C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (7 page)

“No, I simply do not wish to drive back into town. Norm’s place is farther down this road.” She pulled into the parking lot and felt a flood of relief. There were no cars in evidence. Maybe, just maybe, she’d be living right for the next thirty minutes.

“You sure they’re open?” C slammed the door and the alarm chirped. Jemma shot him a drop-dead look across the hood. “You ought to get this baby looked at. That’s an unreliable system. Aren’t you going to try and lock it?”

“If they want it badly enough to steal it from the Quik-Lee, they’re welcome to it.” She preceded him into the convenience store, both of them stepping around Shep rather than awaken him from his afternoon nap.

But it wasn’t Sally behind the counter. Lyla stood there, a coffee carafe in one hand, cup in the other. T sat on a stool licking ketchup from his fingers.

“Damn! We can have a family reunion!” C stretched his arms wide and made toward his brother. “T—baby! Long time, no see!”

Jemma stopped in front of the cash register, as if to distance herself from her client. For his part, T waved C off and threatened him with his last ketchup-stained finger. Lyla finished pouring T’s coffee and set the carafe back on the warmer.

“Jemma, welcome.” She smiled pleasantly and picked up the ticket book. “Lunch here or to-go?”

“Oh, we’re eating here.” C straddled a stool two down from T. “What’s good here, bro?”

“The menu’s limited today. You can have a hamburger or a hamburger.” Lyla tapped the pencil on the counter.

“Now you can’t even answer for yourself?” C leaned on his forearms on the counter. “Things so hard up you’ve had to put the little woman back to work? I told you you needed to get your butt back to the studio.”

Jemma eased herself onto the end stool closest to the register and farthest from C. What an act he had—and which was the real C? The posturing SOB that was determined to rake his sister-in-law over the coals and egg his brother on until he’d want to pitch him onto the parking lot, or the soul who’d stood in her office doorway and let plaintive music spill from him?

“FYI, Sally’s daughter was in a car wreck this morning after breakfast, so she called to see if Lyla could take over while she went to the hospital with her.” T shifted on the stool and wiped the remainder of the ketchup off his fingers. “We’ve been flipping burgers for over an hour and now we’re tired.”

“But she’s standing and you’re sitting—”

“Oh, give it a rest, Charles.” The name and tone used guaranteed Jemma the silence she wanted. “We’ll have two cheeseburgers, Lyla. I’ll take mayo, no onions. I’m sure my rude client wants fries and I’ll take a water. How’s Sally’s daughter?”

“She’s fine, car looks like heck, other driver was at fault. Does Charles over here want me to cut the onions?” Humor edged the question.

“Unless he’s planning on kissing someone, I suggest you give him double.”

“Guess she told you,” T muttered under breath. “
Charles
.”

C sat up straight and stared down the length of the counter. He’d tried to deal with this woman fairly, give her an edge with him, be polite, be nice— Hadn’t their grandmother always said no good deed went unpunished? “I can order for myself, thank you very much.” He turned to Lyla as she flipped two patties onto the griddle. “I love onions. And lots of mustard. In fact, I haven’t seen
any
thing around here I’d consider kissing!” He fluffed out a couple of napkins. “I’ll take coffee, T. I’m going to need something to keep me awake this afternoon.”

“Mr. Big Shot has spoken.” T rose slowly and walked around the counter, scooping up a mug from underneath it and getting the carafe of coffee. He poured Jemma a glass of water from the corner tank and put a slice of lemon in it. He dumped the papers out of his burger basket into the trash and wiped down the countertop. “Now you two can sit closer if you wish.” Neither moved.

“What’s the piece of pie that’s left?” C raised his chin in the direction of the pastry keeper even as his mouth was watering over the hot fries Lyla was draining of grease.

T raised the lid. “Apple. My favorite.” He lowered the lid. “In fact, I called dibs when we got here, didn’t I, Lyla?”

“Sure, Sam, anything you say. Just leave me out of this.”

“Nothing to be left out of.” He took the burgers from her and set them in front of Jemma and his brother. “
Bon appetit
.”

