Stubborn as a Mule Page 8

  “I’m not sure how,” Morri mutters, and Lowe laughs.

  A resonant, deep tone that’s one-hundred percent man and it gives me pure shivers. I try to shake off the feeling as I rummage through the Walmart bags for a knife to cut the tenderloin. Pushing away some other smaller purchases I hadn’t put away yet—headache medication, sunscreen, and toothpaste—I realize I didn’t get a knife.

  My head hangs. “Lowe… um… can we borrow your pocketknife to cut the roast?”

  That laugh again.

  I turn to face him and his eyes are sparkling as he reaches into his pocket, confidently palming his beer in his other hand. “Sure thing, Mely.”

  Shivers again.

  Just from the way he says my name.

  I’m in so much trouble.

  ♦

  “You’re kidding me?” I ask with rounded eyes after I take another sip of beer straight from the bottle. It’s a local brew Lowe had brought. While I wasn’t much of a beer drinker, and I definitely hadn’t drank it with a beef tenderloin, I was finding it not so bad.

  Especially not when dinner conversation had been so much fun, despite Morri being cranky and reserved as he eyed the bottle of red wine that couldn’t be opened.

  Lowe shakes his head, the tiny motion causing his dark hair to ripple all around. “Threw her in jail twice.”

  He’s talking about his sister, Trixie, the lawyer who defended him last week over the pink paint debacle, and the wily Judge Bowe.

  “Why would she provoke him like that?” I ask in awe.

  Lowe shrugs. “It’s in the DNA, I guess. I mean… why would I paint your house neon pink?”

  Laughing, I tip my beer bottle to him. “In fairness, it was only the window and door casings.”

  Lowe’s eyes sparkle with humor, but Morri gives a disgusted groan as he stands up from the table. “I can’t stand how chummy you two have become. It’s enough to drive this tired but well fed and under-imbibed black man to bed.”

  I glance at my watch. It’s almost 9:30, and I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. We’re still sitting at the card table, the meal long over with empty paper plates sitting before each of us.

  “Good night, Morri,” I say affectionately, even though he’s been a complete boob to Lowe tonight. I can’t quite decide where his ire is coming from, but I’ll talk to him tomorrow.

  “G’night, sweet Mely,” he coos back at me as he bends over to kiss me on the top of my head. When he stands, he gives me a fierce look. “And try to stay on your side of the bed tonight. It’s too hot to have you snuggling all up to me.”

  Chuckling, I give a nod of my head. “I’ll try.”

  “Good girl,” he says sweetly, and then turns to Lowe. Morri looks down at him imperiously. “Good night, Lowe.”

  “Night,” Lowe says in that deep voice that’s still laced with mischievous humor because Morri clearly doesn’t like him.

  After Morri’s gone, Lowe slides his eyes to me. He’s leaning back in his chair, which he pushed away from the table long ago. His long legs stretched out in front of him, disappearing under the table.

  “Gotta say,” he drawls as he rests his empty beer bottle on his stomach. “A little weird you going to bed with one man after having invited another over to dinner.”

  My eyebrows draw inward, and I point out seriously. “You do realize he’s gay, right?”

  Lowe laughs again, and it’s loose and relaxed. “Yeah… got that, Mely.”

  “Not so weird then,” I return with a grin. “Right?”

  “Still a little weird. This is the South. The Bible Belt. People will think you’re loose to be sleeping with a man when not married.”

  I snort, because I can tell he’s totally teasing me. I’d learned one thing tonight… Lowe Mancinkus is quite worldly despite the fact he lives in a tiny, backwoods town. He has a degree from UNC, a liberal, artsy southern state school located in a very eclectic and diverse town, and he’s well-traveled. He did a semester in Italy and visited many of the European countries while there.

  But here he is… a very intelligent man working with his hands in a very small town.

  I find it fascinating.

  “So, what exactly do you do in your um… carpentry business?” I ask in a stumbling manner because I realize I’m not sure what Lowe does. I know he removed cabinets, linoleum, and wallpaper.

  “Mostly custom type of work,” he says. “Although I can build a house from the ground up.”

