Till I Kissed You

 

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Table of Contents

About the Author

Copyright Page

 

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For my kids—not that they will ever be allowed to read this book!

 

Acknowledgments

Although the towns I write about are entirely of my own imagination, both Falcon, Alabama, and Cottonbloom are shaded by my own experiences growing up in a small Tennessee town. The older I get, the more nostalgic I grow when I remember the simplicity of my youth. But, like any town, everything was not all rainbows and hugs. When I write about these towns, I don't want to ignore the racial and economic divides that I recognized even as a child. I strive for the towns I create to feel real to the reader. If you're from a small town, I hope you recognize the town of Cottonbloom. And, if you're not from a small town, my wish is for you to vicariously live in one for the time it takes you to read my books. Enjoy!

 

Chapter One

Regan Lovell ran her hands up the shifting muscles of her lover's back, lost in a state of wonder. The rhythm of his thrusts progressed from slow and steady to wild and erratic. It didn't take long. He moaned softly in her ear, his hot breath sending shivers through her body.

It was done. She'd lost her virginity to Sawyer Fournette.

While it hadn't been the out-of-body experience the romance novels she'd read in preparation would have her believe, it had been magical in its own way. She clasped her knees around his hips and wrapped him tight in her arms, his body sagging over hers, his breathing ragged.

Her mother would be horrified she'd given up her virginity at all, much less at eighteen, before she could use it to barter for a doctor or a lawyer at Ole Miss. She expected Regan to get an MRS degree, just as she had done thirty-odd years before.

But what would send her mother into an early grave was who she'd lost her virginity to. Her mother deemed Sawyer a Louisiana swamp rat and considered Regan's fascination with him a phase. A means to rebel against her parents and their expectations, and that's all.

What her parents didn't know, or couldn't accept, was that Regan had dreams and ambitions and a heart of her own. It wasn't a phase or a rebellion; it was love.

He stirred against her, his sparse chest hair tickling her breasts. She crossed her ankles around his backside, holding him inside of her. “I love you, Sawyer.”

He pushed up on his elbows. “I love you too, Regan.”

“Forever?”

“And ever.” The humor and love in his voice were honestly more satisfying than the sex had been.

“Even after I eat too much barbeque and get fat and my hair turns gray and I lose my marbles like Nana Rosemary?”

“Even so.” He kissed the tip of her nose, and she smiled at their game.

Other more immediate questions clawed at her chest.
Will you love me after we go our separate ways for college? Will you love me even though prettier girls will try to lure you away? Will you wait for me?

He wiggled his hips free and dropped to her side in the bed of his brother's old pickup truck. She looked down her body, but everything was the same, not that she really expected this final crossover into womanhood to leave a visible mark. She was irrevocably changed but not in a way her mother or her friends could pinpoint.

Now that the sexual haze was clearing, she became acutely aware of her nakedness. Subtle rustling while he disposed of the condom had her biting her lip and reaching for the edge of the threadbare quilt as cover. Was there a bloodstain like she'd read about in books?

Cooling air wafted over her. Through the arms of the pines, twilight cast shadows that shifted with the breeze. The river was close enough to serenade them with bullfrog croaks but far enough to avoid the worst of the bugs.

Citronella candles burned on the tailgate, keeping the mosquitoes away. She closed her eyes. The scent of the candles mixed with the pines and Sawyer to form an intoxicating blend she'd never forget.

Sawyer stripped the corner of the quilt away and blanketed her with his body. His expression was a mystery. He alternated between a too-mature seriousness and a boyish playfulness, leaving her unbalanced.

His everyday life was far removed from the plush elegance of hers across the river in Mississippi. But that's one reason he drew her. He was different, exciting, and had more depth than all the boys in her school combined.

There was more to him than sports and parties. With him, she wasn't afraid to talk about things that interested her—not cheerleading and beauty pageants, but world events and politics. He didn't laugh when she laid out her dreams even though she wasn't yet out of high school.

He believed in her.

“Did I hurt you?” He brushed her hair back from her forehead.

“A little. You were bigger than I expected.”

His laughter made her smile. It always did. “That was the perfect compliment.”

“Was it? Well, it's the truth. Not that I have any basis for comparison, but I'm sure yours is the best.” His chest rumbled against hers, the vibrations electrifying her toes and fingertips. “Was I … okay?”

