Just a Little White Lie(46)

She put up a hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“No. I should have told you all this sooner. Asked you about it. But after I got to know you, well… You—you’re special, and I didn’t want to rock the boat between us, I guess.”

She said nothing, simply nodded. She was special?

His fingers tightened on the wheel. “Lucy, if I go after Donald and your father, they could lose a lot. You could lose a lot.”

“It’s only money, Jake.”

“Spoken by someone who’s always had it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’. Let’s put all this on hold for the rest of tonight, okay?”

“Fine.”

“Hey, don’t get all snooty on me. Remember, you brought it up. And, I might remind you, you asked me to stay cool about it. That needs to work both ways.”

“Right again.” She hooked a thumb in her seatbelt, looked up at the big old moon shining down on them, and exhaled loudly.

“You good now?”

She sent him a smile. “I am.”

“Great.” He turned the radio to a country and western station, and Willie sang to them as the Jeep’s tires hummed along the country road, eating up the miles.





The Dixie Dog sat on the outskirts of town and looked for all the world as if one good gust would take it down without a whimper. It was built on stilts without a foundation and a set of rickety steps led onto a small wooden veranda.

As bad as it seemed, Lucinda figured the Dixie Dog would appear even worse in the light of day. Despite its appearance, the parking lot held a dozen or so cars, and neon lights flashed on and off, advertising beer and fun.

Oh boy. She felt a little like she’d entered an alternate universe. Music poured out the open doors and windows.

“You ready for this?” Jake asked.

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am. Should I be whistling ‘Dixie’?”

“Nah. Not yet. Evening’s still young, though, so you might want to keep it in your back pocket—just in case.”

He took her hand as they crossed the dark parking lot, and heat sizzled up her arm and zinged to her very core. She amended her answer. No. No, she definitely wasn’t ready for this. Whatever this was. This thing between her and Jake was spiraling out of control. Was way more than she could handle.

Before she could say anything else, she found herself inside. The interior was a good ten degrees hotter than outside. Her nose wrinkled as the smell of beer and boiled peanuts, and fried foods assaulted her. Overhead fans labored through smoke-thickened air. But rather than overpowering her, in a strange way it welcomed her. Drew her in.

“Hey, Jake! Good to see you, man!”

“Bro, where ya been keepin’ yourself?”

“Heard you were back in town.”

It seemed as though everyone in the place knew Jake.

Jake nodded, acknowledging them all while herding her toward an empty booth on the far side of the bar. Every eye in the place followed them.

She ran a hand down her silk shift, aware that everyone else was dressed casually. Very casually. Jake had abandoned his jacket and tie in the Jeep. Now she understood why. She’d been almost sorry, though. The man did a suit proud. She’d nearly swallowed her tongue when she first saw him tonight. Of course, he wore jeans and a T-shirt with a casual, rugged maleness that was every bit as sexy.

“Well, if it isn’t Lucinda Darling in the flesh.” A bottle-blond waitress, a good two inches of dark roots showing, sidled up to their table. Her white shorts barely covered her cheeks, and a two-sizes-too-small tee left little to the imagination.

“We heard Jake here brought you home with him. An honest-to-God celebrity. Gotta say, you look even better in person than on TV. And that’s saying somethin’.” She nudged Jake’s shoulder. “Bet old Wanda Sue’s about to blow a gasket, ain’t she?”

Jake shrugged. “Wanda Sue’s not my problem. Lucy, this shy introvert here waitin’ to take our drink order is Marsha. Marsha Turner.”

Lucinda extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marsha.”

“Did you really do the whole runaway bride thing like they showed on TV? Like Julia Roberts did in that movie with Richard Gere?”

Small towns, Lucinda decided, had both pros and cons. It wasn’t likely Marsha would let this go. So she might as well grab the bull by the horns and ride it out. “Yes, Marsha, I really did.”

She pursed her lips. “There were a few differences, though. Unlike Julia, I didn’t think to wear my sneakers. I had to do my running in stilettos.”

“Handmade Italian leather ones, I’ll bet, huh?”