Sweet Talk Me (12 page)

She couldn’t have cared less that an international country superstar was temporarily moving in, or that his brother the crossword constructor would be creating marvelous puzzles for the most widely read newspaper in the world. She had to watch her talk shows on that TV.

“Sorry,” said Gage. “It won’t get any of the networks.”

“Jumpin’ Jehosephat,” Weezie exclaimed. “What good is it then?”

Whereupon her love of the vintage appliance ceased forthwith.

In between herding dogs and testing the antenna’s reception on the TV, Harrison grabbed Weezie around the shoulders and squeezed. “So you finally got your boarders. How do you like it?”

And with that, she suddenly seemed to see him for the first time again. “Oh, Harrison!” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s not fun with just True.” An awkward beat went by. “Is Gage nice?” she asked right in front of him.

Without waiting for Harrison’s answer—maybe she never really wanted one—she sat down next to his brother and watched him flip through Daddy’s old fishing encyclopedia, which Gage had picked up from the coffee table. “Hey, what’s your favorite color?”

He made brief eye contact. “Gray.”

“That sucks,” Weezie said. “No one says gray.”

“I do.” Gage kept reading.

She leaned over his shoulder. “What do you think St. Peter will say when you show up at the Pearly Gates?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. You’d have to ask him.”

“But I can’t.” Weezie was getting flustered. “It’s a joke. You’re supposed to go along with it. Don’t you know who James Lipton is?” She put her palm over the page he was on.

“Of course I do.” He pushed her hand off. “But I don’t like jokes. Not unless they’re clever. Some crossword clues could be called jokes. There’s a twist, an
aha
moment. What’s the
aha
moment about St. Peter?”

“I don’t know,” said Weezie, worriedly. “I don’t even know what we’re talking about.”

“Me, either,” said Gage, and he went back to reading.

Weezie flung herself out of her chair and stared at him, her thumbnail in her mouth. “Someday, Gage,” she said with utter sincerity, “someday I’m going to get this interview with you. And it’s going to be a shocker. Secrets unveiled. Assumptions blown out of the water.”

Gage turned a page. “I had no idea the lowly bristlemouth was the most common fish in the world,” he murmured to no one in particular.

True exchanged a glance with Harrison.

“They’re like two ships that pass in the night—and need to keep on going,” he murmured in her ear.

She almost giggled. But it wasn’t funny. Or shouldn’t be. Yet somehow it was.

“Guys,” Harrison said good-naturedly to Weezie and Gage. “Be polite. Weezie, thanks so much for having us in your home. Gage, Skeeter, Boo, and I will try to stay out of your hair. Gage, I know you’re old enough by Weezie terms to be mummified. But if she’s trying to engage you in conversation, it wouldn’t hurt you to pay attention. We’re guests here.”

Weezie sent a cool glance Gage’s way. “You’re boring.”

Gage didn’t react beyond glancing up at her and then getting back into his book. Harrison threw True a look—
I’m sorry I brought this on you
—and put his hands in his pockets. He strolled over to Daddy’s bookshelf and pretended to peruse the pictures there. Or maybe he really was. He held one up to the light—it was of True in a hideous dance costume. She was a young teen and had just won a first-place ribbon. That was the era in which she’d wanted to please Mama and Daddy at all costs—an era that was still upon her, she supposed.

“Weezie,” said True. “
Apologize
.”

“No,” she said. “It’s the truth. Gage is boring.”

“Listen closely to me, Weezie.” True was firm but calm. “If you
ever
want to hold down a job or build relationships, sometimes you’re going to have to hold back. If there’s one thing you’ll take from this house—along with the fact that you are loved—it will be that other people’s feelings matter.”

Weezie blinked. She wore the wistful, almost frightened expression she got when she realized she’d messed up.

It was only the ten thousandth time True had told her to think before she spoke. Sometimes it was frustrating. Sometimes she wondered if Weezie would ever learn. But on those days when True really did despair, she made herself look back long-term and saw that Weezie, indeed,
was
advancing. Every year, she learned more and more about how to behave properly.

“But I was trying to find out what interested him.” Weezie sounded on the verge of tears.

