Stubborn as a Mule Read online

  “Oh, for God’s sake, it was one kiss, Mely,” I snap at her irritably as I put the cup down on the counter so hard it sloshes over the edge.

  Her laugh is melodious and completely taunting. “If you say so.”

  “I’m out of here,” I grumble as I feel my ears starting to burn from embarrassment because it’s so obvious why I showed up here so early.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  “Coming back at seven?” she asks with a chuckle as she follows me to the door.

  “No,” I return curtly without even looking back at her as I stomp past the staircase. “I can’t get the paint until Floyd opens at nine, so it will have to be—”

  Mely’s hand on my forearm stops me in my tracks, not because she has any physical power that dominates me, but she does have something that’s intangibly strong.

  I turn and look at her.

  “I’m just teasing you.” Her eyes are sparkling with mischief.

  “I know,” I grit out.

  “Then loosen up, country boy,” she says with a smile that brings out dimples I never realized she had. Never realized it because this is her first genuine smile, so I’m just noticing how freaking cute those dimples are.

  Letting out a gust of air, I give her a forced smile back because I don’t feel like smiling. I feel like kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.

  “I can’t start the paint until after five this afternoon, or I can wait until tomorrow at seven,” I tell her with an attempted air of professionalism. But frankly, it’s hard with her hand still resting on my forearm.

  “Whatever is easiest for you,” she says sweetly.

  Ugh… nice Mely with dimples is very hard to resist.

  With great effort, I take a step back and dislodge her touch. I casually stuff my hands down into my jeans. “Have you thought about what else you want me to do to fulfill my hours?”

  She nods. “I have, and I actually have a list of all the renovations I want to do. Some of it’s specialized, so it will be things that can’t be accomplished in a few hours here and there. And contrary to how we started out, I really don’t want to make your business suffer. I’m thinking maybe you fix the pink paint and we’ll call it even. I’ll write to Judge Bowe to let him know I’m satisfied. Maybe even your sister can tell us if that will appease him.”

  Now in ordinary circumstances, this would be an awesome offer. It’s more than I ever expected given the tumultuous nature of our relationship and far better than I deserve. And yet, I’m not quite ready for her to cut me loose yet.

  Damn kiss.

  As much as I enjoyed terrorizing Mely for a little bit, it’s honestly done in my mind. She’s the owner, and nothing’s going to change that. Mainer House is gone and I need to move on. I need to do it quickly so my own life isn’t further disrupted. I need to snap up this offer to part ways.

  But I actually can’t believe myself when I say, “I’ll ask Trixie what she thinks, but I’m thinking it will be fine. But I feel like I should do more than just the paint. I put you out, caused you some major trouble and angst. Let me help do some of the work.”

  Mely’s head tilts and she looks at me speculatively, eyes narrowing not in a hostile way but like she’s sizing up my offer. “That seems out of character for you.”

  “Let’s be honest,” I tell her with a quirk in my lips. “You really don’t know me that well. You’ve only seen my ornery side.”

  I get a beautiful laugh as she tilts her head back, and then a flash of dimples when it lifts again. “You are so ornery when you’re mad.”

  “So, let me help with some of it,” I push at her, and it’s not lost on me I’m only doing this because now I’m interested in more than just her association with the house.

  “Okay,” she finally says as she inclines her head almost regally at me. “Can you come by after you get off work? I’ll show you what my plans are, and then let you decide what you want to help out with?”

  “Six o’clock okay?” I ask.

  “Sure. Plan on eating dinner here if you want.” Her reply is breezy and polite.

  “Alright,” I say with a smile and a nod of my head. “I accept.”

  “It’s a date,” she says automatically. When I grin at her knowingly, she suddenly gets flustered, which is beyond adorable. “Well, it’s not a date. You get that, right? Just a figure of speech.”

  “I get it, Mely,” I say with a chuckle and open the door.

  “I’ll um… see you later then.” Her face is even prettier with the little pink on her cheeks from embarrassment.

