C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (30 page)

“You’re late. Didn’t want to take any more time.”

“Um-hum,” he muttered as he turned left onto the main road. “Not trust yourself in there alone with me, that was it, wasn’t it?”

Jemma felt herself blush.

C laughed out loud. “That was it?” He glanced her way again. “Jemma, Jemma, Jemma. I’m surprised at you. Never been out of control?” He lowered his voice to a growl.

“Just drive.” She looked out the side window, didn’t want to meet his stare.

“We can detour down any little ol’ side road you want to, y’ know.”

“Charles, please. It’s getting old.”

He continued to chuckle.

“I’ll assume you’re running late because you had difficulty locating our favorite photographers.”

“No, I found them fast enough.” He put his hand on the console. “C’mon, you can at least hold hands with me. I’ve been out saving your reputation.”

Jemma shifted in the seat and looked at him before shyly putting her left hand into his right. He quickly drew it to his lips and kissed her fingers.

“So tell me what kind of deal you made.”

“It’s really of no importance.”

“That’s strictly a matter of point of view. It’s my point of view we’re interested in here and I bet I’ll find it of some importance.”

He slowed to take the corner at the cemetery but didn’t answer her.

“Charles?” He grimaced. “Okay, I’ll ask questions and you feel free to jump in there any ol’ time. Are they still in town?”

“Yes.”

“Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

“I figure if they stay in town, they can get rid of any encroachers. Like, crunch the competition before they start snapping.”

“And in return for providing this handy-dandy rearguard action, they’ll be getting what?” She placed her other hand over his.

“Well, anything special comes up,” he wheeled into the half-full Quik-Lee lot and parked behind his rented Porsche, “I’ll call them first.”

“As in an exclusive and didn’t you learn your lesson before?”

“I don’t have to worry about Bertie and T getting in the middle of this one.” He tugged on his hand. “Need my gear hand.”

She let go and watched him put the SUV in park, tilt the steering column so he could get out. He tripped the door latch.

“What kind of exclusive do you have in mind? What could possibly be coming up?”

He shot her a wide smile. “T’s baby?” She rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. Something I have control over. Gee, babe,” he leaned over and pecked a kiss on the tip of her nose, “why don’t we just wait and see?”

***

“Beginning to think you weren’t going to make it,” T commented as Jemma and C came through the front door of the Quik-Lee. Norm was in his usual spot at the end of the counter, the remains of Sally’s plate lunch special in front of him. Bertie held down the opposite end, with Fletch beside her. T had pulled metal folding chairs to the end for himself and Lyla, but he stood and she was currently at the register taking down a to-go order. Mar-Mar busied herself over a pot of soup, and Sally was deep in conversation with the deer hunters on the three remaining counter stools as to the merits of making one’s own venison sausage versus having a commercial house do it.

“Looks like Lyla’s not too upset with our surprise or she wouldn’t be feeding you, Fletch—and with a full counter, too!” C walked over behind Norm. “You’re finished, old man, get up and let Jemma have your seat.”

Norm glowered. “Boy, this is my seat until I decide to give it up.” He finished his coffee. “But I was needing to see you.” He stood and reached into his pants, drew out a tattered leather wallet. “Can you give me a ride to the airport? I don’t want to leave my pickup out there while I’m gone. Old Army Air Corps buddy called me up after breakfast and said he was planning a reunion for our squad, did I want to help plan, too? Well, my weekend’s open I told him, so he’s flying down in his PT-19 and getting me at one over at the airport. Taking me back up to Oke City. Bring me home Saturday. You big enough to stay by yourself? Think you can remember to come back and fetch me?”

“I can handle that, old man. Just give me a time.”

“Well, don’t get in no trouble while I’m gone.” He shook a finger in C’s direction. “I don’t want to hear the sheriff’s been out on account of some wild party of yours.”

“We’ll keep him in line,” T assured him.

“Here’s your damn chance,” Norm whispered to Jemma as he passed her on the way to the cash register.

Phone company trucks pulled up outside and two crews spilled out. The noise level of the convenience store rose.

“I didn’t know you guys were working this far north,” Lyla said as she started writing down the orders.

“Detoured. Heard Mar-Mar’s doing pumpkin pie. We need to vote again.” Several of the men jostled each other as they helped themselves to soft drinks from the coolers.

