The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love (23 page)

“I’m glad you found it entertaining,” she said, waving a hand in front of her flushed face to fan herself. Energy coursed through her, leaving her agitated and breathless.

“Want to know my favorite part?”

“What?”

He leaned closer, too close, but Camille couldn’t move. His face was only inches from hers, his mouth—

“My favorite part was when you told him I was your boyfriend.”

“I never said that.” Was that her voice, all breathy and soft?

“You implied it.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Close enough for me.”

And then he closed the gap between them and kissed her. She’d always, always wondered what it would be like to be kissed by Dante Brown. And now she knew. And it was as wonderful, as sensual, and as frightening as she’d always thought it would be. Rhett Butler had nothing on Dante Brown.

She indulged herself for one long, pleasurable moment before she pulled away. “Dante—”

“Don’t say it.” He put a finger to her lips and leaned back into his own seat. “Just let me have this one moment, okay?”

He removed his finger from her lips, and she swallowed. His gaze was pure velvet and filled with emotion. Tears pricked at her eyes. Why did it have to be Dante that made her feel this way? Why couldn’t it be someone who wanted to get out of Sweetgum as badly as she did, not someone who wanted to stay put?

“You know this is never going to work,” she said, as much to convince herself as to convince him.

“There’s no reason it can’t.” He reached up to cup her cheek with his hand. “There never was.”

“We want different things.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re happy where you are, and I’m not. I never have been.” She paused, trying to find the right words, the ones that would convince him that there was no point pursuing a relationship. “As soon as I can figure out a way to get out of Sweetgum, I’m going.”

“Maybe I can give you a reason to change your mind. A reason to stay.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Do you know what you’re giving up?” His gaze held hers, wouldn’t let her turn away.

“I’ve always known what I was giving up.”

“I don’t mean me. I mean your life in Sweetgum. Your home. Your roots.”

“I’m trying to escape my roots. Why aren’t you?” She leaned
back and waved a hand toward the theater. “Don’t you want to get away from that kind of thinking? That kind of prejudice?”

Dante shook his head. “That kind of stupidity is why I came back to Sweetgum. People can be ignorant there, spiteful even, but they know me. They see me as Dante, not an anonymous black man they can hate on. I’ve never experienced that kind of racism in Sweetgum. People being jerks? Yeah. That kind of pure, evil hate? No.”

Camille didn’t have an answer to this.

Dante put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a brief caress. “We better get going or we’ll miss our reservation.”

The thought of food, even a meal as upscale as the one they were sure to eat at the Watermark, made her feel queasy.

“Maybe we’d better—”

“No.” He was abrupt but not rude. “I refuse to let someone like that ruin our date.”

Camille knew he was right. The minute you let a hater affect your decisions, you were under his power, had let him influence you.

“Then we’d better get going,” she said. “I looked at the menu online last night, and I already know what I want.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, surprised to find tears. She hadn’t even known she was crying.

Dante smiled at her with approval. “That’s my girl.”

And for once, Camille didn’t argue with his assumption.

Esther hadn’t intended to be home when the prospective buyer showed up to look at her house the day after Thanksgiving. She’d been coached by her real estate agent on all the dos and don’ts, and the seller’s presence in the home was a definite faux pas.

But the dog—Well, the dog was no more under control now than he’d been the day she dragged him into the veterinary clinic.

The doorbell rang a second time. Esther stood in the middle of the foyer, torn between going after the dog and answering the summons. “Ranger!” she bit out one last time, hoping he would respond, but no such luck. With a shake of her hair and a quick straightening of the hem of her sweater, she moved to answer the door.

The man standing on her front porch was the last person in the world she expected to see.

“Dr. McCullough!” She said his name in the same tone of voice she’d used to try to summon Ranger. Then she collected herself, forced a smile, and responded in a far gentler tone. “Hello.”

“Esther.” From the way his eyes widened, she guessed he was every bit as surprised to see her as she was to see him. “I’m sorry, I must have the wrong—”

“Are you meeting a real estate agent?” He nodded, and her chest tightened. Of all the luck. “Then you’re at the right place.”

For some reason, her pulse was racing. She couldn’t think why, except that Brody McCullough had seen too much in their last two encounters, and what he’d seen made her feel nervous. And vulnerable. And more than anything in the world, Esther disliked feeling vulnerable.

“Please come in. I wasn’t supposed to be here, but I was having a little trouble—”

As if on cue, Ranger came racing through the foyer, his paws skidding on the slick surface before he crashed to a stop at Brody’s feet.

“Hey, boy.” The vet reached down to rub the dog’s head. He looked up at Esther with an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy.”

“You’re in the market for a house?”

Of course he was, she scolded herself. The man was new in town.

