Sidewalk Flower (3 page)

“Nice to meet you,
ma’am.”
 
Lucky held onto his duffel bag while
extending his hand as he had earlier to Trista.

“Lucky, that’s an interesting name.”
 
Gramma smiled and ushered him in.
 
They stopped near the dining table, which had
already been set for the next morning’s breakfast.
 
“Is that short for something?”

“Yes, ma’am.
 
It’s what my father and uncle call me when
they’re in a good mood.”
 
He held his
full lips tight but the corners of his mouth still curved upward.
 
Like he couldn’t help but
smile.
 
Geez, his happiness was
just too damn bright for her right now.
 
Too different from how she felt inside.
 
This guy would never understand where they were about to go, where she
came from.
 
Maybe that was best.
 
She straightened one of the lace doilies on
the table and tried to be patient.

“Oh, well what do they call you when
they’re not?”
 
Gramma talked to him so
easily.
 
Aside from the nature of the
questions, they sounded like they’d known each other for generations.

“Lucas Dylan Mason, ma’am, amongst other
things I probably shouldn’t share.”

Gramma smiled.
 
She seemed to appreciate Lucky’s lighthearted
humor but was she okay with the way he kept looking at her sweet pea?
 
Trista went a bit further into the home,
checking the thermostat and waiting near the hallway when Gramma kindly chimed
in, “Trista Jeane can show you to your room, son.”
 
Her softened features indicated things were
just fine.

Trista led Lucky down the narrow hallway
to the guest room.
 
His bag bumped the
wall as he towered over her, following closely behind.
 
When she stopped to check if he’d knocked
into one of Gramma’s antique plates, he nearly stepped on her.
 
“Sorry,” he whispered.

She frowned and then continued to the
room.

“So, you’re a Mason, not a James?”
 
How exactly were Jaxon and Lucky
cousins?
 
And why had she never heard of
him before?
   

Lucky glanced to the only empty corner in
the room.

“There’s fine,” she said, standing in the
doorway, her arms hanging loosely to her sides, waiting for his reply.
 
He set his bag down and came back to her.

“Our fathers are brothers, but Jaxon uses
his stepfather’s last name.”

She waited for more to follow but it
didn’t come.
 
Of course now she wanted to
know why.
 
Lucky looked
out the window then, peering through the white lace curtains that had hung
there for as long as she could remember.
 

He seemed to be dodging any further
questions on his and Jaxon’s relations.
 
She was about to try another angle when he grinned and asked, “So,
Trista Jeane, huh?
 
Couldn’t get much
more country than that, could ya?”
 

“Yeah.”
 
She cringed and then made a new offer,
deciding to be nice for now.
 
“So are you
hungry or thirsty?
 
I could get you a
Coke or lemonade.
 
Gramma doesn’t allow any
alcohol in her home.
 
You can rot your
teeth to hell on syrupy soda but don’t even think about coming in here if
you’ve been drinking.”
 

He obviously hadn’t been or else Gramma
would have smelled it on his breath. It said a lot, being he’d been waiting for
her at a bar.
 

Lucky accepted the offer of lemonade, all
the while giving her that country boy grin.
 
Smiles like that
were trouble
.
 
It made her feel like he found her
explanations humorous, like he found her interesting.
   

They left the pastel pink, flower
wallpapered room after Lucky thoughtfully turned off the lamp near the head of
the bed and headed toward the kitchen.
 
Gramma was turning off the lights in the living room as they passed by
her.
 
She huddled herself in a thick
housecoat and slippers.
 

“Sweet pea, I’m off to bed.
 
Lucky, we’re glad to have you.”

“Ma’am, thank you for
having me.”
 
Lucky held out his
hand to her again and she patted it between her two smaller and much thinner
ones.
 

“All right, I’ll see you two in the
morning for breakfast.
 
Trista Jeane, you
can sleep with me if you don’t want to be on the couch.”

“Yes, ma’am.
 
Good night, Gramma.”
 
Trista remembered back to the time when she’d
first come to live here.
 
The whole of
that first summer she’d needed not to be left alone in bed at night.
 
She rubbed her bare arms up and down until
she realized it wasn’t cold.

She turned to the living room and found
Lucky perusing the shelf of 1940’s soda pop bottles in Gramma’s glass
cabinet.
 
The way he stood there, hands
in his pockets, leaning in as closely as he could to the glass, he seemed
impressed.
 
And sweet.
 
If she hadn’t been so reluctant and irritated
at having him thrown into her private plans, she might have tried to enjoy his
company a bit more.
 

She studied him as he walked over to the
large back window and pulled at the drapes.
 
“It looks like a really nice night out,” he said.

“It is.
 
I mean, for here, anyway.”

“What do you mean, for here?”
 
He ran long fingers over his pretty hair,
stopping at the gathering of a rubber band.
 
She wondered what it looked like loose and if he was touchy about people
having their hands in it the way she was with hers.
 
Still, something so soft looking would have
to feel pretty damn amazing sliding through her fingers.

“We don’t exactly have what you would
call weather where I live now.”
 
