I Want Candy (23 page)

He wanted her
bad
. And bringing her home with him was a very big deal for him.

“I can finish up,” she said.

“Hell, no,” he said, chuckling. “You’re my guest. My mama would kill me if I let a guest make their own bed.”

“Please. Let me do it.”

His hands stopped tugging on the sheet and he stood straight. His eyes and smile were soft. “Sure. I’ll be out in the living room if you need me.”

It was a small bedroom, so Candy felt Turner’s big body brush against hers on his way out. Instinctively, she stretched her fingers out as he walked by and the brief contact sent a shiver through her. Shamelessly, she peered over her shoulder to stare at him as he walked away, only to find he was looking back at her.

They both laughed.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and peeked around. Clearly, Turner must not get a lot of overnight visitors, because before he could even put sheets on the bed he’d had to remove a jumble of CDs, newspapers, and magazines, which were now stacked against the wall under the window. The room held a dresser and mirror, an upholstered chair, and boxes stacked along every bit of open wall space to at least five feet high. Candy had a funny feeling that if she were to look inside those boxes she’d find Junie’s belongings. It was going to take a concerted effort for her not to feel like an intruder in another woman’s house.

When they’d arrived about a half hour before, Candy noticed immediately that Turner’s place felt serene. Peaceful. It was an older log home tucked into the woods about ten minutes from the Bigler town line, surrounded by tall pines and bordered by a creek. They’d had to drive over a small private bridge to reach the lane leading uphill to the house.

The inside was small but didn’t feel cramped. It was cozy, with pine walls and floors, a large stone fireplace, and a thoroughly modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. She asked Turner if he’d recently remodeled and he’d told her yes—it was his and Junie’s first project after they got married.

The kitchen wasn’t the only indication that a woman had lovingly turned this little house into a home. There were feminine touches everywhere, little details that made it obvious a man hadn’t created the space alone. The dark brown leather couch and chair were accented with colorful kilim-patterned toss pillows. The windows were framed in generous swags of sheer ivory fabric held open with scrolled brass tiebacks. The artwork on the walls was muted and perfectly complementary to both the interior and the view Candy imagined would present itself with every sunrise.

“It’s really lovely,” she’d said.

“It’s home,” he’d replied. “And it’s yours for as long as you need it.”

Candy gave a quick check in the dresser mirror before she joined Turner. She had to laugh. She looked like a worn-out chick with wet hair and a few dozen major life issues to sort through, which about covered it. At least it was truth in advertising.

“Hi,” she said, walking around the end of the couch where Turner was sprawled under the soft glow of a floor lamp. As she settled down in the chair Turner shot up to a sitting position, startled. Obviously, he’d fallen asleep. “Oh.” Candy immediately stood again, already feeling like she was intruding. “You’re very tired, so you rest and we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Turner’s long arm reached out and he gripped her hand in his. “Please don’t go. Sit for a minute.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” With his free hand he patted the sofa next to him.

Candy sighed in surrender and let herself be pulled down at his side, immediately tucking her legs under her and turning to face him. Turner did look tired, but there was so much more in his expression than physical exhaustion. He looked content.

“I’m glad you’re here, Candy,” he said, keeping her hand tucked in his.

“Thank you for this, Turner.”

A strange little smile crept onto his face and several moments went by without them feeling the need to speak. It was a rare opportunity for Candy to simply gaze at him, relaxed, in his element, his expression open and calm. She was mesmerized by the color of his skin—like a perfectly toasted marshmallow, like a two-thousand-calorie mocha latte, like the warm brown of an autumn leaf. She’d never known his father—he’d passed away when they were kids—but she wondered if that’s where Turner got those extraordinary hazel eyes. And his broad shoulders. And the sensual shape of his mouth.

Without thinking, Candy reached up and brushed her fingertips down the side of his face, and Turner’s reaction was equally spontaneous. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, the softest moan escaping from his throat.

