The Sweetest September (Home in Magnolia Bend) (21 page)

“I think so, too,” Shelby said with a strange look on her face. “You know, everybody remembers Rebecca as such an angel, but the grieving heart looks on lost loved ones with forgiving eyes. They forget they were once human. Rebecca wasn’t perfect, but she loved you. And when you love someone, you want them to be happy. So whatever that is, John, you will have to decide. But your wife wouldn’t have begrudged you happiness. I know her a little.”

John turned Shelby’s words over in his mind, weighing if they were said with any intent to sway him. They weren’t. Even if Shelby weren’t in the picture, the words would be true. Rebecca wasn’t perfect, but she’d been a good person, who’d loved him enough to want his happiness. “How do you know her a little?”

“Well, for one thing, she’s very much a part of this house. I find little notes she’s written, like the recipe for blackening seasoning taped to the inside of a cabinet door, and there are certain ways things are organized, but most of all I know because I read some of her journal.”

“Read her journal?”

Shelby’s face turned red. “I tried to give it to you, and then when I saw Carla at the market, I tried to tell her about it. But no one wanted it, and I was lonely and...it was wrong of me, but I’m not sorry.”

He didn’t know what to say. He remembered Shelby trying to give him the journal the day he’d watched her sleeping in those polka-dot panties. Before that time, he’d never known Rebecca had kept a journal. Just how personal was it? “You shouldn’t have—”

“I know. I can’t unread it, but my point is Rebecca is no longer a phantom, an unknown entity I have to compete with—”

“Why would you think you have to compete?”

“Don’t you remember my past? I’ve competed with unknown women two other times, and there was no way for me to know your wife beyond other people’s memories. I know it was wrong. I tried to stop, but it was like hiding chocolate from myself when I’m on a diet.”

He looked at her with no words. Part of him felt betrayed, the other half wondered if Rebecca had done for him what he could never do—teach Shelby about what a committed relationship looked like. Wasn’t always sunshine and daisies.

“Rebecca wouldn’t want you to be as miserable as you were. She loved you that much.”

John leaned back and closed his eyes, wishing he could go back to flirting in the kitchen. Before Carla arrived to stomp on his happiness.

I’ll dissolve the trust and sell this place before I let you be happy here.

Those words punched a hole in his resolve.

Lose Breezy Hill? The thought sickened him. He’d poured every ounce of energy and love into the land, not to mention most of the profits on upkeep, the new barn and a new harvester. If he didn’t have Breezy Hill, who was he?

He rose and picked up the remnants of last night’s stay-at-home date. “I think we should put worry on the back burner. Today is Christmas Day, a time for presents and my mom’s pecan pie. I can do nothing about Carla today, and as for the journal...” He shrugged. He didn’t know if he was ready to read Rebecca’s words. Reading the journal could pull him back into that lonely painful place he’d occupied for too long.

Shelby tried to smile. “You wanna try my breakfast casserole?”

“The one made by a three-bit whore?”

Shelby threw a pillow at him. “I’m upping myself to a whole four bits.”

Carla’s warning had the opposite effect on him, solidifying how good Shelby was for him. He couldn’t go back to the man he was last year. Too late. He’d moved toward Shelby.

But not all was lost.

Carla’s grief may have made her irrational, but maybe he could convince her that letting go of the anger was the only chance she had to be happy again. “Four bits, huh? Guess I better start saving my pennies.”

* * *

C
HRISTMAS
DINNER
AT
the Beauchamps was anticlimactic compared to the Christmas Eve bash with John’s uncle booming out a Weather Girls’ classic and Fancy getting a little sloshed and doing some dance she’d learned online with said uncle. The turkey was a little dry, according to the gassy aunt, and the sweet potatoes were delicious, even if there was a marshmallow topping. In Seattle, they called them yams, but in the South, things were different. No mashed potatoes or asparagus with a crown pork roast. No sparkling champagne, no light conversation about the latest in art nouveau cinema or Pulitzer-prize-winning documentaries.

In other words, Beauchamp Christmas dinner was fattening and enjoyable, even if they did yell a lot at the football game on TV.

After dinner, the family exchanged gifts, and Shelby received a hand-knitted scarf and book of poetry from Abigail, a teacher mug and gift card from Matt and Mary Jane, some body lotion and scrub from Jake and a lovely embroidered pillow with her initials from John’s parents. She’d reciprocated with like gifts, the kind you get for people you really don’t know well enough—candles, bath salts, cashmere gloves.