“You’re a bad lot,” Lyla told them, “but I can’t tell you how well your money spends.”

“Obviously, we’re not going to have a quiet lunch as I had hoped.” T looked from C to Jemma to Fletch. His eyes lit with an idea. “Lyla, sweetie,” she lowered her brows at him in suspicion, “how about we have dinner at the house tonight? Fletch’ll cook. Won’t you?”

“That’s an imposition, Sam…” Jemma started.

Fletch held up his hand. “No, I think it’s a wonderful idea.” He darted a look over his shoulder to Jemma. “Could we postpone the property tour until in the morning? It would give me more time to consider my culinary options and find the grocery store.”

Jemma nodded. “Sure. Anytime.” C had moved to her side and his hand on her back spread a delicious warmth that extended far beyond his fingertips.

Fletch turned his attention to Lyla. “As to cleaning up, I’ll guarantee Sam knows how to swab a deck.” Bertie chuckled beside him.

“Can’t beat a deal like that,” Lyla said as she picked up the ringing phone. “See the rest of you at seven?”

***

Jemma twisted the paper fortune cookie strip in her hands and stared out her bedroom window. It was six-thirty Thursday evening and she was already dressed for C to pick her up for dinner at Lyla and Sam’s.

Dinner. She had thought of little else all afternoon. Even sitting opposite him in a booth at the Lily Pond where they’d adjourned to lunch when it was obvious the Quik-Lee didn’t need two more customers that noon, even then her mind was racing toward night. Norm was going to be out of town for two days.
What was she thinking?
He was going to be gone for two nights, and had given her his somewhat grumpy approval to help herself to his house and his houseguest. Not that his houseguest wouldn’t be a willing participant.

They’d shared an order of egg rolls and house-fried rice. C had accused her of being nervous, had slid his feet around hers and locked their ankles together and sipped his hot tea and stared at her with eyes that grew warmer just as she did looking at them. “If someone yells ‘boo,’ you’ll launch out the front door. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

She’d taken a deep breath. “I’m embarrassed to say.”

“Really? You’re not afraid you’ll embarrass
me
, are you?”

“Can you remember the last time you were embarrassed?”

He’d diverted his attention to the Chinese village mural on the far wall. “When T tried out for drum major our senior year in high school.” He’d looked at her again and a smirk played on his lips. “The band director told him he didn’t have the discipline nor talent it takes to be a real musician.”

“Nooo.”

“I swear.” He’d raised his hand as if in oath. “But you can’t tell him you know. I bet Lyla doesn’t even know. I’ve often attributed our subsequent careers to that little snub on the director’s part. There’s
no
revenge like success.” He’d put his teacup down. “Nothing could embarrass me like watching that did, so tell me what you’re thinking.”

She’d studied the two wrapped fortune cookies on the check tray. “That Norm will be gone for two nights.” She’d chanced a quick look at him and he was leering. “That I’ve seemed to spend the better part of the last two weeks blushing. And I’m doing it again.” She’d reached for her water.

“I have yet to see you get pink where I want you to.”

She’d choked at that point and he’d reached over and patted her on her back, all the while laughing at her. With her. Hell, she no longer knew. And it no longer mattered.

She did know she’d made him go away for the afternoon, told him she didn’t care what he did with himself after he took Norm to the airport, but he wasn’t going to be near her. She’d even made him wait in the donut shop for Norm to show up. She’d left Carolyn in charge of the office, and she’d taken off to the big mall over an hour away where no one would know her if they saw her. She’d visited a shop she never had, one whose catalogs were legend among teenage boys.

She turned from the window and smoothed her hands down her hips, over her old slacks, which covered up half her new lingerie. She eyed the large purse on the bed, the one that held the other half. Would she have the nerve to go through with this?

Jemma squeezed the fortune slip between the vanity mirror and the wood molding surrounding it, read it once more, couldn’t believe the fates had handed her this fortune on this day: “Courage brings its own reward.”

In bed.

