Surrender To Sultry (8 page)

“Give ’em heck,” Leah said.

“I don’t give anyone heck, but I’ll give ’em hell.” As if to prove her point, Rachel
flipped Colt the bird before riding off on her broomstick.

“It’s no big deal,” Leah said as she watched her friend walk away. “I just wanted
to try on my dress one more time before I take it to the Goodwill.”

“The Goodwill,” Colt repeated. He let out a long, slow breath that left his chest
deflated.

Senior prom. Quite possibly the worst night of his life.

He’d done a fairly decent job of blocking it out, but he remembered exactly where
he’d spent that evening. In a seven-by-seven juvenile detention cell that reeked of
rust, piss, and failure. Leah had dumped his sorry carcass, and he’d turned to his
old buddy, Jim Beam, for comfort. But Jim had been a shitty friend with a lot of bad
ideas. Go figure. Colt had ended up buck-ass-naked, riding a foam noodle in the mayor’s
brand new above-ground swimming pool. Instead of bailing out Colt, Granddaddy had
let him rot in juvie for a week to teach him a lesson. For all the good it did. That
weekend had set the tone for the next ten years.

He filled his lungs with warm Texas air and regarded Leah with fresh eyes, imagining
her blond curls lifted in a twist, a light sheen of gloss on her lips, a cluster of
roses and silky ribbon secured at her slender wrist. Maybe the dress’s droopy bow
wasn’t so bad after all. He kind of liked the way it accentuated her waist and made
him want to rest his palms there. And the color was perfect—a rich, deep indigo that
seemed dyed to match her baby blues.

He wanted to say
It’s beautiful
, but his voice was too thick with regret and longing to squeeze through his windpipe.
In the recesses of his feeble teenage brain, he must’ve known his relationship with
Leah wouldn’t last until prom. Because even though he’d asked her to the dance, he’d
never bought the tickets or rented a tux. He hadn’t allowed himself to imagine what
her dress might look like or how it would feel strutting into the school gym with
the prettiest girl in Sultry County on his arm. In other words, he’d been a first-rate
pansy.

But not anymore.

“Come here.”

It wasn’t a request, and she must have known, because she took his outstretched hand,
gathered her heavy skirts, and padded down the steps onto the front walk. Gripping
her fingers, he lifted one arm above her head and twirled her in a slow circle so
he could see all of her.

The gown rustled as she moved, reminding him of dried leaves scraping the sidewalk.
It was a good sound that evoked images of Southern belles and blushing brides. He
took in the graceful curve of Leah’s exposed back and wondered if she might’ve felt
chilled on prom night. He pictured himself shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket and
draping it over her shoulders. Tiny as she was, it would dwarf her, hanging halfway
down her thighs. Kind of like the time she’d worn his football jersey to a pep rally.
He’d always loved seeing her in his clothes. He’d enjoyed marking her that way, telling
all the other guys who she belonged to. Which reminded him…

“You still got my class ring?”

Reflexively, she touched the hollow at the base of her throat, where his heavy ring
used to rest on a silver rope chain. “It’s packed up back home.”

“I figured you’d pawned it.” Colt drew her in for an impromptu dance.

To his surprise, she didn’t resist. She rested one hand on his shoulder and placed
the other in his leading grip. “Wouldn’t have gotten much for it.”

“Still, you could’ve thrown it out.” He curled one palm around her waist and stepped
close enough to feel the tips of her breasts against his T-shirt. The heavy petticoat
beneath her dress pillowed against his thighs. “Or chucked it in the river.”

She smiled up at him sweetly, but there was fire in her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself,
CJ. It was just as easy to toss it in a box and move on.”

That was the second time she’d called him CJ, short for Colton James. He suppressed
a grin, but felt it deep in his gut. He was making progress. So to keep it that way,
he shut his trap and pulled her body close.

Their feet never left the ground as they swayed to the drone of a distant John Deere,
their movements barely discernible on the pavement. This was his favorite kind of
dance, nothing more than an excuse for two lovers to hold tight to one another. Still,
he wanted more. He wanted to feel Leah rest her head on his chest and mold herself
to him. But as it was too soon for that, he took what he could get and enjoyed the
warm sun on his shoulders and the scent of strawberry shampoo wafting up from her
corn silk hair.

“Hold on,” he warned before bending her backward in a dip.

