Sultry with a Twist (24 page)

It took a few minutes for June to identify the cause of her unease. It was too quiet. For the first time since her arrival at Gram’s house, the whip-poor-wills, doves, and quail had fallen silent. Shielding her eyes, she gazed at the battered, half-stripped trees and wondered where all the birds had gone. Even the crickets and cicadas were mute. Maybe they’d burrowed underground or simply blown away. Who knew? But no wind blew now, that was certain, and it didn’t help counter the sun’s brutal rays. June heaved a sigh and raked another bag full of leaves and twigs before returning to the sanctuary of Gram’s air-conditioned kitchen.

“Luke call yet?” she asked Gram, while blotting her face with a paper towel. Three agonizing hours had passed since he’d left, and she’d expected to hear something by now.

“No.” Grammy offered a cool glass of iced tea. “But Burl did. Shooters lost power, so no need goin’ to work tonight. Said to tell you good-bye and good luck in Austin.”

“Oh.” That’s right. Her month of service was over in a few days, and she’d have to return to Luquos. The thought left her with a stirring of excitement in her breast, as well as anxious tingles prickling the surface of her skin. But she couldn’t leave without knowing Luke would be okay. “Gram? What if Luke’s house is too damaged to list? Is there another way for him to get the cash in time for the auction?”

“Sure. I could take out a second mortgage, but he’d never agree to it.” Grammy shook her head and smoothed the front of her blue cotton dress. “Prideful man. He’ll do it himself or not at all.”

“Can he use the Hallover house as collateral for a loan?”

“No.” Gram’s expression hardened into a look June knew well. “That ex-wife ’a his ruined his credit before the divorce. Ran up all the cards before shackin’ up with another man. That’s why he uses cash from every sale to buy the next house.”

“How much do you think it’ll take to win the auction?” Maybe she could scrape together a couple thousand bucks, if she picked up a few bartending shifts.

“Hard to tell without knowin’ who’s biddin’.” With a shrug, Gram glanced to the side like she was calculating numbers in her head. “I think it went for sixty last time, but it could go for less. Could go for a hundred. No way to tell.”

Whoa, a hundred thousand dollars? June squeezed her eyes shut and said a quick prayer for Luke. Hopefully, his house was still in decent shape, and all this speculation was for nothing; otherwise, she’d be useless as boobs on a bull.

Deciding the break was over, June headed back outside to continue raking. She made a deal with herself—if she didn’t hear from Luke in one hour, she’d go looking for him. Yeah, that sounded perfectly reasonable to her. Luke had said to stay put, but he’d also promised to call. She’d give him one hour to honor his side of the bargain before she tracked him down.

Fifteen minutes later, a humid breeze from her car’s open windows tossed her curls into the air as the miles passed by. She twisted her stereo dial to find some local information about road closures, but the six stations her dilapidated radio picked up yielded nothing useful. The scene outside her window seemed promising though. Nothing worse than the damage at Gram’s house—a few trees uprooted in the fields, and leaves carpeting the asphalt—so far, she’d only had to slow down once to steer around a branch protruding onto the road.

As June approached Hallover County, the knot in her chest began to loosen. Luke’s phone battery had probably died—that’s why he hadn’t called. After all, there’d been no way to charge it last night in the cellar. She’d just relaxed into her seat and released a quiet sigh of relief when she saw it: the mahogany desk with beveled etching along the top. The one she’d selected from the furniture rental store because it complimented Luke’s master bedroom perfectly. Now it lay in the middle of the road with its legs broken in half like matchsticks. A cold weight settled in June’s belly as she slowed down and passed it on the grassy shoulder.

Before long, she spotted Luke’s black truck parked alongside the road in front of a massive fallen oak that had blocked the way. She pulled up behind him and continued on foot.

***

From a battery-operated radio in the kitchen, The Police complained about getting wet beneath the world’s umbrella. How fitting. Luke switched the radio off, clutched it in his palm, and then threw it out a broken window and into the sodden backyard. It landed with a dull thud beside a cluster of wilted golden flowers June had planted out front last week. He was wet, all right, just like everything else inside this goddamned house. Funny thing about a roof—it only worked as long as it was attached to the walls.

