Alicia Pace - Simple Gone South

“What job here?”

“The Brantley Building, of course. Same job you agreed to.”

Agreed? That was putting it lightly. She had jumped. She had practically kissed Miss Caroline’s feet. She would have danced in the street, if she’d been a different person. She’d done everything but ask enough important questions.

“I cannot take the job now, for obvious reasons.”

“Obvious? Like you are obviously not hungry? What would those reasons be, Lucy Mead?”

Hell and double hell! Had she invented Savannah? Or had it meant so little to him that he didn’t even remember?

“We’re friends,” she said, though it wasn’t entirely true. “We’re in the same social circle. I cannot work for you.”

“For me?” He let out that golden boy laugh that had rung out on golf courses and at fraternity parties and debutante balls all over the south. “If you think you will be working for me, you don’t know much about Caroline Hurst Brantley. No. You will be working for her. And so will I. Miss Caroline rules these parts. She wants me. And she wants you. If you have decided you are not going to do this and plan to sashay over there and tell her so, good luck and by all means, take me with you. I could use a lesson.” He patted his knee and made kissing sounds at Eller, who jumped into his lap and looked at him adoringly. Of course; the story of his life.

“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.