Just a Little Bit Guilty (8 page)

"God bless you," Fayra murmured, nearly crying. "We never knew this old world had so much goodness in it before we met you."

Jake glanced up in time to see a strangled expression cross Vivian's face. Her eyes on Fayra, she gave a light, almost imperceptible nod of agreement. Jake's broad chest almost burst with emotion.

"Now y'all, just turn yourselves around and thank the right person," he started, but Vivian shook her head and hurried out the door before he could finish.

* * * *

Midnight came and went before they finished setting up the three twin-sized bed frames complete with top quality mattresses and box springs. Jake couldn't believe the amount of money Vivian had spent. She'd bought sheets, pillows, and blankets. She'd bought a stove and kitchen utensils. She'd 71

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even bought a small television set. On the way back, she'd directed Roberto to stop at a grocery store. While everyone else was putting the groceries away, Jake drew Roberto into the living room.

"How much?" he demanded. "Gimme the total." Roberto's eyes went wide. He held up two fingers. "Two thousand?" Jake asked.

"Yeah, man, two thousand." Roberto lowered his voice to a whisper. "You don't understand the Judge. She doesn't know how to let other people take care of her. She gets nervous when anybody else takes charge. Her husband was a dick, man. He used to boss her around, give her orders, run the whole show. And then when he left her, he made it sound like she deserved it."

"Oh, my Lord," Jake said slowly. He rubbed his forehead in dismay. "I guess I look like another take-charge bullshit artist to her."

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"I'll take care of it. Don't tell her you told me, Roberto."

"Oh, I won't! She'd kill me."

Jake ambled into the kitchen with Roberto behind him.

"Everybody settled for the night?" he asked pleasantly. They were putting the last groceries away. Secluded in one corner, Vivian put a final can of turnip greens into a cabinet. She fumbled it, dropped it on the counter, then grabbed it with a weary hand.

"We're settled, Jake," Fayra replied. She turned from the stove and held up a frying pan. "I'm going to fix some dinner for these fellows. You and Vivian want to stay?" 72

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"Thank you ma'am, but I need to talk to Viv upstairs," Jake answered. Vivian swung around and looked at him in dull surprise. "Will you get your things and come upstairs a minute?" he asked.

"Sure."

Once inside his apartment, he pointed her toward the living room. "How about a shot of Jack Daniels?"

"I'll take it," she mumbled, as he switched on an old floor lamp with a fringed shade. His living room looked like a museum for 1940's furniture. The couch and chairs were upholstered in a quaint, fading flower print. The coffee table was heavy and ornate, scarred with moisture rings and little nicks. A massive roll top desk dominated one wall, and plain, unpainted bookshelves covered another. The shelves were filled with horticulture and veterinary books. A white-brick fireplace angled across one corner of the room.

"What do you want with your bourbon, Viv?"

"What are you having?"

"I drink my bourbon straight."

"Well ... so do I."

Jake, who had knelt in front of the fireplace to arrange fresh wood, twisted around to stare at her. He chuckled ruefully, goaded a steady little kindling fire under the logs, and went to the kitchen shaking his head. A minute later, he came back with a bottle and two shot glasses full of bourbon, which he set on the coffee table. He handed her a glass and sat down a comfortable distance from her on the couch. He held his glass aloft, and she followed suit. 73

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"Here's to closin' spaces," Jake said softly. Vivian hesitated, then clinked her glass with his. Jake tossed the amber liquid down in one swallow, grimaced slightly, and set his glass on the table. "Sometimes that's the best way to drink it," he began, "but you'd better sip—" She gulped her drink. Her face perfectly composed, she thumped her glass down.

"Viv! I'm a lot bigger than you are. You can't match me drink for drink."

"Try me."

He poured them both another shot. Vivian held her glass up. "An apology," she said quietly. "I've been a pain. You're a good guy."

