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Synopsis
Molly Cannon's debut, Ain't Misbehaving, has been hailed as "sweet, sassy, and oh, my yes - sexy!" by New York Times best-selling author Mariah Stewart. Thanks to her no-good ex-husband, Marla Jean Bandy is single and looking for some fun - and she doesn't much care who it's with. But Jake, Marla's childhood crush, cares too much to let her make those kinds of mistakes. Jake tries to keep Marla out of trouble until she comes to her senses, but their time together makes Jake wonder if he's been missing out on something special all these years.
Release date: June 26, 2012
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 384
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Ain't Misbehaving
Molly Cannon
Stop it, Donny Joe.”
“Come on, Marla Jean. I thought you wanted to.”
An hour earlier she would have agreed with him. An hour earlier she wiggled into her tight red dress, tugged on her favorite cowboy boots, and headed out to the local watering hole sure of exactly what she wanted. An hour earlier she’d left her house with every intention of finding a willing man and having her way with him.
Lately she’d felt dried up, dustier than a ghost town in an old Western movie. The swinging saloon doors of her nether portal were rusted shut from lack of use. In other words, Miss Kitty hadn’t seen any action in a long, long time.
And now, because she’d decided to rectify the situation, she, Marla Jean Bandy, found herself sitting in the front seat of a Ford pick-up truck with Donny Joe Ledbetter’s hand stuck halfway up her skirt.
But it didn’t feel right somehow, and that really pissed her off.
Sex had always been something she’d embraced enthusiastically right up until the moment her husband dumped her for another woman. If he’d dumped her for some young bimbo, it would have been embarrassing and humiliating. She would have been mad, outraged even, but no—Bradley left her for Libby Comstock, the fifty-four-year-old, never-been-married librarian who drove the Bookmobile. She’d started to wonder why he ran out the door like a kid who’d just heard the ice cream truck whenever it turned the corner onto their street. But she’d always told him he should read more, and this was the one time in their six-year marriage he decided to listen to her.
Libby seduced him with the Russian classics, challenging him to stretch his mind and feed his soul. He tackled Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Brodsky, Pushkin, and eventually he tackled Ms. Comstock, too. The fact that he’d left her for someone twenty years older, frumpier, smarter, and fluent in five languages was something she’d never forgive him for.
But back to Donny Joe. He was a stud. A big fish in a small pond. A lover of all things female, and his ability to make the earth move was heralded far and wide by most every woman in and around Everson, Texas.
So when she decided it was time to get back on the horse, he was the natural choice for her to throw a rope around. He would have no problem with a quickie in the front seat of his truck. A quickie, and then they’d never speak of it again. No complications, no angst, no wounded emotional fallout. So why was she getting cold feet? This was the ideal setup, the perfect no-attachment sex she’d been looking for.
She sighed, a petulant, frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry, Donny Joe, but I think I’ve changed my mind.”
“You’re just a little skittish, sugar. We’ll take it slow. Why don’t we go back inside and slide around the dance floor a few times while I coax you back into the right mood?”
He was placing little nibbles on her neck while he whispered his encouragement. His hand took up a neutral position at the edge of her dress, not moving up, but not giving up all the territory he’d gained, either. She tried closing her eyes, tried to let herself be coaxed, but it wasn’t working. She was about to agree to a few dances just to ease her way out of an uncomfortable situation when the door on her side of the truck flew open so abruptly that if Donny Joe hadn’t had a good grip on her she would’ve fallen out on her head.
A dark silhouette loomed at her side, and a deep voice commanded, “Take your hands off her, Donny Joe.”
If her life followed any kind of normal, predictable pattern, she would have turned to confront her ex-husband, maybe, or her overprotective big brother, but that was not the case. Abel Jacobson—known by everyone around town as Jake—stood just inside the open door, filling up the space with his broad shoulders, glowering like some avenging angel in a cowboy hat. He reached inside and grabbed her arm. “Come on, Marla Jean, get out of the truck.”
Donny Joe tightened his grip around her waist. “Get your own woman, Jake.”
“That’s what I’m doing, Donny Joe.”
They were pulling her in two different directions, fighting over her like a prize piece of salt water taffy. She managed to squirm away from Donny Joe, and then shoved at the hard, stubborn wall of muscle that made up Jake’s chest until she could slide past him and get out of the truck. “I’m not anyone’s woman. What’s wrong with you two?”
Her too-tight skirt had ridden halfway up her ass, and she struggled to pull it back down to a level that wouldn’t get her arrested for indecent exposure. She was fuming while they watched. Donny Joe had a cocky grin on his face, and Jake stood with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring like he wanted to put her over his knee and spank her.
That thought sprang into her head from out of nowhere, accompanied by a vivid image of Jake’s big, wide hand on her bare bottom. The restless itch that had driven her out of her house dressed like a hoochie mama—only to desert her before she could find the nerve to scratch it—was suddenly back, stronger than ever. She gave her skirt another tug and glared back at him. If anyone could scratch her itch, it was Jake. But she wanted simple and uncomplicated, and there was nothing simple or uncomplicated about Abel Jacobson.
Donny Joe climbed out of his truck and ambled her way. “I’ll be inside Lu Lu’s if you change your mind, sugar.”
“She won’t,” Jake called after him pleasantly as he watched Donny Joe head back inside the bar. And then before she could blast him for his caveman act, he rounded on her. “Donny Joe? What the hell were you thinking, Marla Jean?”
“I was thinking I might get lucky, not that it’s any of your business, Abel Jacobson.” She stuck her nose in the air, and stomped off toward the bar.
“You’ve never had the sense God gave a goose when it comes to men,” he muttered as he followed her across the parking lot.
“Excuse me?” She rounded on him this time, not believing the nerve of the man. “When’s the last time you dated a woman who had an IQ higher than her bra size?”