But Brody shook his head. “No. I’m renting a condo at the
lake.” He suddenly looked uncomfortable, and Esther had no idea what to make of that. “I have a friend, a college buddy, who’s moving to the area. He’s the one looking for a house.”

Esther glanced at her watch. “I’d better be going. Leave you all to look things over in peace.” She reached down and grabbed Ranger’s collar. “Just let me get him on the leash.”

But Ranger didn’t want to be dragged so ignominiously from Brody’s presence. He hunched down, his backside practically sinking through the floor. The tile was slick, but Esther still struggled to tow the animal’s dead weight across the floor.

“Wait. You’re going to hurt your back.” Brody reached out and curled his fingers around Esther’s wrist.

The unexpected touch sent a shock through her. She released Ranger’s collar and snatched her hand away.

Brody’s eyes met hers, and she realized he saw her reaction in them. Color flooded her cheeks, so she turned away and marched toward the kitchen. “Treat, Ranger,” she called to the dog, a shameless bribe. “Let’s have a treat.”

The dog followed hot on her heels, but to her dismay, so did Brody.

“That’s his second favorite word,” she said, trying to act nonchalant. As if she hadn’t jumped a mile at his touch. As if she didn’t find him—She was not going to finish that thought.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Brody said as he followed her into the kitchen, “but what’s his favorite word?”

“G-o,” Esther said, resorting to spelling it out. If she said it,
there’d be no appeasing the dog until they took at least a walk around the block.

Brody laughed. “Does it hurt?”

Esther blushed, although she didn’t exactly know what he meant by his question. “Does what hurt?”

“Being so tightly wrapped around that dog’s paw.”

This time her flush rose clear to her hairline. “I—” She started to defend herself, but she was reaching into the treat jar and realized her actions spoke volumes more than her words. “Okay, okay. Guilty as charged.”

“The only thing I’m charging you with is caring about this walking pile of trouble here.” He paused. “Is he still sleeping on the pillow?”

Esther couldn’t see any use in denying it. “Yes. But at least he’s stopped digging up the rosebushes.”

“How’d you get him to do that?”

She couldn’t help smiling a little. “I let him dig up the hydrangeas instead.”

Brody McCullough’s laugh, Esther decided a second later, was one of the most wonderful sounds she’d ever heard. Deep, rich, like leather and mahogany and velvet all woven together. She let it wash over her, and a little of the grief and strain and worry of the last months eased.

Her gaze caught his, and an indefinable look passed between them—part recognition, part connection. Part attraction. Esther turned away before he could see her blush again.

She was on the wrong side of fifty, and he had to be at least ten years her junior. She was a widow, and he was bound to be the most eligible bachelor in town. Shed never made herself ridiculous before, and she wasn’t about to start.

Thankfully, the doorbell rang again.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, and she walked away as quickly as her high heels and the hardwood floors would allow. Ranger didn’t follow, having apparently decided that he’d rather stay with Brody—or at least in the vicinity of the treat jar.

Although she’d fully intended to absent herself as soon as she’d let the real estate agent and her client in the front door, Esther somehow found herself staying and giving the prospective buyer a personal tour of her home. The man, James Delevan, was tall and distinguished. Although he might have been the same age as Brody McCullough, he seemed far older. His face was a bit world-weary, Esther decided. Handsome but tired. She wondered what had brought him to Sweetgum but was too polite, too southern, to come right out and ask.

“The veranda is my favorite part of the house,” she said as they neared the end of the tour. She ushered the two men and the real estate agent, a young woman in her midthirties, out the french doors that led from the kitchen to the outside. She’d saved the best for last. Even at the beginning of winter, the view of the yard, with its extensive flower beds, rivaled an English garden for beauty.

“I can see why.” James Delevan nodded with approval. “You’ve put a great deal of work into this.”

“Yes.” A lump settled in her throat and prevented her from saying anything more. Her pride in the beauty she’d created melted under the despair of losing everything she’d worked for. The maple she’d planted shortly after her son, Alex, was born. The hostas that came from her mother’s home. A stand of crab apple trees in the back corner near the fence that provided fruit for jelly and shade for picnics. Her greenhouse, not large but adequate for cultivating her roses. All of this would be someone else’s very soon.

“You’ve been very kind to show us around,” James said with a nod. He looked at the agent, who was new to the business and didn’t seem to know quite what to do next. “I think it’s time to leave Mrs. Jackson in peace.” He turned back to Esther. “You should be hearing from us very soon.”

Why should good news make her feel so bad? “I’ll look forward to it.”

She could feel Brody’s eyes on her, watching her, assessing her, and she refused to look his direction. Right now she needed every bit of strength to maintain her composure.

Her beautiful home. Her stomach knotted, and she felt the same stab of grief she did when she thought of Frank. Not that anyone could equate the two losses—a husband and a house-but they were wrapped up in each other, inseparable. If she could have the first back, she would also have the other.