“You are so cosmo since you got hitched.” C reached for the ketchup, shook a generous amount onto the fries. “So, let’s see if we can discuss this calmly.” He shot a glance in Jemma’s direction and watched T perch himself on the register barstool to begin eating the apple pie. “Eddie T is down here flipping burgers because the cook calls in with a family emergency and you let this tremendous photo op slide by?” He vigorously salted the fries. “If Fletch were dead, he’d be spinning in his grave. As it is, he’s probably getting indigestion from an unknown source.” He shook his head. “Brother, you have gone soft.” He took a bite of the cheeseburger. “Excellent, Lyla.”

“Thank you. I’ll be looking in the paper for your five-fork rating.” She untied her apron and draped it over the sink. “Last customers wash the dishes.” She smirked at C as she pulled another barstool beside T’s and eased herself onto it. Her hand settled on his thigh and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Woman, you have got a tongue on you.” C’s remark was met with a raised brow from T, a familial appreciation for his having finally stopped one comment before it got vulgar. But C felt himself on a roll. He was just putting his tongue around a continuation of that line of thought when the convenience store door jiggled open.

“Afternoon, Tib,” Lyla called, raising her head from T’s shoulder. T nodded with his mouth full.

“Afternoon, Lyla. T.” He was in uniform, and while C didn’t find him imposing, he supposed there were those who might. “Don’t see you in here very often, Jemma. How’s your dad?”

“Bad night, but doing better. Thanks for asking.”

“Need lunch, Tib?” Lyla started to get off the stool, but he held his hand up to her.

“Nah, just coffee and I’m quite capable of serving myself. You rest.” He walked around the counter by C for a mug, filling it from the carafe before casually bending over to a small refrigerator and pulling out a piece of cream pie with a familiar toothpick flag. Setting his dessert on the counter, he gathered silverware and chose a seat closer to Jemma than to C. “Thought you were leaving town last night.” It was neither statement nor question, but he inclined his head in expectation of an answer.

C was caught between diving over the counter to the refrigerator to look for another piece of pie and answering Tib. A quick glance toward the register found Jemma digging in her purse for her wallet. His reaction time was limited.

“I changed my mind.” He decided on a middle course before affixing T with a narrowed look. “I don’t suppose you’re holding out on another piece.”

“You didn’t say you wanted coconut cream.” T slid off the stool and eased over to the fridge, squatting down and peering inside. He shuffled through the contents. “All we have left is chocolate cream, number twelve.”

Lyla shrugged and Tib nodded. “Let him have it. I stopped liking the chocolates at number seven.”

T set it in front of his brother.

“And I suppose you’re charging a loyal customer for this experiment?” C didn’t hesitate to sink the fork into the meringue even as he watched Jemma hand Lyla a bill. Just let Lyla and T wonder why he knew what was going on.

“Got to pay for the ingredients somehow. Anyway, now you can vote.” Lyla rustled a can that sat by the register. If he’d piqued her curiosity, she didn’t show it.
Damn woman!
“Take the flag, turn it over and give it a score between one and five.”

“So it’s judged differently than the pecan?” He turned to Tib with this question. He was sure ol’ Tib was just bursting to tell them about their midnight visit anyway.

“Like I said, it’s as complicated a system as two old broads and a teenage psychologist wannabe could make it.” Tib’s tone was matter-of-fact.

C ate the last bite and washed it down with his coffee. He put a response on the flag and dropped it in the can before going to stand beside Jemma at the front door. “It was a pleasure for you to have lunch with me, I’m sure.” He smiled, held the door open for Jemma, and followed her out.

Chapter Seven

J
emma was silent as she opened the car door, silent as she latched her seatbelt, silent as she started the engine.

“What?” C demanded as he fixed the seatbelt around his waist.

She jerked the vehicle into gear. “I don’t believe I said a word.”

“Well, that’s the problem.” They left the Quik-Lee parking lot behind and turned down the road to T and Lyla’s new place. “So now I get the silent treatment?”

“Just exactly what do you want me to say? Seems to me, you’ve just about said it all.” They hit a rut and the piccolo bounced.

“Hey—be careful!” C grabbed the instrument. “It makes music!”

“Well, it’s good to know it’s the instrument and not you.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

She drove on, her lips pressed together so hard, C thought they’d meld. He fell back in his seat, the piccolo clutched to his chest.

