The Secret to Hummingbird Cake (10 page)

Ella Rae laughed too loud and too long, the way she always did when she was drinking. But it was contagious, and Tommy and I laughed too.

“I did not ‘pee my pants,' as you so eloquently put it,” Laine said. “But you have to admit it. The man
is
good-looking.”

“He's all right,” I said. But my heart quickened when he looked our way. I turned hastily toward Tommy before Jack could meet my gaze and found myself staring at a face I didn't know.

“Is your name Carrigan?” he asked.

Wow. Don't light a match
, I thought. Pure grain alcohol breath. “Who wants to know?”

“I'm Garrett,” he said, “and I like what I see.”

When did we lurch back to the Neanderthals? “Is that right?” I kept my tone cordial but not friendly. “Well, Garrett, I'm flattered, but not interested.”

“Don't be like that, baby.” He leaned up against the tailgate. “I got a fine Harley over there that says you are interested. I'd love to take you for a ride.”

“Horrified of motorcycles,” I lied. “Sorry.”

“Not a pretty little spitfire like you.” He took a step closer. “I thought redheads liked an adventure.”

I took a step back. “Really,” I said, “I appreciate the offer, but I'm just not interested.”

“Come on.” He winked at me. “Just one little ride. Ladies like to ride on my . . . bike.” He cackled drunkenly at his unfunny joke. I could usually handle guys and their unwanted advances, but this fella was making me a little bit uncomfortable. I looked at Tommy, who'd already begun to assess the situation and was helping Ella Rae off his shoulders.

“Look, man,” Tommy said. “She already told you she ain't interested.”

“Who are you?” Garrett asked. “Her husband?”

Tommy put his hand on my shoulder. “What's it to you, bud?”

“Back off, man.” Garrett shoved Tommy's hand. It was clearly the wrong move. Tommy reached and grabbed him by the collar.

“We having a problem over here?” a voice said behind me. Without turning around, I knew it was Jack.

“No problem.” Garrett straightened his shirt as Tommy shoved him backward. “How you doin', Jack?”

“It's all good, Garrett.” Jack's voice was steady and even. “You been hitting the whiskey pretty hard tonight. Why don't you go on home?”

“Just trying to talk to the lady,” Garrett said. “Not looking for trouble.”

“Did the lady wanna talk to you?” Jack asked.

Garrett laughed. “I think she's playing hard to get.”

“Not likely,” Jack said. “She's pretty outspoken. Go on, Garrett. Get out of here.” He kept his tone light, but there was no doubt that Jack Whitfield III meant what he was saying.

I had been watching all this with a growing admiration, but things were about to take a sharp detour south.

Garrett turned on me, and his demeanor changed before my eyes. “She's a stuck-up tramp.” He turned to Jack. “And this is none of your business, rich boy.”

Jack put his hand on Garrett's shoulder. “You know, Garrett,” he said, “you are absolutely right. This is none of my business.” He walked back toward his truck.

What?
Was he serious? He was going to ride in like a knight on a white horse, then just leave me here with this drunk? Of all the cowardly moves I had ever seen, this one took the cake.

This
was what was wrong with Jack Whitfield III. He was all hat and no cattle. Well, at least, thank God, I finally knew he wasn't perfect. I was so infuriated I hardly noticed it when Whiskey Breath began talking to me again.

“Whatcha say, baby? How 'bout that ride?”

“Get away from me.” I flung Garrett's hand off my arm. My anger at Jack fueled my rage. I didn't care how this idiot reacted. I'd fight him myself.

I heard Ella Rae's laugh, then Tommy's whoop, then Laine's “Oh my!” about the same time I heard metal crunching
and glass breaking. I whipped around to see Jack's four-wheel drive pickup on top of Garrett's Harley Davidson. He'd driven over the top of it, and not just once. After the first time, he backed up and drove over it again, sufficiently crushing it.

Garrett was momentarily frozen, then broke into a run toward his demolished pile of metal. He was screaming obscenities I had never even heard before, and I was an athlete. In the midst of this melee, I remember thinking,
Do those words really go together?
The girls, Tommy, and I ran over with everybody else to see the mangled pile of what used to be a Harley, shattered beyond recognition. I was utterly stunned. If you hadn't known that twisted mound of metal had once been a motorcycle, you never could have identified it now. I slowly looked at Jack who had gotten out of his truck and was scratching his head.

He looked over at Greg Grimes, who ran the auto shop in town. “My clutch has been sticking for a week, Greg,” he said. “I guess I need to bring her in and let you take a look.”

Garrett unleashed another barrage of obscenities guaranteed to make a sailor blush and ran to his now warped motorcycle. “I will kill you for this!”

Jack leaned against his truck and smiled slightly. “Be careful, Garrett,” he said.

Garrett kicked at the remains of his bike, then took off in Jack's direction. “Let's go, me and you! Right here!”

Jack slowly began rolling up his sleeves. “I'm ready when you are.”

Garrett's buddy was dragging him back by the arm. “Hey, man,” he said, “I don't think this is a good idea!”

Garrett made a weak effort to throw his friend's arm off of him, but it was becoming pretty clear he didn't want to tangle with Jack. Half the men there had already moved behind Jack and were ready to defend him, including Tommy.

“Get out of here, Garrett,” Jack said.

Garrett got on the back of his friend's Harley, screaming over the roar of the engine. “This ain't over, man! I'm coming for you, Jack! It ain't over!”

“Send me the bill,” Jack said.

Garrett and his partner rode into the night with Garrett still screaming and cursing. I held my ears as the Harley roared out of sight.

Jack walked over to where I was standing while everyone else gathered around the pile of Harley. “Are you all right?” he asked.

I gazed up at him. “Mm-hmm,” I managed.