“Why, Marla, I didn’t think you cared.”
“I don’t give two figs about your love life, but I’d love to know what brought on this sudden interest in mine.”
She was still scowling at him, but she was also more than a little curious about his answer. Growing up, Jake had been her older brother Lincoln’s best friend, but as adults she rarely spoke to him. Of course they exchanged greetings whenever they ran across each other in town, but asking “Hey, how are you?” just to be polite was a long way from dragging her out of another man’s truck as if he had every right to do it.
He kicked at a piece of gravel with the toe of his boot. “I got a call from Linc before he left town. He said you hadn’t sounded like yourself lately, and he was worried. I said I’d keep an eye on you.”
“I don’t need watching. And Linc can keep his opinions and his concern to himself.”
“Aw, give him a break, Marla. He’s been worried since Bradley…” His words trailed off like he wanted to spare her from the awful truth.
“You mean since Bradley dumped me? We’ve been separated for a year, and the divorce has been final for six months. I’m not going to fall apart at the mention of his name.”
“Bradley’s an idiot.”
“Finally, something we can agree on, but I’m a big girl, and I don’t need a keeper.” She started walking away, feeling put out all over again.
“Where are you going, Marla Jean?”
“I’m going back inside. I’m going to dance with any man who asks me, and I’m going to have a good time. If that’s not okay with you and my big brother, then y’all can both kiss my rosy, pink butt.”
The smell of stale beer and the sound of country music poured out of the bar as she jerked the door open and stalked inside. She pushed her way through the crowd, but Jake stayed right on her heels. Stopping abruptly, she turned around to face him. “For the love of Pete, what is it now?”
He tipped up the brim of his hat and asked with a lazy smile, “How ’bout a dance, Marla Jean?”
Jake kept his smile in place as he watched Marla’s eyes first widen, and then narrow at his invitation. Without warning, she grabbed his arm and hauled him out onto the dance floor—not exactly the reaction he’d expected.
“Okay Jake, let’s dance. I’ll talk. You just move your feet and listen.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She wouldn’t get an argument from him. He pulled her into his arms, and they started two-stepping around the floor. She smiled at everyone like she was having the grandest of times, but Jake wasn’t fooled. The tight set of her jaw and the scary vein throbbing in her forehead gave her away.
It certainly wasn’t any of his business if Marla Jean Bandy wanted to make out with every cowboy in the place. While they were growing up, she’d been a pesky pain in the backside, always trying to tag along with him and her older brother. Since Linc had been his best friend, Jake had become an honorary big brother by default, teasing her, tolerating her when she was underfoot, and now and then, helping her out of the occasional scrape.
But that was a long time ago. They’d both grown up—gone their separate ways. She’d even gotten married. If it hadn’t been for Linc’s call he certainly wouldn’t have been sticking his nose into her affairs now.
But still, Donny Joe Ledbetter? Maybe Lincoln had good reason to worry.
And Marla Jean. If he was any judge of riled-up women, and he’d seen a few in his time, Marla Jean was mad. Mad enough to spit. But that was okay. She could be mad all she wanted. He wasn’t going to let Lincoln down.
“First of all, Jake—”
“Wait a minute, Marla Jean—let me talk first. I want to apologize.”
She looked a lot surprised and a tad mollified. “I should think so.” They made a half circle around the floor before she tilted her head back and said, “Well, I’m waiting.”
“For what?” he asked while leading her into an underarm turn.
“Your apology?” she reminded him as she followed him in a walk-around step.
“Oh, right. I shouldn’t have said you were dumber than a goose.” He winked and executed a little spin.
“That’s what you’re sorry for?”
“Yeah, that was out of line.”
“And that’s it? If you think—”
“Hold your horses, Marla Jean, I’m not done.”
“By all means, continue.”
He grew serious. “I apologize for mentioning Bradley.”
She ducked her head and studied the feet of the nearby dancers. “I told you not to worry about that.”
“I know, but since he left you for my Aunt Libby, I feel somehow responsible.” Jake never cared for Bradley Bandy. He certainly didn’t deserve a woman like Marla Jean, and now this thing with his aunt had everyone in an uproar. His Aunt Libby, on the other hand, was acting like a cat who’d just discovered heavy cream. It was kind of sweet, in a creepy sort of way. But Marla Jean didn’t deserve the pain those two had caused her.
“Jake, whatever went wrong for me and Bradley started a long time before he took up story hour with your aunt.”
“Humph,” he grunted. “My mother’s ready to disown her—says she’s disgraced the family.”
“Can we not talk about Bradley? I came out to have a good time tonight. I’ve had it up to here with sitting at home feeling sorry for myself, so I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“I noticed.”
“And if folks around here don’t like it they can—“
“I know. They can kiss your rosy, pink butt.”
“Exactly.”
“But Donny Joe?”
“Don’t start, Jake.”
“Donny Joe is exactly the kind of thing Linc was worried about.” He twirled her around and dipped her as the song came to an end. When he pulled her back upright, she stumbled against his chest. His arms tightened momentarily, and he stared down into her flashing brown eyes.
Pushing him away, she said, “Look, Jake. Leave it alone. I’ll talk to Linc and put his mind at ease. You’re off the hook. Okay?”
He knew when it was time to beat a tactical retreat. “All right, I’ve done my duty for the night.” He held up both hands and took a step back.
“Thank you. And when I talk to Linc, I’ll tell him you went above and beyond.”
“Well, thanks for the dance.” He moved back another step, somehow reluctant to walk away, but Harry Beal marched over and inserted himself between the two of them. Back in school, Harry had been in the same grade with Marla Jean and had grown up to be the high school football coach.
“Hey, Jake. How’s it going?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Marla. “Can I have the next dance, Marla Jean?”
Marla smiled at Harry like he’d invented butter. “Sure thing, Harry. Later, Jake.”
