The Chocolate Garden (Dare River Book 2) (12 page)

“Did your sister decorate your house?”

He waggled his brows. “What? You don’t think I have a talent for putting things together?”

“Not when one of your sisters is a celebrated interior decorator.”

“Yes, she did. Now what else can I tell you?” he asked, taking a sip of his tea.

“Well, I have a few questions. Ones designed to elicit what kind of design you might like for your property. Does that work for you?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, let me just grab my legal pad from my satchel.” She’d left it in his music room.

When she returned, she arranged her supplies on the table and smiled nervously up at him. With Rye, she’d done exactly what she wanted. With John Parker, she needed to uncover what would make him happy.

“Thank you for waiting. So, just answer my questions with the first thing that comes to mind.”

His dimple winked at her. “All right.”

“Do you like circles or squares?”

His brows winged up. “Ah, squares.”

“Crooked or straight lines?”

He leaned back now, tilting his head to the side as he studied her. Like he had no idea what in the world she was doing. Taking a breath, she assured herself she did.

“Crooked.”

“Easy going or predictable?”

This time he crossed his arms over his muscular chest, and her mouth went dry. “What do you think?”

She thought she knew, but she looked around the kitchen to see if there were any clues there to confirm her suspicion. There was clutter on the counter in the corners and dirty dishes above the dishwasher. The house was clean but not fussy. And he hadn’t dressed up for her visit either.

“Easy going.”

He saluted her, causing her to smile.

“What is your favorite food?”

“Chocolate.”

Okay, that was surprising. “That’s not a food, John Parker.”

“It is in the McGuiness family. It’s the sixth food group. We all have sweet tooths, and we get cranky if we don’t get our daily chocolate fix.”

Since Mama never let them eat sweets growing up, it was hard to imagine such a thing. “Every day? Wow. What’s your favorite?”

“Dark.”

And the way he said it made her hand tremble, causing her to mark the legal pad with an inverted line.

“I see.” She scribbled down words just to break the sudden tension that had arisen between them. “Let’s pursue this for a minute.”

Easy laughter flowed out of him. “Do you want me to lie down? Visualize something? You sound like a psychologist.”

“Feel free to get a pillow and a chocolate bar if that will help,” she volleyed back, and then realized she was teasing him. Flirting even. The ground shook a little.
Well, well.
What would Mrs. Augusta have to say about that?

“I’m going to grab some chocolate now that you’ve made me hungry for it, and I insist on you trying some too. We’ll call it gardening research.”

There was no preventing her laughter then. It was so easy to talk with him, be with him. She’d never had conversations like this, filled with fun, witty sarcasm, until she’d arrived at Rye’s house. Rye and Tory were always bantering back and forth, and while she’d grown proficient at this new language, it still felt a bit foreign at times. Scandalous even.

But fun. Mostly fun.

He pulled open a cupboard, which did indeed feature a large selection of chocolate, and fished out two bars wrapped in pale green paper. When he sat down, he extended one to her and tore open his own.

He expected her to eat an entire bar of chocolate?

Crunching on his own dark brown squares, he gave a soft moan of delight, and the sound pierced the deepest corner of her soul.

She wanted to moan like that.

Had she ever? So simply and easily, over something like chocolate?

Sterling would have dug his fingers into her wrist if she’d done such a thing. Sharing that type of pleasure in life hadn’t been allowed. It wasn’t ladylike. It wasn’t done.

Everything inside her contracted at those memories.

To combat them, she tore off the wrapper and took an enormous bite. It was hard on her teeth at first, but then it started to melt. The sweetness of it, mixed with the dark power of the cocoa, covered her tongue, infusing her with a heady magic. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d eaten candy this way. Her eyelids fluttered, and she had to curb the urge to moan.
Moan.
God, what a feeling.

Yes, she wanted a release, but moaning on a gardening consultation would hardly be professional.

“Do you go often?” she asked to bring her senses back under control.

“Where?”

“To the psychologist.” She was joking, but a part of her wondered if
she
should see someone. There was so much she was afraid to say to Rye and Amelia Ann and Daddy. It was shameful enough that they knew Sterling had abused her and cheated on her, and she’d just taken it.

