As the dog relieved himself, her mother’s truck pulled up in the driveway, and she winced at the clanking sounds the engine made as it turned off. She’d left her well-paying job in the city and now her mama wouldn’t have the extra income that Maylee sent home every month. Her mama had said it was fine, but it was money they all needed, especially if the younger girls were going to go to college in a few years. With Maylee’s retreat, that was out of reach for now—and possibly forever. She felt ashamed and defeated by that, too.
Really, she was just a big ol’ blubbering mess, wasn’t she? Maylee sighed and surreptitiously swiped at her watering eyes again, then waved at her mother as she got out of her truck. “Hi, Mama.”#p#分页标题#e#
Maylee’s mother had the same pale blonde corkscrew curls, though hers were more silver now, and her tan was deeper. She wore an old T-shirt and an equally old pair of jeans, and Maylee felt a twinge of unhappiness. Her family could use the money from her job so badly. Why had she let Griffin drive her out of NYC? It had been so selfish of her to move back home.
It was just that . . . she’d felt so alone and unwanted in her small, dirty apartment. She’d laid down in her bed and cried, missing—and hating—Griffin, then missing her mama, her sisters, and even her dog. It had seemed natural to come home. Now that she’d had a few days to sleep on it, though, she was mad at herself for giving up.
“I’m glad you’re up, Maylee-darlin’,” Mama called out. She juggled a paper bag of groceries. “I forgot the sausage at the store. Can you put on some jeans and run back out there for me? I need to start breakfast. Your Nana and Pepaw are coming over.”
“I will, Mama,” Maylee said, and snapped her fingers to call Bubba over. The dog trotted back to her, and the two women went inside the small trailer. Maylee went into the bathroom to change, and when she got out, she grabbed the keys to the truck and headed out for the store.
Twenty-five minutes later, she pulled back into the driveway of her home to a shiny black sedan with tinted windows in the driveway.
Her heart began to drum a frantic beat and she wasn’t sure if it was terror or excitement.
It wasn’t him . . . was it?
A short man in a sport coat leaned against the side of the sedan, smoking a cigarette. It wasn’t Griffin . . . not that she wanted to see him, anyhow. This man was short and balding, unlike her lean, scholarly, and snobby viscount. The stranger cast her a bored look as she pulled up next to him.
Maylee got out of the truck with her grocery bag and gave the man a friendly smile. “Hi, can I help you?”
He took another drag on his cigarette and gave her a dismissive look. “I’m just waiting on someone.”
She frowned, confused. “Are you lost? This is a private drive.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Wish to God we were.”
That funny feeling began to bubble in her stomach again, but she ignored it and offered her hand. “I’m Maylee.”
“Kip,” he said.
Maylee’s eyes widened. Oh, no. No, no, no. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?” There was a wealth of derisiveness in his tone.
“Oh, no,” Maylee breathed, and rushed up the steps of the single wide.
When she got into the house, she tore through the small kitchen into the tiny dining room. There, sitting next to her two pajama-clad sisters, was Griffin. His hair wasn’t its normal slicked down look but a messy sort of tousle. He wore his Bellissime court regalia and one hand was wrapped in a fluffy white towel. And he peered through his glasses at what looked to be a bowl of grits set in front of him.
“What are you doing here?” Maylee exclaimed.
“Maylee,” her mother said. “Be nice. We have a guest.”
“I don’t have to be nice to him!”
Griffin got to his feet and stood despite the cramped quarters, hugging his towel-covered hand close to his chest. The sight of that made her heart flip-flop painfully. Had he somehow injured himself? Why did she care, damn it? As he stood, he adjusted his glasses with his free hand and then gave her a sharp nod. “Miss Meriweather.”
Her sisters looked over at her with wide, unblinking eyes.
Maylee handed the bag of sausage to her mother and refused to look Griffin in the face. “You need to leave, Mr. Verdi. I’m done with being your assistant.”
“This gentleman needs a burn talked, Maylee,” her mother said in a do-not-argue-with-me voice. “He came here because of that.”
Guiltily, Maylee glanced at his hand, still swathed in the towel. She couldn’t tell anything from it. How badly had he hurt it? And could she ignore a man in need, even if he was the one who broke her heart and made her feel like she was less than dirt? “All right. Come on.” She waved him forward.