Sultry with a Twist (3 page)

Back when Luke still lived here, back before everything fell apart, things had been different. The sounds of laughter and clomping sneakers used to echo in the now silent home. She bit her lip and glanced into the hall. Would his room look the same—a black-draped double bed, wood floor littered with engine parts and CDs, and Army posters covering the walls? Or had Gram burned everything Luke owned after he’d stormed out? If she were a betting woman, which Grammy never would have allowed, she’d put her money on the latter. She slipped off her leather pumps and tiptoed down the hall to the last door, then opened it slowly and peeked inside.

The air smelled like leather and something she couldn’t place, maybe aftershave or cologne, which seemed odd, since Luke hadn’t occupied this room in almost a decade. The same black comforter concealed his mattress, and aside from the pine desk in the corner, the room was empty. Every single recruiting poster had been removed; every trace of the old Luke was gone.

She padded to the desk, wincing when she stepped on a creaky floorboard, and quietly slid open the largest file drawer. Luke smiled at her from inside a simple black lacquer frame. He had his arm around a stunning young woman with tanned skin and cropped blonde hair. Was this his wife? She didn’t look German. The photo seemed recent based on what she’d seen of Luke earlier that afternoon. The tips of his hair brushed his shirt collar, and they were reddish brown at the ends, the way his hair always looked at the end of summer. His slightly crooked nose gave his face a masculine ruggedness and saved him from being too beautiful, as he’d been in high school. Not that it had stopped every girl in the county from falling head-over-Keds in love with him—herself included. But he was somehow even more attractive now. All grown up. And up. He must’ve sprouted three inches since graduation.

She closed her eyes and remembered the way his sweaty T-shirt had clung to the hard contours of his chest and flat belly at the clerk’s office. And good God, those dusty jeans, worn paper thin, practically plastered against his long, muscular legs. She’d enjoyed ogling him so much she didn’t notice his eyes right away. But that’s when she knew. His eyes were the same—a warm green, the exact shade of lichen in the sunlight. She’d never seen another pair like his. But she wouldn’t give him a second chance to kick a hole in her chest, not after what happened last time. Gorgeous or not, Luke Gallagher was off limits.

She set the frame on Luke’s desk and pulled out the only other item in the drawer, a Converse All-Stars shoebox. When June pulled off the lid, she couldn’t help smiling at what she found inside.

“Look at you,” she whispered, lifting a GI Joe action figure from the box. It was Snake Eyes, Luke’s favorite character, and he’d only let her play with it twice: once when he’d accidentally nudged her out of a tree and sprained her wrist, and again when she’d taken the blame for something-or-other he’d done.

She pushed her fingers through the box, identifying all Luke’s favorite action heroes and Matchbox cars. Every single one had been a gift from her. He’d saved them all. An unexpected warmth blossomed within her chest, and she shoved the shoebox back into the drawer before the warmth had a chance to grow.
Off
limits
. She stood and took a quick peek in the closet, which was empty, except for a few oversized cardboard boxes stacked neatly at one end and marked “Gallagher” in black marker. Of course Gram hadn’t burned anything—she was hard, but not heartless.

It was time for June to put Luke out of her mind and do something she’d been avoiding for hours—call Esteban. Returning to her bedroom, she took a deep breath and flipped open her archaic, pay-as-you-go cell phone. One feeble bar flickered to life and then faded out.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She jogged down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Grammy was leaning into the oven to remove a sheet of fresh biscuits. June couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a home-cooked meal, and her mouth watered. Gram shook the biscuits into a wicker basket and covered them with a clean dish towel.

She cleared her throat to get Gram’s attention. “I don’t get cell coverage here. May I use your phone?”

“Long distance?” Pru’s mouth pressed into a hard line.

“To Austin.”

“Make it quick.”

June was about to ask if Gram had Internet access, but stopped herself. She already knew the answer. She dialed Esteban’s mobile line, but it went to voice mail. “Hey, it’s me,” she said. “I’m still in Sultry Springs, long story. I need you to call me at this number right away. It’s important.”

After hanging up, June washed her hands in the kitchen sink. “Can I help?”

“You can set the table. Four places.”

Judge Bea was probably coming over, maybe with one of his fishing buddies. June opened the maple cabinet and pulled out four sets of dishes and salad bowls and began placing them atop the red and white checkered tablecloth. She tried to think of a tactful way to ask about Luke that wouldn’t reveal she’d been snooping in his bedroom.

“I, uh…I saw Luke today,” she said softly. “At the courthouse.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Gram stirred a pot of butter beans and added a pinch of black pepper. “Probably for a building permit.”

“How long’s he been back?”

“Goin’ on five years.”

June dropped a fork, and it clanked against the beige linoleum floor. Her voice rose an octave. “Five years?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Does he, um”—June folded a napkin in half and creased it with her thumb—“live here again? With you?”

