sunshine on your team anyway, do you, boys?”
Cade and Sawyer Fournette flanked Wyatt, and Jackson forced his jaw to relax even if a smile was beyond his ability at the moment.
“Do you two ever stop recruiting for your team?” He raised his eyebrows at Sawyer. “I thought your wife had strong-armed you into playing for Mississippi anyway.”
“She did. But I put my foot down and told her I was playing for Cade this season.”
“Don’t lie. You begged her. Promised her all sort of favors to let you play for me.” Cade’s smile was sly.
Sawyer’s arm came up behind Wyatt and he knuckle-punched Cade in the upper arm. Cade made an exaggerated ow sound and rubbed his biceps, while tossing a wink in Willa’s direction.
“I’m Cade Fournette and this is my brother Sawyer. You a ’Sip or a swamp rat?”
“Swamp rat, I guess, but I’ve only lived here a couple of years.”
“Willa is a mechanic in the shop,” Wyatt said.
Sawyer whistled low. “I’ll have to bring my truck in sometime. You’re a sight prettier than these two.”
“I’m a sight better mechanic too.” Willa’s voice held a familiar bite that skated between teasing and tart.
Sawyer tapped Cade’s shoulder and caught his brother’s eye behind Wyatt’s back. “This is who you need.” He returned his attention to Willa. “Do you play ball? We need some kickass women on the team. Monroe’s heart isn’t in it anymore.”
“My heart’s not in what?” Monroe Fournette slipped next to Cade and wrapped her arm around his waist. He pulled her into his side and nuzzled a kiss into her temple.
“Playing in the baseball league since Rachel was born,” Cade said. “We’re trying to talk Willa here into taking your place since I can’t seem to convince these sorry Abbott boys to play.”
“Don’t let them bully you into playing,” Monroe said to Willa. “You’d think they didn’t have a business to run. Mother said Rachel is fine, by the way.”
Cade’s lips twitched, but his voice was all warm comfort. “Just like she was fine the last three times you called.” He turned his attention to Willa and Jackson. “First time we’re leaving the baby.”
“That must be hard, but if she’s with your mother, I’m sure she’s fine,” Willa said.
Monroe gave a small huff. “You don’t know my mother, do you? Your dress is stunning, by the way.” She effectively cut Willa out of the herd of Abbott and Fournette men.
“Heard a rumor from Regan,” Sawyer said. “Is it true Ford sold his share of the garage?”
“Unfortunately, true.” Jackson hated their family troubles were the talk of Cottonbloom, but it wasn’t unexpected.
“To who?” Cade crossed his arms, an intimidating expression on his face.
Jackson and Wyatt had run in the same crowd in high school with Sawyer, the all-American good-old-boy. The three of them had shared many an illicit beer at parties out in the boonies. Cade had been older and forced to drop out of high school to work after their parents were killed by a drunk driver. Looking back, it must have been a hard time for all the Fournettes, but Sawyer wore his past lighter than his brother.
“We suspect to Tarwater,” Jackson said softly after taking an inventory of ears around them.
Sawyer asked, “What’s wrong with Ford?”
“He’s looking to move north to Memphis.” People may already be aware of Ford’s gambling problem, but he was still an Abbott and Jackson’s instinct was to protect him.
“Easy solution: buy Tarwater out.” Cade spoke like a man used to wielding money and a lot of it if rumors were true.
“Doubt we could raise that much ready cash. We invested in substantial upgrades to the shop the past couple of years. Anyway, not sure Tarwater’s motivation is all money.” Jackson looked anywhere but at Wyatt, but by the way the Fournettes shifted, they’d heard all about Wyatt and Sutton.
Wyatt’s jaw was set as if he were itching to go a round with the punching bag in the barn. “I can’t say I’m sorry or regret how things turned out. I have Sutton and she’s worth whatever grief Tarwater can cause us.”
“Mack and I have your back.” Jackson caught Wyatt’s gaze, and his twin’s shoulders lowered a couple of inches as the tension ebbed.
