Simple Gone South (Crimson Romance) (8 page)

“Brantley, I—”

And he smiled. “Come on, Lucy Mead. It’ll be fun.”

That was the hell of it. It would have been fun and so fulfilling. She had already started doing research and had fantasized about the grand opening. Perhaps she would even win an award.

But that couldn’t happen now, and all because of
him
—the man who had cost Lucy her heart at fifteen and again at nineteen. She had let it happen and she’d been paying in small ways ever since. She couldn’t count the times she’d had to flee town, had to miss out on plans she had looked forward to, all because the golden boy was coming to town.

And now he was going to cost her this job that was so much more than a job. It was her heart’s work, the kind she loved best and a sign of true acceptance into her adopted hometown. And that wasn’t the least of it.

He would be
everywhere
. Missy, who knew nothing of Lucy’s broken heart and humiliation, adored Brantley and he her. They had been babies together in the Christ Episcopal nursery. Their mothers had been friends. They had shared cotillion classes and high school. They had gotten drunk together for the first time. They had done everything except date and have sex.

And when Judge Brantley and Eva Kincaid had been killed, Missy had slept on the floor by his bed that night, and every night after until Charles Kincaid whisked him off to Ireland.

No way was any social event that involved Missy happening without Brantley. She’d probably even let him come to book club.

He sat across from her now, totally unconcerned that he was ruining her life. He seemed to have forgotten that he was even in her presence, so enthralled he was with lavishing attention on that dog.

Careful, Eller, he’ll dangle his magic in front of you and then snatch it away
.

Telling Miss Caroline would be hard. She had been so pleased with Lucy’s enthusiasm. But she would move on. Strong women like Miss Caroline did. She’d use her contacts and come up with someone else in no time—probably some tall, thin sophisticate who would rent one of those soulless sterile condos out at the lake for the duration of the project. Winter at the lake. Frosted over windows and a gas log fireplace. Brantley would be glad to make the twenty-minute drive out there to work. He might even get snowed in. Tiptoe Watkins had told Lucy last week that they would for sure have snow this winter, because the skins of the apples were tough. That was good. That demon woman who had stolen her job would cut her hand when she tried to make Brantley an apple pie. She wouldn’t die or even lose a finger—just hurt a little and ruin the pie. Oh, and maybe she would bleed all over their plans, so they wouldn’t be able to win any awards. She deserved ruined plans for stealing Lucy’s job and Brantley deserved a ruined pie for ruining—well, everything.

Miss Caroline would not understand. She was not the kind of woman who let people ruin things for her. It wasn’t fair.

Brantley pushed his silky moonbeam hair out of his eyes.

“I need a haircut. Can you cut my hair? Just trim it up a little?” He was teasing her now and his smile was way too sweet.

“Sure,” Lucy said. “Let me just get my hacksaw.”

He laughed. “Lucy Mead, I don’t like the sound of that. Maybe I’ll just go lie in the road and let a possum gnaw it off.”

“Maybe you will.”

And maybe I won’t let you ruin this job for me
.

That was a new thought. Her heart rate picked up. It had to stop sometime, didn’t it? She closed her eyes and saw herself fleeing town on a Rascal because Brantley was coming to Missy’s ninety-fifth birthday.

“I have decided to go ahead with the job,” she announced formally. “We can work together.”

His head snapped up. Of course he was surprised. No matter what she’d said, he had not seriously considered that exactly what he expected to happen, might not.

“That’s good news,” he said, like it was new news to him.

“I will not kowtow to you,” she said.

“No one ever does.” He got to his feet. “Okay. I need to move a few things into the carriage house, plus let my dad and grandmother know I’m here. I’m going to need to leave Eller here with you while I do that.”

“No.”

“She’s no trouble. She never poops or pees on the floor. And I’ve got some dog food in the car.”

“I didn’t think she was trouble. I think
you
are. But you aren’t going to be my trouble.”

“Please, Lucy. What if she got hit by a car during all the chaos of unloading my car? That would be terrible.”

Lucy looked at the little ball of white fur. It would be terrible.

“Put her in Miss Caroline’s house.”

