Tara Holloway 03 - Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray (30 page)

I pushed the button to take the call. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“What are you doing back in Dallas?” I asked. “I thought you’d be gone all month.”

“It’s raining cats and dogs in Atlanta. They expect it to keep up through the weekend.”

The weather had given Brett an unanticipated break. Can’t do landscaping work when it’s wet outside.

“I’d like to see you,” he said. “When were you planning on coming back?”

“This afternoon,” I replied. “After lunch.”

“Great. Let’s get dinner somewhere. Maybe that Cuban place Alicia told you about?”

“Perfect.”

“Sorry about the Ark case,” he said.

“So Trish gave you the news, huh?” I’d expected her to do as much. Still, it got my ire up.

“Yeah.”

I wondered what else she’d give him if given the chance.

We ended the call and I slipped the phone back into the side pocket of my purse.

Weird. I actually felt a bit nervous about my date with Brett. Silly, huh? He’d only been away a few days, yet it seemed as if he’d been gone a very long time. So much had happened, so much had changed.

I felt so far from him now, but it had nothing to do with the actual distance between us.

*   *   *

Dad and Nick returned to the house at lunchtime, both sweaty, both ravenous. Loading and unloading hay was hard labor.

Mom and I met them at the trailer with full tumblers of iced sweet tea. Nick pulled off his work gloves, took the cup from me, and downed it in just a few gulps. Dad did likewise.

While Dad and Nick cleaned up, Mom and I set the table for lunch. In addition to chicken-fried steak, she’d made corn bread, green beans, and blueberry pie. We set everything out family style.

I woke Josh and soon the five of us were seated around the dining room table. Mom had gone all out, covering the table in her best lace tablecloth, using her fine china. All eyes were on Nick as he cut into his chicken-fried steak. He skewered the bite with his fork and lifted it to his mouth. He closed his lips and his eyes and began to chew.

“Well?” my mother asked. “What’s the verdict?”

After a few seconds, a slow smile spread across his face. “Mmm.” He opened his eyes and looked at my mom. “If you tell my mother I said this, I’ll be forced to deny it. But, boy howdy, this is in fact the best chicken-fried steak I’ve ever eaten.”

Dad held a huge chunk of battered meat aloft on his fork. “Told you so.”

Josh, too, was digging into his steak, apparently feeling better now.

Nick ate another bite. “What’s your secret, Mrs. Holloway?”

“That’s for me to know,” my mother replied saucily, “and nobody else to ever find out.”

I knew what her secret ingredients were—lemon pepper, buttermilk, and a tiny spoonful of finely chopped fresh jalapeño. But I wasn’t about to share that information. Mom would disown me if I ever revealed what she put in her batter.

After we’d eaten lunch and followed it with big slabs of blueberry pie, we packed up our meager things and headed out to Josh’s car. Nick had changed back into his own shirt. The bloodstain had come out. I wasn’t surprised. My mother could do just about anything.

Mom and Dad each gave me a hug.

“Come back soon,” Mom said. “You can help me with the canning.”

“I’m busy that weekend,” I replied.

She shot me a pointed look. “I didn’t say when I planned to do it.”

“Oh. Right.” I hated canning and my mother knew it. While I respected her domestic skills, I’d inherited none of them. Slaving away in a hot kitchen wasn’t my idea of fun, even if it would provide an opportunity to spend time with Mom. If we wanted to engage in a female bonding ritual, I’d rather go shopping for antiques or get our nails done. “How about we drive into Jefferson some weekend?” I suggested instead. “Maybe have lunch at the tea room?”

“You’re on.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek before raising a hand to wave good-bye to Nick and Josh. “Y’all take care, now.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Reunited

The ride home was uneventful. I sat in the backseat, staring out the window, trying to sort through my feelings, figure out what I should do. It wasn’t easy to think straight with Nick sitting three feet away in the front seat. If I was ever going to work through this mess, I needed to put some distance between us so that I could think rationally and reasonably. This close, it was too easy to be influenced by his roguish grin and those whiskey-colored eyes and that crisp, clean smell of soap that, ironically, made me want to do very dirty things to him.

