Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel (17 page)

Cade clenched his hand into a fist. Was she embarrassed to be seen with him or was something serious going on between her and Tarwater or both? A resentment born of years fielding pitying looks and thinly veiled insults burned under the pleasant mask he forced himself to maintain.

“Hi, Andrew.” The friendly welcome in her voice only stoked the fire.

“Father and I are working late on a case and he sent me down for a pizza. What are you two up to?” A jealous suspicion hid behind the question. Could Monroe hear it?

“Cade helped me out with my class this evening, and I thought a pizza was the least I could do.” She favored Cade with one of her ice-melting smiles.

Andrew harrumphed like a grumpy old man. Someone from the front counter called his name, but he didn’t move.

“Your pizza’s ready,” Cade prodded.

“I heard,” he snapped in return. “Are you getting excited for the fund-raiser, Monroe?”

“Superexcited.” The vagueness in her voice belied her words. “I appreciate your mother’s kindness.”

Andrew’s jaw worked as he cast a glance toward Cade. “Yes, well, I’ve worked hard on the party as well. I’ve made sure the best of Cottonbloom will be in attendance.”

Was it his imagination or was the smile she gave Andrew smaller and cooler? “Your interest in the girls at risk program is admirable. The money is going to a good cause, I can promise you that.”

Andrew collected the pizza and walked out, decidedly more stiff than when he’d entered. She seemed to deflate.

“What’s the problem?” Cade gestured toward the door.

“What do you mean?” She was fiddling with the end of her silky ponytail.

What
did
he mean? He was the one with the problem. The animosity he felt toward Andrew had a definite green tint.

“Nothing,” he murmured as their pizza was delivered, steaming and aromatic.

The act of eating together eased the tension jumbling his emotions. He didn’t bring up Andrew again and neither did she.

“I know you moved to Mobile first. Where did you go next?” she asked.

“I moved to a different port city every few months. Never had a problem finding a job with my skills. In fact, I found my reputation started to precede me. By the time I looped up to Maryland, an engine shop came looking for me.” The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Weren’t you lonely?”

“A little.” The understatement wiped his prideful smile away. The first night in the cheap, dirty motel had been worse than his family’s first night in the old trailer. At least then, Sawyer and Tally had been within calling distance. No one in Mobile knew him. No one cared what happened to him. The noise of a restless city had been jarring after so many years drifting off to the sounds of the river. He hadn’t slept that night.

“But you moved from port to port? Never settling down?” Her blue eyes searched for the truth.

The truth was complicated. “You can’t know what freedom felt like after so many years under a yoke.”

“You eventually settled down in Seattle, though. What changed?”

“I was in Connecticut, and the guys around me had been working on rich men’s engines for twenty, thirty years and they would die working on rich men’s engines.”

“You wanted more.” It was a statement.

“I wanted more. I was used to working hard. I put in twelve-, sixteen-hour days and played with some ideas I had rolling around in my head. Engines with my mods were able to produce noticeably more horsepower. I started to get a lot of attention.” He shot her a sly grin. “Men seem to think there’s a correlation between their engine horsepower and the size of their junk.”

Her throaty, husky laugh was like a shot of rich whiskey. “So men started to come see you for enhancements.” She bracketed the last word in air quotes.

“Exactly. Eventually, a man showed up who was more a visionary than I was at the time. He encouraged me to file for a patent, and we became business partners. The rest is, as they say, history.”

“Why didn’t you stay on the East Coast? Why Seattle? Besides the lack of gators.” She smiled around a bite of pizza.

“It’s where my partner, Richard, was based, so I followed him out there.”

Her brows bounced up as she chewed. “You don’t seem the following type. What’s this Richard fella like?”

At the beginning of their business relationship, Richard had been more mentor than partner. He’d taught Cade the jargon of the rich, how to dress, manners. Richard had treated him like a son and had never belittled Cade’s lack of knowledge of his world.

“He’s more than just a business partner. I count him as a friend.” His phone buzzed with an incoming text and he glanced at the screen, debating for a second whether he could blow off his obligation to stay with Monroe. “I’m going to have to head out.”

“Emergency?”

“Only if you consider a nighttime boat ride down memory lane with Sawyer and Uncle Delmar an emergency.”