Even though he smiled throughout the time at his parents’ house, John looked worried. Carla’s visit that morning had complicated things. Maybe dating wasn’t a good idea. Maybe it was time to stop putting her life on pause, nurturing hope she and John could be more, and look at the reality of the situation. If they continued on the path they walked, it was a real possibility John could lose all he’d known.

When they returned to Breezy Hill, John lit a fire and poured himself a glass of wine and Shelby a glass of sparkling cider. The logs crackled and hissed in the hearth.

“This is nice,” he said, settling beside her, just as he had the night before.

“It is,” she said, staring into the flames.

“Did you enjoy today?”

“I did...other than the visit from Carla Stanton this morning.”

He grew still but said nothing.

“I don’t want you to have to choose. It’s not fair, because you never asked for any of this. You’ve been kind—”

“I wanted you to stay. I needed you to stay. Don’t you get that?” He attempted to smile through his worry.

“Even if I went back to Seattle I would never deny you access to your child.”

“This is about more than the baby. You know that,” he said as he rubbed her shoulder. “Hey, we still have a few hours left of Christmas Day and I don’t want to talk about anything unpleasant. Here.” John pulled a slender jeweler’s box from his pocket.

“What is this?” she asked, letting go of the worry and embracing the concept of enjoying the moment.

“I didn’t have time to go into town, so I ordered this for you,” he said, handing her the box. Something about his uncertainty touched her.

“You didn’t have to—” she began.

“I wanted to. You’re far away from family. And you’re important to me.”

Shelby slid the red bow off and pulled the gold foil paper from the box. Lifting the lid, she found a beautiful gold charm bracelet. Three charms hung on the bracelet. One was an
S
chipped with diamond rhinestones, the other was a small gold pacifier and the final one was a heart with the word
Mother
written in script. “Oh, John, it’s lovely.”

“You can add to it as the baby grows,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “I hope it’s not too—”

Shelby silenced him with her mouth.

He gathered her to him, deepening the kiss, stroking his tongue against hers in an unhurried, thorough kiss.

Shelby drew back. “It’s perfect, and I don’t think I’ve ever received something so thoughtful.”

“Good.” He smiled, settling back on the couch, snuggling her against him as the fire caught and blazed. Pressing the remote on the table,
White Christmas
came on the satellite TV.

“I have a gift for you, too,” she said, not moving because the warmth he lent allowed strange contentment to seep into her bones.

“Do you?” he asked, twining his finger in her hair, also seemingly relaxed for the first time since Carla’s untimely visit.

“Let me get it,” she said.

“Later,” he murmured, not releasing his hold on her. “This feels too good.”

She smiled, unwound his finger from her curl and went to the tree, pulling out the large flat box wrapped in brown paper. She set it in his lap. “Here.”

The light from the hearth threw flickering shadows over his face. “This is a big gift.”

“For a big man.”

“Oh, you remembered,” he said.

His naughty joke made her snort. In all honesty, she didn’t remember much about that night in Boots. He could have been a gherkin for all she knew. “Keep talking and you’ll be digging out that money.”

He looked confused.

“The four bits,” she teased.

“That’s right. Your price went up,” he said, pulling the string off the gift. Carefully unwrapping the paper, he lifted the framed picture.

“It’s Breezy Hill,” he said, incredulity in his voice.

She could see her gift hit the mark. One of her friends from college was an artist. One morning when the sky had been soft and the sun peeked out over the cane fields, she’d taken a few snapshots and sent them to him. The painting he’d done had a hazy quality that softened the picture with smudged edges. The house sat prominent against the gray-green of the cane, backlit by the emerging sunrise. “I call it ‘A Breezy Morning.’”

He ran a hand over the line of the roof. “It’s...I don’t have words.”

“Sometimes it’s okay not to have words.”

He placed the picture on the table and gathered her in his arms, dropping small kisses across her cheeks before covering her mouth with his. It was a good kiss.

A toe-curling kiss.

A kiss to build a future on.

But still there was so much between them.

When he let her go, she looked up at him and murmured, “I like how you don’t use words.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. And then and there on the couch of Breezy Hill, she experienced something she’d felt only once before in her life.

She fell in love.

It wasn’t an epiphany, bells didn’t sound and an angelic chorus didn’t sing. It just...was.

“You’re welcome,” she said, fighting back the sudden prick of tears.