He smiled, the sweetest and most tender smile. I don't think I will ever forget it. He leaned a little closer. “Can I call you tomorrow?” Had Jack Whitfield just asked me if he could call me tomorrow?

“Uh . . . well. I . . .,” I stammered and caught a glimpse of Lexi Carter staring at us from beside Jack's truck with her hands on her hips. I may have been a lot of things, but I was no homewrecker. I looked back up at him. “Are you and Lexi still together?” I asked.

“Not for long,” he answered. “I've been waiting a long time for you to grow up, Carrigan. I don't think I can wait any longer.”

I must've been lost in the memory, because suddenly there Jack was on the porch, standing beside the swing. “You must be thinking about football,” he said. “It usually gives you that misty-eyed look.”

He was teasing me. That hadn't happened lately. I glanced up and smiled a little, but kept my feelings in check. “Hey,” I said. “I didn't hear you.”

“I came in on stealth,” he said. “Move over.” He sat down in the swing beside me.

I bit my lip. Dear Lord, he looked good, all sweaty and dirty and tan. I scooted back into the seat.

“So what were you dreaming of?”

I weighed the question and decided to pull the trigger. What difference did it make at this point? I might as well tell him the truth. “Actually, I was thinking about the first time you ever really talked to me.” I pointed toward the tree down by the driveway. “I was standing right down there.”

“I remember.” He grinned. “You had on white shorts, an LSU jersey, and a pair of running shoes.”

“You can remember what I was wearing?”

He shrugged. “It was a big day for me.”

“Really?” I asked. “How so?”

“It was the first time I talked to my future wife,” he said. “And I knew it then.”

His admission gave me the warm fuzzies, but it was pointless to let that sentence affect me. No sense in getting all
swoony about it. We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the sunset over the river. Then, out of nowhere, he turned to me. “I do love you, Carrigan.”

“What?”

He pulled me closer. “I said I love you. Come here, girl.” He wrapped his arm around me.

I reluctantly leaned back into the crook of his arm as we rocked gently in the swing. We sat there in silence for a little while before he spoke. “Carrigan,” he said, “I know things have been . . . strained between us. I know you need . . . an explanation.” He paused, and I guessed he was waiting for me to speak. When I didn't, he continued, “If I ask you to do something for me, will you?”

A torrent of emotions ran through my mind. So I clung to the one that had always served me best. Humor. “It doesn't involve whips, chains, or leather, does it?”

He chuckled. “No.”

“Okay,” I said, “I'm game.”

He held me closer to him. “Come out to the old barn tomorrow. I've got to do a few repairs on it, and I thought if you were gonna exercise Gilda anyway, you could ride out there. We'll talk. About everything.”

The decision was made in about two seconds. “Okay.” I had about a million questions, but I left them unspoken. I was afraid if I asked them, the mood would be broken and I'd never be able to get it back. Sometimes you just need to keep your mouth shut. And strangely enough, I did.

We sat in the swing in silence, his arms wrapped around
me. Honestly, I didn't know how to process any of this. I didn't know what Jack was thinking, what it meant, or how to proceed from here. But tonight I didn't want to worry about what-ifs or maybes or anything else that would cast a shadow over this night. I didn't want the battle that raged inside me between my pride and my love for this man to rear its ugly head again.

Maybe that made me as weak as all the women I made fun of. But I didn't care. Tonight I wanted to be Jack's wife again. I wanted to be seventeen and watch my knight in shining armor fight the bad guys and whisk me away on the back of a fiery steed. Being next to him felt good. It felt right.

It felt like coming home.

Later that night when we went to bed, for the first time in a long time, he held me close to him all night. No sex, no talking, just lying wrapped up in his arms the way we used to sleep before the indifference and distrust had somehow crept into our marriage. I fell into the most peaceful sleep I'd had in months. I didn't know then, but it was also the last peaceful sleep I would have for a long, long time.

The next morning I woke up and found a note on the pillow beside me. “Have one of the boys saddle Gilda and meet me as soon as you can. Jack.” I jumped in the shower and was ready to go in thirty minutes. I grabbed an apple from the kitchen and headed out the door with Mamie begging me to let her fix my breakfast.

“I'll probably be back before lunch,” I told her. “The apple will be fine.”

She cackled and shook her head. “I don't think you gonna make it back for lunch, Miss Carri.” I didn't ask her what she meant. I just flew out to the barn, had Chester saddle Gilda, and took off. The old barn was at least a mile and a half deep into the property, and I would first have to cross a soybean field, a creek, and a hayfield to get there. I rode across this gorgeous, well-managed land aware of how much I loved this place. Jack's place. And mine.

Jack had already been working for a while when I got there. He walked out of the barn, shirtless, in faded jeans and boots, all tanned and muscled and sweaty. There was a picnic basket under a cedar tree and a blanket next to it. No wonder Mamie didn't expect me for lunch. I'd be lucky to get back for Christmas.

Jack took the reins from me and I slid off Gilda into his arms. All those worries and questions that ran through my mind were suddenly gone. Just like that. Nothing mattered to me except this moment. Maybe some other day I'd drown myself in concerns about what he had or hadn't done, but today was mine. Ours.

Mamie had packed fried chicken and fruit for lunch. We never touched the food, but the blanket got a pretty good workout. Making love on a blanket in the July sun? Then again in the barn when a summer thunderstorm caught us unawares?

Last week I had wanted to claw his eyes out of his head, and today I would've given him my soul if he'd asked for it. My husband was back. The gentle, attentive lover. Whispering
tender words in my ear, making me feel like the only woman on earth. This was what I had missed. Not the sex, although it was as incredible as it had ever been. It was the intimacy. The closeness. The familiarity. God, how I had missed him.