C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (22 page)

Norm laughed. “Go ahead. I can already tell you’re a better owner for that particular piece than I ever was. As to Jessie, that ol’ bitch. She didn’t much let me call her that either. Like I said this morning, how she and Edna got to be friends was beyond me. ’Cept it didn’t last long, that friendship. Maybe a couple of years.” He let the glass dangle from his fingertips and C knew how the others had been broken. “Just long enough for me to get fond of the girl. Now that boy, that James Thomas, he was never a straight shooter like his sister. He would have made a fine lawyer, but it was probably too much work for him.” He swung the glass back into his hand and finished off the last sip. “Got any more of that?”

C refilled Norm’s glass, then his own. “Drink up. I can get more.”

“Boy, you could be bad for my health.” He gave C a long look. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll catch all that hair on fire?”

“Can’t create with it pulled back. Got to have it loose, long, all over me.” He settled back in the rocker, held the clarinet on one knee, balanced the tumbler on the other. He looked over at Norm. “Like Samson, you know?”
“That’s where your strength is?” He cackled. “And here I was going to ask you what you were set on creating.”

“Got myself in a mess. Got to create my way out of it.”

“Falling for her, are you? Thought you’d just bed her and not love her and that’s not how it’s working out, now is it?”

“Who made you the love guru?” Norm was silent. “Okay, old man, hell, I don’t know how it’s working out. I got to figure out why I want her before I get any more into this.” He took a slow sip, savored the whiskey as it drained down his throat. “Do I want her because she doesn’t want me? And if she doesn’t want me, then why…” he let his voice trail off and shot a hard look Norm’s direction. “Why in hell am I discussing this with you?”

“Cause I’m all you’ve got. Your brother’s not interested in your problems any more. He’s got his own nest to take care of and there ain’t room in it for you. That’s a new experience you don’t particularly like, right?” He continued without waiting for C’s answer. “Cinch your sister-in-law’s not interested, except in how fast to get you how far from her and hers. You are
persona non grata
far’s she’s concerned. Big time. That Fletcher character disappeared as best I can tell. Any other members of your band, they’re not here neither. Besides, they don’t know Jemma. Hell, nobody knows Jemma! Told you that.”

“You told me a lot!” C shot back. “About Jemma, about her family, her business. But you know what you didn’t tell me, old man?” He quit rocking and turned to Norm, punctuated his sentences by bouncing the clarinet against his thigh. “You neglected to tell me about Jemma’s heart. And I got a feeling that that’s where all the secrets are. All the feelings. All the love. I don’t know how to reach it. And I don’t know why I want to. ’Cept I do know I got to figure it out and it’s got to be quick! Cause my heart’s in a place it’s never been before.”

“Then I’d best go get us some more smokes.” Norm set the tumbler on the porch and pushed himself out of the rocker, looked straight at C as he began a protest. “Now don’t go pleading you quit that habit to me! Music’s all well and good, but for what ails you—well, it’s been my experience that figuring out a woman usually takes two packs.”

C watched him walk stiffly toward the kitchen, realized that even as he outwardly railed against the idea of the old man’s counsel, inwardly he sought it. How else would he figure out what he most wanted to know: how to unlock Jemma’s heart.

Chapter Twenty

“W
ell, I see you’re toting a bigger instrument today.”

C looked down at Norm’s clarinet clutched in his left hand. Truth be known, he’d forgotten it was there since carrying music with him was second nature. He’d picked it up automatically as he’d gotten out of his car and strode into Lake Country. Now, with Carolyn looking at him over a set of half-glasses, he felt called upon to explain himself. The fact that she wasn’t falling all over him as she had two weeks beforehand wasn’t lost on him either. He was becoming a fixture in Jinks. Was this a glimpse of the future he wanted, because it would be the future he’d have if he stayed the course he’d figured out in the wee hours of the morning.

“Now, Ms. Cartwright, whatever are you doing studying my zipper?”

She blushed. Boldly. Forehead to fingertips, Carolyn was red, and, C had no doubt, the heat even extended to where he couldn’t see.

He rescued her from having to respond. “Jemma in?” He nodded to the closed office door, the mini-blinds shut, only a faint line of light visible in the crack underneath.