With a throaty laugh, she arched her neck and threw back her blond waves, drawing
Colt’s eye to a quarter-shaped bruise at the top of her shoulder. He recognized it
instantly, and this time, he couldn’t hide the smile that pushed up the corners of
his mouth.

“Why, Leah McMahon,” he said, pulling her upright, “is that a hickey?”

“What?” She followed his gaze and pressed two fingers over the spot. “Of course not.
How would I—” Cutting off abruptly, she flushed scarlet as she put the pieces together.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said.

She slapped his bicep. “You jerk! You gave me a
hickey
?”

Colt brushed her hair aside to get a better look. He rubbed his index finger over
the purple splotch, then shook his head and gave a
tsk-tsk-tsk
. “Back in town a week, and you’re already letting strange boys suck on your neck.
I hope your daddy doesn’t find out.”

Her brows lowered as she shoved against his chest, but he gathered her into his arms
and took her hand to resume their dance. “Simmer down, honey. It’s about time you
had some excitement in your life.” Bringing his lips to her ear, he murmured, “Want
me to give you one on the other side to match?”

“You’re like a disease, Colton Bea.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he laughed. “And since there’s no cure, you might as well
quit squirming and dance with me.”

She surrendered, releasing a puff of breath against his throat. One gradual inch at
a time, she relaxed into his arms, and within a few minutes, they’d resumed their
lazy two-step on the sidewalk.

“See?” he whispered above her head. “Isn’t this nice?”

She didn’t answer, but the fact that she hadn’t already retreated into the house told
him she agreed.

Closing his eyes, Colt let the sounds of birdcalls and lawn mowers fade into the background,
imagining a slow song booming from the school’s gymnasium speakers. Maybe “It’s Your
Love,” by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill. Nah, not that one. He hated pop-crossover country.
Instead, they’d dance to a classic eighties ballad, like “There’s No Gettin’ Over
Me,” by Ronnie Milsap. Never mind that the hired deejay wouldn’t have it.

As the daydream solidified in his mind, the scents of grass clippings and honeysuckle
gave way to rubber basketballs and lemony floor wax, the cement beneath his boots
softening into springy bamboo. The gym would be dripping in crepe-paper streamers
and balloons, and knowing him, he would’ve spiked the punch with a ten-ounce bottle
of Jack. It would’ve been
A
Night
to
Remember
, just as the prom committee had promised.

Damn it all. It wasn’t fair that they’d missed it. He wanted a do-over—to dance with
Leah for hours, then sneak out the back door and park with her on a dark wooded path
before taking her home to her daddy. Impossible as it was, he wanted to recapture
what they’d lost.

He opened his eyes and pulled back to look at her. “Don’t pitch the dress.”

“What do you mean?”

“Keep it,” he told her, stroking her satiny waist with his thumb.

She searched his face a while before asking, “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Because he felt cheated, that’s why. “Just promise you won’t give
it away.”

She didn’t promise him anything, just turned her gaze toward the street to watch the
occasional truck roll by. As the seconds passed, he wondered what she was thinking.
Did the dress remind her of him? Was that why she was so eager to box it up, like
the ring he’d given her all those years ago? Would she tell him there was no going
back?

He never got the chance to find out, because as his shitty luck would have it, a set
of tires screeched to a halt at the curb, forcing their attention to a mustard-yellow
convertible Mustang with the top folded down.

“Hey!” a woman yelled from behind the wheel. “That you, Crazy Colt?”

He released Leah’s hand and shielded his eyes to identify the driver and her passengers.
Strippers, the whole lot of ’em. He could spot a dancer a mile away. Part of his job
as deputy had been periodically inspecting the girls to make sure the right parts
were covered, and he’d mixed business with pleasure on more than one occasion. A sick
feeling took root in his stomach. This probably wouldn’t end well.

“Remember us?” a passenger in the back seat asked with a seductive smile.

“No.” Colt darkened his voice, leaving no room for doubt when he added, “Y’all get
going.”

The woman thrust out a pouty lower lip and said, “I’ll bet you remember these, Big
Daddy,” then hiked up her top to reveal her enormous boobs, nipple rings glinting
in the sunlight. Her friends threw back their heads and cackled wildly as the driver
peeled out, filling the air with smoke and the stench of burnt rubber.

That sick feeling spread to his chest. What were the odds that he and Leah could pick
up where they’d left off?

As it turned out, slim to none.