Before he could say “alligator,” the two of them waltzed away, leaving him alone in the middle of the dance floor. Jake wandered over to the nearest barstool and sat down. He ordered a beer and swiveled around until he faced the crowd of dancing couples. Marla was laughing at something Harry said—her head thrown back—her dark, curly hair cascading down her back.
Christ A’mighty. That dress.
It was short and tight and nothing but trouble.
In the best of circumstances Marla Jean Bandy, being newly divorced and out on the town, was enough to make most red-blooded men sit up and take notice. Especially in a small town like Everson where available women were few and far between. But Marla Jean Bandy poured into that skimpy getup was like waving a red flag in front of every horny bastard in the joint. No wonder Linc was worried. Telling himself he owed it to Linc to keep an eye on her, he took a long draw on his beer and settled his elbows on the bar behind him. It promised to be a real long night.
Marla tried to pay attention to Harry and ignore the disturbing fact that Abel Jacobson, of all people, was parked on a bar stool across the way watching her. Harry wasn’t much of a dancer, mainly shuffling his feet from side to side, but she made an effort to listen as he rambled on about the football team. “I hate to admit it,” she said, “but I haven’t been to a game this year, Coach.”
“You oughta come this Friday, Marla Jean. If we beat Crossville, we’ll make it to play-offs.”
That was no secret. The whole town was buzzing about the upcoming game. In Everson, like almost every other town in Texas, Friday night during the fall was football night. While they were married, she and Bradley had never missed a game. But that was then. These days she spent Friday nights alone at home watching her mom’s old JAG DVDs and painting her toenails. But tonight was supposed to be about taking control of her life back, so she smiled and said, “You’re absolutely right, Harry. I’ll be there with bells on.”
“Great! Maybe after the game we could grab some pizza?”
She wasn’t really ready to start dating. At least not nice guys like Harry Beal. She’d known him since junior high. They’d been in the same homeroom from seventh grade on, and he had always been sweet and shy until you got him on the football field. Then he turned into a monster. Harry had gone on to play college ball and even had one season in the NFL before a knee injury ended his pro career. After that he moved back to town and no one was surprised when he’d been hired as Everson High’s head coach as soon as there was an opening.
But the idea of getting involved with someone she could come to care for scared the blue dickens out of her. Everyone in town would be at the pizza place after the game though, so it wouldn’t really count as a date. “Sounds like fun. We can celebrate your victory with pepperoni and extra cheese.”
He grinned like he’d landed a three-foot bass. When the music stopped, she thanked him for the dance, but before she could make it back to her table Greg Tucker asked if he could have the honor.
After that she danced with Johnny Dean, Fergus Barnes, and Tommy Lee Stewart. They flirted, and she flirted back. No big deal. A bunch of small town wannabe Romeos checking out the lay of the land. She was smart enough to know her sudden popularity was born of a burning curiosity about her divorce. They all asked basically the same thing, “How ya holding up, darlin’?” and let her know with a wink and a sashay around the dance floor, they’d be more than happy to help her out if she needed anything at all.
She smiled, said “thanks,” and kept on dancing.
That is until she saw Donny Joe headed her way, and she made a beeline for the ladies’ room. She wasn’t ready to go another round with him, or for that matter, to be reminded of her miserable attempt at playing the loose woman.
She splashed cool water on her flushed face and used her fingers to fluff up her hair. Smiling at her reflection, she realized that despite everything, she was having fun—even if she hadn’t managed to get laid.
Even before Jake’s interference she’d known she couldn’t go through with her plan. Damn it all. It had sounded so simple in theory, but in practice she’d run smack dab into reality. For her, sex was tied up with love, and love wasn’t something she was likely to find at Lu Lu’s on a Saturday night. Not that she was looking. “Love” was a dirty word as far as she was concerned. So while on one hand, she was right back where she’d started—all alone and frustrated—on the other hand, she’d had a blast dancing her fanny off with every man in the joint, and now she had plans that included football and pizza next Friday night. All in all, it hadn’t been a complete waste of time.
Wandering back out into the bar, she decided she was ready to call it a night. Jake still lounged on his barstool, but now Wanda Lee Mabry sat by him on one side and Rhoda Foster sat on the other. Both women seemed to be vying for his attention, making it much easier for her to slip out unnoticed.
Walking over to the corner table she’d claimed earlier in the evening, she searched the area for her purse. It wasn’t on the table, and it wasn’t on the floor, and if somebody was dumb enough to steal it they wouldn’t have gotten anything but her driver’s license, a twenty-dollar bill, a tube of Ripe Cherry Red lipstick, a just-in-case condom, and her car keys. At the moment, all she cared about were her car keys.
Then it dawned on her. She remembered touching up her lipstick right before she’d gone outside with Donny Joe and having her purse when she got in his truck. Dag-nab-it, she’d bet all the beans in Boston she’d left it on the floorboard of his pick-up. Jake’s high-handed meddling had ticked her off so much she hadn’t given her purse a second thought when she’d scrambled out of that truck. She looked around the room for Donny Joe but didn’t see him. The dance floor was still packed with people, so she stood on her tiptoes to see if she could see his head above the crowd.
Lana and Warren Sanders danced by. “Hey, Marla Jean,” they said in unison.
“Hey guys. Have y’all seen Donny Joe?”
“Donny Joe Ledbetter?” Lana asked, not hiding her surprise. “Not lately. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Thanks, anyway.” She moved on around the room asking if anybody had seen him, but she finally gave up and walked over to the far end of the bar, the end farthest away from where Jake still sat surrounded by women. The bartender spotted her and moved down to her end.
“What’ll it be, Marla Jean?” An older man with gray hair pulled back in a ponytail and an eye patch over one eye, Mike Benson was as much a part of Lu Lu’s as the gravel parking lot and the odor of stale beer.