  “Really?” I ask, because how many people can say that in this world?

  Lowe nods. “Built my own house. Well, it’s a two-bedroom cabin on the north end of my parents’ farm, but yeah… did one-hundred percent of it.”

  “That’s amazing,” I tell him truthfully. Based on the nature of my work, remodeling and interior design, this is something I can appreciate.

  “But again, remodeling work like I’m doing here on Mainer House is probably eighty percent of my business,” he says, and then his face immediately gets troubled. “I mean… well, guess it’s not Mainer House anymore.”

  “Oh, I fully intend to keep that name,” I reassure him. It’s the Mainer association, after all, that led me to this beautiful piece of my own history.

  Lowe’s eyes soften, and he nods his head. “That’s nice.”

  “I’m sorry this was so hard on you,” I blurt out, feeling the need to make sure he knows this was never a personal thing.

  Lowe shrugs. “It is what it is.”

  “How come this house set empty for so long?” I ask, wondering about that little tidbit of history that I was never able to quite figure out from my dealings with the real estate company who had the property listed.

  “No one to really live in it,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Everyone in the family has their own homes, and it really needed a lot of work as you well know since it sat empty for so long.”

  “The realtor said no one’s lived here since the mid-sixties.”

  “My great aunt, Angela Mainer, got the house in a divorce, but she moved to Raleigh to live with her sister when her kids were gone and moved away. It was left to my mom, Catherine, when Angela died in 1981. My parents did some basic upkeep on it and paid taxes, but it was kind of a financial burden so they decided to sell it.”

  “I really am sorry,” I say again.

  “Not your fault, Mely,” he says kindly. Even through the sadness that this piece of his family’s history is gone, I can tell his grudge isn’t with me anymore.

  “Well, I better get going,” Lowe says as he pushes from the table and it startles me. My immediate thought is to call him back, tell him to stay, but that’s stupid. I barely know this guy, and this was just a friendly dinner.

  I scramble out of my seat. After he puts his empty beer bottle in the garbage, he heads out of the kitchen and into the foyer as I follow him.

  When he reaches the door, his hand grabs the knob but he turns to look at me. “Dinner was really great. Thanks again.”

  “I really am sorry about all of this drama between us,” I tell him sheepishly.

  Lowe laughs and releases the door. Turning more fully to me, he admits, “It’s been kind of fun… butting heads, right?”

  “Little,” I admit.

  His eyes move over my face, focus on my lips, and my pulse runs away wildly. Every single, thrilling memory of his kiss last week slams into me, and my knees go absolutely weak.

  I’ve never had a man make that happen before.

  Lowe’s lips curl upward as if he knows exactly the affect he has on me. I want to punch him for knowing that about me, but I’d rather kiss him, darn it.

  Unwittingly, I shuffle forward a few inches. His eyes lock onto mine, and he leans toward me with his mouth slightly parted.

  Oh, shit… I hadn’t really planned on another kiss and I’ve got asparagus breath.

  “I forgot to tell you, Mely…” Morri’s voice comes down the staircase, deliberately loud and intrusive.

&
nbsp; So intrusive that Lowe and I both jerk backward, and I don’t miss the frustration on Lowe’s face before turning to face Morri.

  He saunters down the stairs, wearing a black and red silk kimono-type robe with flowing sleeves and a grayish-blue facial mud mask covering his dark skin.

  “Forgot to tell me what?” I ask with a sigh.

  “I’ve got FedEx scheduled for a delivery tomorrow,” he says as he comes to stand right beside me, completely throwing icy water on the mood that had been bubbling nicely between Lowe and me. “I bought this fabulous red sequined gown online. There’s a drag club in Raleigh a friend suggested, and they have a credible drag show. Thought I’d stay and check it out. Besides, I’ve been drooling over that dress for weeks. There are only a few left in stock, so I decided to go for it.”

  “Drag show?” Lowe asks curiously.

  “Morri’s an entertainer,” I explain, then turn to back to Morri. “So, you figured you’d go all glammed up to see the show?”

