Just a Little White Lie(12)
“That’s my plan.” He picked up the salt.
“Are you sure you need that?” She toyed with the peaches that spilled over her whole-wheat French toast.
“Sugar, there’s only one thing I need to know. I like lots of salt on my potatoes. Therefore—” He held up the shaker and proceeded to dump salt on his breakfast.
“That’s just wrong.” She laughed.
“You’re too analytical.”
“You’re too random. Too careless.”
“Not about things that matter.” He laid down his fork. “Speaking of which…”
“Uh-oh. Something tells me I’m not going to like this.”
“I have a proposition.” He slathered strawberry jam on his toast. “We’re both kind of in a bind here.”
The picture of innocence, she simply looked at him. “Really?”
Feeling somewhat sheepish, he said, “Like it or not, I did you a favor yesterday. Now, you don’t have to, but I wonder if you’d feel like reciprocating a bit.”
“Depends.”
“Fair enough.” He took a sip of coffee, then set it down on the counter. “I need a fiancée.”
At her look of horror, he continued. “For a couple days. I know you don’t have any plans. Those got canceled when you bailed at the church.”
She glared at him.
“Hey, I’m just telling it like it is. And you’ve already got the ring.” He nodded at her left hand.
Mouth open, Lucinda stared at the diamond as though some ghastly creepy-crawly had landed on her hand. “I thought I took it off. Thought I threw it at him.”
“Obviously not.”
When she reached for it, his hand shot out and covered hers. “Wait. Let’s talk about this.”
“I don’t see there’s anything to talk about. I’ve just abandoned one fiancé. What makes you think I’m going to jump right into the arms of another?”
“You sure weren’t shy about endin’ up in my arms last night.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Oh, yeah, darlin’, you did.”
She sent him another scathing glance. “Well, if I did, I was asleep. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“Gotcha.” He rubbed tired, nearly sleepless eyes. “It’s like this. My grandmother is bound and determined I need someone in my life. Before she ‘leaves.’ My dad called to tell me she’s not doing so well and suggested I get back home and put her mind at ease.”
“But there isn’t anybody in your life.”
“No.”
“What did you intend to do when you showed up empty-handed, so to speak?”
“Punt.”
“Oh, for—”
“Yeah, I know. Weak plan. Now, though, maybe I won’t have to. You could help me score a touchdown, Lucinda Darling.”
“You and Uga?”
He winked at her. “You catch on fast, sugar.”
Her stomach fluttered, but she fought not to let it show. “Guess Daddy didn’t waste all that money at Harvard after all, huh?”
“Look, if you don’t go with me, you’re stuck here in this one-horse town for the better part of a week. Yesterday you asked if you could go home to Pride with me.”
“Big imposition, isn’t it?”
“Not really. I have absolutely no problem takin’ a stray home. Never have.”
At her offended gasp, he laughed. “Just kiddin’! But it seems to me we could maybe help each other out. I wash your back, you wash mine. Figuratively speaking, of course. Unless…”
Her nostrils flared.
“Okay, okay. Anyway, I already helped you.” He raised a hand to waylay her objection. “And I didn’t do it because I expected anything in return. My mama didn’t raise me that way.”
“But?”
“But it really would be nice if you could find it in your heart to return the favor.” He flipped open his wallet, tugged out a dog-eared picture and slid it across the counter. “My Grandma Hattie.”
Lips pressed tightly together, Lucinda inspected the photo. Jake, dressed in an old sweatshirt and cut-offs, had his arm wrapped around a petite white-haired woman who smiled up at him. Her hair looked soft as a cotton ball, and the expression on her face left no doubt she loved her grandson.
Defiantly, Lucinda slid the snapshot back to Jake.
“You play dirty.”
“I play to win.”
Chapter Five
Two crisp hundred-dollar bills disappeared into one of the deep pockets of Maynard’s grease-spattered coveralls. In the garage bay’s far corner, a scrawny teen, engaged in a battle with a flat tire, ignored them. The hiss of an air compressor competed with the clang of a tire iron as it hit the shop’s concrete floor.