She gave him a look that would singe the beard off Grizzly Adams, hitched up her dress,
and hiked into the house, slamming the door behind her.

Son of a bitch. That had sure gone south in a hurry.

One step forward, two steps back.

“Is that all of it?” A middle-aged, bearded man in stained coveralls used his sneaker
to push a box of old clothes toward the wall. According to the oval patch affixed
above his chest, his name was George.

“No, there’s this too.” Leah handed her prom dress over the counter, and George took
it without making eye contact. He tossed it into a rolling bin overflowing with outdated
sweaters, Sunday dresses, battered leather shoes, and a few graduation gowns.

“Need a receipt for your taxes?” He extended a trembling hand toward a ballpoint pen,
revealing dirty fingernails and the inky ghost of a homemade tattoo across his knuckles.

“No.” Leah hadn’t filed a return since she quit serving frozen custard at the Taste-E-Freeze
ten years ago. “But thanks all the same.”

George still couldn’t meet her gaze when he muttered, “’Kay. Have a good one.”

Leah’s heart gave a sympathetic squeeze as she watched George turn to sort through
a crate of knickknacks. He was clearly in withdrawal and looked miserable in his own
skin. She wanted to tell George she’d pray for him, but decided it would only make
him feel worse. Plus, God had stopped hearing her prayers a long time ago. Any intervention
by her on George’s behalf would probably do more harm than good.

She backed away from the donation counter and threw a final glance at her discarded
dress, which had begun to slide from the top of the heap. Her body automatically tensed
to catch it before it hit the gritty tile, but then she reminded herself that it didn’t
belong to her anymore. What did she care if the dress landed on the floor? Goodwill
would render it for rags if it didn’t sell, and she couldn’t imagine who’d buy something
so unstylish.

It was time to let go—of prom, of the past, of Colt. Especially Colt. She wouldn’t
gain anything by fantasizing about what might have been. And Rachel was right. Guys
like that never changed. Yesterday’s drive-by-skanking proved it.

Through her peripheral vision, she watched the gown drift to the floor as she strode
out the front entrance and slipped on her cardigan.

The setting sun sliced through heavy clouds in a flash of orange and pink, just long
enough to tease her with its warmth before disappearing again. Leah tugged her sweater
lapels closed and knotted the belt at her waist. Fall had made its arrival, every
bit as severe as it was abrupt. In less than twenty-four hours, the temperature had
fallen from seventy to fifty. It was true what folks said about Texas weather: if
you don’t like it, stick around for a few minutes and it’ll change. She shouldn’t
complain, though. This beat a Minnesota winter by a country mile.

She started Bruiser and drove to the Sack-n-Pay for a gallon of skim milk and a box
of Cheerios, then headed to the drug store to refill Daddy’s prescriptions.

“How’s your dad?” the pharmacist, Mr. Phelps, asked.

“Fine,” she told him. “He’s up and around now.” He’d also lost twelve pounds, but
she kept that private. She certainly wouldn’t want him discussing her weight with
the locals. “He starts cardiac rehab next week.”

“Sultry Memorial?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“They have a good program there.” He scanned two pill bottles and told her, “Eighteen
ninety-nine.”

“Oh, shoot.” That was more than she’d expected. “He still hasn’t met his deductible?”

Mr. Phelps squinted at the computer screen. “Not quite.”

Leah reached into her purse, but she knew she wouldn’t have enough cash to cover the
bill. She’d only brought a twenty with her and had spent some of it at the grocery.
But oddly, when she opened her wallet, she found nineteen dollars.

That couldn’t be right.

She counted it again and got the same result. The cashier at the Sack-n-Pay must’ve
given her too much change. She dug into her pocket for the receipt and solved the
mystery. They’d forgotten to charge her for the Cheerios.

After paying for Daddy’s medicine, she drove home to refrigerate the milk and grab
some cash from the lock box hidden beneath the bed—not the most original hiding place,
but anyone desperate enough to rob the town preacher needed the money more than she
did. Then she hopped back inside Bruiser, flipped on her headlights, and returned
to town.

Money in hand, she pushed open the glass door to the Sack-n-Pay and made her way to
the single register that doubled as the customer service station.

Once she’d taken her place in line, she studied the food inside each customer’s cart.
You could tell a lot about a person by the groceries they stocked. For example, the
elderly lady in front of her was a health nut—all fresh veggies and nothing boxed
or frozen. If only Leah could get someone like that to cook for Daddy.