  I nod and turn to step out, but then think of something else that strikes me. Turning back, I say, “I don’t think your bestie likes me very much.”

  “He doesn’t know you,” she says with a smile.

  “Neither do you,” I point out.

  “But I’m trying,” she tosses back smoothly.

  Hamm… that’s interesting.

  I like it.

  “Okay, then,” I say with a nod. “Count me in for dinner.”

  The Gossip Mill

  at Crump’s Grocery

  via Billy Crump

  The dinging of the counter bell startles me, and I almost slice into my finger. I’m a little shaky this morning as I had to “taste test” a new batch of peach moonshine that came out of the distillery last night.

  Setting my knife down, I wipe my hands off on a towel sitting nearby and then take off my blood-coated apron. The life of a butcher is not a glamorous one by any form of the imagination.

  “Hey, Billy,” Della Padgett says from the other side of the meat counter. “Saw your daddy up at the front. He looks good.”

  “Sure does,” I agree with a smile. My daddy kicked cancer’s butt in a big way, and I am happy to have him back at the store. I’m a damn good butcher, not a great businessperson. My daddy, Louis, owns and manages Crump’s Grocery just like his daddy did before him. I run the meat department. For the eight weeks he did chemo, I had to take it all on and let me tell you… it pure-tee sucked.

  But all is right with the world now. Daddy’s doing great, and he’s back at work. I’m cutting meat again and doing my moonshine business on the side.

  “I need two filet mignons,” Della says as she lays her purse on the counter. “Grilling out with Jason tonight.”

  I smile at her, happy to see Della happy. She’s a widow and has been sad a long time. Jason Miller’s put some light back in those pretty eyes, and I expect the next big wedding in these parts will be between these two.

  Or Trixie and Ry. That’s a possibility.

  “Sorry, Della,” I tell her with a shake of her head. “Don’t have any. But got some good New York strips if you want.”

  Della frowns. “How can you not have any? It’s like the most popular steak ever.”

  I pull off my hat, scratch my head, and then put it back on. “Well, that new lady in town who bought Mainer House was just in not long ago and bought the last tenderloin I had.”

  “The entire thing?” Della asks. “What… is she having a big party or something?”

  I shrug. “No clue, but it was a nice piece of beef. Eighty bucks.”

  Della whistles and says, “I suwannee. She must have something fancy going on.”

  “I heard her talking with her friend who came in with her. Weird sort of fella. Dresses like no one in these parts. Apparently, Lowe Mancinkus is going to dinner over there tonight.”

  “I thought they hated each other,” Della says with interest as she leans on the counter with one elbow.

  I shrug again. Not heard that, but I tell her, “She was looking for goat cheese, too. I told her Farrington Farms produces some but she’d be better off going to Walmart, as they also have prosciutto, which she needed and well… you know we don’t carry that type of stuff.”

  Della nods. “She’s got a guy staying at her house and Lowe sniffing around? Busy lady.”

  “Well, I don’t think that guy at her house is nothin’ more than a friend.
I mean,” I say, lowering my voice to a whisper. “He talks like he’s a little light in his loafers if you know what I mean.”

  “You mean he’s gay?” Della asks, not whispering. I turn my head left and right, but no one’s around. She waves an impatient hand. “I don’t pay that stuff no mind. To each his own is how I see it.”

  “I agree,” I say, although I’m not quite sure if I really do. Never gave it a lot of thought before and if that lady’s friend is indeed gay, he would have been the first one I ever met. Seemed nice enough, if not a little flighty.

  “If it gets out there’s a gay man in town, the bible thumpers will get all riled up and Sunday’s sermon will be on that topic, mark my word.”

  “Probably,” I agree again, but also not sure about that either. I ain’t been to church since I was a kid. I’d be considered a heathen by most standards around here just for that.

  “Well, how about getting me two of those New York strips then?” Della says.

  The gossip mill has been closed for the day.

  CHAPTER 9

  Melinda

  “Mely. Dearest, dearest Mely,” Morri says in an obnoxiously knowing tone of voice. “You are giving your entire hand away.”