“If you need anything—advice on negotiations, a loan—you come on by Fournette Designs anytime.” Cade held out a hand and Jackson shook it.
“Appreciate it.” And Jackson did, but that didn’t mean he’d ever take Cade up on the offer.
The Abbotts would ride out this storm like they had their mother’s desertion, their pop’s death, and all the trouble in between—together. Well, minus Ford this time.
The Fournettes ambled away and were pulled into other conversations. Monroe left after giving a Willa a small hug. Willa stayed motionless through the gesture.
“I’m going to find Sutton and keep a lookout for Tarwater and Mack. I’ll text you.” Wyatt weaved through the crowd until he disappeared out a door in the back.
“Monroe seemed nice.” Willa’s tone was distinctly suspicious.
“From the little I’ve been around her, she is nice. She and Regan, Sawyer’s wife, were friends in high school and came to the occasional party. I didn’t have much to do with them though.”
“Them in particular, or girls in general?” She cocked her head.
“Most girls thought I was boring.”
“Boring?” Her shock transmitted through the barked-out word.
He reached out to play with a piece of hair that had fallen over her forehead. “My life is cars. Most women find that boring. Didn’t you accuse me of wanting to marry my Mustang?”
“Your life is more than cars. It’s your brothers and your aunts.” She glanced away, but unspoken words hung between them.
He took a risk. “And you.”
Her throat muscles worked and she peeked at him from under her lashes. What he really wanted was to stare into her eyes and beyond to whatever she was hiding from him. He didn’t like the gray between.
“Jackson, there’s something—”
His phone dinged. He ignored it. “What?”
“Shouldn’t you…?” She pointed at his chest.
It dinged again. He slipped his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket. Two texts from Wyatt.
Tarwater.
Mack too. Let’s roll.
“It’s time.” The acceleration of adrenaline was eerily similar to how he felt at the starting line of a race.
“I’ll be waiting.” She squeezed his arm.
He gave her a nod and worked his way out of the great room and into a short hallway. They were meeting in the judge’s office. He knocked once and opened the only door in the hall.
Tarwater half sat on the desk, a snake-oil-salesman smile on his face, texting. Wyatt took up the middle of the small room in a predatory loose-limbed stance, giving the impression that blood would be spilled.
Mack was planted next to the door, his feet set wide and his arms crossed over his chest. He hadn’t bothered to dress for the party, his jeans and black ABBOTT GARAGE T-shirt in stark contrast to the rest of them. In fact, with his beard and frown, he looked more like a bouncer than a guest.
“Is that everyone, then? Ford’s not gracing us with his presence?” Tarwater straightened and placed his phone on the desk at his hip.
Whether or not Tarwater knew Ford had hightailed out of Cottonbloom was a mystery, but Jackson had to assume his question was meant to bait them.
“Ford’s not important. Not anymore,” Jackson said.
Tarwater’s smile grew in size and brightness. “I wondered when he was going to drop the glad tidings. I thought he might have told you at Christmas. That would have been quite the present.”
Mack stepped forward. Jackson put his arm up like a guard rail. Mack stopped, but his voice carried a real threat. “I’m surprised you didn’t sashay into the garage and tell us yourself. Seems to me that would have made your Christmas really special. But then again, you would’ve had to congratulate Wyatt and Sutton. They’re engaged, you know.”
“Congrats.” Tarwater’s smile was wiped clean, the word disingenuous. His phone vibrated, and he glanced down before flipping the phone to conceal the screen. He shrugged a smile back on his face, but it was smaller. “It’s not my place to tell you boys anything.”
“What do you mean?” Wyatt moved to Jackson’s other side, putting the three brothers shoulder to shoulder and facing down Tarwater.
Tarwater’s gaze darted to the door as if measuring the distance. The man shouldn’t have put himself in such a vulnerable position, but then again, maybe he was counting on them to remain civil in Judge Mize’s home. Considering Wyatt tackled Ford in the middle of a swanky fund-raiser at the country club earlier that fall, he really should know better.