She had
followed him to the window while keeping a slice of distance.

“Oh that’s right, California.”
 
He said it as if the state’s name conjured up
unfamiliar and spooky images.

Hedging around the couch, she came closer
to him. “Have you ever been there?”
 
Would he dare say something derogatory about the place she now called
home?
 
Didn’t he know she was the only
one allowed to do that?

“No, I can’t say I have.”
 
Was he amused at her moxie, the way she stood
closer to him now, one hand harnessed to the back of her hip, the other hanging
loosely without care?
 

“Then what’s with the shaky ghost
voice?
 
You shouldn’t judge a book by its
cover.”

He started to take a step back but
instead just dipped his head down and then back up.
 
“I wasn’t. I mean, you’re right.
 
I haven’t been there but I’m looking forward
to it—now.”
 
There it was again, his
completely disarming smile.
 
Damn his
bloodline.

Why had Jaxon never mentioned Lucky?
 
Lucky, who at this point,
seemed completely harmless.
 
It
was strange but then she, better than most, knew that dirt was usually brushed
under the rug and not over it.
 
“Would
you like to sit out on the porch?
 
It is
nice out.”
 
Her invitation piqued him.
 
She could tell
,
the
way his neck and shoulders straightened and he rubbed at his jeans
pockets.
 
Boys were so easy to read.

He picked up his glass and followed her
through the kitchen, toward the rear of the home and then out onto the
porch.
 
Carefully, she closed the back
door, not wanting to wake Gramma.
 
Water
flowed just loud enough to hear at the nearby creek.
 
She walked down the porch steps to where
there were a few large rocks, perfect for sitting, facing toward
the
 
obsidian
trickling in the distance.

“Is that a creek I hear?” he asked.
  
She wasn’t surprised that his country ears
would pick up so instinctively on the sound.
 

“Yeah, see back there, behind the cut
wood pile and those rocks.”
 
She
pointed.
 

“I like the sound of the water.
 
There’s one like that by my house.”
 
He looked at her now, giving up on straining
to see
into the darkness.
 

“Oh yeah, where’s that?” she asked, genuinely
curious to know more about this secret cousin who in no way was from Australia
like Jaxon.

“About two hours south of here.”
 
He rattled off the names of a few major
rivers near his town that she’d never heard of.
 
That tune from earlier toyed with her tongue for another hum but somehow
“Long, Tall Tennessean” didn’t have quite the same ring or appeal.
 
Anyhow, she was just as happy to keep
thoughts of music on a shelf.
 
Jaxon and
the guys would be her life when she got back to Cali.

Lucky sat down on his portion of their
rock, resting his forearms on raised knees.
 
The moonlight did appealing things to his hair, making it look so soft,
even while pulled back. She began to imagine him in some innocent Americana-country
scene but an unexpected flash of curiosity snuck up on her.
 
What would a guy with all that pretty hair
look like when he was making love?
 
She’d
bet his waves would fall into his face as he pushed in and eased out of some
sweet, hometown girl who would then tuck some of the longer pieces back behind
his ear for him.
 
Holy cow, she
apparently needed a date if she was now ogling angelic country boys.
   

Angelic?
 
Who was she kidding?
 
Trista remembered the girl’s flirty voice
from their earlier time on the phone.
 
Not in the least shy about asking him, she brushed some damp dirt from
the fabric of her Mary Jane shoes and then began, “So Lucky, who was that
girl…” when Lucky reached over and settled his fingers over hers.
 

She laughed it off because she had no
idea what else to do with the confusing little gesture.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked in a way
that challenged her to be nicer.
 

“Sorry.”
 

“What?
 
People don’t hold hands in California?”

Well, she couldn’t speak for the whole
state, but in her little rock star corner of it, no, they didn’t have much use
for hand holding.
 
“Not so much and
aren’t you just a little fast for the average small town country boy?
 
Didn’t we just meet an hour ago?”
 

He smiled one of those “I’ve never even
been to the ocean”
kind
of smiles like she’d seen on
so many ambitious kids taking their first strut down Sunset Boulevard.
 
For a moment, she balked at being the one who
would deliver him there.

“Trista, I’m not
a little
anything.
 
And I’m
no boy.
 
Just tryin’ to
be nice.”

Maybe Lucky wasn’t the typical male she’d
figured him to be.
 
A second later, he
leaned over like he was about to kiss her, making it pretty damn clear that he
was.
 
Sometimes it sucked being right
about the opposite sex.
 
But then again,
predictability was safe.
 

The nighttime dew covering their rock
helped her to slide a few inches away from him.
 
Lucky drew back as well.
 
He had
certainly caught her off guard with that attempt.

“I thought you hand-holding types at
least saved the first kiss until the third or fourth date.
 
It would be really disappointing to find out
you’re more like your cousin than I thought.”

That got a chuckle out of him but he
refused to look at her, like he was embarrassed.

He laced his fingers into a steeple,
reminding her of the childhood song her momma had sung to her over and
over.
 
“Trista, I wasn’t trying to kiss
you.
 
I just wanted a closer look.”