Gram didn’t say a word for a full minute. The sounds of bubbling beans and sizzling chicken filled the small kitchen. Then she turned around and pulled off her apron. “Not anymore, ’cept for a night or two, if I need help. But he stayed here awhile to get back on his feet.”

“Back on his feet?” June asked, frozen in place with a drinking glass in one hand and a butter knife in the other. “What happened?” Luke had probably swallowed a truckload of crow when he’d asked to come back here. It must’ve been bad.

Gram lifted her wooden spoon from the pot and pointed it at June, and her thigh muscles clenched in response. She’d been on the wrong end of that spoon a time or two. Or twenty. “That’s his story to tell. Ask him yourself. He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

The glass slipped from June’s hand, and she performed a feat of acrobatics to catch it before it hit the floor. “Are you serious?”

“Fetch the butter and honey, and put out a pitcher of sweet tea.” Gram pointed to the refrigerator. “Lucas’s friend Trey is comin’ too. I have ’em over three nights a week.”

June’s stomach did a double flip and she caught herself chewing the inside of her cheek. Sweet mercy, she had to get her shit—oops, sugar—together. It was just Luke, just an old friend she’d lost touch with over the years. No reason to get worked up. Still, she heard the echo of her inner voice calling
off
limits, off limits.

“You okay?” Trey asked, pulling off his seat belt as Luke turned the truck onto Pru’s gravel driveway. “Something go wrong at the Hallover place?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Luke parked behind the butt-ugliest car he’d ever seen, a purple spray-painted hatchback, and cut the engine. “Just thinking.”

Thinking too much about June. After seeing her in line, his brain had relentlessly flashed images of her all afternoon—nine-year-old June in denim overall cutoffs, her face streaked with mud; sixteen-year-old June fishing at the pond in her bikini; eighteen-year-old June sprawled beneath him on a patchwork quilt
without
her bikini. He’d damn near cut off his thumb with the circular saw. Distraction on the job was more dangerous than dry rot, and somehow, he had to get her out of his head. He’d done it once; he could do it again.

Luke yanked the rearview mirror to the side and ran a comb through his hair, still wet from the shower. Pru was bound to say he needed a trim, which was probably true, but lately he didn’t have twenty minutes to spare at the QuickClips. He leaned back to tuck in his shirt and then joined Trey at the front door. With a smile already in place, he knocked twice and let himself in, but he stopped short on the other side, smile frozen on his face.

“Hi.” June sashayed in from the kitchen, cradling a small black and white cat in the crook of one arm. “You must be Trey. Grammy told me about you. I’m June.” She shook Trey’s hand, then nodded a half-hearted greeting in Luke’s direction. She’d let her hair down, and it curled around her face in soft, light brown ringlets that brushed her shoulders. He glanced at her feet—smooth and fair with pink-polished toenails—somehow even sexier bare than they’d been in black high heels. What was she still doing here, and more importantly, why was God punishing him?

Luke backed up a pace while Trey moved forward to scratch behind the cat’s ears.

“I heard Miss Pru had a long-lost granddaughter. I was beginning to wonder if you were real.” Trey grinned playfully, but June didn’t look pleased. His words probably hit too close to home. Trey leaned down and talked to the fur ball. “What’s your name, little kitty?”

“This is Lucky,” June said. She bent over and set the thing on the floor, and it pattered away, stepping forward with two front legs and then hopping along with a single hind leg.

“Lucky?” Luke said with a snort. “Ironic name for a three-legged cat.”

June furrowed her brow and scooped Lucky off the floor like he’d hurt the cat’s feelings or something. She cuddled it against her chest and smoothed her cheek over its head. “A dog attacked him at the shelter, and they wanted to put him down. I paid for his amputation and adopted him. I think that makes him lucky.” She glared at Luke over a tuft of salt and pepper fur. “Be sweet. He pees when he’s scared.”

Luke watched the puny animal rest its chin between June’s high, full breasts while she stroked his fur and lightly massaged his neck. Yeah, the friggin’ fleabag
was
pretty damned lucky.

“Come on for supper,” Pru called. June set the cat down and they all headed to the kitchen. The air was hot and thick with steam and the walloping scents of fine, fine country cooking. Luke’s stomach rumbled in response.

While June washed her hands, Pru gathered Trey into one of those motherly smother-hugs, then turned on Luke. She shook her head and tugged a lock of his hair.

“Get a cut, Lucas.” Pru patted his cheek. “You could be such a handsome boy.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that when I get the Hallover property on the market.”

Something clattered from inside the white porcelain sink, and Luke turned to see June staring at them, her mouth forming a perfect red oval. It must’ve been a shock to see him and Pru on such good terms, but what did she expect? He wasn’t a rebellious teenager anymore. Now the roles were reversed. June was the outsider, and Pru favored
him
. Half a grin curved his lips before he could stop it.

