Sweet Southern Nights

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“Shh!”

“But—” he started before Abigail cupped a hand over his mouth.

“I know, but I still want to hear the conversation since it’s about me.” Abigail cocked her left ear toward the dining room. Jake grew still and listened, too.

“Well, after working on the Laurel Woods Art Fest committee with her, my opinion has certainly changed,” someone said. Jake was almost certain it was Violet Joyner, the Magnolia Bend First Baptist Church’s pastor’s wife. Sounded like someone with a stick up her ass, and Violet always fit that description.

“What do you mean?” Minnie Orgeron, Abigail’s former mother-in-law, asked.

“Well, you’ll never believe how crassly Abigail behaved, running around with that hippie guy, acting positively like a heathen. Never would have thought it of the daughter of a minister, but you never know with people. Of course they are Presbyterian.”

Abigail’s eyes widened and she stifled a laugh.

Minnie sighed. “I agree, Violet. What a person sees on the surface is one thing, but the inside is quite another.”

Jake whispered, “Jeez, don’t they know heathens have more fun?”

“I thought that was blondes?” Abigail whispered back.

“Yeah—blond heathens have double the fun.”

“I know,” Abigail said, wiggling her eyebrows obviously because her new fiancé was very blond and quite possibly a heathen.

“Why are you letting those old hussies get away with talking bad about you?” he whispered, trying to peer out behind the door.

“Because I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Abigail said with a giggle. Then she stepped out of the closet and shut the door loudly before sashaying into the dining room.

“Oh, hello, ladies,” Abigail trilled. “Have either of you seen Hilda? My mama wants to cut the cake soon.”

Jake could almost feel the two old gossips’ guilt slink past him. Five seconds later the ladies themselves slunk past him, giving him a quick hello, before trotting off toward the back patio, where Hilda’s seventieth birthday party was in full swing. Of course, no one would mention that they’d been celebrating her seventieth birthday for the past three years.

Abigail sauntered by, slapping him on the butt and giving him a knowing grin. Jake laughed.

To think his once socially conscious, uptight sister got a thrill about being gossiped about made his heart warm. Yeah, Leif Lively and love had made Abigail a lot more pleasurable to be around.

“Hey, there, Jakey,” his father said, coming around the corner, holding a glass of fizzing, fussy punch. “Your mama’s been looking for you. She said something about Eva.”

His stomach fluttered. “Is Eva here?”

“No, she sent her apologies and a gift for Hilda. She already opened it. One of those kinky firefighter calendars. Eva sure has a strange sense of humor.”

And beautiful eyes. And soft lips. And breasts that would... Jake stopped right there. Because that’s where his thoughts had kept tripping for the past twenty hours. Okay, seven of those he’d been sleeping, but still. He was in trouble.

’Cause he’d upset the apple cart.

He’d lifted the rock and looked beneath to find the creepy crawlies.

He’d spun the chamber and pulled the trigger.

Too late now because every shade of gray muddled his thoughts. Yeah, no more black-and-white with him and Eva. And it was his own damn fault.

Or at least most of it was.

“Son?”

“Oh, sorry. My mind went somewhere it shouldn’t.”

His father frowned. “Everything okay? You haven’t been yourself these past couple of months.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Did Mom say where Eva is?”

“I think she had to go to Baton Rouge. No, maybe it was New Orleans.”

Jake didn’t know whether he was sorry Eva wasn’t there or relieved. He had to get his feelings under control, and as of 3:11 p.m., which was the current time reflected on Hilda’s antique clock, he’d failed to get a grasp on that damn kiss.

He had thought it would be funny to kiss Eva like he’d kissed almost half of the eligible female population in Magnolia Bend, but it had backfired and blew up in his face.

Because it hadn’t been amusing in the least.

On the contrary—the kiss had been hot.

And it had rocked him to his core, even though afterward he’d pretended it hadn’t.

Three years ago when Eva had strolled into the station with her no-nonsense braid and her chin jutted in determination, he’d drawn the line. Black-and-white. But now everything was gray. Like concrete. Slam-his-head-against-concrete gray. That should be a new Sherwin Williams paint color.

Hilda appeared at his elbow. “Hello, Jake, dear. Something to drink?”

Jake dutifully kissed her cheek. She smelled like Paris...the expensive part with the fancy perfumeries. “Happy seventieth, cuz.”

Hilda blinked and then smiled. “Yes, I can’t believe that many years have already passed. I feel positively twenty years younger.”

Dan barked out a laugh. “I hear seventy-five is the new twenty-five, right?”

Hilda sniffed. “As if I’d know.”

Jake looked over Hilda’s shoulder for his mother. He had no idea why Eva would be in either New Orleans or Baton Rouge. She was a homebody and hated the traffic that plagued both cities. Must have something to do with her brother Chris. Or maybe something else in her past? Worry wriggled into his gut. She’d been secretive over the past few days. Could have to do with her mother. Eva’s mom was in a constant state of fragile health paired with financial ruin. But why would Chris be involved? They shared a father, not a mother.

Maybe it was something to do with their father’s estate.

Or not.

“Now, Jake, since your brothers and sister have found love and marriage, it’s time to work on you,” Hilda said with a gleam in her eye.

“No, thank you,” Jake said, stepping away from Hilda’s long fingers as they grazed his forearm.

“Oh, don’t be silly. You’ve played around long enough. I’m very happy to help you out. After all, I practically gave your sister that delicious man on a silver platter.” She nodded toward Leif, who stood next to Abigail, absentmindedly rubbing the small of his sister’s back.

Dan could hardly hold in his laughter. He slapped Jake on the back and choked out “good luck” before slinking off toward the kitchen and the no doubt elegant cake bought at Swiss Confectionary in New Orleans. Jake’s father was known for his enormous sweet tooth. In fact, his mother always told people she’d landed the handsome new Presbyterian preacher after he’d tasted her caramel cake she’d baked for the Ladies’ Auxiliary fund-raiser.

“Now, let’s start with your clothing. You canter about town wearing sloppy T-shirts and gym shorts that should have seen the bottom of the rubbish pile years ago. I have some lovely catalogs I will loan you. Don’t worry, I’ll mark up the selections I think will suit you best. You’re a handsome man beneath all that scruffiness.”

Jake bristled. “I’m not scruffy.” He rubbed his recently shaved face.

“Darling, it’s not just about your hygiene, it’s the whole look.”

“I like my look. I don’t want to come across like—”

“Jamison French,” Hilda said, pointing toward the dapper man chatting with Shelby and John. Jamison wore a pair of pressed trousers and a long-sleeved shirt with a blue sweater vest. He looked like a rich prissy pants. “Now, that’s a man who knows how to play up his best assets.”