He pounded his fist against the granite countertop, then winced in pain, remembering too late that he’d put that same fist through the drywall a couple hours earlier. Cradling his hand against his chest, Luke scanned the kitchen again, taking in the splintered furniture, the soaked walls, and the warped wood floors. And that was just the surface damage. His place was in worse shape than the Jenkins home had been, and how long had the crew worked on that project? Six months, at least.

It was over. His dream of finally owning the Gallagher land, of building his home there, was over. But why? Why the hell couldn’t he catch a break, just this once? Looking at the neighborhood, you’d think God Himself had reached down and flicked the roof off Luke’s house before leaving everyone else to live in peace. It wasn’t enough that he’d lost his mama, been played by his ex-wife, and then booted out of the army. Now he was pushing thirty with no money, no prospects, and he didn’t have a place to sleep that night. He’d have to go crawling back to Pru. Again.

The light crunch of glass beneath shoe soles sounded from the foyer, and from the slow, tentative footsteps, he knew it was June. Damn it, why hadn’t she stayed home? The worst part of all this shit was knowing he had nothing to offer anymore. He didn’t want to face her. Not like this—a worthless, broken man inside his literally broken home.

“Hey,” she whispered from behind.

Luke turned to the window. June’s voice was thick with pity, and he didn’t want to see it in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“You didn’t call.”

“Look around. I was occupied.” Which was a lie. He’d done nothing all day—there was nothing he
could
do.

He heard June step forward slowly. “The furniture’s insured. Just so you know.” When he didn’t respond, she continued in a softer voice, “Decorations, too. I paid the extra nineteen ninety-nine. It’s not something I’d normally do, but I just—”

“Good to know.” Until then, he hadn’t given a thought to all the staging crap she’d rented. At least he wasn’t on the hook for thousands of dollars worth of furniture he hadn’t wanted to begin with.

“How about the house?” she asked, placing one hand lightly on his shoulder. “Is it insured?”

Luke shrugged from beneath her touch and moved toward the back door, picking up chunks of drywall and wood off the floor as he went. Although he’d paid for the house in cash and insurance wasn’t mandatory, he’d bought a cheap policy. But it was only worth the appraised value at the time of purchase—less than twenty-five percent of what the property had been worth when it went on the market a few days ago.

“Yeah.” He tossed the debris out into the backyard. “But it won’t pay much.” If he really stretched his dollar, he’d have enough to buy supplies for a new roof, maybe new floors and drywall, but there’d be nothing left for labor, appliances, or landscaping. And there’d sure as hell be no compensation for the hundreds of hours he’d spent busting his back in this place.

Several minutes ticked by in silence before June cleared her throat and said, “I feel like this is my fault. If it weren’t for Trey’s accident, you’d’ve had this house finished and sold weeks ago.” Even though Luke couldn’t see her face, he knew she was chewing the inside of her cheek and staring down at her shoes, just like every time she thought she was in trouble.

Ever since they were kids, June had taken her licks and kept trailing after him—no amount of roughhousing or teasing could ever repel her. For whatever reason, she’d convinced herself that she loved him, and unless he forced her to let go, she never would.

“You’re probably right,” he said, closing his eyes and hating himself for what he was about to do.

“How can I help?”

“Help?” Luke whirled around and finally faced her. “Like you helped Karl break his nose?”

June’s mouth formed a little pink O, and she shook her head, sending her brown curls in motion.

“No?” he said, raising his voice. “How about the way you helped Trey off the roof? Is that how you wanna help?”

“Don’t.” Her voice seemed so tiny in the open kitchen, but she squared her shoulders bravely and tugged at the hem of her white tank top. “Don’t be like this—”

“Oh, I know! What about the time you helped yourself to an armload of snake venom?” Luke was shouting now, charging ahead until he could see the faint mark he’d left on June’s shoulder when they’d made love. He quickly tore his gaze away and looked directly into her welling eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, your help is toxic, and your luck is deadly. Everything was fine until you came back to town.” Then he pointed to the front door and said in the coldest voice he could muster, “Take your
help
back to Austin, and ruin someone else’s life.”

Her voice trembled, and one tear spilled onto her cheek, but she stood a little taller and rested her fingertips on his chest. “I told you I wasn’t leaving, and I meant it. I love—”

“You never could take a hint.” Luke wrapped his palm around her fingers. He probably held on a beat too long, but he managed to set them by June’s side and let go. “You’ve followed me around since we were kids. It’s time for you to stop acting so damn needy and leave me alone for once.” Then he turned away before she had a chance to see the pain on his face. “Go on. And don’t come back here again.”