“You have to take your time.” True softened her tone. “You could see that Gage was reading. That meant he wasn’t ready to be interviewed.”

“Come on, man,” Harrison chided his brother. “You should have been paying attention to Weezie. Not a book.”

Gage seemed to come out of his trance. He put the book down, his face registering a flash of resentment that he had to talk to a teenage girl with whom he had nothing in common. But then, catching Harrison’s irritated gaze, he seemed to pull himself together. “Sorry, Weezie.”

“It’s all right.” Weezie dropped her eyes.

Gage scratched his temple and sighed. “My brother’s right. I should have put the book down. I-I get caught up in things sometimes. I love learning new facts.”

“About fish?” Weezie looked up, her face alight.

True’s heart turned over. It was so easy to make her sister happy. She just needed company.

“About everything.” Gage’s mouth went up at the corner. “For my crosswords. You can interview me sometime, okay?”

“Okay.” Weezie sounded good again.

Gage went back to reading.

True had to wonder if this gap in understanding between them would crop up again. It seemed all too likely. Maybe it was no big deal. But she’d like to keep it that way.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked Harrison pointedly.

“Sure.”

They walked into the kitchen, where she’d already put on a pot of water to boil for pasta. They had home-canned tomato sauce—jars and jars of it—and right now the contents of two were simmering in a deep frying pan. She’d fried up a pack of ground sirloin and some onions in a third pan for the meat lovers among them, and in a fourth pan chunks of tofu for Weezie. The chopped salad was ready, Mama’s homemade vinaigrette mixed, and a crusty loaf of whole-grain bread from the Publix bakery was warming in the oven. True peeked into the water pot and saw it bubbling.

She was glad to stay busy around Harrison. In this house, especially, her own territory, he felt dangerously close. He was handsome, funny, and smart. And he knew something of what she was going through with Weezie.

He leaned on the counter a few feet away. “So,” he said—and even that sounded sexy—“what’s on your mind?”

She took a swift glance at him and could instantly tell what was on his. The guy was the poster boy for Insatiable Hot Male. A flush spread through her entire body.
Big Bad Wolf
, she reminded herself.
Be afraid. Be
very
afraid.

She cleared her throat. “Well, apart from their big intellects, Gage and Weezie have only one thing in common: They both tend to be clueless about social cues other people are giving them, right? And they don’t know how to put out the right communications signals themselves. He’s like a monk who’s taken a vow of silence. She’s a Mack truck.”

“Bingo.”

True ripped open a box of penne pasta and poured it into the water. “They know the meaning of the words
finesse
and
tact
. But they have a hard time implementing them.”

“Exactly.” Harrison watched her stir. “And the irony is that neither one appreciates their connection. Gage could be a great big brother to Weezie. And he could use a little sister to jolt him out of his tendency to stay on one track.”

Gosh, it felt good to talk to someone else about this! The water came to a boil again, and True set the timer on the stove. “If I were diagnosed with Asperger’s, I think I’d want to meet other people with similar issues. Share strategies for coping with it. Stuff like that.”

Harrison was so
close
. So she retreated to the fridge. “Want some wine? It being Italian night and all.” She didn’t want him to get any romantic implications from the offer. “I’ve already got a bottle of white open.”

“Sure.” He slung himself into a chair at the kitchen table.

She pulled two stemless wineglasses from the cupboard and poured them both a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. “We can open a Shiraz with dinner.”

When she handed him his, he wrapped his tanned fingers around the globe and took a sip. “Mmmm. Good.”

Her toes curled at his intimate tone. “One of Daddy’s from his wine cellar.” She sat across the table from him and vowed to keep her distance.

“Mr. Maybank always had good taste.”

“He did, actually.” True paused, sad that Harrison wouldn’t be able to tell her father that for himself. And then she thought of Daddy and how happy he’d be knowing she was marrying Dubose.

“Back to Weezie and Gage not sharing coping strategies…” Harrison swirled the wine around his glass. “Maybe it’s only the people who don’t show Asperger’s traits who want to ‘fix’ it because it doesn’t fit standard norms of behavior. Gage and Weezie seem pretty darned happy.”