His dimple winked. “Nearly every week. I’m a troubled man, honey. You know what they say about artists.”

From his tone, she knew he was kidding. If he was troubled, then she was Mother Teresa. And she wasn’t.

“Okay, back to chocolate,” she said. “Do you like anything in your chocolate?”

“Yep. I can do raspberry, cherry, pomegranate, orange, blueberry, and apricot. Oh, and nuts. I love texture in my chocolate.”

Good heavens, the man was a chocolate connoisseur. “I’ve never heard of some of those combinations.”

“Then let’s fix that right now.” He shoved back from the table again. “How about trying some dark-chocolate-covered pomegranate seeds? They are heaven on earth, trust me.” After rummaging through what she would now call his chocolate cabinet, he grabbed a white bowl from another drawer and filled it with some small chocolate bites from a plastic container.

“Here,” he announced, sliding the bowl to her like temptation himself.

She popped one in her mouth. The dark chocolate smacked her taste buds while the pomegranate tickled her tongue with its luscious fruitiness, the seed providing a pleasant crunch. Tammy found herself wanting to close her eyes again.

Okay, so maybe she’d be forced to moan on this consultation, after all.

He chuckled and popped an entire handful into his mouth. “They’re incredible, right?”

Incredible was a paltry word. They tasted exotic and lush and one taste had made her crave more. She picked up three and ate them all at once, trying to scribble on her note pad at the same time.

“Okay, so you love chocolate. Now, how about your favorite movie?”

He winced.

“First thing that comes to your mind.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“No, I won’t,” she said, intrigued by the way his ears were turning red. “I’m a professional.”
Who might start moaning over chocolate right in front of you.

“Well, you’ll recall that I was raised by women. And I’m a good Southern boy.”

“
Gone with the Wind
?” she teased. Everyone in the South loved that movie or said they did out of loyalty. It was almost un-American not to consider it your favorite.

His face bunched up. “Ugh, no. That would be Rhett Butler Blaylock’s favorite. I could never stand Scarlett.”

Her gasp echoed across the kitchen.

“I know. Don’t tell anyone. The old ladies at my mama’s church would chase me with shovels.”

That image was so funny she couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, then what is it?”

“Just remember that I have a mama and three sisters who watched it all the time, and then I developed a crush on Julia Roberts…”

“Oh, my God. You like
Steel Magnolias
?” She put the pen down. “That’s my favorite movie.”

“It is?” he said, grinning now. “Get out.”

“Not because of Julia Roberts, though. Sally Field always makes me cry buckets in that movie, especially at the gravesite. And then there’s Shirley MacLaine as Ouiser. I’d have to stifle my laughter at her antics so Mama wouldn’t hear.”

“My mama named my sister Shelby after Julia Roberts’ character.”

“You don’t say.”

He crossed his heart, his blue eyes sparkling. “I do. Maybe we should watch it sometime. We can see who knows more lines.”

Was he asking her on a date? The idea so flustered her, she grabbed some more of those heavenly pomegranate chocolate pieces so she wouldn’t have to respond.

“Okay, last question. I don’t want to take up too much of your day.”

His smile dimmed, and she wanted to kick herself for dousing their easy-going fun.

“Ask away.”

“Country or city?”

“You have to ask?”

“No,” she replied, so flustered she pulled at her shirt’s hemline and smoothed out a wrinkle. “Would you be able to provide me with recordings of some of the songs you wrote? I listened to Rye’s music when I was designing his property, and it worked well.”

“Sure. I can get those for you. Of course, plenty of them are sung by your brother.”

“I know, but I’d like your original tracks—you know, the ones with your voice. Rye said you give them to him that way.”

How could she explain that she felt something about someone when she heard them sing? It was like their soul was wrapped up in the music. And something told her there were plenty of hidden valleys inside this man.

“Rye said you’re not much of a country fan. Are you sure you want to hear them?”

“It’s growing on me, I suppose.” Sterling had thought country music was for rednecks, and he’d imposed a no-country-music rule since he hadn’t wanted to hear her “infernal” brother’s music on the radio.