"Why, thank you, darlin'," he answered in a distracted voice, watching as she swallowed her second shot of bourbon. He drank his, and it sprinted warmly through his veins. Jake blinked several times, rapidly. She looked at him with her head tilted to one side and a cocky expression on her face. Jake decided that his pride was at stake. "Is this a challenge?" he asked jauntily, his eyes tight on hers. In answer, one corner of her mouth crooked up, and she poured them another drink. They clicked the glasses together a little harder than before.

"Here's to finding out which one of us is the boss in this twosome," she told him with narrowed eyes.

"Ah-hah. I see where this is headin'." They sat there a minute, just staring at each other, then polished off another round. This time they set down their 74

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glasses in unison. Hers rattled as she let go it, and his eyes flew to her unsteady hand.

"You lose," he said huskily. "Enough of this."

"No!" She grabbed the Jack Daniels. With just as much stubbornness, he took the bottle away from her, capped it, and stood up. "Let's call it a draw." He turned on his heel, walked toward the kitchen slowly, his back straight and almost made it all the way out the double doors before he bumped into one of them.

"I win," she called.

"No way," he called back. "I meant to hit that door." When he returned, she had gone to stand in the deep shadows by a window. He saw her slumped shoulders and lowered head, and his heart twisted. He crossed the dimly lit room and took her arm.

"Would you come on over here and sit down?" he asked gently. "I've got things to say to you." With a grim look, she sidled over to the couch. She settled on one end of the flowery cushions and stared morosely into space.

He sat down within arm's reach.

"Look here, Viv, I want to tell you somethin'. But first, can I..." He nodded at her hands.

"Give me a manicure?" she supplied drily.

"Hold your hands."

She held them out. "On loan."

He wound his fingers between hers and squeezed gently.

"I just want to tell you that what you've done for those four 75

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people downstairs is the best, the kindest thing I've ever seen in my life."

"It's part of my job. I'm all about justice."

"I don't think it's that simple."

"It is, to me."

"You've got a heart the size of a harvest moon," he told her gruffly. Her eyes met his and clung. "I feel so humble when I look at all the good you do. I watched you last week in court and I thought, 'She really cares about people.' I need for you to care about
me
. I need you. I don't mean to come on too strong; I'm not trying to control you. I'm just a ... a bull in a china shop when it comes to small talk. I can't do it. I just ... I just say what I think. It's a country-boy curse." She smiled tentatively. "I'm trying to get used to it."

"I won't make another move without your absolute goahead. Nothing. Not even a wink. Not even a half-a-wink." He made a dramatic and comical show of almost-winking. Vivian gave a throaty laugh then slid close to him and put her arms around his neck. Jake suddenly found himself surrounded by the scent of her and then the taste of her as she pressed her mouth to his. Her hands slid down his chest, then around his back and down the flexed curve of his spine. Jake gasped into her mouth as her hands curved along the sides of his hips and the outsides of his thighs. Vivian made a ragged sound and quickly put her hands on his chest. She tipped her head back, her eyes half-closed and her face flushed. "If you push me too hard, I'll push back. Fair warning?"

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He looked at her breathlessly, wanting her so badly that his whole body ached. "Tell me what part you want pushed first."

"Surprise me."

His fingers trembled as he wound them into the scarf knotted at her throat. He pulled its bow undone. She kept her gaze on his eyes as his fingers slid down the center of her blouse, pressing lightly on the cool material until they indented it between her breasts.

Her chest swelled invitingly against his fingers. A shudder ran through him, and he pulled his hand away from her. He touched her cheek and looked pensively down into her vulnerable eyes.

Vivian pressed herself to him quickly and began undoing his shirt. Their legs tangled as she gave him a small push backward on the couch. Her hands slipped inside the worn material and caressed his chest with eager movements that tugged at the curly hair. Jake groaned and grabbed her wrists.

"I don't want to do it this way," he said raggedly. Vivian stiffened at the rebuke in his voice as it seeped through her hazy thoughts. "I don't understand." She tried to pull away, but he only held her tighter.

"Where are you going, girl?"Either I keep running away from you or I make you want to run from me. You're confusing me."