But should I even be trying to think rationally and reasonably? Attraction wasn’t about logic, was it? It was about feelings, emotions. Maybe I should be listening to my heart rather than my head. Problem was, my heart was just as confused as my head.

Josh dropped me and Nick back at the office parking lot where we’d left our cars the day before.

“See you Monday,” he called before motoring off.

Nick and I were alone again. I felt I should say something, but what? I was at an emotional impasse. My relationship with Nick was in limbo.

“Still on for dinner at my mother’s tomorrow?” he asked.

How could I back out now? It would be rude. Besides, the dinner would be her way of thanking me for bringing her son back from Mexico, nothing more. It wasn’t a date.

“Sure,” I said.

He rattled off the address and I entered it into my cell phone’s notation app.

“See you tomorrow.” He turned and headed for his truck.

“Yeah. See ya.” I climbed into my car, closed the door, and rested my forehead on the steering wheel, my eyes closed. I was tempted to start the engine and drive far away, away from all of this turmoil. I could start a new life somewhere else. Like Boise. Or Walla Walla.

But, no. I couldn’t do that. I’d be leaving two great guys behind, one of whom I could very well be happy with. Which one, though, I wasn’t sure. Besides, Tara Holloway didn’t run away from her problems. She confronted them, worked through them, resolved them.

Even when the thought of doing so scared her shitless.

*   *   *

I rounded the corner onto my street to find Brett’s Navigator parked in front of my town house, a flatbed trailer attached to it, a few random pieces of white PVC pipe scattered across it. Brett stood in my yard, tamping down fresh sod with a hoe. Judging from the new grass stripes across my lawn, he’d installed an automatic sprinkler system for me.

I pulled into my driveway and hopped out of my car. Brett’s sandy hair was mussed, his forehead smudged with dirt, his shorts and T-shirt dark with dust and sweat. He leaned on the hoe, grinning at me.

Damn. Even covered in sweat and dirt he looked adorable.

Installing a sprinkler system was no small job. He must’ve been out here working for hours. Not only had he put in the sprinklers, he’d also replaced the dried-up begonias under my redbud tree with an abundance of bright pink petunias and Mexican heather, surrounding them with fresh cedar mulch. He’d trimmed and shaped the pink rosebushes and even added a white stone birdbath to the flower bed. My yard was absolutely beautiful.

I rushed over to him and gave him a tight hug. He’d done all of this for me, and I hadn’t even had the foresight to offer to water his plants and collect his mail when he’d headed off to Atlanta. To make matters worse, I’d been fantasizing about Nick. Heck, I’d almost kissed the guy last night!

At that moment I felt completely selfish, totally undeserving of Brett. Sure, he’d flubbed up a bit when he’d phoned me about my pulling a gun on Trish. But everyone makes mistakes in relationships, right? The fact that he’d spent the day toiling in my yard in the extreme Texas heat told me more than words could ever say. He was crazy about me. And I’d be crazy to risk losing him. Right?

I released Brett and stepped back, looking around the yard. “Wow! The flowers are beautiful, Brett.”

“They were grown in one of the greenhouses at the nursery,” he said, pride evident in his voice.

“How’d you get them to grow so big?”

“Pig manure.”

Urk. “Remind me not to ask next time.”

“We’ve been experimenting with organic stuff,” he said. “It’s better for the environment.”

He had me there.

Brett put the final piece of sod in place, and I helped him round up his tools and load them onto the trailer. As we headed to my front door, I noticed an envelope posted there, firmly affixed to the glass with duct tape. I stepped onto my porch, yanked the envelope off the glass, and unfolded the piece of paper inside. It was another notice from the Lone Star Nation. This one featured the same ridiculous photo of me they’d put on the Facebook page, with the word
WANTED
underneath. Apparently the Nation was offering a five-hundred-dollar reward to anyone who could bring me in.

So they’d offered a bounty for me, huh? I wasn’t sure whether to be worried that they’d put a price on my head or insulted the reward was so little. At least they hadn’t said “dead or alive.” The fact that whoever had posted this on my door had directly defied the restraining order gave me further cause for concern.

I refolded the paper and shoved it back into the envelope.

“Advertisement?” Brett asked.

“Yeah.” Apparently my freedom was for sale. Cheap.

