Carnal Innocence

Though his face remained passive and friendly, Tucker's shield slid into place. 'What about?'

'He got juiced up again last night, had a pushy-shovy going over at McGreedy's. I put him up in a cell for the night.'

Now there was a change, a darkening of the eyes, a grimness around the mouth. 'You charge him with anything?'

'Come on, Tuck.' More hurt than offended, Burke shifted his feet. 'He was raising hell and too drunk to drive. I figured he could use a place to sleep it off. Last time I drove him home in the middle of the night, Miss Delia was spitting mad.'

'Yeah.' Tucker relaxed. There were friends, there was family, and there was Burke, who was a combination of both. 'Where's he now?'

'Over at the jail, nursing a hangover. I figured since you're here, you could haul him home. We can get his car back later on.'

'Much obliged.' His quiet words masked the raw disappointment in his gut. Dwayne had been on the wagon nearly two weeks this time. Once he'd fallen, Tucker knew, it would be a long, slippery climb back on. Tucker stood, pulling out his wallet. When the door slammed open behind him, rattling glasses on the back shelves, he glanced around. He saw Edda Lou Hatinger and knew he was in trouble.

'Belly-crawling bastard,' she spat out, and launched herself at him. If Burke hadn't retained the same reflexes that had made him a star receiver in high school, Tucker might have had his face sheared off.

'Hey, hey,' Burke said helplessly while Edda Lou fought like a bobcat.

'You think you can toss me off just like that?'

'Edda Lou.' From experience, Tucker kept his voice low and calm. 'Take a deep breath. You're going to hurt yourself.'

Her small teeth bared in a snarl. 'I'm going to hurt you, you fucking weasel.'

With reluctance, Burke slipped into his sheriff's mode. 'Girl, you pull yourself together or I'll have to take you over to the jail. Your daddy wouldn't be happy about that either.

She hissed through her teeth. 'I won't lay a hand on the sonofabitch.' When Burke's grip loosened, she slipped free, dusting herself off.

'If you want to talk about this-' Tucker began.

'We're going to talk about it, all right. Here and now.' She swung in a circle while customers either stared or pretended not to. Colorful plastic bracelets clicked on her arms. Perspiration gave a sheen to her face and neck. 'Y'all listen up, you hear? I got something to say to Mr. Bigshot Longstreet.'

'Edda Lou-' Tucker took a chance and touched her arm. She swung out backhanded and knocked his teeth together.

'No.' Wiping his mouth, he waved Burke away. 'Let her get it out.'

'I'll get it out, all right. You said you loved me.'

'I never did that.' That Tucker could be sure of. Even in the throes of passion he was careful with words. Especially in the throes of passion.

'You made me think you did,' she shouted at him. The powdery spray she was wearing was overwhelmed by the hot sweat of temper and combined in a sickly-sweet aroma that reminded Tucker of something freshly dead. 'You wheedled your way into bed with me. You said I was the woman you'd been waiting for. You said…' Tears began to mix with the sweat on her face, turning her mascara into wet clumps under her eyes. 'You said we were going to get married.'

'Oh no.' Tucker's temper, which he preferred not to have riled, began to stir. 'That was your idea, honey. And I told you flat out it wasn't going to happen.'

'What's a girl to think when you come whistling up, bringing flowers and buying fancy wine? You said you cared about me more than anybody else.'

'I did care.' And he had. He always did.

'You don't care about nothing or nobody, only Tucker Longstreet.' She pushed her face into his, spit flying. Seeing her like this, all the sweetness and flutters gone, he wondered how he could have cared. And he hated the fact that some of the boys who'd been lounging over their sodas were elbowing each other's ribs and chuckling.

'Then you're better off without me, aren't you?' He dropped two bills on the counter.

'You think you're going to get off that easy?' Her hand clamped like iron on his arm. He could feel her muscles quiver. 'You think you can toss me off like you did all the others?' She'd be damned if he would-not when she'd hinted marriage to all her girlfriends. Not when she'd gone all the way into Greenville to moon over the wedding gowns. She knew-she knew half the town would already be smirking about it. 'You've got an obligation to me. You made promises.'

'Name one.' His temper building, he pried a clutching hand from his arm.

'I'm pregnant.' It burst out of her on a flood of desperation. She had the satisfaction of hearing a mutter pass from booth to booth, and of watching Tucker pale.

'What did you say?'

Her lips curved then, in a hard, merciless smile. 'You heard me, Tuck. Now you'd better decide what you're going to do about it.'

Tossing up her head, she spun around and stormed out. Tucker waited for his stomach to slide back down from his throat.

'Oops,' Josie said, grinning broadly at the goggle-eyed diners. But her hand went down to take her brother's. 'Ten bucks says she's lying.'

Still reeling, Tucker stared at her. 'What?'

'I say she's no more pregnant than you are. Oldest female trick in the book, Tucker. Don't get your dick caught in it.'

He needed to think, and he wanted to be alone to do it. 'You get Dwayne over at the jail, will you? And pick up Delia's stuff.'

'Why don't we-'

But he was already walking out. Josie sighed, thinking the shit was going to hit the fan. He hadn't told her what Delia wanted.

Chapter Two

Dwayne Longstreet sat on the rock-iron bunk in one of the town's two jail cells and moaned like a wounded dog. The three aspirin he'd downed had yet to take effect, and the army of chain saws buzzing inside his head were getting mighty close to the brain.

He took his head out of his hands long enough to slurp down more of the coffee Burke had left him, then clamped it tight again, afraid it would fall off. Half hoping it would.

As always, during the first hour after waking from a toot, Dwayne despised himself. He hated knowing that he'd strolled, smiling, into the same ugly trap again.

Not the drinking. No, Dwayne liked drinking. He liked that first hot taste of whiskey when it hit the tongue, slid down the throat, settled into the belly like a long, slow kiss from a pretty woman. He liked the friendly rush that spread into his head after the second drink.

Hell, he fucking loved it.

He didn't even mind getting drunk. No, there was something to be said about that floating time after you'd knocked back five or six. When everything looked fine and funny. When you forgot your life had turned ugly on you-that you'd lost the wife and kids you'd never wanted much in the first place to some fucking shoe salesman, that you were stuck in a dusty pisshole of a town because there was no place else to go.

Yeah, he liked that floaty, forgetful time just fine. He didn't particularly care for what happened after that. When your hand kept reaching for the bottle without warning the rest of you what was coming. When you stopped tasting and kept on swallowing just because the whiskey was there and so were you.

He didn't like the fact that sometimes the drink turned him nasty, so he wanted to pick a fight, any fight. God