“Mike, have you seen Donny Joe? I know he was here a minute ago.”
He picked up a bar towel and started polishing glasses. “Yeah, he was dancing with Irene Cornwell, and I saw them leave together.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A few minutes, maybe.”
“Damn it, I’ve got to catch him.” Hitching up her skirt she took off toward the front door. She burst outside, skidding to a stop on the gravel, and scanned the parking lot for his truck. If she was lucky Donny Joe and Irene would just be going at it like squirrels in his front seat. It wouldn’t even bother her to catch them in flagrante delicto. She’d ask them to forgive the intrusion, grab her purse, and tell them to carry on. They probably wouldn’t even notice.
She hurried toward the place where he’d been parked earlier, but she could see before she got there the spot was empty. Son of a bitch. She couldn’t believe this. The sound of a racing engine caught her attention, and she spotted his truck at the far exit getting ready to pull out onto the highway.
“Wait, Donny Joe, come back,” she yelled, waving her arms about wildly. Hitching her skirt even higher, she took off at a sprint. If she could just get his attention it would save her a world of trouble in the long run. “Donny Joe, hey, Donny Joe, don’t leave yet,” she hollered at the top of her lungs, but it was no use. She stumbled to a stop and watched his red taillights recede into the dark night. “Crap, horse feathers, and double doo-doo.” Cursing her luck and panting, she stood bent over with her hands braced on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
“For God’s sake, Marla Jean, don’t chase after the guy. Have some pride.”
She whirled around at the sound of Jake’s voice. He’d followed her out of the bar, obviously, and now he thought she’d lost her mind.
“You!” She pointed a finger and started marching toward him. A smart man would have shown some concern, but he stood his ground until her finger was poking him in the chest. “This is all your fault, mister.”
“My fault?” The idea seemed to amuse him.
“Entirely, altogether, and completely your fault.” She crossed her arms and stomped her foot like a bratty kid.
He moved closer and leaned down until they were nose to nose. “You should be down on your knees thanking me, missy. I kept you from making a God-awful mistake with Donny Joe earlier this evening. And now this? You go racing across the parking lot screaming like a banshee when he’s got another woman in the truck with him? Come on, Marla Jean. You’re obviously not yourself.”
For the second time that night she marched across the parking lot with Jake hot on her heels. “At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll make all the God-awful mistakes I want. And what I am, you big dolt, is stuck.”
“Hold up, Marla Jean—”
“I was chasing after Donny Joe, because thanks to you,” she turned to glare at him for emphasis, “I left my purse and my car keys in his truck. If I don’t seem properly grateful, you can bite me.”
“Does that offer involve your rosy, pink butt?”
She marched on, trying for the umpteenth time that evening to yank her skirt back down where it belonged. “Go to hell.”
“Before or after I offer you a ride home?” He stopped by his little yellow Porsche Boxster. “Hop in.”
“Yeah, right. I’ll go ask Harry Beal for a ride.”
“That should make his night. He’ll think he’s hit the jackpot.”
She hesitated. She didn’t want to give Harry the wrong impression. “I’ll call a cab.”
“That’d be a waste of good money, if you had any on you. Just get in the car.”
She stopped and let out a strangled groan. “Maybe I’ll walk. It’s not that far.”
“Were you always this stubborn? Let me explain something to you, Marla Jean. I don’t care if you call a cab, hitchhike, or crawl on your hands and knees—but I’ll be driving right behind you, no matter what.”
“Now who’s being stubborn?”
He shrugged. “I’m not about to tell Linc that because of me, you walked home from Lu Lu’s at eleven-thirty at night.”
“Linc’s got you on a pretty short leash, doesn’t he?”
“I owe Linc a lot, and he never asks for much, so for everyone’s sake, please get in the car.”
She sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that evening, a world-weary, put-upon sigh, and then stalked over to the car. He opened the door for her and didn’t even try to pretend that he wasn’t looking at her legs when her skirt rode back up to mid-thigh. She was going to go home and burn the stupid dress in the fireplace. After closing her door, Jake loped around the car, and she watched while he managed to fold his big frame into the compact driver’s seat. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a bigger car?”
“This isn’t a car. She’s a beloved member of the family, and she handles like a woman in love.” He started the engine and turned to face her. “Marla Jean, meet Lucinda.”
“You name your cars?”
“Don’t you?” He backed out of the space and headed for the nearest exit.
“Of course not. Well, I did have that clunker in high school we called ‘Buck’—for bucket of bolts—but these days I try not to get personally involved with my vehicles.”
“Hmm.” He looked at her as if her answer gave him some important insight into her character before returning his attention to the road.
After the divorce she’d moved into her parents’ old house on Sunnyvale Street. They’d retired a few years back and moved to Padre Island. After that, her brother Lincoln lived there until his recent marriage, and then he moved into his bride’s place since it was newer and bigger.
The last thing Marla wanted to do was stay in the house she’d shared with Bradley, and her folks’ house was empty, so it seemed like the perfect solution until she could find a place of her own. Sometimes, though, moving back to the house she’d grown up in made her feel like she’d failed her first attempt at being an adult.
It was a short drive home, and since Jake grew up on the same street, he knew the way without being told. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the man sitting by her side. Even when they were kids, he’d always been able to throw her off balance with a look or a word. Apparently, that hadn’t changed.
He pulled into her driveway, and she let him walk her to the door. She figured he’d insist anyway, and she was too tired to argue. On the way up the walkway, she remembered her keys, and the fact that they were spending the night in the floorboard of Donny Joe’s truck. Jake seemed to realize the problem at the same time. Without missing a beat, he reached into the third hanging basket from the left and pulled out the spare key—the same place the spare key had been hidden the entire time they’d been growing up.
“It’s nice to know some things never change.” He unlocked the front door and pushed it open. “If you need any help picking up your car tomorrow, let me know.”