We headed inside. While Brett took a shower, I fed my cats and changed my clothes. I was tempted to call Nick, to tell him about the notice, but decided to wait until later.

Once we’d freshened up, Brett and I headed outside to his SUV. He helped me in, then climbed in on his side. But he didn’t start the car. Instead, he turned to me. “I’m glad I was able to see you this weekend. Lately things between us seem … I don’t know … weird?”

Gee, ya think?
“Giving another woman a key to your house can do that to a relationship.” As long as he was being honest, I should be, too, right? Too bad honesty sounded a lot like suspicious and bitchy. Stupid Lone Star Nation. Their bounty notice had spoiled my good mood.

Brett gave me a long-suffering look that, frankly, pissed me off. “Trish was just picking up my mail, Tara.”

“And watering your plants.” I recalled Nick’s words.
Plausible deniability.
“How would you feel if I gave another guy a key to my place?”

His eyes narrowed. “It would depend on who the guy was.”

I was tired of pussyfooting around. Time to get things out in the open. “Look, Brett. I don’t like you being around Trish. I think she’s got a thing for you.”

“She’s just friendly,” he said. “She flirts with all the guys on the projects.”

“So you admit she’s been flirting with you?”

“Well, yes, but not any more than she does with the other male volunteers.”

Trying to get Brett to see the problem here was like trying to get an alcoholic to acknowledge he drank too much. “The first step to resolving this problem, Brett, is you recognizing that there
is
a problem.”

He let out a breath and looked out the side window for a moment before turning back to me. “You know how I feel about you, Tara. You’re making too much of this.”

Maybe I was. But maybe he was making too little of it, too. “Regardless,” I said, “it bothers me that you two are so chummy. If the shoe were on the other foot and you were upset about me spending time with a male friend, I’d stop doing it.”

I would, wouldn’t I? Of course, Nick was a coworker. There’d be no way I could totally avoid him, even if Brett asked me to.

“Is that what you want, Tara? For me to avoid Trish?”

It sounded petty, childish, distrusting. But, yes, it was what I wanted. “Yes,” I said, looking down at my lap, embarrassed by my neediness and insecurity.

In that moment, I realized his response would be critical. I’d essentially asked him to put my needs before his own, to do something for me even if he felt that what I was asking of him was ridiculous. If he agreed, it would mean he was committed to me, committed to making our relationship work. If he didn’t, well, then I’d have to reconsider my commitment to him, maybe give Nick a shot.

I had another epiphany then, too. I realized that I was wimping out, issuing ultimatums so that he’d make the decision for me. I just hoped he’d have more conviction than I did.

Brett cupped my chin and turned my face to him, gazing into my eyes for a moment. “Consider it done.”

He leaned in and gave me a soft, warm, reassuring kiss.

In that moment, all seemed right with the world again.

*   *   *

The food at the Cuban restaurant was delicious. I bypassed the chicken—still couldn’t face cooked poultry after the encounter I’d had with August Buchmeyer’s hen—and opted for the tilapia with Cuban spices instead. Brett had the
ropa vieja,
a dish of shredded beef and vegetables served over white rice. The menu noted that the name, when translated, meant “old clothes.” Brett offered me a sample and, fortunately, it tasted far better than its name would imply. Both of our meals came with fried plantains. Yum!

After dinner, we returned to my town house. Both my tummy and my heart felt full now. I’d made my decision. I’d stay true to Brett, see where our relationship went. He was a great guy and I was lucky to have him. Every relationship went through trials and tribulations. This thing with Trish was nothing more than a minor footnote on what was otherwise a perfect relationship record. And what I felt for Nick, really, it was nothing more than a crush, right?

We went upstairs and undressed for bed. I slid on a red satin nightie, while Brett simply stripped down to his blue boxer briefs.

He swept a hand over the pillowcase on his side of the bed, brushing off pet hair. “Looks like Henry’s been sleeping on my pillow.”

The reddish hairs belonged to Nick’s dog Nutty, not Henry. But I wasn’t about to tell Brett that fact. He wouldn’t like it one bit if he knew Nick had stayed at my town house again. We’d just managed to get our relationship back on track, no sense derailing it again so soon, right? Besides, Nick had simply been helping out a coworker, nothing more.