He sucked in a deep breath and held it while June made one of those awful choking noises that came from trying not to cry. He felt like the biggest shit on the planet, but she’d be better off without him. He knew this as certainly as he knew the sun would rise in the east the next morning. Finally, after the longest few seconds of his life, she left the kitchen, and the quick crunch, crunch, crunch of glass beneath her shoes echoed from the foyer.

Luke’s rib cage seemed to constrict and crack, the jagged, calcified edges of bone virtually piercing his lungs. He ached to run after June and snatch her into his arms—he knew she’d forgive him—but that would only prolong the pain. It was time to focus on the future, lousy as it might be. At least he had nothing left to lose, so life couldn’t possibly get any worse.

He got to work cleaning up the wreckage, confident that tomorrow would be a better day, if only by default.

Luke reached behind his neck and tugged off his dampened T-shirt. Even though fall temperatures had finally kicked in, demolition work was brutal, and it always made him sweaty as hell. He stifled a yawn and tipped back a cold Mountain Dew while watching Trey use a rented forklift to haul another load of shingles onto the front lawn.

He owed his buddy a lot, and not just for his help with the house these last two weeks. Trey’d offered to let Luke crash on his sofa, which had saved him the humiliation of asking Pru if he could move back home. And when the Gallagher land had gone to auction the week before, Trey had done his damndest to keep Luke distracted—he’d even sprung for beer at Shooters that night. It didn’t change the fact that a stranger now owned his land, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless.

“That’s the last of it,” Trey said, limping over on his new walking cast to join Luke on the front stoop. “I’ll tarp it later.” He eased down onto the bottom step and groaned in relief.

Luke yawned behind his fist and nodded. “Thanks.”

“Am I keepin’ you awake?”

“Haven’t been sleeping. Just need this caffeine to kick in.”

“I know my couch isn’t too comfortable, but, hell, you’ve slept on worse. Remember that field exercise—”

“It’s not that.” It was the dream, the same one he’d had every night since June left town. Little details changed, but the basics stayed the same. She’d stand before him, smiling with outstretched arms, and whisper,
I
love
you, Luke. I love you so much
. But when he’d run to hold her, everything would change. Slowly, her face would transform from adoration to disgust, as if she’d seen a rotting carcass on the side of the road. Then she’d shake her head and hold one palm forward.
You
hurt
me, Luke. You’re just like your worthless daddy. I could never love you. No one could ever love you
.

Then he’d wake up gasping like a drowning man and lie awake the rest of the night. “Hey,” he asked Trey, “if someone offered you a million bucks to have nightmares every night for a year, would you do it?”

“I dunno.” Trey shrugged. “Probably.”

“Yeah, that’s what I used to think.” But not anymore. Seeing June again and again—coming so close to having her in his arms and then suffering that heartbreak and rejection every time—was mental torture. No amount of money was worth it. Thinking about her made his guts ache, and even though he tried to force her from his mind, she crept in whenever she damn well pleased. He wondered what she was doing at that very moment. Probably balancing the books for her new bar or something like that. Did she ever think about him?

“Why’d you ask? Having nightmares?” Trey snorted a laugh and elbowed him in the knee. “Maybe
you’re
the one with the vadge, my friend. You wanna borrow my old teddy?”

“How ’bout I ram it up your—” Luke forgot all about his buddy’s teasing when a caravan of nearly two dozen cars and trucks pulled into view. Each vehicle slowed to a stop on the road’s shoulder. Then, like ants scurrying around a dead grasshopper, people exited their cars and swarmed his front lawn. “What’s all this?”

“Hey,” Trey said, holding one hand out in a defensive gesture, “it wasn’t me. I told them you wouldn’t like it. June arranged all this before she left.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“She talked to the preacher at Miss Pru’s church, then she tracked down every single family Helping Hands has ever worked with.”

“And?” Luke stood, feeling little prickles at the base of his skull.

“And all these people are here to help. You know, to rebuild the house.”

Holy sheep shit. He couldn’t believe June had done this. She had to know it would drive him crazy to have a hundred strangers milling around his place—to be indebted to all those people when he could do the job himself. “Why would she do that?” he muttered to himself more than Trey.

“
Why?
” Trey shook his head and scoffed. “Because she loves you, numb-nuts.”