“You’re not going—” she leaned forward and dropped her voice “—poaching, are you?”

He couldn’t tell if she was worried for him or excited at the prospect. Questions rose again. Was she only interested in him for a different kind of thrill?

He met her halfway over the table, his mouth close to her ear. “With Uncle Delmar in charge, no telling what kind of mischief we’ll get up to.”

A flush raced up her neck and into her cheeks. Could he make her entire body flush like that? A picture of her naked and laid out on a bed flashed. He tried to shake the thought, but it was too late. It was as if his sudden hard-on had graffiti painted the image on his brain.

He leaned back, the distance not helping the state of his mind or body. “I can afford to hit the grocery store these days. I can buy this pizza, too.” He pulled out his wallet and tossed cash on the table, more than enough to pay for the pizza and put a smile on the waitress’s face.

“But this was supposed to be me treating you.” Monroe tucked wisps of her hair behind her ear.

“You asking me to share a pizza with you was treat enough.” He slid out of the booth and worked his knee.

She popped up and her gaze dropped. “You look stiff.”

His mind veered directly into a middle-school arena, and he moved his hands in front of his pants. A second passed before he realized she was talking about his knee. He burst out laughing. The sound rang in his ears. “My knee’s better. Only bothers me if I sit for too long.”

They lingered on the sidewalk, their vehicles facing opposite directions. “How’s your hand?”

“Some better. I’ve been doing my exercises, Miss Kirby, I promise.” He opened and closed his wounded hand. “Gets achy if I try to use it for too long, and sometimes the pins and needles thing wakes me up.”

“I can’t do much for nerve damage, unfortunately, but the exercises will help with strength and endurance.” She took his hand and massaged down the scar tissue. “There are some things only time can heal.”

Their eyes tangled and her words seemed to encompass more than his hand. A lump settled in his throat, and the tingling along his palm grew into a burning sensation. “Yeah, well. I’ll see you later.”

He turned and walked away, knowing it was abrupt yet unable to bear another minute of her eviscerating stare. Too much wanted to pour out of him, too fast. The rumble of the truck engine drowned out any street noise, and he sat until her SUV turned the corner.

Chapter Twelve

Monroe tramped through the tall grass to the water oak standing like a lone sentinel in the field. Halfway between their childhood homes, the tree marked her and Regan’s meeting spot growing up. Cursing herself roundly, she wished she could take back their earlier conversation. Her casual mention of catching a bite with Cade had led to her telling Regan about his planned nighttime boat ride with Sawyer.

Regan had been suspicious, but it wasn’t until she called back in a tizzy, ordering Monroe to their tree, that she realized the severity of her misstep. Not only had she been roped into some kind of reconnaissance mission, but the feeling she somehow had betrayed Cade niggled her conscience also. What if the men were going poaching and Monroe had given them away? She wasn’t sure what Regan would do if she got incriminating evidence against Sawyer.

Wearing black slacks and a dark-blue summer cardigan, Regan paced, looking ready to jaunt off to a Junior League meeting. Monroe’s black leggings and dark-gray T-shirt were more practical. Movement under the tree caught her attention.

A man with rumpled brown hair and glasses leaned against the trunk, his hands buried in the pockets of his green cargo pants, his biceps bulging in the fitted black cotton T-shirt, a tattoo peeking out of a sleeve. An eight-inch knife hung from a belt holster. How had Regan roped Nash Hawthorne into her plans?

If it wasn’t for his soulful brown eyes behind black-framed glasses, he could have passed for Special Forces instead of a newly hired history professor at Cottonbloom College. She had no doubt his classes would be extremely popular among the coeds. But to her, he would always be Nerdy Nash, the boy who’d been teased and ignored most of their childhood.

“Did Regan guilt you into this, too?” She joined him in the arms of the tree, the wind making the leaves shush around them.

“Ha-ha,” Regan said. “He cares about our town and the festival, too.”

Nash’s thick brown eyebrows arched over his glasses. “She oh-so-kindly reminded me of the time she saved me from total humiliation in the cafeteria our sophomore year by letting me sit with you guys.”

“Wow. Totally unprofessional, Regan. I’m appalled at the lack of moral fiber in our mayor.” Monroe tutted but couldn’t hold back a grin.

