Ain't She Sweet? (42 page)

Somebody’s keys jangled. “’Night, Colin.”

A belch. “Y’all take care now.”

Moments later, she heard the sound of truck engines.

Colin stood, the sound of his breathing harsh in the night air, his chest heaving. He gazed down at her, then extended his hand to help her up.

She ignored him and made it to her knees by herself. Her elbow burned from a scrape, and she’d ripped her slacks. She felt something hot on her face, but it took her a moment to realize she’d started to cry.

Colin’s heart wrenched as he gazed down at her and saw tears glistening on those beautiful cheekbones. He’d finally done it. He’d finally brought Sugar Beth Carey to her knees.

With a strangled exclamation, he sank down next to her and drew her close. She didn’t fight him. He began kissing her eyelids, her cheeks, sipping up the moisture. His own eyes burned, and he blinked against the sting. He ran his hand down the fragile bumps of her spine. Kissed her temples. He was a man of words, but he couldn’t think of anything to say except the ridiculous, which came out as a rusty whisper. “You’ve read my book, I see.”

She nodded against him.

He pressed his forehead to hers. Breathed in as she exhaled. Tried to think of some way to make it all disappear, but he couldn’t come up with a thing.

“I feel like I was raped,” she whispered.

He winced.

Her breath fell soft on his face. “I know all of it was written long before I came back.

And everything you wrote was true. I know that. I was fair game. More than fair game.

And you could have written worse about me than you did. I even understand why you didn’t tell me right away. What good would it have done, right? And now, at least I’ll be prepared.”

“Don’t, my love,” he whispered. “Don’t try to justify something that hurts you so much.”

He cradled her face, kissed the damp trail on her cheek. “If I could do it again, I’d write it differently.”

“Facts don’t change.”

“How we see them does.”

He would have stayed there kneeling on the ground with her forever, but she pushed away from him and sank back on one calf in the wet grass. “I found the painting tonight,”

she said slowly.

Another sword through his heart. “Did you?”

“In the studio. The drop cloth. The drop cloth is the painting.”

He told himself to get it over with quickly, but she was still talking. “When I was growing up . . . All those times I’ve searched the studio since I got back . . . I never saw it for what it was. Not until tonight.”

The time had come to drive the final nail in his coffin. He rose to his feet. She did the same. Her hair tumbled over her cheek, and her hand trembled as she pushed it away.

“No wonder my father always laughed when he talked about the painting. She hid it in plain sight.”

Her top button had come unfastened, revealing the edge of her bra, which was creamy white, very much like her soul. “You have what you came for, then,” he said.

She nodded. “The last Ash canvas this large sold at auction for four and a half million dollars.”

“You’ll be a wealthy woman. Independent.”

“This canvas won’t bring as much.”

“No?”

“I want mine in a museum, not hidden away in a private collection. That’ll limit the bidders. But all I need is enough to make Delilah secure.”

“You’ll have a lot more than that.”

“I suppose.”

“Our noble, self-sacrificing heroine.” He didn’t say it sarcastically, but she stiffened, and he cursed the part of him that was so terrified of the sentimental that he tainted everything with cynicism, even when he didn’t intend it. He forced himself to utter the question he’d been dreading. “When are you planning to leave?”

“As soon as I make arrangements for the painting.”

“That shouldn’t take long.”

“Maybe a week.”

He touched her hair. “I love you, you know.”

Her lips trembled and a tear caught on her lashes. “You’ll get over it. Take it from one who knows. Love’s not an emotion that lasts forever.”

“Have you gotten over Emmett, then?”

“I must have, or I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you so quickly.”

Hearing her openly admit her feelings should have gratified him, but it only deepened his pain. “Do you have so little trust in yourself?”

“It’s not a matter of trust. I’m being realistic.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t leave. Everything you need is right here in Parrish.”

“You’re wrong.”

“What about that children’s bookstore you talked about? It doesn’t have to be a dream now. This is your home, Sugar Beth, the place where you belong.”

“No, it’s your town now.”

“And the place isn’t big enough for both of us, is that it?”

“You know it wouldn’t work.”

