Stubborn as a Mule Page 12

  Lowe blinks, then gives a sigh, knowing that’s the only thing I’m willing to talk about regarding my absence at the bar yesterday.

  “It was nothing,” he says casually. “Just running their ignorant mouths.”

  “Well, glad it didn’t blow up. You know I don’t like fights starting in my bar.”

  “Says the man who just about ten years ago put one of your customers in a headlock, dragged him down the length of the bar, and threw him out the door,” Lowe says dryly as he turns to look over Floyd’s shoulder.

  That was true.

  Some drunk redneck doing some seasonal farm work started throwing around a very colorful word that I’m personally opposed to. After I asked him to stop using it twice, and he refused… well, I just helped him out the door.

  Which reminds me…

  “If those boys start running their traps again making objectionable comments and they don’t stop it, you do have my permission to make them stop. Got me?”

  “I know,” Lowe says without even looking at me. He knows what to do when the boundary is pushed too far. “I’ll handle it.”

  “When you going to bring your girl by for a drink with me?” I ask Lowe, and he narrows his eyes at me.

  “Not my girl,” he says blandly.

  “But soon, right? Lantern Festival this weekend. Nice and romantic.”

  Lowe rolls his eyes at me, and I grin as I watch him and Floyd decide the flooring feels a might mushy and needs replaced. This will involve cutting out the old floor and putting in new.

  “I know you don’t have a lot of free time to do this,” I tell Lowe. “I can get someone else. I’m sure Floyd can recommend someone.”

  “Not really,” Floyd says, scratching his stomach. “Lowe’s the best. He’s the only one I’d recommend.”

  “I’ll make the time, Pap,” Lowe admonishes me.

  “Well, I know you’re working on Mainer House. Plus, you got your own job and then you’ve got a personal life, and—”

  “Zip it,” Lowe growls at me with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll hit it tomorrow mid-morning after I take care of something at Mely’s house.”

  “Ooooh, Mely,” Floyd says in a grade-school-girl kind of way as he nudges Lowe. “I knew there was something there. Can hear it in the way you say her little nickname.”

  “Oh, grow the hell up,” Lowe snaps as he shoves Floyd on the shoulder.

  Floyd shoots me a grin. I decide to join in the fun. “I’m thinking she’s totally your girl. You definitely need to bring her by to meet me so I can welcome her to the family.”

  “It’s not like that,” Lowe maintains.

  “Pretty sure they’ve already been kissin’,” Floyd says with a nod toward our target.

  “You’d be totally guessin’,” Lowe growls.

  “Something’s there,” I remark thoughtfully. “He went from vandalizing her house to calling her ‘Mel-e-e-e-e’.”

  Lowe’s face turns red. “Seriously, don’t you two have anything better—”

  “You know,” Floyd says, now really getting into it. “You should just get that girl to fall in love with you, then you’d get Mainer House back.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Lowe tells Floyd.

  “No, seriously,” Floyd continues, and now I don’t think he’s teasing anymore. “You want Mainer House to stay in the family. You’re marryin’ age and single as they come. That northern lady is right pretty, and I know you like kissin’ her. Court her, get her to fall in love with you, marry her, then you get Mainer House back. And want to know what the best part of it is?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Lowe responds dryly.

  “The best part,” Floyd says with relish as he lightly punches Lowe in the shoulder for effect, “is that if it turns out you don’t really like her, you can divorce her and you’d probably get the house in the divorce settlement. I know Judge Bowe would give it to you.”

  Definitely a stupid idea, but that’s the way Floyd’s brain works. I mean, we are talking about a man who thinks it’s his divine duty to protect the town with his shotgun.

  But Floyd’s right about one thing. Judge Bowe would keep that house in the Mainer family for sure. He’s a man who respects tradition so if Lowe were to ever get that house by marriage, he’d probably get to keep it if things went south.

  “Okay, I can’t even deal with you,” Lowe says, throwing his hands up with a glare at Floyd. He turns to look at me. “I’ve got to run over to Walmart to grab a few things I need for tomorrow.”