While Luke stood there gloating like an asshole, Trey held June’s chair out for her, and she smiled up at him like he’d just pulled her from a burning building. Luke hurried and did the same for Pru, and they all held hands for grace. After “amen,” Luke noticed Trey was half a second too slow in releasing June’s fingers, and she bit her lip and blushed before laying the napkin in her lap. What the hell was up with that?

An invisible fist tightened around Luke’s windpipe as he slid a glance at his best friend, appraising him for the first time as a man instead of a buddy. Trey was probably an okay-looking guy, if you were into blonde hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin. Was that June’s type? He didn’t know anymore.

“So,” Trey said to June with his mouth half full. “What brings you back to Sultry Springs?”

June froze, holding a forkful of mashed potatoes in midair. “Uh, a little legal misunderstanding.” She started to say something else, but shoved a bite into her mouth instead and closed her eyes, chewing slowly like she’d just tasted nectar from heaven. “Mmm.” Then she leaned back in her seat and placed a hand over her heart. “Oh, God, that’s so good.”

“Hey,” Pru snapped. “No blasphemin’ in my house!”

“Sorry.” June scooped a forkful of butter beans. “It’s just I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t off the Dollar Menu.”

While chewing, June kept making these low throaty moans, and Luke had to adjust himself. He needed to get her to stop, or he’d never be able to stand from the table. “What do you do for a living in Austin?” he asked.

June hesitated and her eyes darted to Pru. Then she set down her fork, took a slow drink of iced tea, and sat ramrod straight. She looked at Pru, not him, when she finally answered. “I own a bar downtown. On Sixth Street.” June said
bar
with emphasis, as if challenging Pru to denounce her sinful occupation. Lifting a buttered biscuit to her lips, June continued staring down her grandma, waiting for a reaction like a game of emotional chicken.

Pru’s mouth tightened in obvious disapproval, but she held her tongue. Which didn’t happen very damn often, especially when it came to the subject of fire water. A lifelong teetotaler, Pru still wrote her congressman each year, clamoring for the repeal of the twenty-first amendment.

“Sweet.” Trey wiped a sleeve across his mouth, oblivious to the tension between the two women. “Which bar? I’ve probably been there.”

“No, you haven’t.” June rested her chin in her palm and smiled with a faraway look in her eyes. “We don’t open for another six weeks. But it’s called Luquos, and it’ll be like nothing you’ve ever seen. Totally upscale, romantic, sexy.” She glanced again at Pru. “I’ve been selling drink recipes and tending bar for years. It took a long time to save enough money for my own place.”

Pru patted her bun and grumbled to herself. It was as close as June would get if she wanted approval.

“Sounds great,” Trey said. “Do I get a personal invitation to the opening?” He leaned toward June and flashed his dimples—the ones that made panties drop like lead.

Luke knew his buddy would rather roll naked in a bed of pine cones than spend an hour in a stuffy bar like that. For no reason at all, he kicked Trey’s chair.

“What?” Trey lowered his brows.

Luke shrugged, pretending like nothing had happened, and lifted his glass to June. “Congrats, Junebug. Makes me wish Sultry wasn’t a dry county.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Still dry, huh?” She bit that pouty lower lip and glanced at him through her lashes. “And thanks.”

The phone’s shrill ring carried through the hallway into the kitchen, and June pushed away from the table like it was on fire. “I’ll get it!” she cried, scrambling out of the room.

Luke glanced at Pru for some kind of explanation, but she sat silently and leaned her ear toward the hall. He quirked an eyebrow at Trey, and then all three of them shamelessly eavesdropped on June’s end of the conversation.

“Listen, the good news is I talked to Barty Perneras, and our license is going through right on time. But the bad news is pretty bad.”

Luke heard the boards creak beneath June’s bare feet as she paced the hardwood floor. “I’m stuck here for a month.”

Luke coughed and sputtered a mouthful of tea into his hand. Sweet Jesus, a month? She’d half-scrambled his brain after being in town less than a day—how would he survive a month of this? June’s voice pleaded in the hall, but he couldn’t understand her words over the ringing in his ears. It took a solid minute before he could concentrate again. He thought he heard a man shouting—in Spanish?—from the receiver.

“…and I’m telling you it wouldn’t’ve made any difference! He had it all planned out!”

June spoke with a firm voice now, no longer pleading. Luke didn’t know who was on the other end of that line, but she didn’t take any shit from him.

“We can waste our time arguing, or figure out how to make this work.” She heaved a sigh. “Come on, Este. Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this? How many design journals I’ve read or how long I’ve prepared? It kills me not to be there.”

June’s mystery man must have apologized, because she took a softer tone.

