Sultry with a Twist (23 page)

“Oh, sugar!”

“Exactly.” His lips twitched in a grin. “An asshole named Captain Pratt. I didn’t know about it, but Trey did.”

“Wait,” June interrupted, “I thought officers couldn’t do things like that. Commit adultery.”

Laughing, he gave her a look that made her feel naïve, then kissed the back of her hand. “Technically, they can’t. But it’s hard to prove, and it happens all the time.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, Trey thought I really loved Ada—he didn’t know any better—and he tried talking to Pratt, to get him to break it off with her.”

“Did it work?”

“No. The guy just balked and denied everything. And you know Trey—he wouldn’t let it go. He started snooping around, following them to see where they met, stuff like that. Finally, he came to me and spilled everything.” Luke laughed without humor. “Poor bastard was sweating like a whore in church. He was afraid I’d shoot the messenger.”

June understood. She’d been the messenger once and had lost a friend in the process.

“Anyway,” Luke continued, “when I told him I wanted a quick divorce, he came up with what we
thought
was a brilliant idea to make Ada cooperate.”

“Let me guess. To catch her in the act?”

“More or less.” Frowning, he waved away a mosquito. “We followed her and Pratt to their favorite hangout, some dive bar off post, to take pictures with a disposable camera left over from my wedding.” He shook his head cynically. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

It seemed like a good idea to June too. “What went wrong?”

“I’d just snapped a few shots of them kissing when one of Pratt’s buddies—another officer—noticed us and went ape-shit. He came storming over for my camera, and Trey stopped him. They started throwing down, and then Pratt charged me like a bull.”

“Uh-oh.” June saw where this was headed. “What’s the penalty when someone gets busted for adultery?”

“Discharge—an OTH, like mine.” Locks of ruddy, brown hair blew across Luke’s forehead with the breeze, and he pushed them back, face hardening as he replayed the events. “Pratt wanted my camera. Bad enough to fight for it. But I held him off and stuffed it in my back pocket. That’s when he got Ada involved.”

June didn’t like the sound of that.

“I guess he’d agreed to marry her, and she didn’t want her new meal ticket getting discharged. So she threatened to tell Command I’d cheated first. When I didn’t take the bait, Pratt asked her,
What
about
all
the
times
he
hit
you?
” Luke tightened his grip on her hand. “I swear to God, June, her face lit up like the goddamned sun. She started spewing lies about how I beat her, and Pratt kept egging her on. She even said I made her miscarry our baby—the one that never existed. Claimed she could get her doctor to swear to it, if she paid him enough.”

He paused to take a deep breath. Though five years had passed, his jaw clenched in obvious frustration, not that she blamed him. June stroked his chest until his tense muscles relaxed beneath her touch. A few seconds later, he swallowed hard and continued. “Then Pratt said ‘Keep the camera, you stupid hick. Nobody’s gonna believe a wifebeater over me. You’ll be in the brig by morning, and in a kraut prison till you’re thirty.’” With his free hand, Luke scrubbed his face. “And then I completely lost it. I went off on him.”

“Of course you did!” She would’ve snapped too.

“No, June.” He shifted his gaze, locking his green eyes on hers. “I messed him up really bad. Broke his jaw, his nose, maybe even a few ribs. I don’t remember.”

“Good.”

“
Good?
Jesus, I snapped and beat a man till my knuckles bled! That doesn’t scare you?”

“No.” Not only had Pratt slept with Luke’s wife, he’d tried framing him for spousal abuse. Besides, she’d known Luke all her life, and though he’d gotten into a few tiffs in high school, he’d never hurt anyone.

“Well, it scares me. What if it happens again?”

June reached up and caressed his cheek. “
Has
it happened again?”

“No, but—”

“But nothing. That man attacked you, then pushed and pushed, until he got the reaction he wanted. Pratt got what he deserved.”

Luke shook his head. “The army disagrees with you. The only thing that saved me from getting a dishonorable discharge was those damned pictures. They took the affair into account and lessened it to an OTH.”

“What about Trey?”

“Same thing—OTH for striking a superior officer.”

“And Pratt?”

Luke released her hand, turning his gaze to the clouds. “Last I heard, he lawyered up and got transferred stateside. I don’t know if he married Ada, but I like to think so. A fitting punishment for both of them.”

“What a mess.”

“No shit.” Luke plucked a tall blade of grass, then began snapping it to pieces. “My career? Gone, just like that. World War Three could break out, and they wouldn’t call me back. And folks don’t exactly go out of their way to hire you when you’ve got an OTH on your record.”

That explained Morris Howard’s second chance. He’d helped Luke build a new career when no one else would have him. And then Luke had done the same for Trey and the steady rotation of troubled men who worked with Helping Hands.

