Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) (14 page)

              “Uh…”

              “Four?”

              “Is Chester here?” he asked, and she looked startled.

              “Yes.”

              “Four, sure. And tell him the Candyman wants a word.”

              She blinked at him, unsure, but obviously decided he didn’t look like a person to be argued with, and turned to lead them to a table.

              He was aware of Michelle alongside him as they walked; her hair brushed at his arm. “Nothing quite so sad as spoilt grandeur,” she said quietly.

              “Yeah.” He risked a quick glance, and found her face somber. She was reading his reaction to this place.

              The hostess showed them to a booth on the gallery, just a few strides and a short flight of steps from the bar. Candy and Colin stood back and let the girls slide in first, taking the outside slots out of old chivalrous habit. If Michelle minded sitting beside him, she didn’t say, only took the offered menu and began to turn through it slowly.

              Candy found his own menu greasy to the touch, the pages stained, and grimaced once the hostess was out of sight. “Look at this shit.”

              “I think we’re the only ones in here,” Colin said.

              “No, I saw someone across the way,” Jenny said, pointing to the far side of the gallery.

              “Us and an old drunk,” Candy said. “Nice.”

              A gray-headed waiter in shabby uniform came to take their drink order. “Good afternoon,” he said in an exhausted voice. “Can I–” His eyes settled on Candy and they recognized one another in the same moment.

              “Candyman?”

              “Eric?”

              Eric’s lined face transformed with a sudden smile, the wrinkles turning his eyes to slits. “Derek, it is you, isn’t it?”

              Candy couldn’t believe it. “Shit,” he said, grinning, inwardly saddened to see the man looking so old and worn out. “What are you still doing here?”

              Eric had always been a sore thumb among the Texas landscape, but completely at home in the plush, distinguished environment of Odell’s. British, having settled in Texas with his family as a boy, he still retained a hint of an accent, and had always boasted impeccable manners. Exactly the sort of employee who knew just when to appear with a fresh drink, and just how to make the guests – usually rednecks with high ideas of themselves – feel like royalty.

              He shrugged now, and gave the building a quick glance over his shoulder. “Chester’s been like family. I couldn’t just abandon him.”

              “No, I guess not.”

              “But where have you been?” Eric asked. “We haven’t seen you in years.”

              “Club stuff. Family stuff. I was out of state for a while.” He wanted to squirm beneath Eric’s gaze, the evidence that the old man had missed him. “What’s up with this place? What happened?”

              “Well…” Eric was too delicate to say anything, glancing tactfully away instead. “Look, you’ve brought company. Is it…Jenny? Is that you? Wonderful! And you have a little one! Oh, lovely!” He beamed at Jack, currently gnawing on his mother’s bracelet.

              “This is Jack,” Jenny said, smiling back at the old man.

              “After your father. Wonderful.” He smiled warmly. And then turned to Michelle. “And you must be Derek’s special lady.”

              Michelle’s eyes flipped wide, a quick reaction – shock? displeasure? – before she schooled her features. “Pleased to meet you.”

              Candy silently thanked her for not making a distinction. “I told the hostess I wanted to see Chester.”

              “Ah. Yes. Well. Let me get your drinks, and then I’ll let him know.”

~*~

Chester Hoskins, a raw-boned cowboy who’d always had high ideas and an endless supply of cigarettes, looked just as old and tired and gray as Eric. He dragged a chair up to the edge of their table, spun it around, straddled it, and folded his arms over the back of it in a defeated way. His eyes were still bright…but not like they had been. A faint sheen of weariness and financial strain.

              “What happened? The economy happened,” he said, giving Candy a glum half-smile. “And my best fighter – you remember Alex? He got arrested, and we couldn’t find a decent replacement. Then we got busted for betting going on.” He jerked a thumb toward the back of the building, the ring. “Couldn’t keep a steady staff on, ‘cept for Eric, bless him.” He shrugged and sighed. “Guess all good things have to end sometime, right?”