“No, it’s okay.
I’m
sorry. Look, I don’t get cell service here, and it’s long distance to Austin, so if you call me at this number every morning…say, at eight?…we’ll go over every detail together. And I’ll make this up to you. I promise.”

Luke could just imagine all the things Mystery Man had in mind.

“You’re so bad,” she said with a smile in her low voice.

Yep, exactly.

“So I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning. Bye.”

Trey crammed half a biscuit into his mouth, Pru speared a bite of chicken, Luke refilled his glass with tea, and they all scrambled to look innocent when June walked in. She smoothed her tight black skirt, adjusted her silky blouse, and sat down, flashing an apologetic grin.

“I wouldn’t take a call at dinner, but it was important,” she said.

God love her, Pru asked what they were probably all thinking. “Your boyfriend?”

“No.” June drizzled honey over her biscuit. “Business partner. He’s got a dozen clubs and restaurants in Austin, but he’s more a financial backer than a planner. Not used to day-to-day stuff, so this’ll be hard on him. But enough about my problems.” She gestured at Trey with her biscuit. “I can tell by your accent you’re from up North. How’d you and Luke meet?”

“I grew up in Chicago.” Trey rested his forearms on the table and shot a nervous glance at Luke. “We met in the army.”

“Were you in Germany together?”

“Yeah, and basic training before that.”

June took a long drink and studied Luke over the top of her glass. Then she glanced down and used her fork to make swirls in her mashed potatoes. “The army was your dream, Luke. It’s all you ever talked about since we were kids. So what’re you doing back here?”

“Turns out I didn’t like taking orders.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Luke noticed Trey’s jaw clench, and he got that guilty look on his face, just like every time someone asked that question. Trey had nothing to feel guilty about. Hell, if anything, Luke was to blame for what happened.

“Well, that’s easy to believe.” June turned to Trey. “Did he tell you how he bossed me around as a kid? Always made me play GI Joe, and never—not even once—played house with me.”

Trey shook his head. “He’s never mentioned you before.”

“What?” she asked.

“I heard about you from some local folks,” Trey explained. “I work on their homes with Luke, but they didn’t say much. Just that Miss Pru had a granddaughter.”

June’s shoulders rounded forward and she seemed to sink two inches into her chair. Then she gave him that look, wrinkling up her forehead and widening those big, brown eyes. Aw, shit. Somehow that’d hurt her feelings. Why did women try so hard to take offense to every little thing?

“He never told you we grew up together here, in this house?”

“Wait,” Trey said, pointing his fork at Luke. “So she’s like your sister?”

“Jesus Christ, no!” He’d never, ever thought of June as a sister. A best-friend-by-default, and in later years, an object of lust, but never a sister. The incestuous implication made him shiver.

“Lucas Gallagher, I won’t have the Lord’s name taken in vain!” Pru shot to her feet and shook her bony index finger at his nose. “You’re not too old for the wooden spoon.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

Trey sat back and rubbed his stomach like he’d filled it too full. “I’m confused.”

“Well,” June said in a voice sour as a year-old lemon, “I’ll be happy to explain, since Luke never did.” She focused on the striped wallpaper behind his head. “My parents died when I was seven, and I came to live here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at Trey and softened a little. “Luke lived on the next farm, and there weren’t any other kids around, so we played together a lot. Then he came to live with Grammy and me when he was twelve. I assume he told you why.”

Luke pushed back his chair and began clearing the table. “I told him my white trash mama went Christmas shopping and never came back. Is that close enough to the truth for you, Junebug?”

June’s cheeks flushed, and she pressed her red lips together.

But Luke never told Trey about his little sister. Abandonment was one thing, but a mother choosing to take one child and discard the other—like a goddamn game of rummy!—was different. Like he was inferior, not worth keeping. Luke had been a spitfire pistol of a twelve-year-old, all skinned elbows and dirty fingernails, snatching cookies, burning through his mama’s patience, and leaving nothing but muddy sneaker prints behind. Mama’d left a note claiming she couldn’t handle being a single parent to both kids, so she took his four-year-old sister and hitchhiked to California to find her deadbeat boyfriend. She’d kept the easy child, and left him without another word.

“Let me get this.” Pru pulled the butter dish from Luke’s hand. “June and I can clean up later. There’s a melon in the fridge. You three take it on the porch while I make a call.”

June made a move for the refrigerator, but Trey darted in front of her and insisted on carrying the watermelon outside. Luke wasn’t hungry anymore—thinking about his mama always killed his appetite—but he followed along and pulled a rocker to the porch rail so he could sit back, kick up his feet, and watch the stars. A cool night breeze rustled his hair and tickled the back of his neck. The air was sweet with honeysuckle, which brought back memories of other summer nights when he and June used to eat watermelon out here and spit seeds onto the front lawn. His always went farther, and one year a melon plant took root beneath the big pecan tree.