“That doesn’t seem fair.” June swept bits of grass off the blanket. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“The hell I didn’t.” His voice went sharp, eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that. Don’t make excuses for me. I agreed to live by a code of honor, and I broke it. Nobody put a gun to my head. I made a stupid choice. I hurt someone, and I deserve the consequences.”

June straddled Luke’s lap, taking his chin so she had his full attention. “Doesn’t change anything. That officer shouldn’t have slept with your wife. And don’t even get me started on the fake abuse charges.”

“It doesn’t excuse what I—”

“No. You made a mistake, and you’ve moved on with your life, as you should. You’re a good man. I love you.” She kissed him hard on the mouth, trying to force away the remnants of his self-hatred. When he shook his head to object, she pulled him closer. Eventually, he softened enough to return the kiss.

A buzzing noise sounded from Luke’s pocket, the vibration tickling June’s inner thigh. She scooted aside to let him answer the call, but she never stopped soothing him with gentle touches.

Luke checked the incoming number and tapped his phone’s screen. “Let’s hear it.” He nodded in response to whatever was said on the other end. “Great, thanks.” Then he disconnected, short and sweet.

“Good news?” she asked. They could use some.

“The best. That was my realtor. He thinks we’ll have multiple offers by tonight.” The hope of a quick sale seemed to lift his mood, bringing out a tentative smile. “And he loved your ideas—the colors and furniture and girly stuff. I never thanked you for that.”

It still wasn’t a
thank
you
, not really, but June grinned and rested her head on Luke’s chest. Part of her wanted to continue their conversation, but she thought better of it. If, deep down, Luke didn’t believe she loved him, repeating the words wouldn’t make a difference. She wrapped an arm tightly around his waist and sighed.

That’s when they heard the first of the distant sirens.

Luke yawned behind his fist and squinted up at the cloudless, blue sky. He directed his dubious gaze at the trees, whose leaves rustled lightly in the cool breeze. With no scent of rain weighting the air, he wondered if someone had fired off the weather sirens by accident.

“They still run drills the first Tuesday of the month?” June asked, obviously just as puzzled.

“Yeah.” But this was the last week in September. Not a test. “Guess we should head back to Pru’s and check the forecast.” Late summer storms could creep up quicker than a duck on a beetle, and he had no intention of getting caught in the open.

With a groan, he rolled off the blanket and then reeled in their empty fishing lines. Thankfully, nothing took the bait. The last thing he wanted to do was untangle a crotchety snapping turtle or unhook a puny trout. He’d hoped to wrap June in his arms and enjoy a long nap, since neither of them had slept much last night. They still could, he guessed, just on Pru’s sofa. Not quite the same, though.

June shook out the blanket and slung it over one shoulder, as Luke grabbed their untouched picnic basket. While they walked back to Pru’s, Luke couldn’t help tuning out June’s soft prattle to consider what his agent had said. Multiple offers didn’t necessarily mean a bidding war. If he’d listed the house when he’d originally intended—if Trey’s injury hadn’t set him so far back—he’d be in a better position to negotiate. But with his land coming up for auction in a week, Luke didn’t have the luxury of holding out for the highest bidder. The buyer who offered immediate closing would win his home.

His heart accelerated, and despite the new chill in the air, he lifted a shoulder to wipe sweat from his temple. He’d really cut it close this time, but everything would work out all right. Worst-case scenario: he’d clear just enough to buy his land and then crash with Pru while taking on small projects to build up more capital. Start flipping hovels again, just like before. The idea of living with Pru, especially at his age, made his stomach feel heavy. He wanted stability and independence, not only for himself, but for June. It was hard feeling like he deserved her. Unnatural. But if he could get that land, build a fine home near the pond, show he had something real to offer—maybe then she’d get someone else to run Luquos and come back to Sultry Springs.

“Hey,” June said, giving their linked fingers a tug. “Where’d you go?”

Luke gave an apologetic smile and brought her hand to his lips. “Nowhere special.”

“Looks ominous.” She raised her chin to the sky, which had transformed into a sickly shade of green in the brief time he’d zoned out. Heavy clouds began to race past while the wind whipped the ends of his hair into his eyes. He picked up the pace, and by the time they rushed through Pru’s back door, the putrid sky opened up and pelted the earth with tiny hailstones.

June shook out her hair, and chunks of ice the size of frozen peas clinked to the linoleum floor. While she scooped up the mess and tossed them into the sink, Luke grabbed a peanut butter sandwich from the picnic basket and joined Pru in the living room.

“Had no idea this was comin’,” Pru said, gesturing to the same faded oak console television where he and June had watched cartoons as kids. Weatherman “Pudgy Paul” Stockman warned in a chipper voice to expect a series of violent storms throughout the day and swept his hands over a local map splotched with greens and reds to indicate rainfall.