When boredom took over, Leah glanced at the candy bars to her right and the assortment
of gums and mints on display to her left.

Oh! Bubblicious still made Carnival Cotton Candy—her favorite flavor! She plucked
one from the box and set it on the conveyor belt.

The elderly lady in front of her glanced at the gum and then back to Leah as if to
say,
Seriously? Bubblicious? At your age? Don’t you know that four out of five dentists
recommend Trident?
And she was right. Leah snatched the pack off the belt and replaced it in the carton.
The last thing she needed was another cavity, and she shouldn’t be making impulse
purchases anyway. But as it turned out, the woman grabbed a pack of Carnival Cotton
Candy for herself and tossed it next to her collard greens.

Maybe it was for her grandkids. Or not. Either way, Leah couldn’t buy a pack now without
looking like a copycat, so she folded her arms and pouted inwardly. A few moments
later, someone settled behind her and plunked a six-pack on the belt. Leah glanced
over her shoulder and locked eyes with the one person she’d hoped to avoid more than
Colt.

“Well, slap my grandma!” his voice boomed.

Tommy Robbins—quarterback, homecoming king, and the biggest asswipe in Sultry County,
pardon her language.

“Or you could slap someone your own size,” Leah suggested, and then remembered that
Tommy’s grandma
was
his size. Even grannies were bigger in Texas.

“Hey there, Tink.” Tommy cocked his head and smiled so widely it crinkled the skin
around his bloodshot eyes. Not a hint of sarcasm colored his tone when he said, “I
heard you were back in town.”

“Yeah,” she said cautiously. “Just for a few more weeks.”

“Well, good to see ya.” He removed his Rangers ball cap and ran a hand through his
shaggy blond hair before tugging it on again. “You’re as pretty as ever.”

She waited for the punch line. Tommy never doled out compliments unless there was
a zinger attached. He’d tack on the disclaimer,
pretty
damn
ugly!
or
pretty
pathetic!
and then bray like a donkey. But after a long, awkward pause punctuated by the crinkle
of paper bags and a series of beeps from the cash register, she had no choice but
to offer her tentative thanks.

Instead of razzing her, he hooked a thumb toward the toiletry aisle. “Hold my place
in line, will ya? I forgot something.”

“Sure,” she said, still bracing for the impact that never came.

He held up a finger, promising, “Be right back,” then jogged off and disappeared behind
a tower of Coca-Cola twelve-packs stacked into a pyramid.

Leah stared after him, wondering why he was being so nice. From the stories Rachel
told, he was still mean as a junkyard dog, especially after a few Lone Stars.

Maybe he’d mellowed with age. She shrugged it off and approached the cashier, who’d
just sent the previous customer off with a smile and a wave. Once the old woman in
front of her left, Leah reached back and retrieved her pack of Bubblicious.

“Before you ring me up,” Leah told the girl while fishing the receipt from her purse,
“I need to take care of this.” She handed over the slip of paper.

“What’s wrong?” The girl pursed her frosted-pink lips while studying the receipt.

“You forgot to charge me for a box of Cheerios.”

“And…?” the girl said, clearly not understanding the problem with getting something
for nothing.

“And I want to pay for it.” Leah pointed at the gum. “And this.”

An achingly familiar, deep chuckle sounded from nearby. She’d know that laugh anywhere.
It had the unholy power to make all her naughty places go tingly.

“Only you,” Colt muttered, setting his shopping basket on the conveyor belt without
bothering to unload it. A peek inside revealed a rib-eye steak, a bundle of asparagus,
two baking potatoes, a carton of coffee creamer, and a Gillette refill cartridge.
Surprisingly tame contents, considering its owner.

Leah refused to engage him. “It was a big box,” she told the checkout girl. “The biggest
on the shelf.”

“It’s okay if you just wanna keep—”

“I need to pay for it,” Leah insisted. “Or it’s the same as stealing.” She shouldn’t
have to explain things like this to people.

The girl sighed. “That’s probably the eighteen-ouncer. I’ll have to go grab one.”
She lingered as if giving Leah one last chance to change her mind.

“Want me to do it?” Leah asked.

“No, I got it.” With an eye roll, she turned and trudged toward the breakfast cereals,
two aisles over.