              Candy nodded with regret. “What will you do?”

              “I had a guy come in to look at the place. Give me an estimate on fixing it up. New carpet, new furniture, new lights, get the AC fixed, redo the bathrooms.” He grimaced. “I can’t afford all that. And no one wants to come into this shithole with it looking like this. I’ll sell, I guess. To whichever idiot wants to make an offer on it.”

              Eric arrived at that moment with their lunch: club sandwiches with fries. The tight wallet was evident here, too: chipped plates that should have been replaced, cheap white bread, soggy fries that had clearly been frozen and then deep-fried. No decorative toothpicks, no curly lettuce as garnish.

              “Y’all enjoy lunch,” Chester said, and climbed to his feet with another grimace, and much popping of old joints.

              “Thanks, Ches.”

              “It’s sad,” Jenny said when they were alone. “Dad always loved this place.”

              “Any chance anybody will buy it and fix it up?” Colin asked without much hope.

              “No,” Candy said. “It’ll be a furniture store or something.”

~*~

Michelle

All during their mostly quiet, subdued lunch, and all the way back to the clubhouse, she was thinking. Running numbers. In the passenger seat of Jenny’s Jeep, watching the city fade to dusty scrub land, she kept visualizing Candy’s face, the total devastation of seeing the place he’d once loved fallen so far. All her hesitation, worry, and discomfort vanished. She was working now. This was where she excelled, using her mind for something besides self-reflection.

              “Thank you,” she told Jenny when they reached the clubhouse. “It was lovely.”

              “You’re welcome.” She stared at her. “You okay?”

              “Wonderful.”

              Jenny didn’t look convinced.

              “It’s just that I’ve had an idea. Best strike while the iron’s hot, right?”

              “Right…”

              She went to her dorm straight away, closed herself in, sat cross-legged in the center of the bed, and pulled out her mobile.

              “Everything alright?” Walsh asked when he answered.

              “Fine,” she said in a rush. Then: “Well, no, not fine. But not terrible. We’ll get to that. But listen, I wanted to ask your opinion…”

              She loved every member of her big, crazy family, but when it came to wisdom, Albie and Walsh were the go-to guys. It was wonderful to lose herself in shop talk with her practical, intelligent, thoughtful Uncle King for half an hour.

              Not to mention, she was completely convinced by the end of it that Odell’s was about to become club-owned property.

              “Thank you,” she said, lying back onto the comforter, feeling lighter and looser. “I think this could work.”

              “Sounds like it.” His voice changed. Not one for socializing, he doubtless had something he wanted to get back to.

              But while she had him on the line…

              “Uncle King?”

              “Hmm?”

              “Dad told you he was trying to get rid of me, didn’t he?”

              He sighed. “Don’t say it like that.”

              “Why not? That’s how it is.”

              “I’m not going to argue about it with you.”

              Her turn to sigh. “I didn’t think you would. I just wish I hadn’t been treated like a child. Or a pet dog or something.”

              “I’ll have you know I told him it was a shit idea.”

              “You did?”

              “Of course.”

              He wasn’t going to elaborate, obviously, and she decided she wasn’t going to press. She just said, “Thank you.”

              “Love from Tennessee, darling.”

              “And to you and Em.”

~*~

Candy

It was evening when he got back home, and the breeze was picking up, the tepid wind that seemed intended to turn a person toward the sunset. The sky had faded to washed-out denim, the first step toward the watercolor collage of colors that would come in another hour or so.

              He was surprised to find Michelle in the yard, sitting on a weathered concrete bench, legs crossed, foot bobbing. It was like she was waiting for him, and as he approached her, he realized that was the case.

              “Nice out, huh?” he asked, sitting down beside her.

              “Yes.” She was different now. Gone was the flinching girl of this afternoon, the one who’d been fighting the urge to look at him, who’d been hyper aware of what had happened last night. This was cool, calm, professional Michelle. And though he wished she’d lean into him and asked to be kissed – for his own comfort more than hers – he was glad he wouldn’t have to tread carefully.

