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.”
Chapter Six
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.
Things had been so complicated with Rita May. Aside from her temperament, which was enough to make for a hard day for anyone, his family and friends had not liked Rita May. Charles and Big Mama had been as quiet on the subject as Missy had been vocal but there was no doubt that they all lived in fear that he would marry her. How peaceful it would be to rest in that Lucy magic, how simple to embrace something that was accepted and familiar. Plus, he doubted Lucy spent much time throwing stuff at people.
As he pulled into Big Mama’s driveway, his heart beat a little faster and his face suddenly felt hot. She didn’t know he was here. Neither did Charles. He wasn’t really sure why he hadn’t told them he was coming. He’d already emptied out his townhouse and called a realtor. The movers would be arriving Monday with the few things he’d wanted to keep—his workout equipment, his electronics, and some family furniture Big Mama had sent up there when he’d bought the townhouse. Maybe he hadn’t told them he was coming because there had always been a possibility that he might change his mind. But he would say he’d wanted to surprise them. They believed everything he said.
He looked at the house and frowned. He didn’t like the look of that gingerbread bracket under the west eave. It was sagging. He was sure of it.
He’d climb up there and take a look later today. He almost hoped it was a complicated repair that would take hours. He could fix it himself, and he took a lot of pride in that. Not everybody knew he was capable of manual labor. Fact was, he knew enough about how to repair a plaster wall and lay tongue and grove flooring to tell the difference between a craftsman and someone who could just get it done. Just getting it done wasn’t good enough, and he was secretly glad when he had to get his hands dirty from time to time. He’d won the respect of more than one contractor by rolling up his sleeves and pitching in. He’d made some mad too.