Luke plopped down on the sofa. “Guess fishing’s out.”

“We can lie around here just as well as the pond,” June said. “Scoot down.” He moved to one end, and she stretched out, resting her head in his lap. Sliding a gaze at his sandwich, she opened her mouth for a bite.

He broke off one corner and touched the bread to her lips before yanking it back again and popping it into his mouth. When she puffed out that pouty lower lip, he bent down to kiss it. Pru pretended not to see their playful exchange, but he noticed a smile dance across her cheeks, before she turned and left the room.

“Plus,” June added, “it’s been too long since we had a good storm.”

That’s right. He’d forgotten how much June loved thunderstorms. She used to sit on the front porch and watch them roll in, until the lightning came too close, and Pru would make her come inside. By that time, she’d be half soaked, with snarled, windblown hair, but always grinning. Like she’d harnessed a force of nature or something.

He tore his sandwich in two and handed June half while finishing the rest in one overstuffed bite. Then a mixture of drugging sensations—the steady, rhythmic pelting of ice against the roof, sunlight slipping behind dark clouds, June’s soft curls tangled within his fingers—lulled him into a trancelike state, until his eyelids grew heavy as cinder blocks. He knew better than to take June upstairs to his bed, even for a chaste nap. Pru would beat him senseless with her heavy, hardback Bible. Instead, he lay down beside her on the narrow couch and pulled her tightly against his body. She burrowed her cheek into his chest, and he was out cold within minutes.

The next thing Luke knew, Pru’s large bony hand was clamped around his shoulder. “Come on,” she said, giving him a hard shake. “Time to move down to the cellar.” In her other hand, Pru gripped an emergency radio with a built-in flashlight.

“Huh?” Still in a fog, he helped June sit up and then stumbled off the sofa. How long had they slept? The room was black as night, but it didn’t seem like that much time had passed.

“Tornadoes?” June asked in a cracked whisper. Her eyes widened, reflecting the dim, flickering light from the television. June’s love of thunder and lightning didn’t extend to tornadoes, which had always transformed her from a brave, smiling girl to a quivering, weeping mess huddled in the corner.

“Yep,” said Pru. She nodded toward a stack of neatly folded blankets on the recliner. “Grab those.”

“Lucky!” June shouted, whipping her head from side to side. She didn’t have to wait long. A soft mew sounded from the hall, and Lucky hopped in with that awkward three-legged gait. Luke grabbed him in a football hold, determined not to let the scraggly thing blow away once they stepped outside.

June scooped up the blankets and held them against her chest, gripping them like a pillow and burying her face in the fabric folds. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, leading her out the back door behind Pru.

The sudden change in pressure made Luke’s ears pop, and he tucked the cat between his body and June’s to protect it from hailstones and the hard, scraping wind. The sky’s eerie glow barely illuminated the heavy aluminum doors in the ground that led down to the cellar. Bits of dried leaves and dust sandblasted Luke’s neck as he ducked his head and pulled June forward, her muscles rigid beneath her cotton dress. He released her only long enough to heave one door open and usher her inside, followed by Pru. Then he stepped down and bolted the doors shut, hearing ice clunk and ping off the metal. Luke felt along the damp cement wall for the light switch and flipped it on, bathing the dank space in the flickering glimmer of a single fluorescent bulb.

Warped wooden steps creaked beneath their feet, replaced by the grit of dirt beneath their shoes, as they descended into an area no larger than a generous walk-in closet. The air was thick with mildew, and a sharp metallic scent emanated from a rusted shelf pressed against the far wall. Two tattered canvas cots lined the remaining walls, dusty, but certainly more welcoming than a seat on the bare earth. A lone cricket chirped, competing with the howling, whistling wind from above.

With a groan, Pru eased onto the far cot and began tuning the radio to the strongest station, and once Lucky’s paws hit the ground, he gave a half-hearted hiss and joined her. “Too bad we’re a bunk short,” Pru said. “Hope you two don’t mind sharin’.” She did a better job of hiding her grin this time.

Luke uncurled June’s fingers from the blankets and spread one onto the other cot, then sat down and pulled her onto his lap. Instantly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his shoulder.

As a kid, he’d never liked spending the night in the storm cellar—who would?—but June used to cry in great, hiccupping sobs that had made his lungs feel heavy. He’d always tried, without much success, to distract her with stories or jokes, but this time he held her tightly in his arms and rocked her from side to side.

“You’re safe down here,” he whispered. “Nothing can touch you.” She nodded and loosened her grip a bit. “Anyway, it’s just a precaution, right Pru?” He raised a brow at June’s grandma, hoping she’d play along.

“That’s right. Worst’a the storm’s in the next county.”

