because it was this new open part of Brantley who was speaking and she had no idea if she could trust him—or herself.
“As much as you care about pumpkin pie?” She was proud of herself for the comeback. Two could play the evade and joke game.
He grinned and closed his eyes, like he was studying the question. “That’s a hard dilemma, Lucy. You see, pumpkin pie and I go back a long time.” He stepped toward her and put his arms around her. “But on the other hand—” And he kissed her, sweet and long, so sweet and long that she was afraid they were going to end up half naked on the oriental rug. She could see that they were moving quickly from half naked to full naked and she was beginning to be more and more all right with that.
But not yet. She pulled away. “I was proud of you today.”
The smile he gave her was not his usual practiced southern boy charm smile, but one of pure radiance. There must be real power in the word
“I was proud of you too,” he said.
Yes, power in the word. She felt the effect.
“We are going to do good work here,” he said. “Also, my grandmother is thrilled you are coming for Thanksgiving. She’s going to call your aunt.”
The mention of her agreement to that took Lucy to a place she didn’t want to go—but she had to. She began to worry a button on his shirt.
“Any chance I’m lucky enough that you’re going to undo that button?” he asked.
She smiled at him as best she could. “Maybe later. Brantley, I need to ask you something.”
“You can, but the answer is yes. You can unbutton that button and all the others.” He touched his nose to hers.
She pulled back. “I know being back in town, and especially working on this project, has had to bring up a lot of memories.”
That open part of him began to retreat a bit, and some of the more familiar mask came out.
“Have you ever spoken to anyone about what happened to your family? A professional?”
“No.” He smiled that old smile. “Really, Lucy. It’s been a long time.”
“There’s nothing wrong with needing a little help.”
The openness retreated completely and the mask snapped fully in place. “All I need is for Lucy Mead to laugh for me and let me come over and watch Monday Night Football tonight.” He tickled her neck with his tongue until she laughed. She knew when to let something go.
“I can’t,” she said. “I have to work with Annelle tonight. Black Friday is almost here and we are assembling the Christmas decorations in the storeroom. She won’t allow them to go up until after Thanksgiving. We have to have them ready to go, so we can fly in there at the crack of dawn Friday and have it all in place by the time we open.”
He groaned. “I never knew that woman was my enemy.”
“Tell you what. You watch football with Harris, Nathan, and Luke tonight. But right now, let’s go to the diner. I’ll buy you a piece of pumpkin pie.”
“A poor substitute,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “But a poor horny guy will take what he can get.”
And so would she.
Until he left town.
Or went back to Rita May.
Or simply changed his mind.
Chapter Fifteen
Brantley stepped in through the back door of Big Mama’s house to the sounds of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade blaring from the small television in the kitchen. Evelyn was paused, knife in midair, with her eyes trained on the screen. He had forgotten how Evelyn loved a parade—any parade. Especially the marching bands.
“Well, well, well,” he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I did not expect to see the woman who has ruined me for all other women this morning. I thought you were going to be with your family.”
“Humph,” Evelyn said and went back to peeling apples. “I just came by to get y’all started. I made my dressing, relishes, and my pecan and pumpkin pies yesterday. But apple pie needs to be baked the day of. And everybody knows you can’t peel potatoes in advance. Plus, I had to get my ham in the oven.”
Evelyn didn’t trust fried turkey and always baked a ham. Of course, there was the year they had gotten distracted and burned the bird up. Had Brantley been fifteen or sixteen? He couldn’t remember, nor could he remember what self-absorbed story he’d been regaling his father and grandfather with, but the ruined turkey had been his fault. Most things were.
“She’s here because she doesn’t trust us.” Big Mama breezed into the kitchen with some kind of silky looking long shirt flapping around her, and smelling expensive. “Good morning, darling.” She gave Brantley a one armed shoulder hug and cheek kiss. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
If she had any apprehension about the holiday, it didn’t show. Brantley got to his feet, and hugged her full on. “Happy Turkey Day to you too.”
Evelyn dried her hands, pulled a plate of bacon and eggs out of the warming oven, and set it in front of Brantley. “I want you to eat every bite of that,” she said. “I know you. You’re going to start drinking when you and Mr. Charles start frying that turkey. Doing it on an empty stomach will just make it worse.” Evelyn did not approve of “whiskey drinking” and as far as she was concerned, all alcohol was whiskey.
“Where are my Thanksgiving cinnamon rolls?” The words came out of his mouth before he realized he had forgotten the Thanksgiving tradition of Evelyn’s homemade sweet rolls. His stomach turned over. Papa had loved those rolls.
“Cinnamon rolls are ready and waiting.” Evelyn looked pleased that he had asked. “I want to get some protein in you before you carb up. And liquor up.” She went back to her apples.
“Evelyn has been watching Dr. Oz,” Big Mama explained as she refilled her coffee cup and Evelyn’s.
“What does Dr. Oz say about drinking a little red wine?” Brantley didn’t know the answer precisely, but he could make a good guess.
“Dr. Oz is a smart man but he can’t know everything. Just some things. You’d do well to listen at him. Quit running all over the place all the time, like you got no time. All we’ve got is time, till we don’t.” Evelyn piled the apples in the pie pan and put the crust on top.
“I’d do better to listen to you.” Brantley got up, rinsed his plate, and put it in the dishwasher.
“That too.” She covered the unbaked pie with plastic wrap and took off her apron. “Well, that’s it, I guess.” She looked around. “Miss Caroline, you sure you don’t want me to stay? I can.”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” Big Mama said. “I’ve got your instructions. I know just what to do.” She picked up a piece of paper from the table where Evelyn had written out a timetable for finishing the meal. “Lucy and Annelle will be here early to help.”
The sooner the better. Brantley didn’t like the idea of Big Mama being in here alone while he and Charles sat in lawn chairs in the driveway tending to the turkey.
Evelyn took a plate of cinnamon rolls out of the warming oven and set them on the table between Brantley and Miss Caroline. “Don’t do the dishes. Just put the food in the ice box and leave everything else. I want to get in that china cabinet and clean it good before I put them back up.” Evelyn had said that every holiday that Brantley could remember and probably before. Mama and Big Mama used to laugh about it and say she didn’t trust them with the good china and crystal. But they always obeyed her. “Did I write down that the congealed salad and extra iced tea are in the ice box in the garage?”
“Right here.” Big Mama showed her the list.
“All right. I’ll be at my granddaughter’s house. If you need anything, call me on that cell phone Brantley gave me for my birthday. Or send me a text.”