“Hush up. Did you bring the greasepaint?”

Monroe laughed, but Regan didn’t crack a smile. “I offered as a joke. I didn’t think you were serious. Anyway, I don’t actually own anything that pertains to hunting.”

“Well, never mind. We’ll manage.” Regan ducked under a low branch and looked toward the river, even though it wasn’t visible in the gloaming.

“Do you know what the heck we’re doing out here?” Monroe leaned toward Nash.

“She was muttering something about rabbits and Sawyer Fournette earlier.”

“Hold up, Regan. Before Nash and I blindly follow you into Lord knows what, you have to tell us what’s going on.”

“After I got off the phone with you, I made some calls. After our little argument over his uncle, he put out extra traps.”

“And his plan with these extra rabbits?”

“How devious would it be to release a colony of rabbits into Mama’s garden? They eat their fill and are gone by morning. Or, even worse, they burrow down and reproduce.”

Monroe sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Your leap from extra traps to tomato sabotage isn’t logical. Tell her, Nash.”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard stranger things. Aunt Leora used to tell me stories about Mississippi men crossing over and cutting crayfish baskets. And Louisiana men would come over at night and raid gardens and traps. There’s one story about a boat of swamp rats coming face-to-face with a party of ’Sips at the state line.”

“What happened?” Regan asked.

“Both parties pretended jaunting around the river at midnight was perfectly normal and went on their merry ways. After that things settled down some.”

“That was fifty years ago. Those men have mostly passed on. Sawyer isn’t going to do something so juvenile and devious,” Monroe said.

Nash chuckled. “Juvenile and devious but bordering on brilliant. It’s like murder by icicle.” Monroe sent him a questioning glance. “The evidence melts before anyone can point a finger. Or, in this case, hops off. Seriously, though, do you really need me here to scare off some rabbits?”

“No, I need you to take Sawyer
out
if we catch him creeping through here with his marauding bunnies.”

“Take him
out
? I’m a professor. Not a hit man.”

“Maybe not, but I mean, look at you.” Regan waved a hand over his body. “You could beat him up, right?”

“First of all, Sawyer is in great shape. It would be a toss-up. Second, I’m not beating anyone up. This festival business has driven you around the bend, woman.”

Regan threw up her hands. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true,” Monroe and Nash said at the same time, and then looked at each other, startled.

“One, two, three, jinx.” Monroe popped Nash on the arm. It was rock hard. Regan was right. The man was in phenomenal shape. He wasn’t Nerdy Nash any longer.

“I knew I should have stayed in Scotland,” he muttered, looking up into the tree branches.

“How’s Ms. Leora feeling?”

“Her shake is getting worse, but the doctor says there isn’t anything to do about it. Part of getting older. She still insists on driving.” Nash’s sigh was heavy. His childless aunt Leora had taken him in after his mother had died of breast cancer, so his father could continue his high-risk, high-paying job as an oil platform supervisor in the gulf.

Dusk was upon them. Lightning bugs rose from the base of the tree to blink around their knees. Cicadas picked up their call, the noise ebbing and crashing like ocean waves. As the stars snuffed out the sun, the air cooled and the breeze picked up.

“I seriously doubt Sawyer has any plans on heading this far up the river. Anyway, Cade wouldn’t join in his shenanigans,” Monroe said.

“You guys are probably right.” Regan’s tone turned conciliatory. “I have a cooler with some snacks and drinks. How about we hang out and reminisce? And if Sawyer happens by then we can have a civilized chat. Two city leaders who want the best for their respective towns.”

Nash picked up the soft-sided cooler and dropped the strap over his shoulder. “All right, I’m in, if only out of curiosity and because I’m tired of hanging out with Aunt Leora and the Quilting Bee ladies. Every single one of them wants to set me up with one of their female relatives. Where do you want to set up camp?”

“In that grove of pines behind my parents’ house? That’ll give us the high ground and leave our enemy exposed,” Regan said.

Nash gestured. “Lead on, Napoléon. Let’s hope this isn’t our Waterloo.”

“That was an ABBA song, right?” Monroe asked, hoping he couldn’t see her twitching lips in the dark.