“You need to be here. You have family.” He drew a ragged breath. “And you have me.”

Dismay darkened her eyes. “That’s why I have to leave.” Her lashes dropped, and she turned way. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“I found the painting last week.”

She looked back at him.

“When we were searching the studio. I’d been in there at least a dozen times before, but . . . I was in a foul mood that day—knowing I was losing you—and you were standing next to it. I turned my head to snarl at you. Something about the colors, the violence of the paint . . . It grabbed me by the throat.”

She nodded as though she understood, although even he didn’t entirely comprehend the turbulent emotions that had claimed him right then.

“When were you going to tell me?” she asked.

“Every day this past week.”

She didn’t get angry as he expected. She didn’t seem reproachful. Instead, she gazed at him with something that looked like understanding.

He sensed her getting ready to move away again, and he spoke before she could. “I want you to marry me.”

Her eyes shot open.

His words should have rattled him—he’d never imagined saying them again—but they felt exactly right. He took a step closer and cupped her exquisite face. “I wish I had magnolias, or gardenias perhaps. Something to make the grand romantic gesture. I’m quite capable of it, you know.”

She rested her cheek against his palm, but only for a moment. “I could never do that to you.”

Her lack of courage maddened him. It felt too familiar, too much like his past. “I won’t beg, Sugar Beth. I begged a woman once in my life, and I’ll never do it again. You’re either strong enough to love me—strong enough to let me love you in return—or you’re not. Which is it going to be?”

She dropped her head and said, in a whisper, “I guess what you see as lack of courage, I see as wisdom.”

“There’s nothing wise about running from love.”

“There is when I’m involved.”

And she walked away, leaving him alone in the damp spring night.

*****

Sugar Beth moved numbly through the next few days. Other than catching an occasional glimpse of Colin’s car turning out of the drive, she didn’t see him. He’d even stopped working on his wall. Recognizing that she’d made the right decision for both of them didn’t make it easier to accept the fact that she’d damaged someone she loved. As for the damage she’d done to herself . . . Sooner or later, she’d get over it. She always did.

As she waited on customers at Gemima’s, she told herself Colin had been wrong when he’d accused her of cowardice. People who didn’t learn from their mistakes deserved to be unhappy. She couldn’t keep rushing from one man to another, handing out her heart helter-skelter, falling in love with love and then having it snatched away. Colin didn’t understand that she was protecting him.

On Wednesday, the eager representatives from Sotheby’s arrived to take away the painting. The studio seemed empty without it, but she wasn’t sorry to see it go. She had enough disturbing emotions of her own to deal with, and she didn’t need to see more of them on canvas.

The week ground on. She told herself she’d survive the public humiliation that awaited her when
Reflections
was published. She’d survived humiliation before.

She had no trouble securing a small loan from the bank to hold her over until the painting sold. The Ash canvas was so much larger than she’d ever dreamed. Even after she’d set up a trust for Delilah, she’d have more than enough left over to open her children’s bookstore. Colin had been right. She had no passion for selling real estate, not compared with the pleasure she felt introducing a child to a book. As soon as she got to Houston, she’d start looking for the perfect location, and she’d forget that she’d already found it in an abandoned train depot in Parrish, Mississippi.

She pushed away images of old brick walls with book-lined shelves and a reading area shaped like a caboose. She refused to picture a tiny outdoor café sitting on an abandoned loading platform or weed-infested tracks reclaimed with potted trees and tubs of flowers.

Instead, she concentrated on her work.

Jewel advertised for a new clerk, but Sugar Beth didn’t like any of the people she interviewed. “You owe it to the kids to find someone who cares about selling children’s books.”

“I did,” her tiny boss replied. “I found you.”

And right there, between Sandra Cisneros and Mary Higgins Clark, Sugar Beth began to cry. Jewel hugged her, but some things were beyond consolation.

Winnie announced she was holding a Reconciliation and Forgiveness Dessert on Monday evening so Sugar Beth could make peace with the Seawillows before she left town.

“Frankly, I’m not sure how much Reconciliation or Forgiveness is going to happen,” she said. “They’re just getting used to the idea of having you back, and now you’re leaving again. They’re takin’ it personally.”