He settled her back against him. “New Year’s Eve is around the corner. Might be a good time for our first official date.”

“Can you take the time off?”

“If I work hard this week, I can manage it.”

Shelby smiled. “Good. I already made us a reservation.”

“Oh?”

She hesitated for a moment. After this morning, she hadn’t been sure they should take their relationship to the next level. Carla’s ultimatum sat between them, and Shelby had meant what she said—she wouldn’t make John choose—but she wasn’t going to give up on John. “At August in New Orleans. I also booked a suite at Windsor Court in case we drink too much and don’t want to drive back.”

“I’m pretty sure you won’t drink too much. You’re pregnant.”

“Even so I’m pretty sure you won’t want to drive back,” she said, underlining her words with suggestiveness.

He didn’t say anything, but then he pushed her back as if to rise.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going out to work right now. I’m going to need a full twenty-four hours off if you mean what I think you mean.”

Shelby pulled him back, settling herself again in his arms. “Silly man, but I expect you better bring those four bits. I foresee us having to look for my underwear at some point during the night.”

John dropped a kiss atop her head.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

C
ARLA
STOOD
OUTSIDE
her patio home in the cool wind, surveying the white narcissus that had sprung up too early.

She loved seeing them explode in the window boxes in February. Damn things were noncompliant. Just like everyone else in her life. Dim Sum frolicked under the pin oak, which still shed leaves and harbored a few frisky squirrels.

“Carla?”

She turned to find John standing behind her. “John.”

No surprise there. She knew he’d come. He was a man who thought his words could sway.

“Hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time?”

“No, just fussing at flowers that ignore the fact it’s too early to sprout,” she said, brushing the dirt from her hands and motioning toward her porch. “Let’s get out of this wind.”

John had come from the fields. She could smell the cane on him, and the scent brought back memories of Hal coming home smelling of a hard day’s work laced with the pungent sweet scent of the cane. Like a gentleman, John allowed her to pass, and she climbed the stairs slower than she wished, and settled in the wicker rocker.

John took the corresponding rocker, clasping his big hands between his knees. His tanned face crinkled in thought. “You know why I’m here.”

“I do. You think you can change my mind.”

“This has been hard, Carla.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she said, looking out at the dog circling the tree. “Come here, Dim Sum.”

The dog ignored her. She should have gotten a bitch rather than a male. Stubborn and unyielding in nature, Dim Sum was a credit to his gender. The dog ignored Carla and did whatever the hell he wanted.

“Want me to get him?” John asked.

“No, he’s determined to get a squirrel this year. Once they shake to death one squirrel, they’re hooked.”

“This past year has been bad for you, too.”

“You think?” she drawled before catching hold of her bitterness and reeling it back. “Yes. I lost my only child to a senseless accident.”

He stiffened, his eyes darkening. Perhaps she shouldn’t have poured salt in that particular wound, but she’d put gentility behind her. John’s damn shotgun had killed her Rebecca.
Senseless
was a compassionate word for what she felt about the accident.

“Yes,” he said, his eye focused on Dim Sum, who stood still as a statue, head tilted up, focusing on the branches supporting the barking squirrel.

“I’ve hated you as much as I’ve loved you, John. What happened to Rebecca wounded me. There’s no way to fix that. I felt grief when I lost Hal, but it was fifty-fifty on whether I’d go first or he’d go. But when Rebecca died...well, it’s not right for a child to beat a parent to the grave. I had thought I’d have years of grandchildren, of watching you two grow the Stanton family, but it was a cruel figment of my imagination.”

“I had thought the same thing, Carla.”

“So why are you letting it go so easily?”

He turned his head, his gaze settling on her. “Listen to that question, Carla.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t. Rebecca’s gone. There is no ‘it’ to hold on to, and I can’t live in the dark anymore. Grief is a terrible place that can suck a person in and not let go.”

“You replaced her,” Carla said, her heart contracting in her chest, “with that woman.”

“I didn’t replace Rebecca. She’s irreplaceable, but she would have liked Shelby.”

“You don’t know what Rebecca would have liked. The last year of your marriage wasn’t good. You spent all your time in the fields and she spent all her time crying. She wanted a baby and you had given up on her.”

Something on his face surpassed guilt.
Agony
was the right word. “Sure, things were tough,” he said. “All those hormones made her too emotional, but I never asked for a break from our marriage, just a break from the fertility treatments. She agreed. We planned a week away in Mexico right after harvest. That’s why Rebecca went to Gonzales that day. She’d met with a travel agent.”