  “Oh, hell no. You are not going to Wally World to buy stuff you can buy at my store,” Floyd snarls, and while he’s normally a huggable bear of a weird guy, he looks genuinely pissed. “You need stuff to work on Mainer House, you buy it at Floyd’s. You need to fix your Pap’s floor, you buy it at Floyd’s.”

  “You got Kool-Aid?” Lowe snaps at him.

  Floyd blinks slowly in return. “Huh?”

  “Didn’t think so. You got gelatin capsules?”

  “Um… no?” Floyd answers like he’s not sure if he carries that stuff.

  “Red food dye?”

  Floyd shakes his head.

  “Then you don’t carry what I need,” Lowe says, and I chuckle at how deftly Lowe’s managed to get Floyd to stop talking about marriage, divorce, and property settlement.

  “Why you need that stuff?” Floyd asks suspiciously.

  “Got a practical joke to play,” Lowe says, and his eyes start twinkling with wickedness.

  Now that’s definitely my grandson right there.

  CHAPTER 15

  Lowe

  Morri is coming down the staircase so I quickly get on my back and slide under the kitchen sink, pretending to fiddle around with it. Truth be told, I don’t have anything to do here today because Mely wants me to work on the hardwood next, and I’ve got to take a ride to Raleigh to rent a commercial-grade sander. I would normally sand flooring by hand, but there’s just too much square footage here to do on my own.

  But Morri doesn’t know that.

  Mely does. She knows I’m just hanging out here to enjoy and bask in the fruits of my early morning labors. Mely is completely complicit in this prank, as she’s the one who gave me tacit permission to sneak in at about six o’clock this morning. It made for a long day having to get up that early and make my “adjustments” to the bathroom shower, but it will be so worth it.

  She tried to wait around for Morri to wake up, but the call of Larkins’ sticky buns called out to her. She said she’d run over, get us some, and be right back, but that was fifteen minutes ago. I suspect those girls are gabbing.

  “What’s broken now?” Morri says with a drawled sigh as he walks into the kitchen. Today’s morning outfit is a peach-colored velour robe that he’s got belted tightly.

  “Leaking flux capacitor,” I say without looking at him.

  When he merely mutters, “Figures,” I grin.

  I fake my work on the sink, remaining silent as Morri pours himself a cup of coffee. We’ve not talked at all since the donut thing yesterday, and I have no idea if he’s expecting turnabout or not.

  He’s going to get it though.

  “I’m going to go take a shower,” Morri says.

  I angle my head to look at him impassively. “Well, enjoy,” I say blandly.

  “I assume the water’s working upstairs?” he asks churlishly.

  “Yup,” I tell him. “It’s just a faulty flux capacitor down here. Easy fix.”

  He doesn’t respond but makes some sort of aloof grunt of acknowledgment, then he’s walking out of the kitchen. I wait until I hear him hit the top step of the staircase before I scramble out from under the sink.

  As I make my way into the foyer, Mely’s opening the door holding a Sweet Cakes box. I jerk my chin up the stairs. “Not long now.”

  Mely grins at me, shuts the door, and leans against it as she whispers, “I feel like we should have buttered popcorn for the show.�
��

  I vaguely hear Morri in the bedroom, puttering around… perhaps gathering his clothing or something. And while I woke up this morning wanting nothing more than to get back at him for making me eat mayonnaise, as I look at Mely right now, I start to lose interest in Morri getting his comeuppance.

  That’s because Melinda Rothschild is looking beyond amazing today. She’s wearing nothing flashy or sexy or painfully out of place. In fact, she’s wearing a simple pair of jeans that are cuffed above her ankles, a pink and white checked halter top that hangs loose and low over her hips and a pair of simple white sandals. She looks every bit of a casual country girl, yet she carries herself in almost a regal way. Regardless of any of that, it’s her eyes right now that have me utterly captivated.

  Still that beautiful, Artic-ice blue, but they are filled with humor and excitement of what’s to come. She looks young and carefree as she leans against the door holding her box of Sweet Cakes and waiting for me to get my glory.