Since Meade, she’d started listening to it to understand her brother more than anything, and she’d been drawn to the songs about families, hard times, and lost love.

“Let me grab that for you. I keep copies around for new clients” John Parker said and left her alone at the table. When he returned and handed her five CDs, she thumbed through them and stopped when she reached a professionally produced album. John Parker was on the cover, sitting on an old wooden bench in an open prairie with the sun setting behind him. He’d scrawled a message to her across the front in bold handwriting:

To Tammy and our special project together.

John Parker

Her eyes darted to his shuttered ones. “You have your own album? How did I not know about this?”

“Because it didn’t go anywhere.” His shoulder tipped up in a half shrug. “Rye helped me get a record deal when his star was rising. I love writing music—and singing it too—so I agreed, but I didn’t like everything that came with it.”

There was no mistaking the despair in his voice. She could only imagine some of the things that had come with it. John Parker wasn’t wild like her brother had been then, and she couldn’t see him partaking in some of the crazier elements of country music stardom.

“I didn’t have the heart for performing in city after city like Rye did, either. It’s water under the bridge now.”

Funny, hearing all this made her like him even more. She was glad John Parker hadn’t compromised himself by becoming something he wasn’t.

“Thank you, John Parker. I can’t wait to listen to your album and all your other songs, even the ones I’ve heard Rye sing.”

“That’s kind of you to say. I hope you enjoy them.”

She’d learned that even tough-guy Rye was touchy about his music. Tammy placed a hand on his tanned forearm. “Knowing you, I’m sure I will.”

The moment hung heavy and thick like an August summer night, so she hurriedly placed the CDs in her satchel to break the tension.

“I need to go home and let all this cook,” she told him.

“Let it cook?”

“It’s like processing. I need to take in what I’ve seen and what we’ve discussed, mix it in with what I know of you, and let images form in my mind.” Ideas were already flashing inside her head like starlight.

“I do the same with my songs.” He smiled easily then. “Okay, I’ll walk you out.”

He held out his hand, palm up.

Was he trying to shake her hand? There was a moment of silence before she slowly extended her own fingers and grasped his awkwardly. He turned their clasp over until they were holding hands like sweethearts. Her heart pounded in her chest.

When he squeezed her hand, she gave him a shy smile, unsure of what else to do, and let him lead her outside to her car, filled with the certainty that he wasn’t interested in keeping their garden project purely professional.

If she was truly honest with herself, neither was she.

Chapter 10

A week later, Tammy was waiting for her babysitter to arrive so she could take her initial designs over to John Parker’s house when Annabelle screamed bloody murder.

She was running toward her when she saw the reason. Bullet had just dropped a dead robin in front of her daughter.
On her clean kitchen floor.

“Out,” she told Bullet in the meanest voice she could muster.

The dog just pranced away from her, and he wouldn’t listen to Rory either when her son tried to round him up.

“Bullet! Out!” she yelled this time, but he didn’t mind her, and soon Banjo joined him, leaning down to sniff the bird.

The robin fluttered its wings then, scaring both dogs to death. Tammy and Annabelle screamed, and even Rory jumped back and pressed against one of the kitchen chairs.

Oh God, it was alive? The dogs started barking at it like the ferocious beasts they weren’t, and Barbie and Bandit joined in on the fun. Annabelle and Rory squealed as the robin fluttered its way across her clean floor, then they climbed on chairs.

Tammy wished she could do the same.

But she had to deal with this injured bird, not to mention the four insane, barking dogs.

The whole process took twenty minutes, and Alice was no help when she showed up. Who could blame her? Tammy finally managed to cover the bird with her biggest serving bowl and slide one of Rory’s posterboards from school underneath it, capturing it inside. The dogs butted up against her, vying for the bowl, but Alice thankfully came to her aid, holding the dogs back so Tammy could slip out of the house.

Which is when she realized she had no idea what to do with the bird flapping at the posterboard. At her wit’s end, she enclosed the whole thing in an enormous garbage bag and carried it to her car. Going back inside, she stared down the still-barking dogs, who were being restrained by Alice. She pretty much wanted them to vanish right now. After kissing the kids goodbye, she picked up her satchel and purse and ran back to the car.