Carla said nothing.

“Don’t do this to me, Carla. Don’t say our marriage wasn’t good. Don’t make me carry any more of a burden than what I already carry.”

Carla closed her eyes. “I’m still so angry about what happened. There are so many what-ifs.”

“Yeah, there are, but I can’t live that way anymore. Every single day for the past year, I’ve lived thinking what-if. But thing is, I can’t change what happened. All I can do is go on without Rebecca, grateful for the time I had loving her. She wouldn’t want me to live hurt and alone, unable to ever love again. She wasn’t that kind of person.”

Carla’s clutched her chest and rocked for a moment, soaking in the truthfulness of his words. But even as part of her knew he was right, another part of her heart hardened. How could he replace her daughter so easily, so quickly...and with someone who looked like she belonged in a tube top and Hooter shorts?

This wasn’t about love...it was about lust.

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered who John moved on with, because it signified the true end—his letting go meant Rebecca was truly dead. Of course, Carla knew this, but the thought of John getting to love again while Rebecca lay cold in a grave felt like a hot poker sinking into her flesh. “But things have changed. I have changed.”

“Enough to sell Breezy Hill?”

Carla barricaded her emotions, reminding herself John had motive to convince her otherwise. He wanted his cake and to eat it right in front of her, sharing it with Shelby. “You can’t have Breezy Hill and Shelby, too. Sorry. If you want her, I’ll petition to dissolve the trust. Actually, I’m doing that no matter what I decide to do with the land.”

“Why?”

“Because there are no more Stantons.”

“There are other Stantons.”

“But none who want a farm. They’d sell it anyway so why should I hold on to something no one wants?”

“I want it.”

She didn’t say anything else for a few minutes. Part of her wanted to do as he asked. Just let John live and work the land. She could think about what to do with all of it later. When it was easier and didn’t hurt so much. But the other part of her wanted to punish him, wanted to make him live where she lived—in the dark realm of loss. “You should go.”

John stood. “The harvest will be finished by mid-January. Pray on this, Carla.”

“Don’t,” she said.

“I hope your need to punish me for what happened to Rebecca will wane with the knowledge I loved Rebecca and I love Breezy Hill.”

“This isn’t about love,” Carla snapped, angry he’d brought God into it, angry he sounded so rational.

“It
is
about love, and so you know, I won’t give up the chance to feel that way again. That will always be my answer, Carla.”

With those words, John walked across the small porch, down the steps and climbed into the pickup truck he’d bought when he and Rebecca married. The old work truck was dented and well-used, the hallmark of a serious farmer whose fields were more important than style. John tipped his hat and with a final wave drove away, no doubt heading back to the tractor Hal had breathed his last breath in.

Pragmatic.

John had always been even-keeled and focused on the land. He’d loved her daughter, that she knew, but he’d also benefited from marrying Rebecca.

So how could he set it aside so easily, losing his head over a woman like the one he shacked up with?

So unlike the son-in-law she’d once loved.

Carla didn’t understand him anymore, and she damn sure didn’t respect a man who would jeopardize all he was for a pair of big tits. And if she couldn’t respect him, she couldn’t let him continue at Breezy Hill, farming, managing, safeguarding something that didn’t exist anymore. The farm that had once meant everything to Hal was no more. She’d given John a chance to make things right again, and he’d spouted some drivel about moving on.

Well, she
was
moving on.

Tomorrow she’d call Duke at the bank and convince him to sign off on the dissolution of the trust. And she’d call the attorney’s office to have the paperwork filed and rushed through. Harvest would be over, the cane would be in the mill, and Breezy Hill would go on the block.

If John wanted Breezy Hill, he’d have to flippin’ buy it.

That’s how she was moving on.

“Get up here now, Dim Sum,” she said, standing. Finally, the little dog abandoned his post and trotted toward her, tongue lolling out happily. “Well, at least you can be happy about not getting what you want.”

* * *

S
HELBY
STOOD
IN
the middle of the hotel suite cursing at the red cocktail dress.

She couldn’t zip it.

Mother fricker.

She tugged again and heard the telltale rip.

Closing her eyes, she unzipped the part she’d been able to zip, stepped out of her favorite dress and kicked it across the room. Standing in a garter belt, red lace bra and high stilettos, she looked exactly like what Carla had accused her of being—a two-bit whore.