              “What’s up?”

              “I’ve been thinking about where we had lunch.”

              “Yeah. Sorry about that. It used to a helluva lot better than that.”

              “I can imagine. It seemed to be special to you.”

              He shrugged, shirt feeling too tight suddenly. “I used to go there with my dad. It was just a restaurant.”

              “More than that, I think.”

              “Hmm.”

              “I’ve had an idea,” she said, and he thought there was excitement in her voice.

              “What kind of idea?”

              Her blue eyes were bright in the evening sunshine, pretty little face glowing. “Instead of the garage, I think you ought to buy Odell’s, fix it up, and reopen it.”

              He was shocked.

              “You weren’t excited about the garage anyway,” she went on. “And I can’t see much difference in expense. Well, maybe a little more, depending on what the builders say the damage is. But I called and talked to King about it.”

              “You did?”

              “He said if he can make a horse farm work, there’s no reason we can’t run a club.”

              “But…” He felt like she’d dropped a bomb on him. And not in a bad way, but his brain was cramping up.

              “Think about it,” Michelle said, standing. “We can go through the numbers when you’re ready.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I never thanked you for lunch. Thank you. And good night.”

              She was almost back to the door when he turned, wits now safely gathered. “Wait. Good night? It’s early.”

              “I thought I’d read for a bit.” She shoved her hands in her back pockets, expression growing wary. Or maybe that was longing he saw.

              “You don’t want company?” His blood warmed at the idea.

              She considered, really thought about it, then shook her head. “No. No, I…not tonight. It isn’t smart.” And she left him.

Twelve

Candy

Jenny’s evenings were devoted to bathing and putting Jack to bed, and catching some QT with Colin. But she kept her sunset routine. Between baby bedtime and adult bedtime, she liked to steal a few minutes to watch the sun kiss the night, out on the back deck, more often than not with a mug of tea rather than her old merlot habit. That was where Candy found her tonight, legs drawn up in her chair, mug held in both hands, face peaceful as the last crimson fissure flared along the horizon.

              He had her trapped.

              “There you are.”

              She glanced over as he took the neighboring chair. “Where else would I be?”

              “I dunno. Scheming up more ways to get me hitched.”

              She stilled, eyes widening.

              “Yeah. Your worse half told me all about your little eHarmony routine.”

              “Damn him, he wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

              “Bros before–”

              “Don’t you dare say it, or I’ll throw this hot tea in your face.”

              “What the hell are you thinking?” he asked, but without the malice he’d anticipated. It had always been impossible to stay angry with his little sister, and now proved no different. He could read her face like an open book, and he knew she’d done it out of love and with the best intentions. “I don’t need to be worrying about little girls with daddy issues right now.”

              “I didn’t make you sleep with her,” she pointed out. “That was all you, buddy. And she said you were very sweet about it.”

              “Ah Christ, were y’all talking about it?”

              “No. Just enough to know that she doesn’t get around much.” She sipped her tea. “And to tell the truth, I think she’s a little afraid of what’s going to happen next.”

              He realized he was frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

              She stared out at the blackening sky and wouldn’t look at him. “It means maybe I was wrong to try to set something up. Maybe you’re too much for her.” Her eyes darted over; he saw the fast white shine of them. “Or maybe she’s too much for you.”

              He snorted. “Is that what you think?”

              “I think if you weren’t conflicted about her, you wouldn’t be out here talking to me.”

              Damn. There was no good comeback to that.

              “I think she’s conflicted, too,” Jenny continued. “So maybe you should both just play it low key and see if anything happens.”

              “Anything?”

              “Chemistry. Feelings. Real shit.”

              “Real shit,” he repeated. “Like what you’ve got with Colin?”

              She sipped her tea.

              “He wants to marry you, Jen.”

              Her voice became uncertain, shivery. “And I don’t see any reason why I should ever get married again.”