“Thanks, but I’ll manage.” It suddenly felt so familiar to be standing in the dark talking with him on the front porch. He was bigger and taller now, but he was still Jake. “Good night, Jake.”
“Good night, Marla Jean.” He reached for her hand and pressed the spare key into her palm. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
She pulled her hand out of his and resisted the urge to s. . .
“Come on, Marla Jean. I thought you wanted to.”
An hour earlier she would have agreed with him. An hour earlier she wiggled into her tight red dress, tugged on her favorite cowboy boots, and headed out to the local watering hole sure of exactly what she wanted. An hour earlier she’d left her house with every intention of finding a willing man and having her way with him.
Lately she’d felt dried up, dustier than a ghost town in an old Western movie. The swinging saloon doors of her nether portal were rusted shut from lack of use. In other words, Miss Kitty hadn’t seen any action in a long, long time.
And now, because she’d decided to rectify the situation, she, Marla Jean Bandy, found herself sitting in the front seat of a Ford pick-up truck with Donny Joe Ledbetter’s hand stuck halfway up her skirt.
But it didn’t feel right somehow, and that really pissed her off.
Sex had always been something she’d embraced enthusiastically right up until the moment her husband dumped her for another woman. If he’d dumped her for some young bimbo, it would have been embarrassing and humiliating. She would have been mad, outraged even, but no—Bradley left her for Libby Comstock, the fifty-four-year-old, never-been-married librarian who drove the Bookmobile. She’d started to wonder why he ran out the door like a kid who’d just heard the ice cream truck whenever it turned the corner onto their street. But she’d always told him he should read more, and this was the one time in their six-year marriage he decided to listen to her.
Libby seduced him with the Russian classics, challenging him to stretch his mind and feed his soul. He tackled Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Brodsky, Pushkin, and eventually he tackled Ms. Comstock, too. The fact that he’d left her for someone twenty years older, frumpier, smarter, and fluent in five languages was something she’d never forgive him for.
But back to Donny Joe. He was a stud. A big fish in a small pond. A lover of all things female, and his ability to make the earth move was heralded far and wide by most every woman in and around Everson, Texas.
So when she decided it was time to get back on the horse, he was the natural choice for her to throw a rope around. He would have no problem with a quickie in the front seat of his truck. A quickie, and then they’d never speak of it again. No complications, no angst, no wounded emotional fallout. So why was she getting cold feet? This was the ideal setup, the perfect no-attachment sex she’d been looking for.
She sighed, a petulant, frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry, Donny Joe, but I think I’ve changed my mind.”
“You’re just a little skittish, sugar. We’ll take it slow. Why don’t we go back inside and slide around the dance floor a few times while I coax you back into the right mood?”
He was placing little nibbles on her neck while he whispered his encouragement. His hand took up a neutral position at the edge of her dress, not moving up, but not giving up all the territory he’d gained, either. She tried closing her eyes, tried to let herself be coaxed, but it wasn’t working. She was about to agree to a few dances just to ease her way out of an uncomfortable situation when the door on her side of the truck flew open so abruptly that if Donny Joe hadn’t had a good grip on her she would’ve fallen out on her head.
A dark silhouette loomed at her side, and a deep voice commanded, “Take your hands off her, Donny Joe.”
If her life followed any kind of normal, predictable pattern, she would have turned to confront her ex-husband, maybe, or her overprotective big brother, but that was not the case. Abel Jacobson—known by everyone around town as Jake—stood just inside the open door, filling up the space with his broad shoulders, glowering like some avenging angel in a cowboy hat. He reached inside and grabbed her arm. “Come on, Marla Jean, get out of the truck.”
Donny Joe tightened his grip around her waist. “Get your own woman, Jake.”
“That’s what I’m doing, Donny Joe.”
They were pulling her in two different directions, fighting over her like a prize piece of salt water taffy. She managed to squirm away from Donny Joe, and then shoved at the hard, stubborn wall of muscle that made up Jake’s chest until she could slide past him and get out of the truck. “I’m not anyone’s woman. What’s wrong with you two?”
Her too-tight skirt had ridden halfway up her ass, and she struggled to pull it back down to a level that wouldn’t get her arrested for indecent exposure. She was fuming while they watched. Donny Joe had a cocky grin on his face, and Jake stood with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring like he wanted to put her over his knee and spank her.
That thought sprang into her head from out of nowhere, accompanied by a vivid image of Jake’s big, wide hand on her bare bottom. The restless itch that had driven her out of her house dressed like a hoochie mama—only to desert her before she could find the nerve to scratch it—was suddenly back, stronger than ever. She gave her skirt another tug and glared back at him. If anyone could scratch her itch, it was Jake. But she wanted simple and uncomplicated, and there was nothing simple or uncomplicated about Abel Jacobson.
Donny Joe climbed out of his truck and ambled her way. “I’ll be inside Lu Lu’s if you change your mind, sugar.”
“She won’t,” Jake called after him pleasantly as he watched Donny Joe head back inside the bar. And then before she could blast him for his caveman act, he rounded on her. “Donny Joe? What the hell were you thinking, Marla Jean?”
“I was thinking I might get lucky, not that it’s any of your business, Abel Jacobson.” She stuck her nose in the air, and stomped off toward the bar.
“You’ve never had the sense God gave a goose when it comes to men,” he muttered as he followed her across the parking lot.
“Excuse me?” She rounded on him this time, not believing the nerve of the man. “When’s the last time you dated a woman who had an IQ higher than her bra size?”
“Why, Marla, I didn’t think you cared.”
“I don’t give two figs about your love life, but I’d love to know what brought on this sudden interest in mine.”
She was still scowling at him, but she was also more than a little curious about his answer. Growing up, Jake had been her older brother Lincoln’s best friend, but as adults she rarely spoke to him. Of course they exchanged greetings whenever they ran across each other in town, but asking “Hey, how are you?” just to be polite was a long way from dragging her out of another man’s truck as if he had every right to do it.