She snatched her hand away, embarrassed. That was the kind of touch a man receives from the woman he loves, the woman who belongs to him and cherishes him in return. Junie had been that woman to him. Candy looked around the living room apprehensively, almost expecting Junie to pop up from behind the chair and give Candy a piece of her mind.

“So,” she said, trying her best to cover up for her awkwardness. “I don’t want to get under your feet in the morning. What time do you have to leave for work?”

Turner’s eyes opened reluctantly and she watched him struggle to make the transition from the sweetest of touches to the most mundane of small talk.

“Uh,” he said, shifting on the couch. “Technically, I’m at work right now since I’m still covering for Pauline. But I’ll need to be back in the office about seven.”

“Okay. I need to show up at Lenny’s at seven-thirty, so that will work out perfect.” Candy looked down at her hand in his. “Um, Turner? Is Miller going to press charges against me?”

“Naw. I wouldn’t worry about him. He’ll cool down in time.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I told him it would hardly be worth his trouble since the charges would probably get downgraded to misdemeanor trespassing.”

Candy was surprised by that. “With all those people who showed up I thought for sure I was headed to prison. Who were they, anyway? They looked like they belonged on some FBI TV show.”

“Right.” Turner straightened up a little more and cleared his throat. “They were in the area, you know, working on something else.”

“But why would they care about some chick trying to climb in a window at a nursing home?”

Turner shrugged, as though the subject bored him, which made Candy even more curious.

“Okay. So I was right?” Candy asked. “They’re FBI people?”

“Hey, would you like a cup of tea or something?” Turner dropped her hand, jumped from the couch, and was in the kitchen before she could answer. “I’ve got chamomile, mint, green, green decaf…”

“Are they from the IRS?” Candy spun around on her knees and rested her arms on the back of the sofa so she could watch his reaction. She was starting to get a little paranoid. “Is this about my bankruptcy or something?”

“What?” Turner looked over his shoulder and laughed. “Of course not, Candy!”

“But you’re not telling me something. I can tell. Why did a whole bunch of cops show up at Cherokee Pines?”

Turner twisted around to lean his palms on the countertop. “Darlin’, they have nothing to do with you. Seriously.”

She frowned.

Turner came back to the living room and lowered his face to her level. He kissed her softly, his lips warm and tender on hers. She would have been happy to have more, but he pulled away. “Listen, there’s something we should probably deal with right now so we can get it out of the way, all right?” Candy nodded and watched Turner return to his spot on the couch. “There are a lot of things about my job that I can never share. I don’t tell Reggie or J.J. or my mom or anyone. And I can’t tell you.”

“Oh. No problem.” Candy could understand that. “So you can’t tell me why the FBI people are in town?”

Turner laughed. “Baby, I can’t even tell you that FBI people
are
in town. I can’t answer any of your questions, but I can assure you one hundred percent that they’re not here about you. You haven’t done anything that would interest them.”

She sighed deeply and fell back against the couch. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s all I need to know.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth she realized they weren’t true. “Except for one more thing—did Gerrall Spivey get in trouble because of me?”

“He was fired.”

“
Fired?
Oh, great.”

“Does that worry you?”

Candy shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the whole Gerrall drama with Turner. “Of course it does. He lost his job because he did me a favor, which makes it my fault, so yeah, it worries me.”

“You don’t think he’ll do anything crazy, do you?”

Candy glanced at Turner to be sure he was being serious. “You mean like come after me with a meat cleaver or something?” She laughed. “Of course not. He’s weird, but he’s not a psycho case.”

“Always good to hear.” With that, Turner pulled Candy closer to him, wrapped both arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Are you sleepy?” he asked.

Candy smiled. If they hadn’t already discussed the fact that they wouldn’t be sleeping together tonight, she would have assumed that’s what he was asking. “I am, but this is so nice I don’t want to move.”

“Good, ’cause I don’t, either,” he whispered.

Candy let her head snuggle back into the sweet spot in the crook of Turner’s arm and closed her eyes. And it was all pleasant enough, but something was bugging her. It was Junie again. Candy sighed, and in the stillness of her heart she asked Junie to come closer for a little girl-to-girl chat. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but she did believe that some things were more powerful than whatever thin veil divided life and death, and love was one of them.