              “Um, your baby. Maybe because you love that big moron.”

              “I got married for love before, remember?” she said quietly.

              His own problems–wondering if Michelle would turn him away if he knocked on her door, wondering why he cared–were put into perspective. Those weren’t problems at all, not like what Jen was dealing with. “Jen,” he sighed, patiently. “Colin isn’t Riley.”

              “Not now, he isn’t. But in a year? Five? Ten?”

              “Riley was always a cocky bastard. He had a cruel streak, he just took it out on other people. We didn’t think…” And that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? That hadn’t thought Riley would ever turn that cruel streak back against either of them. It had seemed such an impossibility, and the change had come on slowly, and then…

              “It’s different this time, though,” he said.

              “How?”

              “I’m not in New York.”

              She glanced over at him, face haunted in the last waning fingers of light.

              “I’d put him in the ground myself if I had to.”

              She made a quiet gasping sound.

              “But we both know it won’t come to that. I don’t care if you marry him,” he said, trying for a lighter tone. “But I think you probably want to. Don’t make him wait too long. He does actually have some pride, you know.”

~*~

He had pride too. And good sense, despite what his sister liked to say. He went to bed alone.

~*~

Michelle

She woke with a knot of excitement in her stomach, wired as a little girl on the first day of school. She’d laid awake before bed last night, already planning what would need to be done to the sad club in town. Odell’s was ripe with potential. Already she was envisioning turning the place into an Americanized Baskerville Hall.

              Too jittery for breakfast, she took her coffee to the office and fired up the computer. She was running estimates when Candy joined her.

              She didn’t check the impulse to look him over, liking the way his dark blue t-shirt clung to his chest and arms, eyes lingering a little too long on the fit of his jeans. His hair was raked and gelled into thick spikes and he looked bright-eyed and a little younger.

              “I’m kinda getting tired of not sitting in my own chair,” he said, taking the one across from her.

              “Do you want to switch?” she asked, just to see what he’d say.

              “Nah.” He gestured to the computer. “You working on stuff for Odell’s?”

              “Yes. I’ve got heaps of ideas.”

              His brows flicked up with obvious amusement. “Yeah? Like what?”

              “To begin with, I think you ought to lose the English gentlemen’s club look and make it feel like Texas.”

              Yet more amused, grinning now. “And you know what Texas feels like?”

              “That place. That big place that was in that Travolta movie. You know the one?”

              “Gilley’s?”

              “That’s it. I was never there, but I’ve seen pictures. That’s the sort of place tourists and locals expect. You could do an upscale version. Classy, but still accessible. A saloon atmosphere. And I think you should bring the fighting back.”

              He looked impressed. “You’ve really been thinking about this.”

              “Like I said: heaps of ideas. I won’t mention the mechanical bull just yet.”

              He laughed. “That’s what I need in my life. A mechanical bull.”

              She bit her lip.

              “You’re already pricing them, aren’t you?”

              “Yes.”

              He shook his head and pitched forward at the waist, elbows on his knees. “Why has this got you all excited?”

              She didn’t say because she felt useful. Partly because she’d said it before and didn’t want to repeat herself. But also because that wasn’t the whole truth. “I helped out Dad when he got Baskerville Hall started,” she said, filled with an immediate, reflexive longing for home. The dark paneled walls and smell of hops. “This reminds me of that, I guess.” Her voice turned sad, and she hated that, because she didn’t want this to be about the past, but about the future.

              He nodded his understanding. “You know, Jenny’s been slinging greasy plates at Gabe’s restaurant for years now. She’s got good experience we can use. And I’ll be damn glad to give her a better job than what she’s got,” he said with a regretful sigh.

              She nodded.

              “I gotta pitch it to the guys,” he said, growing serious.

              “Of course.”

              Then, eyes still trained on her, unblinking, he said, “How’d you sleep last night?”