***

C looked around Lyla’s dinner table and involuntarily squirmed. How had he landed in something so—so—Norman Rockwell-ian? Lyla and T as host and hostess, Fletch in the honored position to Lyla’s right, Bertie to T’s. His sister-in-law had him bottled up between herself and Harrison and Jemma sat catty-corner to him. Fine, just fine! How did Lyla always know how to best frustrate him? How did she know that he needed to touch Jemma’s hand, to be able to turn in his chair and rest his arm across the back of hers? How did she know that this woman, this woman that he’d called a frigid bitch two weeks ago at this very table, had taken his heart and his senses and twisted them like he’d never thought possible?

He’d briefly—very briefly—thought about protesting the seating arrangements. But that was something Eddie C would have done—still would do—not the man who’d learn to show restraint. Restraint, hell, that word wasn’t even in his vocabulary two weeks ago! He’d certainly used enough of it this evening when he’d gone to Jemma’s kitchen door and knocked, only to have it opened by Jessie. Jessie, who wasn’t particularly pleased to see him standing there.

“I’m sure she’s watching for you.” Rapid footsteps through the other room had confirmed that.

“Goodnight, Mother. Don’t wait up.” Jemma had leaned over to kiss her mother on the cheek and Jessie had avoided her. It had taken a lot of restraint on C’s part right then not to turn the old woman around and tell her what she was about to lose.

But then, she probably knew.

It had taken restraint not to mention what he thought of her mother to Jemma after they were settled in Norm’s pickup. But he’d caught the swift slide of her hand down her cheek so he’d grabbed it and kissed the tear away from her fingertip.

They’d traveled to Lyla and T’s in relative silence, but her hand had clutched his most of the way.

Just because she’d been avoiding his gaze throughout the meal, didn’t mean she didn’t need him beside her. She needed him to touch her; she needed the reassurance of his presence. No one had ever needed him like she did. No one except T.

“You want more to drink, Uncle C?” He hadn’t notice Harrison rise, that he was standing beside his chair, reaching for the glass C was laxly holding while trying very hard not to stare at Jemma.

“No, Harrison. Thank you, though.” He reined in his distraction. “No need for you to fetch for me.”

The boy leaned over, his stage whisper at its best. “It’s okay, I’m a host tonight with Uncle Fletch. He said I could help him.”

“Did Uncle Fletch now?” C turned a narrowed gaze on the evening’s chef. “Having the boy help you host?” He placed his glass back in place. “Or do the legwork?”

“Harrison and I have an understanding,” Fletch replied as he stood. “And it must have worked since you cleaned your plate.” He stretched across the table and picked up C’s salad bowl. “Pardon my reach. Harrison, let’s clear the dishes off and go prepare dessert, okay?”

The boy pitched in to work and quickly the table was cleared of entree and vegetable dishes. C had to grudgingly admit that it had been a wonderful meal, but he could have appreciated it much better had he been beside Jemma.

“What about some after-dinner music, C? Lyla?” T casually folded his cloth napkin and popped it on the table at his place. “I’ve an idea that dessert is long on presentation if all the whispers this afternoon about ‘big doings’ are any indication.” He pushed back from the table. “C, go get the piccolo. Let’s try the new song.”

T didn’t wait for a reply. He rose and had the guitar in hand before Lyla could move to the piano bench and start the opening trills. They were halfway through before C reappeared with the piccolo from the guest bedrooms. They played nicely through it once, then started over and ended in three different modes. The argument—and not only was C not going to be nice where the creative process was concerned, he was frustrated with the evening’s events as well—lasted until Fletch and Harrison rolled out a stainless steel service cart from the kitchen.

“Mom! Mom!” Lyla waved him off. C had her mad and he was enjoying watching the color rise in her cheeks.

“Dad! Dad!”

“Just a minute, Harrison! Your mom and I need to straighten out—”

T turned slowly to the boy and the conversation around the piano and the table stopped as if a faucet had been turned.

Harrison caught his breath and looked quickly from Lyla to T. “Dessert is ready and if you don’t stop arguing it’s gonna burn!” The adults didn’t move. “C’mon, Mom, Dad. You, too, Uncle C. Sheesh!” He flapped his arms to his sides and went back to Fletch.

Lyla recovered first. She slid to the edge of the piano bench and passed T a smile that lit up his face as much as hers. C shook his head; so now the kid had adopted T. It was a little too ’50s sitcom for him. The boy was beaming at Jemma and Bertie like he’d just won a prize for it!