He kicked at a piece of gravel with the toe of his boot. “I got a call from Linc before he left town. He said you hadn’t sounded like yourself lately, and he was worried. I said I’d keep an eye on you.”
“I don’t need watching. And Linc can keep his opinions and his concern to himself.”
“Aw, give him a break, Marla. He’s been worried since Bradley…” His words trailed off like he wanted to spare her from the awful truth.
“You mean since Bradley dumped me? We’ve been separated for a year, and the divorce has been final for six months. I’m not going to fall apart at the mention of his name.”
“Bradley’s an idiot.”
“Finally, something we can agree on, but I’m a big girl, and I don’t need a keeper.” She started walking away, feeling put out all over again.
“Where are you going, Marla Jean?”
“I’m going back inside. I’m going to dance with any man who asks me, and I’m going to have a good time. If that’s not okay with you and my big brother, then y’all can both kiss my rosy, pink butt.”
The smell of stale beer and the sound of country music poured out of the bar as she jerked the door open and stalked inside. She pushed her way through the crowd, but Jake stayed right on her heels. Stopping abruptly, she turned around to face him. “For the love of Pete, what is it now?”
He tipped up the brim of his hat and asked with a lazy smile, “How ’bout a dance, Marla Jean?”
Jake kept his smile in place as he watched Marla’s eyes first widen, and then narrow at his invitation. Without warning, she grabbed his arm and hauled him out onto the dance floor—not exactly the reaction he’d expected.
“Okay Jake, let’s dance. I’ll talk. You just move your feet and listen.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She wouldn’t get an argument from him. He pulled her into his arms, and they started two-stepping around the floor. She smiled at everyone like she was having the grandest of times, but Jake wasn’t fooled. The tight set of her jaw and the scary vein throbbing in her forehead gave her away.
It certainly wasn’t any of his business if Marla Jean Bandy wanted to make out with every cowboy in the place. While they were growing up, she’d been a pesky pain in the backside, always trying to tag along with him and her older brother. Since Linc had been his best friend, Jake had become an honorary big brother by default, teasing her, tolerating her when she was underfoot, and now and then, helping her out of the occasional scrape.
But that was a long time ago. They’d both grown up—gone their separate ways. She’d even gotten married. If it hadn’t been for Linc’s call he certainly wouldn’t have been sticking his nose into her affairs now.
But still, Donny Joe Ledbetter? Maybe Lincoln had good reason to worry.
And Marla Jean. If he was any judge of riled-up women, and he’d seen a few in his time, Marla Jean was mad. Mad enough to spit. But that was okay. She could be mad all she wanted. He wasn’t going to let Lincoln down.
“First of all, Jake—”
“Wait a minute, Marla Jean—let me talk first. I want to apologize.”
She looked a lot surprised and a tad mollified. “I should think so.” They made a half circle around the floor before she tilted her head back and said, “Well, I’m waiting.”
“For what?” he asked while leading her into an underarm turn.
“Your apology?” she reminded him as she followed him in a walk-around step.
“Oh, right. I shouldn’t have said you were dumber than a goose.” He winked and executed a little spin.
“That’s what you’re sorry for?”
“Yeah, that was out of line.”
“And that’s it? If you think—”
“Hold your horses, Marla Jean, I’m not done.”
“By all means, continue.”
He grew serious. “I apologize for mentioning Bradley.”
She ducked her head and studied the feet of the nearby dancers. “I told you not to worry about that.”
“I know, but since he left you for my Aunt Libby, I feel somehow responsible.” Jake never cared for Bradley Bandy. He certainly didn’t deserve a woman like Marla Jean, and now this thing with his aunt had everyone in an uproar. His Aunt Libby, on the other hand, was acting like a cat who’d just discovered heavy cream. It was kind of sweet, in a creepy sort of way. But Marla Jean didn’t deserve the pain those two had caused her.
“Jake, whatever went wrong for me and Bradley started a long time before he took up story hour with your aunt.”
“Humph,” he grunted. “My mother’s ready to disown her—says she’s disgraced the family.”
“Can we not talk about Bradley? I came out to have a good time tonight. I’ve had it up to here with sitting at home feeling sorry for myself, so I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“I noticed.”
“And if folks around here don’t like it they can—“
“I know. They can kiss your rosy, pink butt.”
“Exactly.”
“But Donny Joe?”
“Don’t start, Jake.”
“Donny Joe is exactly the kind of thing Linc was worried about.” He twirled her around and dipped her as the song came to an end. When he pulled her back upright, she stumbled against his chest. His arms tightened momentarily, and he stared down into her flashing brown eyes.
Pushing him away, she said, “Look, Jake. Leave it alone. I’ll talk to Linc and put his mind at ease. You’re off the hook. Okay?”
He knew when it was time to beat a tactical retreat. “All right, I’ve done my duty for the night.” He held up both hands and took a step back.
“Thank you. And when I talk to Linc, I’ll tell him you went above and beyond.”
“Well, thanks for the dance.” He moved back another step, somehow reluctant to walk away, but Harry Beal marched over and inserted himself between the two of them. Back in school, Harry had been in the same grade with Marla Jean and had grown up to be the high school football coach.
“Hey, Jake. How’s it going?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Marla. “Can I have the next dance, Marla Jean?”
Marla smiled at Harry like he’d invented butter. “Sure thing, Harry. Later, Jake.”
Before he could say “alligator,” the two of them waltzed away, leaving him alone in the middle of the dance floor. Jake wandered over to the nearest barstool and sat down. He ordered a beer and swiveled around until he faced the crowd of dancing couples. Marla was laughing at something Harry said—her head thrown back—her dark, curly hair cascading down her back.
Christ A’mighty. That dress.