“I was asked to keep quiet until my client decided to reveal themselves.”
It took several beats for the meaning to change the course of Jackson’s assumption. “You’re not the buyer?”
Tarwater leaned farther back, his gaze sweeping from Wyatt to Jackson to Mack and back again. His laughter bordered on mocking. “What in tarnation would I do with a stake in a car garage? I pay men like you to fix things so I won’t be bothered with it. Jesus.”
“Then who the hell is it?” Mack growled out.
“The buyer is on the way. A new start for the new year?” Tarwater’s barely veiled glee darkened the silence that gathered. Things had gone from bad to unpredictable, which in Jackson’s opinion was almost worse.
More than anything, he wished Willa were with them to skewer Tarwater with her sarcasm. But she wasn’t.
A soft knock at the door had them turning to face a new, unknown enemy. The handle turned and the door opened on a long squeak.
A woman was silhouetted in the doorway. She was tall, close to six feet in her heels. The light from the foyer chandelier made her fitted dress shimmer. Her dark hair brushed the thin shoulder straps of her red dress. Something about her struck Jackson as timeless, like one of the old-school stars in the movies their pop liked to watch on Sunday afternoons.
Wyatt stepped forward and pointed. “I remember you. From the gala. You and Ford and Tarwater were huddled up right before I—” He cleared his throat.
She stepped inside the room and closed the door. Her perfume stirred on the air, sweet but with a citrusy bite. “I was afraid you and Ford were going to kill each other. I’m glad neither of you drowned.” Her smile was unexpectedly open and warm. “And I hear congratulations are in order.”
Jackson and Wyatt exchanged a glance. Now that the buyer was revealed as a woman whose intentions were unknown, they might as well burn their game plan.
Wyatt shrugged and looked like Jackson felt, at a loss for what came next. “Thanks. I guess.”
Mack took a step toward her, and she matched him with a step back, her hand playing with a silver locket on a delicate chain. “You’ve run into Wyatt and presumably know Ford rather well, but we’ve not met. Who are you?”
“Ella Boudreaux.” She held out a hand. While her accent reflected a Southern birth, it wasn’t as Cajun flavored as her name implied.
A long pause followed where Mack didn’t do anything except look at her offering. Her hand took on a noticeable tremble, but she didn’t drop it and try to gloss over the awkwardness. Jackson held his breath.
Finally, Mack engulfed her hand with his. “I won’t lie and say it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Boudreaux.”
“Ms. actually. I’m divorced.”
“And may I ask why you decided to buy Ford’s quarter of Abbott Brothers Garage and Restoration?” In contrast to the almost polite question, his voice was harsh.
“Because I can.” Underneath the breeziness of her answer was the steel foundation of a challenge. “Could I have my hand back before you squeeze it off?”
Mack looked down like he was surprised their hands were still joined. He let go, flexing and fisting his hand at his side. She ran her hand down the curve of her hip as if wiping away his touch.
What did Ms. Ella Boudreaux want with a small-potatoes car garage? Imagining her on the shop floor with its noise and grease was laughable. While she didn’t appear to be in need of money, her expensive-looking dress and heels and perfectly manicured nails could be a front. The smart thing would be to retreat and gather information.
Unfortunately, Mack’s temper burned on the edge of control and chaos. He took another step forward and this time she held her ground. They were uncomfortably close. “Lady, my pop founded Abbott Garage. Built it up from nothing. It’s my livelihood and my passion and we’re going to have big problems if you plan to drag it down.”
“Why would I spend good money on something I plan to drag down?”
“Because you can?” Mack threw her words back.
A flash of strong emotion—fear, anger?—was quickly replaced by serenity along with a small smile, but it seemed fake, like a pageant contestant in front of the judges. “I can assure you—all of you”—she made eye contact with Jackson and then Wyatt—“that I have no intention of doing you harm. In fact, you might find I possess rather helpful skills.”
“I expect you to be a silent investor until I can gather the funds to buy you out.”