  “Oh, shut up,” I say as I dab a tiny bit of goat cheese on a thin slice of prosciutto before wrapping it around a stalk of lightly blanched asparagus.

  “Beef tenderloin, scalloped potatoes, and whatever the hell that is you’re making right now,” he continues—with an airy wave of his hand toward my side dish I’m slaving over—not shutting up. “You are totally obvious. Not to mention the fact you’re cooking this extravagant meal without any countertops. You had to go out and buy a table and cookware just to prepare this one dinner. Obvious, obvious, obvious.”

  “This meal has absolutely nothing to do with Lowe coming over for dinner,” I assert staunchly, and I hope it sounds genuine. “It so happens I’m craving a decent meal. I simply can’t do chicken fried one more time.”

  “Whatever,” he says with his head swiveling side to side as he tosses a hand up.

  “Don’t give me any ‘necktitude’,” I snap at him. “It doesn’t make your words any more powerful.”

  “Clearly it does if you’re pointing it out,” he retorts with a snap of his fingers punctuated with a snap of his wrist at shoulder level.

  I slam my mouth shut. I can never win a catty girl-battle with Morri. Instead, I tell him, “I consider this to be nothing more than a peace offering. He’s going to be doing work on this house, and I want him to do it well. I can’t afford for him to take out his anger over this whole situation on the renovation.”

  And well, that sounded slightly legit even to my own ears. I can almost believe inviting him to dinner has nothing to do with the fact I kind of like Lowe Mancinkus now that he’s not being a jerk.

  Oh, and after that kiss. I mean, what’s not to like about the kind of man who shuts a woman up with his lips?

  “What’s the real deal behind his totally boorish behavior?” Morri asks, and I’m just thankful he’s not making fun of me and the very non-southern, elegant, and expensive meal I’m making.

  I shrug as I wrap another asparagus stalk and lay it out on a paper plate because I don’t have much in the way of dishes. As a matter of fact, I had to drive over to Milner to find goat cheese and prosciutto, which was not a staple Crump’s Grocery carried. Because the kitchen was an absolute disaster with no cabinets and no countertops, since Lowe had removed both, I stopped into the Walmart to purchase a few necessities. Cookware for the meal, a card table with four folding chairs, and various paper plates, utensils, and cups. I didn’t bother with real plates—plastic, ceramic, or otherwise—as I don’t particularly like cooking just for myself so it would have been a wasted expense until I was ready to buy my forever plates for this house. Until that time, most of my meals will continue to be at either Clementine’s or Central Cafe.

  Or Sweet Cakes, but I hate to admit I’d eat an entire meal of cupcakes or cookies. Or pastries. Or any other variety of heavenly little morsels Larkin has just calling out to me from across the street.

  “Well, clearly this house means something to him,” Morri pushes at me, and that interrupts my thoughts of Larkin’s buttercream frosting and starts me thinking of someone who’s equally as mouthwatering.

  “The house has been in his family since it was built by a branch of the Mainers in 1912.” I tell him what little I know of the history. “I kind of get the idea he wasn’t happy it was bought by someone outside of the family.”

  “That’s not even that old of a house,” Morri says thoughtfully.

  “A little over a hundred years old,” I return. “It’s not exactly modern.”

  “But it’s not ancient either.”

  “I don’t think age in this instance has to do with “historical” significance to Lowe,” I muse. “I just kind of get that his family is very important to him and letting this house go to someone not related is hard for him.”

  “Guess it’s got to be hard watching it slip away,” Morri grudgingly admits. “Watching you make changes to this place.”

  “Well, changes are needed for this place to be habitable. It’s been empty for decades. But I’m not going to deviate from the style of this place. It’s too amazing to do that.”

  “Ironic,” Morri says as I finish up the last asparagus stalk, laying it prettily on a disposable plate with the word “Chinette” etched into the cardboard center.

  “What’s that?” I ask as I peek into the gas oven, which surprisingly worked once I had it serviced and cleaned when I first moved in.