He wasn’t sure which county Pru was referring to, and he was afraid to ask. Jesus, please not Hallover. Anywhere but there. He’d always teased June, saying her bad luck was more contagious than measles, but Luke didn’t really believe in luck. He hated the idea that his failures were someone else’s fault. He and June had a measure of control over their fates, just like everyone else.

But listening to the radio, Luke began to wonder.

“…in Hallover county, where reports indicate a touchdown with significant property damage…”

Maybe control was an illusion.

Something heavy clattered outside the cellar doors, and June jumped in his arms. She cleared her throat and said, “Probably nowhere near your house.” Her trembling fingers stroked his hair as she tried to offer comfort. “It’s a huge county. Could’ve touched down anywhere.”

“…now four confirmed touchdowns in Hal—”

“Hey,” June said, three decibels too loud. She took his cheek and steered his gaze away from the radio as Pru turned it down to a low murmur. “I just remembered something. A bad dream I had last night, something about snakes. It reminded me of a hypothetical question I read in a book once. If someone offered you a million dollars, would you agree to have horrible nightmares every single night for a year?”

“Kind of random, isn’t it?” Luke wasn’t fooled for one second by June’s sudden interest in conversation starters. She was trying to distract him, just like he’d done for her all those years ago. Sweet, but ineffective. Nothing short of having her naked beneath him on that cot would push the thoughts of storm damage from his mind.

“I wouldn’t do it,” Pru said. “Only got so many nights left. Don’t wanna waste ’em.” She scratched Lucky behind the ears and cocked her head to the side, as if in thought. “But young’uns like you? Maybe the money’d be worth it.”

“Yeah,” June mused. “I don’t know. A million dollars would give me a lot of security, but all those nightmares would drive me crazy after a few weeks. And losing sleep would affect my health. So I guess it comes down to which is more important—financial security or emotional security. I think emotional. So, no, I wouldn’t do it either.” She squeezed Luke’s arm. “How about you?”

Heaving a sigh, he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter anyway, ’cause it would never happen, but I guess I would. I can take a few bad dreams.” The words stumbled from his lips, but he wasn’t thinking about nightmares, or listening as June and Pru continued the debate. Only wondering how much damage his house could sustain and still be ready for closing within a week. He could handle a few missing shingles, replace some siding and a window or two. Beyond that, who could he call to help with repairs? Trey and Pauly, for sure. Maybe a few other guys from the crew. He couldn’t pay them until after closing, but they’d probably be okay with that. Yes, it could still work out. But despite that thought, his heart still thumped against his ribs. If only he’d known about the land auction, before he’d tied all his money up in that damned house.

“What do you think?” June asked, tugging at his shirt sleeve. “About cutting off both thumbs to add ten years to your life?”

“Hmm?” Her shoulders sagged as she probably realized the distraction wasn’t working. He remembered the feeling. None of his best jokes could ever keep her from crying until the threat of twisters was over. “Sorry, Junebug. Too much on my mind. Let’s just lie down, okay?” He needed quiet, to think through all the possibilities and all his options. No matter what, he had to find a way to buy his land. Pru used to say there was a key to unlock every door. His mind reeled with the quickest ways to fix storm damage with no cash on hand, to find the key.

They nested together like spoons on the cot, but neither slept. June continued to flinch at every sound, while Luke drove himself half-mad envisioning a timber-littered hole in the ground where his house used to be. And wondering who would scoop up his land at auction. How many years would pass before it came back on the market, if ever?

Many hours later when the wind died down, he gave up on sleep and unbolted the cellar doors. A fallen branch blocked the way, but he managed to dislodge it enough to wriggle out, pull the branch aside, and then let June and Pru out into the muggy, early morning haze.

Glancing around, Luke noticed some superficial damage to Pru’s wood siding, one cracked windowpane, and a couple trees he’d have to cut down before the next storm, but nothing that required his immediate attention. He circled the house and did one more inspection—both inside and out—to be sure they’d be safe when he left.

“Wait,” June said, grabbing his forearm. “I’m coming too.”

Luke shook his head. “No telling what’s going on over there. Could be live power lines down, the roads might be blocked. I might have to walk at some point.”

“But—”

“Unh-uh. Stay here, and help Pru clean up the yard. I’ll call when I know something.”

Before she could object again, Luke planted a quick kiss on her forehead and hopped into the truck. He didn’t know what he’d find in Hallover, and if he broke down, he didn’t want June there to witness it. Or worse—to patronize him and stroke his face and say everything would be fine.

Though it went against his every instinct, he drove ten miles below the speed limit and kept his eyes trained on the road.
Everything’s gonna be okay
, he promised himself. But repeating the words didn’t ease his mind, so he cranked up the radio and let the thumping bass push out all conscious thought.