“You know I don’t have any choice.”

“I know you think you don’t.” And Sugar Beth saw in Winnie’s eyes that she, too, felt betrayed.

At night, she barely slept. Instead, she stood at her bedroom window gazing over the hedge toward Frenchman’s Bride and fighting the powerful force that urged her to run to him. How could he have asked her to marry him? Had he forgotten how to count? What kind of stupidity would make him volunteer to be her fourth victim?

Saturday was her last day at the bookstore. Word had gotten around that she was leaving, and half the town stopped by to say good-bye. At least this time they wouldn’t think quite so badly of her. Late that afternoon, when things finally quieted down, she made her way to the children’s section for the final time. She was putting the small chairs back in place when Winnie burst in.

“Ryan just called from Frenchman’s Bride! Colin’s leaving Parrish today.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s moving away. Leaving for good.”

Sugar Beth’s blood turned to ice. “I don’t believe you.”

“He’s loading up his car right now. Colin told Ryan not to say anything to you until after he’d left.”

“Colin loves Parrish! He wouldn’t leave. This town means everything to him.” Even as she said it, the opening sentence of
Reflections
flashed through her mind.
I came to
Parrish twice, the first time to write a great novel, and more than a decade later, because
I needed to make my way back home.
“Why would he leave?” she said weakly.

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

“He believes if he leaves, I’ll stay.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth.

“He’s planning to sell you Frenchman’s Bride.”

Sugar Beth stared at her.

“You’re supposed to contact his attorney and make an offer.”

She straightened. “He can’t do this. I’m getting my keys.”

“My car’s already out front. Hurry.”

They raced outside where Winnie’s Benz sat at an awkward angle in a No Parking zone.

The tires squealed as Winnie backed out. “You have so screwed this up.” She blew through a red light.

Sugar Beth’s shoulder hit the door as they shot around a corner, and she dug her fingernails into her palms. “My gift.”

“You’re supposed to be the great big expert at handling men,” Winnie scoffed. “You’re a national disaster, is what you are!”

“Don’t start in on me again.”

“You’re perfect for him. That’s what’s so frustrating. I didn’t see it right away—how could I, you being you?—but it’s sure crystal clear now. You’re the only woman strong enough to stand up to him. He intimidates everybody else. And he needs you. Yesterday, when I saw him, he said all the right things, but it was like part of him was missing.”

Sugar Beth twisted her hands and stared dully ahead.

As they drew up in front of Frenchman’s Bride, Sugar Beth saw his Lexus parked at the side and Colin setting something in the trunk. Ryan was carrying a computer box down the steps. She threw herself out of the car and rushed across the lawn. Gordon saw her coming and began to bark. Colin watched her for a moment, then frowned at Ryan as she drew near. “I asked you not to tell her.”

“Things don’t work that way around here,” Ryan said. “You should know that by now.”

Colin snatched the carton from him and rounded the car to set it in the backseat. Ryan moved toward Winnie, and Sugar Beth closed in on Colin. He looked haughty and remote, but he had a poet’s soul, and his camouflage no longer fooled her. “This is crazy.

What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re the one who decided only one of us could live here,” he said, reaching inside to move another carton.

“You!” she cried. “
You’re
the one who’s supposed to live here.”

“Come now,” he scoffed, as if his leaving were of no importance. “We both know Parrish is more your home than mine.”

“That’s not true. It’s yours now. Colin, don’t do this.”

“We’ve made our choices. You’ve decided to be a coward, and I’ve decided to leave you to it.”

“I’m not being cowardly. I’m being smart. You can’t walk away from Frenchman’s Bride. It’s your home. You’ve put your heart and soul into it.”

“No, Sugar Beth,” he said quietly. “I put my heart and soul into you.”

She flinched.

He leaned back into the car and repositioned a box of books. She saw Gordon’s water dish on the floor. He emerged and shut the door, his mask of remoteness firmly back in place. “Talk to my attorney about the house. I’ll get my things out as soon as I decide where I’m going to settle, but in the meantime, you’re welcome to move in.”