  “That this house means something personal to both of you,” he explains. “He’s losing a family connection, but you’re gaining one.”

  All true.

  And also sad that his loss is my gain.

  The knock on the front door causes me to jolt, followed by a strong ripple of excitement that moves up my spine. I feel slightly giddy, and I’m more than a little bothered that one annoying, obnoxious man can make me feel that way. I think I liked Lowe better when I didn’t like him at all, because he’s now throwing me off balance a bit.

  “I’ll get it,” Morri says, then strolls quite elegantly out of my kitchen as I wash my hands at the sink.

  Within moments, Morri is walking back in with Lowe following casually behind, looking loose and relaxed and oh, man… he can rock a pair of jeans.

  He obviously went home and got showered as he’s dressed in dark jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, and a well fit navy-blue t-shirt that he most definitely wasn’t wearing this morning. His hair is slightly wet and he shaved, which I’m not sure if I like better than the stubble, but I like a heck of a lot how strong his jawline is.

  “I brought beer and wine,” he says, holding up a bottle of wine in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other.

  “We’re having an eighty-dollar cut of beef,” Morri says dryly as he snags the wine bottle. “It calls for wine.”

  Lowe just shrugs and walks to the refrigerator, which also thankfully works but it does so with a loud chugging noise. I watch as he makes himself at home by pulling a bottle out of the cardboard carrier before putting the rest inside to chill. With a practiced twist of his hand, he takes the cap off and tosses it in the garbage can, which was also a purchase I’d made today. Previously, I’d just had a plastic bag to collect my throwaway stuff.

  After taking a swallow, he leans back against the fridge and gives me a smile. “Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”

  I get flustered, smile back, and can’t think of anything witty to say.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Morri rolling his eyes before he turns to Lowe. “She’s making beef tenderloin, scalloped potatoes, and asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. It’s a very refined meal.”

  Dipping my chin, I raise an eyebrow, giving Morri a warning look. He refuses to return any type of look toward me, instead pinning his gaze on Lowe.

  “Ref
ined?” Lowe asks curiously as he tilts his head.

  Morri actually lifts his nose slightly in the air and says snootily, “Well… let’s just say a little more civilized than what you’re probably used to. You’d not drink beer with this quality of food.”

  If I expect Lowe to be offended by Morri’s haughty city biases, I’d be wrong. Lowe just shakes his head in amusement and tips his bottle toward Morri in a friendly manner. “Well, guess this country boy has a few things to learn. I’ll stick with beer, though.”

  Morri just sniffs before turning to me. “Where’s your corkscrew, Mely? I’ll open the wine and let it breathe.”

  “I don’t have one,” I tell him over my shoulder as I start setting out the plates and disposable flatware. I do feel slightly odd having this expensive and “refined” meal, as Morri called it, being served so crudely, but it’s actually more fun this way.

  “What?” Morri gasps dramatically. I look back to find his darkened skin paled a little that such a tragedy could occur, and I have to bite down hard not to laugh. My eyes cut to Lowe, who’s equally amused, and he couldn’t look any more gorgeous as he smiles over the top of his bottle at Morri’s antics.

  With eyes sliding hopefully to Lowe, Morri asks hesitantly. “I suppose you wouldn’t be carrying around a corkscrew?”

  Lowe shakes his head. “Sorry. Not a wine kind of dude. Besides, if I need to shank someone, I prefer to carry a pocketknife.”

  Morri wrinkles his nose even as his expression turns more morose that he may have to go without. With a last bit of desperation, he asks me, “Mely… we had wine last night. You have to have a corkscrew.”

  I shake my head with a laugh, pulling the tinfoil off the tenderloin. “Sorry, babe. Those bottles were twist caps.”

  Morri gasps again, his hand going to his heart like this might be the “big one”. “You let me drink wine from a bottle with a twist-off cap?”

  “Oh, good God,” I say with a laugh as I turn away from my bestie with such dramatic stage presence as part of his regular job that it always carries over into real conversation. “You’re still alive, you know.”