“I know Turner is a truly special man,” she told Junie in silence. “He will always know exactly where I’m coming from and what I’m feeling. I will never intentionally hurt him. And as long as I’m here I will treat this man and this home with respect.”

It could have been in her imagination, but Candy swore a sweet fragrance moved through the room. It wasn’t disturbing—it was lovely and kind and reassuring.

Turner tightened his arms around her and the solid weight of his body made her feel anchored. Candy felt safe—for the first time in years. And as the rhythm of his breathing gently rocked her, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d fallen asleep in a man’s arms but knew it hadn’t felt this wonderful.

Because nothing ever had.

*   *   *

“He fired your ass?”

Gerrall hung his head. He knew this was going to be a nightmare, but he hadn’t really done anything
that
bad. All he’d done was make it easier for Candy to stay a few extra days. It wasn’t like he’d stolen money from the Fat Man’s stash or gone to the cops about what was really going on out there at that place.

“You fuckin’ idiot!” His father paced back and forth along the length of the trailer’s living room, a cigarette flopping out between his lips. “Are you kidding me? That asshole has been holding this whole operation together. You know that, right? He’s the middleman. How do you think we got where we are?”

Gerrall shrugged.

His daddy stopped pacing and scowled in his direction. “Please, God, don’t tell me this has something to do with that piece of blond pussy you’ve been jacking off to.”

“What?”

“Did you get caught doing her in the supply closet or something?”

“What?
No!
”

“Then what? You worked at that place for a reason, you dick brain. It put you in town every day. It provided a central drop-off and pickup from the Fat Man’s orders. You had a really simple job to do—you ran the front desk for that asshole and when your shift was over, you collected the shit and brought it back here. Now tell me—when did that get too hard for you to handle, huh?”

“I’m sorry.” Gerrall stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. “Well, I’ll talk to you later.”

He could hardly believe it, but his daddy just let him walk out of there. Not even a smack on the head or anything. Gerrall wandered out to the barn. Their latest cook was at work and looked up and gave him a sort of friendly nod. The helpers didn’t even look up. Dan, the driver, sat in a plastic lawn chair in the corner, reading the latest issue of
Sports Illustrated,
probably waiting for the night’s shipment.

“Hey,” Gerrall said.

Dan looked up from under his long hair and twitched his lips a little. Then went back to the magazine.

“So, where you from?” Gerrall asked.

Dan shrugged.

“You speak English?”

Dan slapped the magazine closed and glared at Gerrall.
“Poquito.”

“Okay. So, no, right? You don’t speak any English?”

Dan looked up to the barn’s ceiling then back again. “Yeah, I speak English, ass wipe,” he said. “I’m from Brooklyn, okay?”

“Oh. Right.” Gerrall wiped his palms on the front of his jeans. Just then, the little girl he’d kicked out of his tree house came wandering in. She tugged on the shirt of one of the dudes on the line, who yelled at her and she walked away, keeping her eyes down. Gerrall kind of felt sorry for her. He didn’t know what kind of loser brought his kid to a place like this.

When Gerrall turned around, he saw Dan staring at the kid, but immediately went back to his magazine.

“Hey, have I showed you a picture of my girlfriend?”

Dan nodded. “Yeah.”

“When I’ve got enough money, I’m gonna buy a new car and we’re both going to leave this town and never come back.”

“That’s fuckin’ great,” Dan said.

One of the helpers called out, “You got some more cake? That shit was good!”

“When you gonna bring her out here so we can get a piece of her?” another one asked.

Gerrall was about to kick that dick’s ass when he was knocked to the ground by a blow to the back of his head. When he tried to get up, he felt a boot on his neck.

“Kid didn’t do nothing.” It was Dan’s voice. Gerrall tried to turn enough to see what was happening but couldn’t. His face was being smashed into the disgusting barn floor.

“Stay the fuck out of this.”

“Whatever.”