“She’s, ah, she’s with a client.” Carolyn busied herself with papers on her desk and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Norm, if you must know.”

C leaned down to where she had no choice but to acknowledge him and folded his arms across her desk. “Saw his truck over at DamSite. What’s he doing here?”

“Don’t know. Wouldn’t say if I did. I have work to do, Mr. Samuels.”

“So do I, Ms. Cartwright.” He caught her chin with a finger and tipped it upward. “Now let’s be honest. You asked for the zipper remark.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“I grew up with country girls. Your city sisters got nothing on you for a good double entendre.”

She blushed again, but this time a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Well, I didn’t mean it to be dirty.”

“I know you didn’t.” He stood up, put the clarinet to his lips, started on Lyla’s song. “But I got to stay in practice.”

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I’ll not even respond to that remark.”

He smiled at her through the music and leaned on the edge of the desk, his back to her. He watched the door to Jemma’s office and played creatively through the song. Finished, he cradled the clarinet and stared at the closed door. He’d have gone through it a week ago. Gone through it and never looked back, never thought twice that it wouldn’t be the proper thing to do, that doing it might jeopardize a deal for Jemma.

“I hear you’re to be the main entertainment at the homecoming dance Friday night.”

“So I hear.” He stood up and turned to face her. “You think I shouldn’t do it?”

“You care what I think?” She stacked a set of folders and stood.

“Any woman who notes the size of my instrument—I care what she thinks.”

“Now you’re just trying to make me blush.” She turned to the metal file cabinet and opened it, deposited the folders in their respective places. “Just precisely what kind of dancing are you going to be doing?”

C laughed as he placed the clarinet on her desk and opened his arms to her. “Well, come on over here and let’s boot scoot ’cross the office.”

Carolyn looked around, as if someone was watching, then stepped up to his invitation.

“You’re going to be impressed. I can dance as cleanly as the king of England. I’m becoming a changed man.”

“Oh, I hope not!”

***

“You’re serious? You want to take it off the market?” Jemma leaned forward over her desk and studied the old man who sat on the other side. “All I’ve heard is that I’m not trying hard enough to sell it fast enough and now you’ve changed your mind about the whole deal? Not going on that good ol’ boys trip in a couple of weeks?”

Norm crossed his legs, tried a different arrangement of ankle and knee. “We leave the tenth of November, if it’s any of your business, missy. I got the money to go without selling the place.”

“Well, the whole town knows that. Have you sold it yourself? Like to your boarder?”

“He has never mentioned wanting to purchase such a prize piece of property.”

Jemma pursed her lips. “Why don’t you tell me why you’ve really come in here this morning? You could have phoned me about this.”

“You think you’re one perceptive gal, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something.” He set both feet sturdily on the ground and wagged a finger at her. The rest of his observation was drowned in the plaintive tones of a clarinet.

“Someone follow you here, Norm?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Norm, we are getting precisely nowhere with this conversation. Your place is off the market, good-bye, good day, don’t let the door hit you in the—”

“Well, you’re awfully feisty this morning. Not get enough sleep?”

“This time, I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, no, missy, I didn’t get enough sleep, if you must know. Some little bastard kept me up till three talking about you!” He leaned forward. “I’d appreciate it if you two’d get this settled so I could go back to getting my rest!”

“Well, you didn’t have to ask him to live with you.”

“Felt sorry for him. Nobody else wanted him.”

“Now you know why.”

“If I ever have any doubt that you are your mother’s daughter, all I have to do is listen to your sharp tongue!”

“Norm, I think this conversation is ended.” Jemma stood.

“And that’s another thing. All the time you’re wearing them loose skirts, what’re they called?”

“Broomstick skirts.” Jemma gritted her teeth.

“Get yourself a pair of tight pants or a short skirt. Let’s get all this folderol over with. I’m getting old!” He rose and stared at her, brushed at the front of his overalls. “One of them low cut blouses. I know they still make ’em.”

“Am I going to have to throw you out of here?”

“I can find the door, thank you very much.” He picked up his cap from the edge of her desk. “I’m just trying to take your father’s place. I’d think you’d appreciate that fact.”