              “F-fine,” she stuttered, caught off guard. “I mean…well. I mean…” She frowned as he grinned at her, blue eyes framed with lines. “Why did you have to ask that?”

              “Because I think you’re gonna start playing hard to get,” he said, “and I don’t get why, now that…the cat’s out of the…whatever.”

              “Cat?”

              “The weapon,” he corrected, grin going evil.

              Michelle rolled her eyes. “Really, I–”

              “Don’t avoid the issue.” Gentle enough in tone, but an order.

              She pressed her lips together.

              “I didn’t think you were a tease.”

              “I’m not.”

              “Did you not have a good time the other night?”

              “It was…wonderful.”

              “So what’s the problem?”

              The truth came tumbling out before she could stop it, a truth that dawned on her only then. “My whole life is upside down right now. I don’t know where I’m going, or what I’m doing, or if I can ever go home again. I can’t…I can’t grow too attached to you. Not now. Not when you…”

              “When I what?”

              “Could hurt me so very badly.”

              He sat back. “It’s just sex.”

              “No it’s not, actually, and you know it.”

              He snorted. “So this is what rejection feels like.”

              “No. This is just self-control.”

~*~

Odell’s was the same shithole it had been the day before, only now Michelle saw it through the lens of possibility. Each mildewed baseboard, every rip in the billiards table felt was a chance for improvement. Not faults, her dad had always said, but opportunities. There was nothing in the world that couldn’t be improved upon, whether it was orphan half-brothers to be taken in as sons, or businesses that could be resuscitated and given new life.

              She stood on the gallery, overlooking the place, while the Dogs had a look and a poke around.

              Candy stood in the center of the main floor, talking to Chester.

              “Are you shitting me?” the old man asked. “
You
want the place? Whatever in the hell for?”

              “I want to have a go at it,” Candy said, and Michelle knew he was being as tactful as possible to keep from hurting Chester’s feelings.

              Her heart gave a little bump. Was she doing the right thing keeping to herself? Guarding her sentiments?

              Her body sure didn’t think so. His blue t-shirt was driving her mad, the way the short sleeves stretched over his massive shoulders and biceps. She hadn’t ever thought herself so shallow, but something about the way he was put together stirred her. Maybe it was the visual paired with the carnal knowledge of him, the remembered feel of his hands and mouth on her.

              Shit.

              She glanced away from him, eyes scanning. Gringo was mounting the stairs and came to join her, folding his arms over the gallery rail.

              “I didn’t even know this place existed,” he said, scraping at the flaking varnish with his thumb nail. He was as handsome as before, and smelled clean, like fresh smoke and deodorant, but in his presence her pulse slowed, and her blood cooled. Not dislike, just not the hot-blooded attraction she felt for Candy.

              “How’d you know about it?” Gringo asked.

              “I was here yesterday. Jenny and I bumped into Candy and Colin while we were out shopping, and Candy wanted to bring us here for lunch. He used to come with his father.”

              He smirked. “Bumped into, huh?”

              She smirked back, and felt a true grin threaten. With his dark hair, and his boyishly cute face, he reminded her, suddenly, of Tommy. That was why she’d agreed to have a beer with him; it was a brotherly sense she’d felt, and not a romantic one. “Quite accidentally, I assure you.”

              “Uh-huh. When do I have to start calling you ‘ma’am?’ Before or after the wedding?”

              “How about right now?”

              He laughed. “Shit. I’m glad you like him instead of me. You’re a pain in the ass.”

              “I’ll take that as the highest of compliments,” she said, loftily, lifting her nose in a queenly parody.

              “You do that, sweetheart.”

              She laughed too.             

              “Michelle!” Candy had cupped his hands around his mouth, brows knitted together, shouting without necessity. “You gonna come do a walkthrough or what?”

              Jealousy? She didn’t know, only that he was peeved now, and hadn’t been before. In fact, he’d been in a fantastic mood since church that morning; all the boys had been inspired by the prospect of owning a big swinging downtown saloon.