  And I can’t freaking help myself.

  I take two steps, come toe to toe with her, and my hands go to her face. She lets out a slight gasp as I pull her away from the door and the sound of the Sweet Cakes box hitting the floor doesn’t even bother me.

  Her either, as she’s ready when my mouth hits hers in a sweepingly, electrifying kiss that causes my pulse to shoot through the roof. Mely’s hands fist into the front of my t-shirt, and she steps in closer as her head angles opposite of mine. With a low groan, I open my mouth and hold her face still so I can kiss the ever-loving hell out of it.

  “Aaagh,” Morri shrieks from upstairs, and the sound is so horrifying it’s like an electrical zap knocks me and Mely apart.

  We stare at each other, and another scream pierces the air, followed by a “Mel-e-e-e-e. Lo-o-o-o-w-e. Someone. Help me. Please for the love of waterproof mascara, please someone help me.”

  “Oh my God.” Mely lets out a little surprised gasp, her eyes going round. When Morri shrieks again, she snickers and starts running toward the staircase.

  I follow behind her, and yes, I look at her very nice backside as I chase her up the stairs. She turns right at the top landing, heading toward the master bath, and I follow along. By the time we get there, Morri is now piteously crying out that he’s dying and a tiny twinge of guilt hits me.

  But then I recall the mayonnaise yesterday. A rush of queasiness hits me, then I’m over the guilt.

  Mely runs into the bathroom and comes to a complete stop as she looks in. I come up right behind her, and while I wish I was back downstairs kissing her because a naked Morri in the shower is not my thing, the sight that greets me is so damn funny I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

  Luckily, Morri’s got the shower curtain pulled across his body as he stands there with a look of horror and tears pouring down his face.

  “Mel-e-e-e-e,” Morri cries out. “Make it stop.”

  Mely lets out a snicker and rushes to the shower where she turns the faucet off.

  The rush of water—which is dark blood red by the way—stops, but the damage is done.

  Morri’s coated in what looks like blood, the white tiled walls look like a slaughterhouse, and the tub has a few inches of runoff in deep, dark red. It looks like someone murdered poor Morri, who is now staring daggers at me across the bathroom.

  “Gotcha,” I say with relish in between bouts of laughter.

  “I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You,” he says each word out slowly and with malice. “That was not funny.”

  “So funny,” I disagree as I laugh even harder.

  “I thought the house had been possessed or something,” Morri mutters as he takes a towel that Mely hands him. “I thought it was real blood, you vile, awful man.”

  “Nah, just a little food coloring in gelatin capsules,” I say nonchalantly.

  Silently, I add on, And Kool-Aid, which will leave you nice and sticky too.

  Morri mutters as he wipes his face, but he must feel the sticky effects because he sniffs the air and then asks me, “What else was in there?”

  “Kool-Aid,” I say simply.

  Mely giggles and Morri turns a seething look her way. “You’re now involved, Miss Thing. My retribution will be vast and magnificent.”

  “This was all me,” I say in Mely’s defense. I mean, she did let me in the door, she did know what I was going to do, and she didn’t once try to talk me out of it, but still… I’m going to protect her from his wrath.

  “Whatever,” Morri says as he wraps the towel around his waist and lets the curtain go. Mely and I back up as he steps out of the tub, leaving bright red footprints on the bath mat. Lifting his chin in the air, trying to muster some dignity despite the fact he looks like someone dumped a bucket of pig’s blood over him, he says, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get rinsed off in the spare bathroom.”

  “Oh, don’t be so mad,” Mely says to try to appease her friend, but he’s having none of it. He stomps out of the bathroom—slips slightly as he rounds the corner—and then disappears.

  Mely laughs and says, “That was epic.”

  I agree but I’d rather kiss her again, so I do. That was way more epic than me getting even with Morri.

  Slipping my fingers into her hair at the back of her head, I close my fist and hold her tight as I bring my lips down to hers. My eyes are open just before our mouths touch, and I see the welcoming curve of a smile from her. My lips are curved as well, and so we’re both smiling as we kiss.