It was short and tight and nothing but trouble.
In the best of circumstances Marla Jean Bandy, being newly divorced and out on the town, was enough to make most red-blooded men sit up and take notice. Especially in a small town like Everson where available women were few and far between. But Marla Jean Bandy poured into that skimpy getup was like waving a red flag in front of every horny bastard in the joint. No wonder Linc was worried. Telling himself he owed it to Linc to keep an eye on her, he took a long draw on his beer and settled his elbows on the bar behind him. It promised to be a real long night.
Marla tried to pay attention to Harry and ignore the disturbing fact that Abel Jacobson, of all people, was parked on a bar stool across the way watching her. Harry wasn’t much of a dancer, mainly shuffling his feet from side to side, but she made an effort to listen as he rambled on about the football team. “I hate to admit it,” she said, “but I haven’t been to a game this year, Coach.”
“You oughta come this Friday, Marla Jean. If we beat Crossville, we’ll make it to play-offs.”
That was no secret. The whole town was buzzing about the upcoming game. In Everson, like almost every other town in Texas, Friday night during the fall was football night. While they were married, she and Bradley had never missed a game. But that was then. These days she spent Friday nights alone at home watching her mom’s old JAG DVDs and painting her toenails. But tonight was supposed to be about taking control of her life back, so she smiled and said, “You’re absolutely right, Harry. I’ll be there with bells on.”
“Great! Maybe after the game we could grab some pizza?”
She wasn’t really ready to start dating. At least not nice guys like Harry Beal. She’d known him since junior high. They’d been in the same homeroom from seventh grade on, and he had always been sweet and shy until you got him on the football field. Then he turned into a monster. Harry had gone on to play college ball and even had one season in the NFL before a knee injury ended his pro career. After that he moved back to town and no one was surprised when he’d been hired as Everson High’s head coach as soon as there was an opening.
But the idea of getting involved with someone she could come to care for scared the blue dickens out of her. Everyone in town would be at the pizza place after the game though, so it wouldn’t really count as a date. “Sounds like fun. We can celebrate your victory with pepperoni and extra cheese.”
He grinned like he’d landed a three-foot bass. When the music stopped, she thanked him for the dance, but before she could make it back to her table Greg Tucker asked if he could have the honor.
After that she danced with Johnny Dean, Fergus Barnes, and Tommy Lee Stewart. They flirted, and she flirted back. No big deal. A bunch of small town wannabe Romeos checking out the lay of the land. She was smart enough to know her sudden popularity was born of a burning curiosity about her divorce. They all asked basically the same thing, “How ya holding up, darlin’?” and let her know with a wink and a sashay around the dance floor, they’d be more than happy to help her out if she needed anything at all.
She smiled, said “thanks,” and kept on dancing.
That is until she saw Donny Joe headed her way, and she made a beeline for the ladies’ room. She wasn’t ready to go another round with him, or for that matter, to be reminded of her miserable attempt at playing the loose woman.
She splashed cool water on her flushed face and used her fingers to fluff up her hair. Smiling at her reflection, she realized that despite everything, she was having fun—even if she hadn’t managed to get laid.
Even before Jake’s interference she’d known she couldn’t go through with her plan. Damn it all. It had sounded so simple in theory, but in practice she’d run smack dab into reality. For her, sex was tied up with love, and love wasn’t something she was likely to find at Lu Lu’s on a Saturday night. Not that she was looking. “Love” was a dirty word as far as she was concerned. So while on one hand, she was right back where she’d started—all alone and frustrated—on the other hand, she’d had a blast dancing her fanny off with every man in the joint, and now she had plans that included football and pizza next Friday night. All in all, it hadn’t been a complete waste of time.
Wandering back out into the bar, she decided she was ready to call it a night. Jake still lounged on his barstool, but now Wanda Lee Mabry sat by him on one side and Rhoda Foster sat on the other. Both women seemed to be vying for his attention, making it much easier for her to slip out unnoticed.
Walking over to the corner table she’d claimed earlier in the evening, she searched the area for her purse. It wasn’t on the table, and it wasn’t on the floor, and if somebody was dumb enough to steal it they wouldn’t have gotten anything but her driver’s license, a twenty-dollar bill, a tube of Ripe Cherry Red lipstick, a just-in-case condom, and her car keys. At the moment, all she cared about were her car keys.
Then it dawned on her. She remembered touching up her lipstick right before she’d gone outside with Donny Joe and having her purse when she got in his truck. Dag-nab-it, she’d bet all the beans in Boston she’d left it on the floorboard of his pick-up. Jake’s high-handed meddling had ticked her off so much she hadn’t given her purse a second thought when she’d scrambled out of that truck. She looked around the room for Donny Joe but didn’t see him. The dance floor was still packed with people, so she stood on her tiptoes to see if she could see his head above the crowd.
Lana and Warren Sanders danced by. “Hey, Marla Jean,” they said in unison.
“Hey guys. Have y’all seen Donny Joe?”
“Donny Joe Ledbetter?” Lana asked, not hiding her surprise. “Not lately. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Thanks, anyway.” She moved on around the room asking if anybody had seen him, but she finally gave up and walked over to the far end of the bar, the end farthest away from where Jake still sat surrounded by women. The bartender spotted her and moved down to her end.
“What’ll it be, Marla Jean?” An older man with gray hair pulled back in a ponytail and an eye patch over one eye, Mike Benson was as much a part of Lu Lu’s as the gravel parking lot and the odor of stale beer.
“Mike, have you seen Donny Joe? I know he was here a minute ago.”
He picked up a bar towel and started polishing glasses. “Yeah, he was dancing with Irene Cornwell, and I saw them leave together.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A few minutes, maybe.”