“Do I seem like the silent type to you?” The humor leaned more good-natured than biting, but Mack’s expression remained stony.
“Then we should expect you Monday morning?” A mocking smile twisted Mack’s lips. “Are you good with a wrench?”
“Depends on what you mean?” Her voice was full of innocence even as she propped a hand on her hip, the vibe sultry. Mack’s smile disappeared faster than a deer spotting a hunter.
“Selling it back to us would be in everyone’s best interests,” Mack said softly, but with an obvious threat still pulsing from him.
“Do you have the funds now?”
Mack’s silence was answer enough.
“Maybe you’ll end up thanking me one day.”
“Never.” Mack ground the word out between his teeth. He inched even closer, and Ella leaned backward although she didn’t retreat. Mack sidestepped her, threw the door open, and stalked out. It bounced closed again.
Ella turned her attention to Jackson and Wyatt. “So I shouldn’t expect a welcome sign my first day at the garage, huh?”
She was holding all the cards. Whether she was bluffing or not remained to be seen. “You’re not actually planning to work at the garage, are you?” Jackson asked.
“I’ve found myself with an extraordinary amount of free time since my divorce.”
Tarwater remained silent, but observed them like a Roman emperor in the Coliseum. How fast would this news travel? Faster than the river’s current through Cottonbloom, no doubt.
“This isn’t a game, lady. This is our livelihood.” Wyatt took a step toward her and Tarwater made a move to keep them apart, his fist pressed into Wyatt’s chest.
“Step off,” Tarwater said.
“Why don’t you fuck off?” Wyatt knocked Tarwater’s hand off him.
“I never understood your low-class appeal.” Tarwater shoved Wyatt’s shoulder in a weak move. If his aim was to start a fight with a chance of survival, he should have punched Wyatt and run.
Wyatt inhaled sharply, a signal he was ready to pour gasoline on the Dumpster fire Mack had started with the confrontation.
“Andrew, no,” Ella said sharply, with none of the tease and charm Jackson had assumed was natural.
When the situation didn’t defuse, Jackson elbowed Wyatt and gave a little shake of his head while keeping his eyes on Ella. She was turning out to be as difficult to get a read on as Willa. And that was saying something.
“Let’s go. Not the time or place, bro.” Jackson grabbed Wyatt’s forearm and maneuvered him to the door. They left Tarwater and Ella Boudreaux behind to probably exchange celebratory high fives.
Sutton and Willa waited at the foot of the stairs. His gaze locked on Willa.
The ramifications of what had transpired hit him in a rush. Everything was changing. Nothing would be the same. Their pop’s death had caused a fissure that grew longer and wider by the day. Jackson’s security in knowing who he was and where he fit into the world was on shaky ground.
He pushed Wyatt toward Sutton, absolving himself of taking care of his twin, and grabbed Willa up in a fierce hug. He wanted to sink into her and use her as his touchstone even as the sane part of him protested the foolishness. She wasn’t secure. She wasn’t even his. Not yet anyway.
“You wanna get out of here?” No way could he stay and make small talk and smile.
“Sure.”
He let out a long breath before loosening his hold and taking her hand. The cold air brought with it a clearing of his head. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders.
“I’m being selfish. You got all dressed up to go to a party and have fun and here I am dragging you out. We should go back and ring in the new year.”
She put her arm around his neck. Her weight anchored him. “I didn’t get all dressed up for a party; I got all dressed up for you.”
The puffs of white between them ceased as if both of them had forgotten how to breathe. He shuddered in a lungful of air, the cold painful in his chest. Or maybe it was something else that hurt.
Afraid he’d mangle anything that came out of his mouth, he knitted his fingers between hers and led her toward the Mustang, taking care not to let his eagerness quicken his step too much. She wobbled in the heels on the uneven ground.
Once they were inside the car, the noise of the heater preempted any need for conversation, but an unspoken tension ratcheted up with every turn and curve. Changes were afoot between the two of them. Would she stick or run?