  I sure as hell hadn’t planned on this happening this morning, but it’s perfect in its spontaneity. Mely’s just perfect, so the kiss is perfect, once again.

  It’s also deep and hot. We start to get swept away with it. Her hands go around my neck and my free arm wraps around her waist to pull her in close to me. When her body touches mine, I groan slightly and my head swims.

  “Mel-e-e-e-e-e,” Morri shrieks, louder than before, causing us to once again spring apart from the shocking sound.

  “You didn’t?” she asks with wide, disbelieving eyes.

  “Put the capsules in the other shower?” I ask innocently. “’Fraid I did.”

  “You are so bad,” she murmurs, but her hands grip into my hair and she pulls me back down to her mouth to kiss me.

  While Morri screams bloody murder for the second round of red dye and Kool-Aid that’s being rained down on top of him, I kiss a woman who I am pretty sure was brought into my life for a reason other than taking something away from me.

  I think I’m actually getting a lot more than I lost.

  The Gossip Mill

  at Floyd’s Hardware Emporium

  by Floyd Wilkie

  The front door, which I’d recently rigged up a recording of the General Lee’s Dixie car horn to play, opens, but I don’t bother looking up.

  “I need a four-letter word that means ‘pledge’ and it starts with an ‘O’,” I say as I stare at the crossword puzzle in the paper that I have spread out on the counter.

  “Oath,” the slightly feminine, Yankee-accented voice says.

  I look up, seeing that feller who has been staying at Mainer House with Miss Rothschild. My eyes go back down to the puzzle. I see it will fit nicely.

  “Thanks,” I say as I fill the word in, and then push the puzzle away. Straightening up, I place my palms flat on the counter and give him a smile. “What can I do ya for?”

  The man looks puzzled for a moment and doesn’t respond. This gives me a moment to take in his outfit, which defines weird for these parts. He’s wearing a button-up white shirt with black polka dots and a bright pink blazer—as bright as the pink Lowe painted the Mainer House trim—along with a pair of white Bermuda shorts and white loafers. Wearing a pair of black frame glasses, he looks highly intelligent but—weird.

  Still, he’s good at crossword puzzles, so I’ll give him some deference in the smarts department.

  “I was wondering if you could help me with something,” the man says as he walks up to the c
ounter with a definite sway to his hips. Not in an overt “look at me” way, but I think that’s the way he just naturally walks.

  “Sure,” I say with a smile.

  “Well, I notice this town doesn’t have a mechanic,” the man says as he reaches the counter and leans in to talk a bit more softly.

  “Used to be one over at Miller’s Gas Station, but he didn’t get enough business so went over to open up in Milner. Need a ride there or something?”

  “No, no,” the man insists, and then leans in a little closer. “It’s just… I want to cut the brake lines on Lowe Mancinkus’s truck so he runs off the road and into a ditch. Is that something you can help me with?”

  I blink slowly at this guy, who now not only looks weird, but is also now bordering on being really weird, and stutter, “Um… well… are you sure you really want to do that?”

  “No, I don’t want to do that,” the man snaps at me while swiveling his head side to side. “But I want to do something really good to get back at him for putting red dye and Kool-Aid into my shower this morning. Just look at my skin.”

  My gaze drops down to his hands that he’s holding out in front of me, but well… they look like hands.

  I look back up to him. “Not sure what I’m supposed to be seeing.”

  “My skin is tinted red,” he practically wails.

  My eyes drop, I take a second look, and then raise them again. “Not seeing it.”

  “You can’t see this red tint?” His hands now flap wildly in front of my face.

  “Looks black to me,” I say honestly.

  “Well, regardless,” he huffs out impatiently. “I need something really, really good. Figured a hardware guy like you could help me build something good. Maybe a trap door under his porch step that drops him down into a vat of cow manure or something.”

  I blink again, soaking in the seriousness of his expression, and then blurt out, “You’re serious about this?”

  “Of course, I am,” he says with great indignation. “I don’t ever let anyone get one up on me.”