“She’d be better off taking her chances in the street than dealing with that monster cat from hell of my grandmother’s—meanest animal on four legs. Come on, Lucy.” He smiled. It wasn’t fair when he smiled. “It won’t be for long. I don’t have much stuff.”

Lucy hesitated. She ought to make him take the dog to Missy. Or his dad’s house. Anywhere.

“All right. But you come and get her as soon as you’re done. I mean it.”

“I will. Then I’ll pick you up at six. I can’t stay out late because I’ve got to fly to San Francisco early in the morning for some PR and glad handing for the project I just finished. I’ll be gone about a week.”

“Wait! Hold on! What do you think you are picking me up
for
?”

“Our date. I am taking you out.”

“No.”

“I told you that you were going to hear from me. I made that clear.”

“I am not dating you.”

“We’ll see,” he said. “That’s mostly what I came back for. I’ll just get that dog food.”

Things had not gone as well with Lucy as Brantley would have liked but better than he’d feared. After all, she had let him leave Eller. That was something. At first, he had been surprised at her refusal to return his calls. People almost always returned his calls and if they didn’t, he didn’t care.

But not Lucy; she refused and he cared. Even after he’d gotten the message that she wasn’t going to call, he had kept calling to hear her recorded voice, and because he wanted to tell her something. He had suspected she was listening to the messages he’d left and he’d been right. She’d proven that this morning with all that talk about hiring pumpkin carving.

Several times, he’d vowed to leave her alone but he just couldn’t.

She was his happy place and he knew as well as he knew the earth turned that she wanted him too—though you sure couldn’t prove it by her actions. Even as he’d made his plans to return to Merritt, all he could think about was seeing her, being near her—and he had not been at all sure that she would let that happen. Last night, he had packed his final box and had intended to sleep late this morning before making the drive. But he’d woken in the wee hours, overwhelmed by his need to see her. So he’d ambushed her on her porch. He’d been afraid, afraid of how he felt and afraid she wouldn’t let him in. So he’d gone all smartass on her—probably not the best move but he was making this up as he went.

But oddly, he took it as a good sign that she wanted to run from him. That proved she had some feelings worth running from.

He had no idea why, after all this time, such strong attraction kicked in. But there was something there—something fiery and fine that made him remember a bourbon-soaked late spring night in Savannah, Georgia when they had danced and laughed and he’d almost committed the unpardonable.

“Don’t poop where you eat, boy,”
Papa Brantley had said to him more than once—and he had almost done that. Having a one night stand with a hometown girl from his inner circle would have been bad enough, but taking her virginity would have been the ultimate in mixing pooping and eating. Thankfully, he’d realized before it was too late and remembered who he was.

“Brantley, remember who you are. If you aren’t acting like a gentleman, you need to slow down and think.”
More wisdom from Papa.

But that was a long time ago—fourteen years. They’d been kids—though at twenty-one, he hadn’t thought so. That would have made Lucy nineteen. But what had he known? What did he know now? A smile spread over his face. He knew he wanted a little Lucy Mead magic for himself and it didn’t matter why. She wasn’t a kid anymore and he wanted more than a one night stand, though how much more he couldn’t say. He was still working that out.

Things had been so complicated with Rita May. Aside from her temperament, which was enough to make for a hard day for anyone, his family and friends had not liked Rita May. Charles and Big Mama had been as quiet on the subject as Missy had been vocal but there was no doubt that they all lived in fear that he would marry her. How peaceful it would be to rest in that Lucy magic, how simple to embrace something that was accepted and familiar. Plus, he doubted Lucy spent much time throwing stuff at people.

As he pulled into Big Mama’s driveway, his heart beat a little faster and his face suddenly felt hot. She didn’t know he was here. Neither did Charles. He wasn’t really sure why he hadn’t told them he was coming. He’d already emptied out his townhouse and called a realtor. The movers would be arriving Monday with the few things he’d wanted to keep—his workout equipment, his electronics, and some family furniture Big Mama had sent up there when he’d bought the townhouse. Maybe he hadn’t told them he was coming because there had always been a possibility that he might change his mind. But he would say he’d wanted to surprise them. They believed everything he said.