No. She wore La Perla.

Definitely worth four bits.

She’d brought one other dress—a stretchy bit of red lace that curved against her body. It would fit a woman who weighed two hundred and fifty pounds or one who weighed under a hundred. Either way, it fit like liquid satin, hugging every curve and every flaw.

Shelby didn’t feel like having every flaw highlighted, but it was the only option she had left. Her stomach pooched out. Well, she
was
pregnant, but the long-sleeved stretchy see-through dress made her look like the Commodores’ hit song.

Come on, baby. You can rock this look. Boobs, ass, kicking curves. A little pooch couldn’t take away from letting it all hang out.

Shelby tugged on the dress, deciding to own it. She gathered her hair and twisted it into a knot, pinned it up, and then slid on her drop diamond earrings. She finished with sultry red lipstick.

Yep. She looked like a walking ad for sex, and after a week of flirting, taking long showers and waking from erotic dreams featuring John, she was ready to deliver as advertised.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the bedroom door and walked out. John turned around, holding a glass of whiskey, looking dashing in a navy suit.

“Holy shit,” he said, swallowing.

“Figured I’d give you your money’s worth,” she said with a little bit of purr in her voice.

He didn’t answer because he was busy undressing her with his eyes. “Stop,” she said.

“What?”

“Doing what you’re doing. We’re not going to make the reservation if you keep looking at me like you can see the red lace bra I’m wearing. And the panties I’m not.”

He tossed back the entire drink. “Holy shit.”

She laughed, and it sounded like an invitation, but not yet. Shelby liked foreplay. She liked drawing it out. After their first time in that disgusting bathroom, they both deserved to be driven crazy by desire. Slow and torturous.

She picked up her jacket. “Let’s grab a cab. We can make out in the backseat.”

John picked up the phone on the secretary and punched a button. “We need a cab out front, please.” Hanging up, he turned and watched her ease into her jacket.

“I’d help you with that, but if I touch you, one of two things will occur. I’ll either strip you naked and we won’t see champagne and oysters until breakfast or I’ll have to change my pants.”

Shelby laughed, suddenly very happy the appropriate satin red dress hadn’t fit her. “Well, then keep your distance because I’m eating for two. If you want any chance of me being able to stay awake all night to do delicious things to your body, I’ll need sustenance.”

“Quick. Talk about world poverty or sweaty gym socks or poison ivy, because if you keep dropping those little innuendos, I’m not going to make it.”

“That wasn’t an innuendo. It was a promise,” she said.

John groaned, reached out and slid his hand behind her thigh, moving it up, cupping the naked flesh of her ass. “You weren’t lying.”

Shelby straightened his tie, intentionally brushing against the nice erection tenting his pants before drawling, “I never lie about sex.”

His response had her doubting their ability to make it to the cab. If she’d had panties on, they’d be damp. Turned on wasn’t the concept for what she felt. Her body hummed with anticipation. She wanted the man she woke up thinking about every morning...and not just because she lived with him.

But because she loved him.

Tonight her heart was in the game and there was no going back.

John’s hand shook as he poured another shot of bourbon.

Shelby smiled. “We better go.”

He killed the drink and grabbed the room key. “After you. I want to watch the action from behind.”

Shelby smiled and walked with an exaggerated gait to the elevator.

“Good show, good show,” he teased from behind her.

* * *

S
O
MUCH
FOR
moving slowly.

John watched Shelby sip her water and tried to focus on an image of his fourth grade math teacher with her googly eyes, frizzy hair and horrible coffee breath. Dressed in a bikini.

Yeah. That deflated his lust a little.

The restaurant buzzed around them, but the intimacy at their table kept them in their own world.

“Are we still planning on going to your sister’s bed-and-breakfast for New Year’s Day buffet or will you have to go back to the fields?”

“Abigail has a full house this year, so we’re switching to Mom and Dad’s. I managed to eke out some extra time off. We haven’t run into any issues this harvest. With the rain staying away, there are no rut repairs or bogged-down machinery. We should have the last of the cane to the sugar mill by midmonth.”

“I’m sure that will be a relief,” she said, finishing off the last of her eggplant parmesan. “What do you do next?”

Find another job?

No. Not going to think about Carla or Breezy Hill tonight. Just Shelby and a potential future. “Usually we do repairs, reassess fields and plant some soybeans. In farming, the work never ends, just slows down a bit.”