“Except when they come up against those norms,” True reminded him. “Gage, a college graduate with a fabulous job, in an ancient trailer and with all his old stuff … that just doesn’t compute among the upwardly mobile. And Weezie genuinely wants to understand people, but she annoys or embarrasses them—or even insults them—when they don’t respond the way she wants them to.”

“It would be damned freeing not to care.” Harrison drained his glass and stood. “To say what you wanted, when you wanted to—without worry about the consequences.” He went to the back door, flicked the white eyelet curtain aside, and trapped it with his right hand. His profile was unyielding—taut, almost cold—as he gazed out the window.

“But I thought you could do anything you wanted.” True sensed some tension in his back, in the way the muscles of his raised upper right arm bunched and strained against his shirt. “You’re rich. You’ve got influence.”

“Hah.” He turned back around, and the delicate curtain fell behind him, accentuating how ridiculously manly he was. “Every move I make I have to consider the consequences to a whole lot of folks. Not just my business contacts and the people I work with on a daily basis on the road, but my fans. All those young guys out there who look up to me. The women who want me to represent the perfect man. The down-and-outers who want me to bolster their spirits, and the songwriter musicians who expect me to uphold country traditions yet also leave my unique mark on the genre.”

“Dang,” said True.

He poured himself another glass of wine. “You?” He held up the bottle.

“No, thanks.” Just this one glass was loosening her up enough that she was starting to get a little hot and bothered. Which was awful of her, she knew. She was spoken for. And the man she was going to marry was exactly the type of man she needed: someone secure, predictable. Someone who knew what it was like to have the weight of a whole family lineage on your back.

She set her glass down and went to stir the pasta. “Almost done.” The cheerful Girl Scout cooking a simple pasta supper, that was who she was—a woman who had values and was a proper southern lady.

Harrison was a leaner. Now he’d braced himself against the doorjamb leading to the hallway, his wineglass in his hand. “You don’t have to worry about me, True.”

A shock went through her body, and she stirred the pot slower. “Oh?” she said over her shoulder.

“I know you’re getting married. I didn’t come here to cause any problems. And I really appreciate your hospitality. To be able to have Gage feel comfortable means the world to me.”

Inside, she felt a combination of so many things … guilt, fear, understanding, and what she dreaded most—attraction. She put the spoon down and turned to face him. “You’re welcome, and I’m glad to do it. You sure did spring it on me, though, at the Starfish.”

“Yeah.” He pulled at his collar, and she could read embarrassment in the movement. “Sometimes I’m a little impulsive. Some might say hotheaded.”

She gave a short laugh. “You? Hotheaded?”

“What about you? We both know what you’re made of, Miss Moonlight Dancer.” His eyes told the story. That night on the Isle of Palms. Her wildness. Her demands.

“You’re pushing your luck,” she said.

And he really was.

“Uh-oh.” He was as scared of her as he was of a kitten. “The prickly Maybank side of you is showing.”

“No, it is
not
.”

He laughed.

“Stop laughing.” But she was smiling, too.

“I’ll go check on the others,” he said. “Let ’em know dinner will be ready shortly. And True?”

“Yes?”

“I brought Gage’s paddleboards over. He’s got two. His old neighbor left hers behind when she moved to a landlocked city in New Mexico. Maybe we can try them later, huh?”

“In your wildest dreams. I’m too busy to have fun.”

“Fun’s exactly what you were made for, woman.” He turned around and got himself out of sight—fast.

She couldn’t help it. She was grinning broadly, and she felt happy, for some reason, happy in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She was mistress here at Maybank Hall, and she had guests to whom she was serving a fine if unsophisticated meal. Her business was thriving, if not very profitable, and she was getting married in a few weeks.

She’d come through it. The hard times. And she’d survived.

So had Weezie.

She closed her eyes and counted her blessings.

Harrison was one. But he was very, very bad.

Oh, Lord. What had she done letting him stay here?

She closed her eyes, took a sip of wine, and tried not to feel so damned good.

CHAPTER TWELVE

As comfortable as Honey’s old feather-tick mattress was, Harrison knew he was going to sleep like hell on his first-ever overnight stay at Maybank Hall.