He looked at the house and frowned. He didn’t like the look of that gingerbread bracket under the west eave. It was sagging. He was sure of it.

He’d climb up there and take a look later today. He almost hoped it was a complicated repair that would take hours. He could fix it himself, and he took a lot of pride in that. Not everybody knew he was capable of manual labor. Fact was, he knew enough about how to repair a plaster wall and lay tongue and grove flooring to tell the difference between a craftsman and someone who could just get it done. Just getting it done wasn’t good enough, and he was secretly glad when he had to get his hands dirty from time to time. He’d won the respect of more than one contractor by rolling up his sleeves and pitching in. He’d made some mad too.

He ought to take a look at the rest of the eaves, and the roof too.

Why had he not noticed that sagging gingerbread when he was here last? Because he hadn’t looked closely—couldn’t stand to. And now he was supposed to just walk up on that porch and into that house, like it was his second home—
like he used to do
.

He got out of the car. It was now or never and it couldn’t be never. The porch was swept and the mechanical twist doorbell, which was original to the house, had been polished recently. Nothing shoddy about the maintenance of Big Mama’s life at eye level. He spun the bell and backed off to inspect the porch ceiling.

The door swung open and he pasted on his happy mask. He spun around to find not his grandmother, but Evelyn.

Evelyn was as broad as she was tall, and the color of milk chocolate. Her hair should have been white years ago, but it had been bright red as long as Brantley could remember. He suspected this was her one indulgence in “foolishness.” Evelyn did not hold with foolishness. The only thing she hated more was debauchery.

She put her hands on her hips to stop herself from hugging him. Evelyn was stingy with her hugs, if not her grits.

“Boy, what are you doing here this time of morning? Does Miss Caroline know you’re here?” She couldn’t quite hide her smile.

“Is that all you’ve got to say to me?” Brantley hugged her in spite of her floundering and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“I asked you a question! Miss Caroline did not tell me you were coming. Of course, you never give any warning. You swoop in here for fifteen minutes, eat, make a mess, and leave.”

He followed her into the house. “Not this time. I’m here to stay. Where is Big Mama?”

“She’s down at the church getting the flowers ready for the altar tomorrow. What do you mean ‘here to stay’?”

“I mean I intend to eat and make a mess for more than fifteen minutes. I am moving into the carriage house. At least I hope I am. Nobody has moved in there since Tolly moved out, have they?” Now that he thought of it, that might have been a good question to have asked before now.

Evelyn shook her head. “Moving in, huh? Well, you aren’t doing it today. That place has got to be cleaned top to bottom. It’s been empty for months now, ever since Tolly and the coach bought the old Patterson house.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No way I can get to it before Tuesday. Miss Caroline’s got her card club coming Monday.”

“I can get a cleaning service. I swear by all that is holy that I do not intend to cause you extra work.”

“Humph.” Evelyn put her hands on her hips again. “Don’t swear to the Lord and don’t lie. You’d get me up to Nashville at high noon on Christmas Day to iron you a shirt if you thought you could.”

“Not anymore. You can iron my shirts here—at least for the time being. I am done with Nashville.”

“Are you now? And that Jezebel, Rita May?”

“Her too. But I do think calling her Jezebel might be going a little rough.”

“Humph. Well, you just plan on staying in this house or out with your daddy till I get that place cleaned up.”

“I have to go to San Francisco in the morning for a few days. My furniture is arriving Monday. But really, Evelyn, I can get someone to clean. You have enough to do.”

“Nobody is cleaning but me.”

He knew better than to argue. This was Evelyn’s turf and she intended to defend it. “Then I will pay you extra.”

“I don’t want your money, Brantley Kincaid. Bring me a t-shirt with a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge on it and a magnet for my refrigerator that looks like a street car. That’s all I want out of you.”

Brantley made a mental note to write it in his DayRunner.

“Welcome home,” Evelyn said. “It’ll make your big mama and your daddy happy.”

“Or break their hearts.” He immediately regretted saying it, so he smiled his
I’m just joking
smile.