“Ah, baby, you are everything I've dreamed about and more.” His lips tickled her ear, but she needed to see his eyes. See the truth or lie. She cupped his cheeks and forced his face up.

Nothing but love shone from his face. The kiss he gave her was sweet and retained a hint of the innocence they'd entrusted to each other that night. She squeezed her eyes to shut off the spigot of tears that threatened. His weight pressed her down into the ridges of the truck bed, not that she planned to complain. She would stay all night under him if she could.

She would love Sawyer Fournette forever.

 

Chapter Two

ELEVEN YEARS LATER …

AUGUST, COTTONBLOOM, MISSISSIPPI

She hated Sawyer Fournette.

Regan tried to concentrate on the droning voice of the city accountant as he highlighted sections of the Cottonbloom, Mississippi, budget. They needed to vote this evening on the amendments since their fiscal year ran from July to July and it was already the first of August. She needed funds released to finish her plans for the Cottonbloom Tomato Festival.

Numbers garbled in her head as she wondered what the hell Sawyer, the parish commissioner of Cottonbloom, Louisiana, was doing at
her
meeting. Was he here to watch her squirm like a worm on a hook as people lobbed potshots at her town improvement plan or the festival?

It was standing room only tonight, and he had snuck in through one of the side entrances of the town hall after the meeting had been called to order. Ever since he'd quit his corporate job managing the auto parts factory, he'd let his dirty blond hair grow out a bit and kept a sexy stubble. He'd also traded his preppy button-downs and khakis for jeans and T-shirts.

Tonight a black T-shirt with a gray emblem on the front was tucked messily into a pair of jeans. He crossed one black boot over the other and leaned against the wall with his arms tucked over his chest. It made him look big and tough and not sexy in the least.

Her lady parts protested the white lie. Why couldn't the man have gotten fat and bald over the years? Was that too much to ask of the universe? Apparently it was, because Sawyer had matured like fine whiskey instead of skunking like cheap beer.

“I believe there are questions from the gallery, Mayor Lovell.”

She peeled her gaze off Sawyer and took a steadying breath. “Of course. The floor is open for discussion.” Rustling and whispers erupted from the packed room. She pounded her gavel, feeling ridiculous even as it quieted the crowd. “One at a time to the podium, please.”

She nodded at Police Chief Thomason. He would keep things orderly and moving along. Ms. Martha, the owner of the Quilting Bee, was up first, and Regan winced behind her smile. She liked Ms. Martha and didn't want to offend her. Some of the older business owners were up in arms at the increased property taxes, but the improvements Regan was spearheading, the festival included, would benefit every citizen in the long term.

Ms. Martha cleared her throat when her voice cracked on her first try. The paper she held in her hands fluttered. “Mayor Lovell, I—not only me, but several of us—want to understand better where the money is coming from for this festival. Is it coming from my taxes? Because I don't want my taxes paying for some silly festival that will just drive up costs even more. I can barely keep up as it is.”

The more she said, the stronger and more strident her voice grew. A smattering of applause acted as a punctuation mark. Ms. Martha wouldn't want to hear the hard truth. A quilting business in this day and age was a dying proposition.

“Yes, a small percentage of your taxes is funding the festival.” A series of unintelligible shouts came from the back of the room, and she pounded the gavel once more. “The publicity Cottonbloom will receive from
Heart of Dixie
magazine will give our town a boost. And if we're named the Best Small-Town Festival in the South and win the grant money, then we can move forward with improvements that would take us years otherwise. We can turn downtown Cottonbloom into something special.”

“We like Cottonbloom fine the way it is,” Ms. Martha said. This time the vocal agreement was limited and most of the buzz was about the magazine competition.

Flipping through
Heart of Dixie
while waiting for her hair appointment, she'd skimmed over the call for entries into their competition. Then, read it again and again, her imagination going wild. The magazine was already a month old and the competition closed for entries in less than a week. She'd walked out before getting her monthly trim and blow-out, lists already forming in her head.

Even though it would be the first of what she hoped would be an annual Cottonbloom Tomato Festival, she had full confidence in her ability to pull off something spectacular. Something that would win the grant money and get them a full spread in the popular magazine. At the time, she'd honestly had no clue that Sawyer Fournette had read the same article two weeks earlier and already entered. Not that anyone believed her. Not even Sawyer.
Especially
not Sawyer.