“I asked you a question.”

“Well, pardon me!” Jemma jerked the car hard to the right. The tires spewed white rock as they slammed to a stop in the soft dirt of the road’s edge. C looked out his window. Another two feet and they’d be in the ditch.

“What was the meaning of that?” He straightened in his seat, put the piccolo back on the dash and turned to face her.

“Well, which question do you want me to answer?” She jerked the gearshift into “park,”
finally tearing her eyes from the road to his face. Her cheeks were red and she calmed herself with a deep breath.

“Just what put such a burr up your butt?”

“You have no clue, do you? None whatsoever!” She studied her fingers, held each one up in succession as she proceeded to clue him in. “You’re rude, selfish, egomaniacal, belligerent, self-centered, vulgar beyond description, common
and
snobby—”

“Snobby? Look, lady, I’ll put my poor white trash background up against yours any day! In fact, if you want, I’ll go up y—”

“That’s it!” She slammed her hands against the steering wheel, tilted it up, and unlatched her seatbelt, then turned and did the same to his. “Get out of my car!” She leaned across him for his door handle and tripped it with her fingertips. The wind caught it and it flew open, making the car bounce.

C couldn’t imagine that she meant to touch him, but in order to right herself she pushed against the seat edge and her hand slipped. She fell across his lap and quicker than he could help her, she pushed herself again, this time using his left thigh as a balance point. He caught her upper arms and pulled her to face him.

“Baby, you know what you need?” Now he was fascinated by the green-gold flecks in her irises, the way her eyelashes almost touched her brows as her eyes widened in wonder or horror—he didn’t know which and at this point he didn’t care. He knew the touch of her breasts as she’d leaned across his lap had put fire to his earlier wayward thoughts and he’d known the antidote to that fire for over twenty years.

“Noth—”

He cut off her words by drawing her to himself and kissing her roughly. She stiffened her arms against his chest and pushed hard. The desire to quench his fire went higher. He’d always enjoyed a pretense of a fight. He hadn’t picked her out for that particular game, but who knew? When her lips parted and sound started to leak out, he pressed harder and wove his tongue against hers. She went slack.

No response. None. It was as if he were kissing one of those blow-up dolls their first drummer had delighted them all with when they were too young to know their own appeal.

He pulled back and released his hold on her arms. The green-gold flecks he’d taken such pleasure in a minute beforehand were hidden behind closed lids. Jemma opened her eyes and blinked and tears streamed down her cheeks.

The only sound was the wind against the open door and a cricket’s chirp off in the grass. C watched as she eased over into the driver’s seat. She didn’t touch her tears, just let them fall.

“I know I’m on the verge of sounding like a broken record, but, hell, lady, I think you’re lying by omission. Are you a dike?”

“Get out of my car.” Her voice was raspy.

“That idea is sounding better and better to me!” He grabbed the piccolo and backed out of the passenger seat. “For what it’s worth, missy, I’ve never begged for it and I’ve never had to use force to get it. You sure as hell aren’t going to be the first.”

He slammed the door, wrenched it open again. “As a matter of fact, far as the real estate goes, I don’t see anything around here I’d care to settle in to. Ever! And I can find my way back to the Quik-Lee just fine, thank you very much for asking!”

The alarm went off as he heaved the door closed again. Even that noise couldn’t disguise her sobs, but he left her there and started the walk back to the Quik-Lee.

***

Jemma collected just enough of her thoughts to squeeze the alarm control, and mercifully, it quit immediately. Her faith in the patron saint of SUVs restored, she collapsed sideways into the passenger seat, laying her head atop her crossed arms. She sobbed as she hadn’t in fifteen years, tears of shame and tears of anger. How had she let this man get to her so?

Five minutes passed, then ten. Her eyes ached and her throat was sore. She levered herself up and looked with disgust at not only the mascara stains on the buff leather seat, but also on her face as she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror. She couldn’t go back to the office looking like this. She couldn’t go home either. And thank the good Lord no one had traveled down this county road and found her in her current condition. C could have quickly become the most wanted man in the county and it wouldn’t have been for his musical ability.