From the corner of Leah’s eye, she saw Colt shake his head. He leaned one hip against
the counter. “You really are an angel, aren’t you?”

Not at all. If he only knew the things she’d done.

“You gonna keep givin’ me the silent treatment?” he asked.

She stared straight ahead.

“’Cause I haven’t seen those girls in years.” He propped one elbow on the side of
his shopping basket. “You can’t hold things like that against me. You know I’ve got
a past, and it’s gonna pop up now and then. I told you I’m not proud of—”

“I don’t care,” she said. “And I told
you
, I’m no angel.”

“Who else would go through all this trouble over a box of cornflakes?”

“Cheerios.”

“Same difference.” He crossed one boot over the other and drawled, “Face it, honey,
you make the rest of us look bad.”

“Stop saying stuff like that.” She had no place atop the pedestal he’d built for her.
“You don’t know me.”

“If you say so, hon.” He grabbed a pack of watermelon Bubble Yum from the display
and dropped it beside his coffee creamer. “But it’s kinda hard to ignore your actions
when they speak so loud.”

Tommy and the checkout girl returned at the same time, one with a bright-yellow box
of cereal in hand, the other using his T-shirt like a kangaroo pouch, revealing a
slightly hairy beer gut as he hauled his items to the lane. Tommy turned sideways
and sucked in his belly, slipping past Colt to resume his place in line.

“She’ll take these too,” Tommy said with a wide grin and dumped his haul beside her
pack of gum.

Dozens of condom boxes spilled across the conveyor belt—Trojans, LifeStyles, Crowns,
Kimonos, Naturalambs, Bravos, even Magnums. A box of Durex Her Sensation, “ribbed
and studded for her pleasure,” tumbled onto the glass laser-panel and automatically
scanned with a
beep!

It took a few heartbeats for Leah to absorb what had just happened, but once the humiliation
set in, her face grew hot and her head started to buzz.

Then she wasn’t at the Sack-n-Pay grocery anymore. She was in the senior hallway at
Sultry High School, staring blankly at her locker, which had been “decorated” with
a hundred multicolored condom wrappers. Laughter and hushed voices filled the air.
Broken whispers of
I
heard
and
she
did
it
and
Tommy
said
and
with
that
new
kid, Colt
. It was then that she’d learned Colt had used her. That their lovemaking hadn’t meant
anything to him beyond bolstering his reputation as the county stud.

More than embarrassment, she’d felt shame. She’d broken her purity vow—tossed away
all those promises to God and herself, for Colt—and he’d made a joke of it. She’d
tried so hard not to cry that morning, but the condoms had blurred into a rainbow
as hot tears burned behind her lids.

“Miss?” the cashier asked, bringing Leah back to the present. “You really want all
this?”

Leah shook her head and used a sweater sleeve to blot the moisture welling in her
eyes. She turned to Colt, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was glaring at Tommy with
a fury that tightened Leah’s stomach.

Colt’s nostrils flared. He pointed to the condoms and told the cashier, “Darlin’,
get rid of that, will you?” Despite the cordial words, his voice was low and terrifying,
like a distant rumble of thunder.

The girl didn’t hesitate to grab a plastic grocery bag and scoop the boxes inside.
Within seconds, they’d vanished from sight.

Tommy’s smile fell as he rubbed the back of his neck. Judging by the way his shoulders
crept toward his ears, he knew he’d made a huge mistake.

“Apologize,” Colt told him.

Tommy nodded enthusiastically, eager to comply. “Sorry, Tink. I thought it’d be funny,
that’s all. But it probably wasn’t funny for you.”

“Not good enough.” Colt rested a hand on the butt of his pistol in what Leah hoped
was an empty threat. “I’m gonna give you one more chance.”

Leah didn’t like this. Confrontation made her uneasy, and she didn’t want anyone to
get hurt. “It’s okay, really.”

“No, it’s not,” Colt said to Tommy. “Dig deep, asshole.”

“I’m sorry.” Beads of sweat had broken out on Tommy’s upper lip. “Real sorry. I shouldn’t
have done that. It was stupid. You know me—I’ll do anything for a laugh.”

“Okay,” Leah said, trying to catch Colt’s gaze, which lingered like grease fire on
the back of Tommy’s head. “I forgive you. Let’s forget it ever happened, all right?”
She needed Colt to back off. The air was so thick with tension, she could’ve packed
it between her palms like a snowball.