  “Well, sweetie,” Morri purrs with a dramatic pull of his arm across his chest so the long sleeve of his robe arcs gracefully. He turns to the staircase, but looks over his shoulder at me. “When in Rome, right? Besides, red is my signature color.”

  “Right,” I say with a nod of my head as Morri prances back up the stairs.

  “Speaking of Rome,” Lowe says, and I turn back to him with my head tilted. “The Lantern Festival is being held this weekend. You and Morri should come to it.”

  “Larkin was telling me about it. It sounds like fun.”

  “It is,” he agrees and then grabs the knob again. “You know, we didn’t even get a chance to talk about what you want me to do on the house after I fix the paint.”

  “Coffee will be ready at seven AM tomorrow if you want to stop by,” I tell him, throwing out another invitation for him to come socialize with me. I guess at this point I better decide exactly what I’d like him to help me with now.

  “Seven AM,” Lowe says with a nod and tip of his head. “Good night, Mely.”

  “Night,” I return and then he’s gone.

  CHAPTER 10

  Lowe

  “Looking good, Lowe Mancinkus,” I hear a woman call out as I stretch upward to paint the top of the frame around the window. Turning my head to look over my shoulder, I see Lynette Carnes getting ready to walk into Sweet Cakes across the street. She’s our town’s very own Daisy Duke. By that, I mean she struts around in miniscule jean shorts, high heels, and a sleeveless blouse tied off just underneath her very ample chest.

  She’s definitely nice to look at, although she doesn’t have much going on above the cleavage.

  “Morning, Lynette,” I call back. “Lookin’ good yourself.”

  She grins and blows a kiss at me before walking into Larkin’s shop.

  The front door opens and Mely steps out onto the porch, carrying a cup of coffee. There’s no doubt in my mind she witnessed that exchange from the other side of the doorway. It’s obvious by the pinched expression she has on her face. Still, she brings the coffee over to me and sets it on the porch rail.

  “Thanks, darlin’,” I tell her as I go back to brushing paint over the layer of primer I’d put on a few hours ago. I’d decided to work half a day here at Mainer House, not because I was anxious to get the work done, but because I wanted to be around Melinda Rothschild.

  She may not be strutting around in little shorts and a low-cut blouse, but she is most definitely a prettier picture than I’ve ever seen around these parts. She’s wearing a white sundress with a halter top, and her shoulders are lightly tanned with tiny freckles. Her legs are long, bare, and perfectly adorned with nothing more than a pair of simple white sandals. Her silky blonde hair is pulled away from her face at the top of her head and she looks like a breath of fresh air.

  Mely leans against the porch rail, crosses her arms low under her breasts, and watches me work for a minute. I wonder if she likes what she sees.

  I think so.

  There was going to be another kiss last night if Morri hadn’t managed to ruin that little moment. And while I’d never stoop to mention this to Mely, I’m pretty sure he’d been hovering at the top of the stairs, just waiting to ruin it.

  “Much better than hot pink,” Mely says as I continue to apply paint to the casing. I have no clue what the hell I was thinking when I painted her house pink. It was an attention getter and since the two people whose attention it got were Mely and Judge Bowe, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out I might have been pulling on her metaphorical pigtails a bit.

  “I should have this finished by tomorrow,” I tell her. “Then all will be right again.”

  “Odd since it took you a single night to do the damage,” she quips. I don’t look back at her, but I hear the laughter in her voice.

  “Well, neon pink isn’t all that easy to cover up,” I tell her with a laugh.

  She snickers and I can’t believe she was trying to get me thrown in jail last week. My how the mighty have fallen.

  “When in Rome and all that,” Mely says and I turn to look at her from my perch on the ladder. She jerks her chin over her shoulder in the direction of Sweet Cakes. “Is that the standard southern girl uniform?”

  Chuckling, I cut my eyes over to Sweet Cakes where sexy Lynette just disappeared into. I’m not about to tell Mely that I have actual carnal knowledge about that southern girl, even if it was back in my younger years.

