He was way ahead of her. “Stay, Lucy. Stay with me. I know what you’re thinking, but I promise that we will not leave this house until I am more than sure that Big Mama is right and tight in her pew at Christ Episcopal. No one will see us go to the garage. Inasmuch as I am a grown man and make no apologies, I remember something my Papa used tell me.” His expression shifted to bittersweet. “He’d say, ‘Boy, see to it that you don’t present your personal business to the world in a way that will make some busybody report it in to your mama or your big mama. They may or may not care what you’ve been doing. They may or may not think it’s any of their business. But you can be mighty sure they will care a great deal if you are not circumspect and somebody feels the need to tell them about it.’” Then he looked at her imploringly, smiled, and held out his hand. “Stay.”
She hesitated. “I would not be a party to embarrassing Miss Caroline.”
“Nor would I.” He lifted the sheet and fluffed her pillow.
Temping. So temping to lie sweetly and serenely in his arms all night and wake up in the misty autumn light feeling rested and ready to be loved. Again.
But that wasn’t how the night went—at all.
To begin with, he slept right in the middle of the bed and snored, off and on. Though not a loud log sawing snore, it was audibly wheezy and right in the vicinity of her ear. When he wasn’t snoring, he was drooling—on her.
As far as the sleeping in his arms, that happened, and though she wouldn’t deny the sweetness, there was nothing serene about it. He clung to her like a four-year-old, latched onto his mother’s leg on the first day of preschool, taking her with him every time he turned over—which was often.
He talked in his sleep, muttering mostly about football and pumpkin pie. While he talked, he kicked, mostly the covers but sometimes her. He got up twice, presumably to use the bathroom, and both times when he came back to bed he said, “Lucy? Lucy? I didn’t wake you up, did I? Are you warm enough? Do you need anything?” and then promptly—before she had time to answer—fell asleep and proceeded to drool on her chest.
More than once she had to fight for the barest scrap of blanket, either because he’d kicked the covers off or dragged them to his side.
And that sweet, misty awakening had been anything but. During the night, rain and wind moved in, chasing away the magical warm autumn and bringing winter.
It was the best night of her life.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brantley rolled over and pulled Lucy to him. Her bed did not have the sink effect his did, but it was a fine enough bed on its own and mighty fine with her in it. And what they had just done had been beyond fine of any degree.
“I submit to you, Lucy Mead,” he said, “that the people over at Lou Anne’s only think Tuesday’s lunch special is chicken pot pie. No. The ultimate lunch special is Lucy Mead.”
She laughed and ran her hand up his side, and his heart and stomach turned over, circled around each other, and went back to their original positions. Mercy, this woman put everything she had into making love. And since Saturday night, he’d been the recipient of that effort many times in many places: his bed, her bed, couches, showers, a kitchen counter, and—once—in the elevator of the Brantley Building.
“So,” Lucy said with the tail end of laughter still mixed in, “do you want to set up a food cart and sell me on the street for $7.95? Iced tea and cornbread included.”
That should have been funny, but it was not. He didn’t like that picture worth a damn. In fact, it made him a little mad to even think of anyone else touching her.
He laughed anyway. “You are worth selling. I’ll give you that, but I do not believe I am willing to participate in that. Now.” He ran his finger along her jaw bone. “If we could record that laugh and sell it—well. With only a small portion of the profits, we could feed every third world country, buy a sports team, and rid the world of smallpox.” Educate our children in the finest institutions in the country. He didn’t add that part.
“The world is rid of smallpox.” She got out of bed and began to gather her clothes.
Damn. He’d known this was coming. She had to go do something about some curtains for somebody. She hadn’t been kidding about why she couldn’t go to Georgia with him and Will tomorrow. She was frantically trying to finish her projects by the first of the year. Then she’d be his, all his. They’d work on the Brantley Building all day and make love all night. She would be with him 24/7 and he would be safe from thinking about bad things.
Sunday, Lucy had asked Big Mama if she had any old photographs of the interior of the Brantley Building and Big Mama had produced a big box of pictures that was a jumble of everything that had ever happened to them. Big Mama had laughed and explained how she was “no good at keeping picture albums and Alden’s mother hadn’t been any better.” Lucy had opened the box, ooing and ahing like it was a chest of jewels. They never guessed that the sweating and accelerated heart rate had set in or that he had calmed immediately when he laid his hand on Lucy’s shoulder.
Too bad she hadn’t been there last night when he’d been at his old house and Charles had sent him to the bedroom to get batteries for the TV remote. He’d opened the wrong dresser drawer and found his mother’s jewelry.
And too bad she wasn’t going to Georgia with him and Will—though he didn’t so much need her for his sanity on that trip, as for the pleasure of her company. He would be fine away from Merritt. But if Will—who never really seemed to think anything was quite up to par—said this was a great place, Lucy would love it.
He rose up on his elbow for a better look at her bottom as she bent over to retrieve her shoes. “What about tonight? Please tell me you don’t have to work late. I’ve got a hankering for some catfish from that place out by the lake.”
“I don’t have to work late,” she said. “But I suggest you call your dad for company while you satisfy your hankering. I’m going to Lanie’s for book club.”
“What?” Well, damn! That’s why Harris had called and asked if he wanted to come over and re-watch the Iron Bowl with “the guys.” He’d turned him down—thought he’d be with Lucy. “You just had book club!”
“Simmer down, golden boy.” She gave him a sexy little smile over her shoulder. “I’ll call you when I head back. I’ll keep Eller while you’re gone to Georgia. You can go get her and be waiting here for me when I get back.”
Well, that was something. Not enough, but something. “I cannot believe you are going to go gossip and drink with those women when I’m leaving town tomorrow. You could do that while I’m gone.”
“We’re going to eat too. Don’t forget that,” she said glibly. “And I had those women before I had you.” And she went into the bathroom.
And I’ll have them when you’re gone. It hung in the air. She might as well have said it.
Maybe it was time he told her he wasn’t going anywhere.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Lucy rang the doorbell of the Avery family farmhouse, Luke’s sister answered.
“Arabelle! I didn’t know you were still here,” Lucy said, surprised but pleased.
“It’s somewhat of a miracle,” she said. “I called in several favors and promised to work New Year’s to get a few extra days. Life in a big city hospital.”
“Very different from Merritt,” Lucy said as she followed Arabelle to the kitchen. “And Africa, I would think.”