"Did I say I want to run from you?" he demanded gently.

"But you're drunk. I don't want you to wake up in the 77

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morning looking at me like I'm a hangover you want to forget."

She started to say something else, but her lips froze on the words. She swayed a little, blinking owlishly. "Are you for real?"

He leaned his forehead against hers. "So real I could kick myself for playin' fair."

"I'm not too drunk to make a decision about sex."

"You had to get drunk to kiss me."

"Not a bad way to jump-start things. I may be rusty, but I'm fast."

"Viv, that's the point. Let's make this special. I've had enough hook-ups and disappointments and reckless failures. So have you. Let's take it slow."

For an uncertain moment, he waited for her response.

"If my Pop were still alive," she said finally, her voice warm, "I think he'd invite you over for dinner, and he'd make his fancy spaghetti sauce for you. With extra olive oil He never invited
any
of my boyfriends over for his extra-olive-oil spaghetti."

"Good. I'd be honored to eat spaghetti your daddy made." He looked at her gently. "Think you're ready to let me share some of that
space
of yours?" he asked. A hint of a smile touched his mouth.

Vivian slowly put her head on his shoulder then settled into a comfortable position in his arms. Jake sighed. "We're a good pair, Viv," he whispered. "Like ham and grits."

"Like ham and spaghetti," she whispered back.

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78

Just a little Bit Guilty

by Deborah Smith

Vivian hurried around her condo, trying to make its eclectic clutter look neat. She was in the midst of rearranging the army of sauce pans that hung on brass hooks over her stove when the doorbell chimed.

"Dammit, Jake, you're on time!"

She shoved two saucepans into the white cabinet nearby and ran to the guest bath to peer at herself in the mirror.

"You better like this outfit," she muttered, smoothing her hands over her soft, gray sweater interwoven with glittering silver. "I don't twinkle for just
any
man." She wore loose, gray, brushed-denim trousers with the sweater, and gray leather flats. She preferred to think of all that gray as
pewter
, and considered it elegant.

"Well, it's about time," she began, swinging the door open.

"
Te presento la casa mia.
Welcome to my home for your first visit ... Jake?"

He stood awkwardly on the brick doorstep—she thought it was him, at least. It could have been a philodendron with long legs. Two huge plants in clay pots hid his handsome face and torso.

"I already made a salad," she quipped, taking one of the pots. He laughed, the sound so robust that it seemed to warm the icy air that swept in the open door around him. He stepped inside, juggled the remaining plant, and leaned toward her. After a moment's hesitation, she gave him a 79

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quick, soft kiss. Their plants intertwined. Vivian smiled as she untangled the philodendron tendrils.

"I asked Roberto what I could bring you, and he said you like plants," Jake explained.

Vivian nodded, then eyed the plants distractedly and Jake seriously as she took his coat. He did more for jeans and cotton work shirts than any other man on earth. "You're very thoughtful. Let's put them on my sun porch. Then I'll play Barefoot Contessa."

"Who?"

"She's a chef on the Food Network."

"With bare feet?"

She shut the door and guided him forward, one hand on his shoulder. "Nevermind."

He followed her through the living room to a glassed-in porch filled with white wicker furniture and colorful Indian rugs. And plants. Dozens of them. All kinds—hanging, drooping, standing, menacing the furniture, some of them plastered against the windows as if they wanted out. Jake stopped at the entrance and gazed at them in despair.

"Bringin' you more plants is like throwin' alligator eggs into a swamp," he moaned. "I should have got you somethin'

else."

"Oh, I love plants. Two more will be just terrific." She lowered his gift-plants into one of the last clear spots. "You boys behave there, now." Vivian squatted beside them and stroked their leaves. "Don't make any trouble, or I'll sic the cacti on you. I'll water you tomorrow, after you've settled in and relaxed."

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When she stood up, Jake was smiling at her so rapturously that she blushed. "What'sa matter?" she grumbled. "You're a farmer. Don't you believe in talking to plants?"