  Looking back to Mely, I take in her stylishly sweet dress that doesn’t reveal much but is still sexy at the same time. Giving her a wink, I say, “There’s nothing standard about you, Melinda Rothschild, so I’m advising you to stay away from that look. I think you’re mighty fine just the way you are.”

  And yeah… that little blush staining her cheeks is mighty fine, too.

  My attention is caught by a rumbling engine and I see the FedEx truck pull up. Mely pushes off the porch rail and turns to the steps just as Kelvin is trotting up with a large box. He looks at Mely, glances to me, and mutters, “What’s up, Lowe?”

  “Not much,” I say as I set my brush down over the edge of the paint can, using the moment to wipe my hands clean on the rag tucked in my back pocket.

  Mely signs a digital pad from Kelvin, who looks at Mely with open interest. People have been talking a lot about the pretty New Yorker come south, and some of the men in Chesty’s haven’t been all that polite about their interest in her.

  He glances at me.

  I glare back at him, and he takes the hint, accepting the digital pad from her as he hands over the box without another word.

  As Mely turns, I ask her, “Morri’s dress?”

  Her head lifts and her blue eyes sparkle in the rays from the morning sun cutting west across the edge of the front porch. “You really aren’t too wigged out about a black gay drag queen staying in town and having formal gowns delivered by FedEx, are you?”

  “I’m a bit more liberal than most,” I tell her, and this is not a joke. There are many in this town who wouldn’t understand a damn thing about Morris D. And a few more than that who would be downright threatened by his “strangeness”.

  “It will take a little getting used to that,” she says quietly… and a bit sadly that prejudice is something she’ll have to deal with while here. I hate it’s a part of my home state, but despite a broader acceptance of gays, there’s much about North Carolina that’s still quite backward.

  I don’t like seeing that look on her face. Worry for Morri, and maybe for herself as she tries to acclimate, and it makes me want her to see that there are some people like me who don’t give a damn about the color of your skin or how ridiculous you look in a silk kimono robe while sporting a pair of testicles.

  “Let me have that box,” I say as I jump off the ladder, coming to land right beside Mely.

  She looks at me with skeptical eyes, pulling the box a little closer to herself. “Why?”

  “Because I have an idea,” I say as I hold my hand out.
/>   “What idea?” she presses.

  “A joke,” I admit to her, opening and closing my hand with impatience. “A practical one. Make Morri see that I’m all about the fun.”

  “The fun?”

  “Okay, I want to punish him for ruining our near kiss last night,” I tell her with an impish grin, and her cheeks go pink again.

  Damn, I like that.

  “This is Morri’s dream dress,” she says hesitantly, but I can tell she’s intrigued. I also admire her sass when she adds on, “And I wasn’t going to kiss you again last night.”

  “I won’t harm a pretty, sparkling sequin on it,” I promise in return, and then also declare. “And you were so going to kiss me again.”

  “Was not,” she maintains, even as she tries to hand the box over to me.

  That challenge in her eyes is what causes me to act so rashly. My hand shoots out, ignoring the box and taking her by the back of her neck. I pull her into me and bend my face down, so my mouth is hovering right over hers.

  I don’t say a word and I hold perfectly still, giving her the option to pull away or push forward.

  The smile is knocked right off my face when she goes to her tiptoes with a tiny sigh of capitulation and kisses me.

  It’s sweet, brief, and intimate. Mouths slightly open to start, closed by the end of the kiss, and then she’s pulling back from me.

  “I hate that you were right about that,” she mutters.

  Laughing, I grab her hand and pull her down the porch steps. “Come on. I don’t want Morri to catch us.”

  “I’m not complicit in this,” she says as she trots to keep up with me.

  “You’re so complicit,” I say as I take the box from her and tuck it under my arm. I throw a quick glance over my shoulder, and snicker as I think of Morri back in the house completely unaware that his beloved drag dress has arrived.

  Putting my hand to Mely’s lower back, I push her gently along the sidewalk as we head east along Wilmington Street.

  Past Crump’s Grocery and Aunty Q’s, across Walker Street.

  In front of the rebuild of Millie’s and into the glass door of Lady Marmalade’s, which tinkles from the tiny bell that sits above.