“Damn it, I’ve got to catch him.” Hitching up her skirt she took off toward the front door. She burst outside, skidding to a stop on the gravel, and scanned the parking lot for his truck. If she was lucky Donny Joe and Irene would just be going at it like squirrels in his front seat. It wouldn’t even bother her to catch them in flagrante delicto. She’d ask them to forgive the intrusion, grab her purse, and tell them to carry on. They probably wouldn’t even notice.
She hurried toward the place where he’d been parked earlier, but she could see before she got there the spot was empty. Son of a bitch. She couldn’t believe this. The sound of a racing engine caught her attention, and she spotted his truck at the far exit getting ready to pull out onto the highway.
“Wait, Donny Joe, come back,” she yelled, waving her arms about wildly. Hitching her skirt even higher, she took off at a sprint. If she could just get his attention it would save her a world of trouble in the long run. “Donny Joe, hey, Donny Joe, don’t leave yet,” she hollered at the top of her lungs, but it was no use. She stumbled to a stop and watched his red taillights recede into the dark night. “Crap, horse feathers, and double doo-doo.” Cursing her luck and panting, she stood bent over with her hands braced on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
“For God’s sake, Marla Jean, don’t chase after the guy. Have some pride.”
She whirled around at the sound of Jake’s voice. He’d followed her out of the bar, obviously, and now he thought she’d lost her mind.
“You!” She pointed a finger and started marching toward him. A smart man would have shown some concern, but he stood his ground until her finger was poking him in the chest. “This is all your fault, mister.”
“My fault?” The idea seemed to amuse him.
“Entirely, altogether, and completely your fault.” She crossed her arms and stomped her foot like a bratty kid.
He moved closer and leaned down until they were nose to nose. “You should be down on your knees thanking me, missy. I kept you from making a God-awful mistake with Donny Joe earlier this evening. And now this? You go racing across the parking lot screaming like a banshee when he’s got another woman in the truck with him? Come on, Marla Jean. You’re obviously not yourself.”
For the second time that night she marched across the parking lot with Jake hot on her heels. “At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll make all the God-awful mistakes I want. And what I am, you big dolt, is stuck.”
“Hold up, Marla Jean—”
“I was chasing after Donny Joe, because thanks to you,” she turned to glare at him for emphasis, “I left my purse and my car keys in his truck. If I don’t seem properly grateful, you can bite me.”
“Does that offer involve your rosy, pink butt?”
She marched on, trying for the umpteenth time that evening to yank her skirt back down where it belonged. “Go to hell.”
“Before or after I offer you a ride home?” He stopped by his little yellow Porsche Boxster. “Hop in.”
“Yeah, right. I’ll go ask Harry Beal for a ride.”
“That should make his night. He’ll think he’s hit the jackpot.”
She hesitated. She didn’t want to give Harry the wrong impression. “I’ll call a cab.”
“That’d be a waste of good money, if you had any on you. Just get in the car.”
She stopped and let out a strangled groan. “Maybe I’ll walk. It’s not that far.”
“Were you always this stubborn? Let me explain something to you, Marla Jean. I don’t care if you call a cab, hitchhike, or crawl on your hands and knees—but I’ll be driving right behind you, no matter what.”
“Now who’s being stubborn?”
He shrugged. “I’m not about to tell Linc that because of me, you walked home from Lu Lu’s at eleven-thirty at night.”
“Linc’s got you on a pretty short leash, doesn’t he?”
“I owe Linc a lot, and he never asks for much, so for everyone’s sake, please get in the car.”
She sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that evening, a world-weary, put-upon sigh, and then stalked over to the car. He opened the door for her and didn’t even try to pretend that he wasn’t looking at her legs when her skirt rode back up to mid-thigh. She was going to go home and burn the stupid dress in the fireplace. After closing her door, Jake loped around the car, and she watched while he managed to fold his big frame into the compact driver’s seat. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a bigger car?”
“This isn’t a car. She’s a beloved member of the family, and she handles like a woman in love.” He started the engine and turned to face her. “Marla Jean, meet Lucinda.”
“You name your cars?”
“Don’t you?” He backed out of the space and headed for the nearest exit.
“Of course not. Well, I did have that clunker in high school we called ‘Buck’—for bucket of bolts—but these days I try not to get personally involved with my vehicles.”
“Hmm.” He looked at her as if her answer gave him some important insight into her character before returning his attention to the road.
After the divorce she’d moved into her parents’ old house on Sunnyvale Street. They’d retired a few years back and moved to Padre Island. After that, her brother Lincoln lived there until his recent marriage, and then he moved into his bride’s place since it was newer and bigger.
The last thing Marla wanted to do was stay in the house she’d shared with Bradley, and her folks’ house was empty, so it seemed like the perfect solution until she could find a place of her own. Sometimes, though, moving back to the house she’d grown up in made her feel like she’d failed her first attempt at being an adult.
It was a short drive home, and since Jake grew up on the same street, he knew the way without being told. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the man sitting by her side. Even when they were kids, he’d always been able to throw her off balance with a look or a word. Apparently, that hadn’t changed.
He pulled into her driveway, and she let him walk her to the door. She figured he’d insist anyway, and she was too tired to argue. On the way up the walkway, she remembered her keys, and the fact that they were spending the night in the floorboard of Donny Joe’s truck. Jake seemed to realize the problem at the same time. Without missing a beat, he reached into the third hanging basket from the left and pulled out the spare key—the same place the spare key had been hidden the entire time they’d been growing up.
“It’s nice to know some things never change.” He unlocked the front door and pushed it open. “If you need any help picking up your car tomorrow, let me know.”
“Thanks, but I’ll manage.” It suddenly felt so familiar to be standing in the dark talking with him on the front porch. He was bigger and taller now, but he was still Jake. “Good night, Jake.”
“Good night, Marla Jean.” He reached for her hand and pressed the spare key into her palm. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
She pulled her hand out of his and resisted the urge to s. . .
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