***

“Slow down, Lucas.” Pru’s large hand reached out and snagged his belt loop. Luke stopped, but nodded toward the sixty-foot extension ladder propped against his brand-new roof. “I know,” she said with a quick nod, “but take a minute to drink somethin’.” Her blue eyes narrowed, and she thrust a water bottle at his chest. “That’s an order.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a fake salute and a smile in his voice. Chugging the icy water, he took a moment to observe Pru and her flock of church ladies as they prepared to feed the masses. They gossiped and chirped happily while arranging platters of ham sandwiches, potato chips, and chocolate chip cookies on the folding tables they’d assembled in the backyard.

He’d never thought it possible, but the crowd worked like a well-oiled machine. Trey had grouped everyone by ability, and then he’d assigned each group a task. From framing the roof and nailing on shingles to basic cleanup, everyone—no matter how skilled or raw—pitched in. It reminded Luke of an Amish barn-raising he’d seen once in a photo documentary. If things continued this well, the roof and drywall would be finished by the end of the day. Another group had promised to return tomorrow to help install the new wood floors, and yet another the following day to paint, stain the floors, and landscape with donated flowers and shrubs.

Luke realized it was possible to have the house ready to show within a week. It was still too late to buy his land, but the prospect of having all that money in the bank made his chest feel lighter. And since he was in no hurry this time, he could hold out for the highest offer. If the final bid was high enough, maybe he could track down the SOB who’d bought the Gallagher property.

“Hey, Luke.” A round-bellied man pushed back his tattered Stetson, revealing a bush of wiry gray hair. “You probably don’t remember me. Jim Robins. You replaced all my windows after a hail storm a few years back.”

“Sure.” Luke extended his hand. “Mill Creek Drive, right?” It had been one of Helping Hand’s first projects.

“That’s the one.” Jim’s face brightened, and he gave a vigorous handshake.

“Thanks for coming out.”

“Nah, I’m the one who should be thanking you.” The old timer pulled a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket and dabbed at his forehead. “Been pretty useless since my knee went out. Feels good to give something back, you know?”

It had been like this all day—Luke trying to show his gratitude, but receiving thanks instead, especially from the Helping Hands families. Even though it seemed backward, he kind of understood. Nobody liked being on the receiving end of charity—he sure didn’t—and it must’ve been a relief to pay off that imaginary debt. Still, he made a point to stop and shake the hand of each volunteer before the day ended.

Eight hours later, Luke stood on the front stoop waving as they all drove away. Well, all but one. Old Judge Bea lingered inside the kitchen, pretending to inspect the repairs, but Luke could tell he wanted something. Bea wasn’t the kind of man who lingered. If he wasn’t on his way to supper, he had an agenda.

Luke picked up a few discarded water bottles and tossed then into the kitchen’s recycling bin. “Hey, Judge. I’m about to head back to Trey’s. Want me to walk you out?” Which was his most tactful way of saying,
Saddle
up
and
ride
out, old timer.

Bea leaned against the island countertop and lowered his white caterpillar eyebrows. Clearing his throat, he pulled a folded sheet of paper from inside his jacket pocket. “Wanted to give ya this in private.”

“What is it?” Luke wiped his palms on his jeans and reached for the document. He opened it and stared blankly at a solid block of legal text. “Am I being sued?”

“No, it’s a deed transfer. Came across my desk this morning.”

“Deed?” What the hell was this? Luke didn’t recall transferring ownership of any properties recently. The last house he’d flipped had closed more than six months ago. He brought the form to the window to read it by the fading sunlight. The property description listed his old address—the house where his mama had lived, and the surrounding acreage—with Mae-June Augustine as grantor. He shot Bea a questioning look.

“She didn’t tell me anything,” the judge insisted with a shrug, “but it’s yours now. She beat all the other bids fair ’n’ square and signed it over to you.”

“This must be a mistake.” Or a really cruel prank. Luke shook his head and tossed the document on the counter. “June didn’t have any money. It was all tied up in that—”

Oh, shit. A bowling ball settled in Luke’s stomach. He knew exactly where she’d found the cash, and the realization almost made his knees buckle. She’d somehow sold her bar—the one she’d worked ten years to open—and walked away from her dream. He couldn’t believe she’d done it. “Why?” he whispered. Why would June give up everything for him, especially after the way he’d treated her?

The answer was finally clear, her sacrifice an unmistakable message where words had failed. She loved him. She really loved him.