“I can hardly see my father advising me to shorten my skirts and lower my necklines.”

“Well, maybe he should have and you wouldn’t still be at home!” He settled the cap on his balding head and walked stiffly to the door. When he opened it, a laughing Carolyn and Eddie C spilled through. Norm turned back to Jemma. “Place has gone to hell, Jemma.”

Carolyn pushed herself away from C and brushed at her skirt. She was still blushing and laughing. “We were just practicing how C was going to dance Friday night, Jemma.”

“Polka.” He swaggered over to her desk, raised his arms in invitation. “Next!”

Jemma narrowed her gaze at him and smirked. “You expect some little teenybopper to polka?”

“Babe, if Eddie C wants to limbo, trust me, someone will find a pole.”

“I’ve no doubt of that.” She reached behind herself for the desk chair and settled into it. “I’ve never been to a polka festival.” She waved her hands in front of the desk. “Why don’t you show me what it looks like.”

“Why don’t you let me show you up close and,” C stepped around the desk and perched on the edge of it, his feet encasing her chair by its rolling legs and drawing her to himself, “very personal?”

Jemma felt the heat of his thighs through her skirt and had the mental image of how much more heat she’d feel if she were in one of Norm’s short skirts. As for what to do with her hands, she had only two choices: resting on his thighs or folded in her lap, very close to the vee of his legs. Too close. She touched his knees to push herself away and heard his intake of breath, the one that matched her own when she touched him. She might have to reconsider the want/need of that kiss.

From by the door, Carolyn coughed. Jemma swiveled her head; she’d forgotten they had an audience. C took advantage of the situation and overlaid her hands with his own.

“C’mon, Norm, it’s lunchtime. Why don’t I let you buy me a cheeseburger at Red’s?” Carolyn took him by the elbow and turned him toward the outer office.

“Well, that’d just make ’em talk, wouldn’t it? And you a divorced woman young enough to be my daughter!” He pulled at the bill of his cap. “What’s taking you so long? Let’s go!”

The office door had barely closed in Carolyn’s wake when the bell on the front door jangled. A new timbre joined the mix of Carolyn and Norm. Jemma tried to pull her hands from C’s.

“Let Carolyn take care of it. Damn it, Jemma, we’ve got other things to talk about right now.” He took her hands and wove them around his waist.

“This looks obscene.” She had to lean forward in her chair since he wasn’t letting go of her hands.

“Nothing wrong with obscene.” He leaned down until their lips were almost touching. “Trust me, babe, I believe in tit-for-tat where obscene is concerned.” His lips brushed the corner of her mouth and his hands began to slip down her arms toward her shoulders.

The voices in the other room grew louder and distracted him. Jemma pushed away just as the office door flew open and Eddie T strode through, Carolyn and Norm in his wake.

C hopped off the desk and stood to face his twin. Jemma hadn’t seen them together since the awards program on television. In person, the electricity jumped between them.

“Lyla let you out of the house?” C’s sarcasm was in sharp contrast to the words he’d been uttering and Jemma felt herself recoil from it.

“My kitchen pass is almost expired. Don’t know why I even bother!” T marched over to the desk and slapped a folded tabloid newspaper onto the surface. “Except I thought you might want to see this—pronto. In fact, I can’t believe you don’t already know. Especially considering that it’s all over town. I wouldn’t even have that copy if Sally hadn’t called us after the distributor hit the Quik-Lee about an hour ago.” He glanced nervously in Jemma’s direction.

“So what makes this special? Been headlines before.” C reached for the paper.

“It must be a slow news week, because you haven’t been headlines like this in a while. And you’re sharing them.” He let his voice trail off.

C unfolded the paper slowly and read. A string of invectives escaped through half-closed lips as he rapidly sought an inside page. Finding it, grimacing as if he’d just taken a bitter medicine, he closed the paper and turned to Jemma. “There are not words to tell you how sorry I am about this.”

“Then perhaps you ought to share it.” She held out her hand, tried to steady it. Whatever could be in a tabloid that he’d apologize to her for?

C looked down at Jemma. “I am so sorry,” he whispered as he handed her the paper.