“Amen,” they all replied.
Winnie took a sip of the cranberry juicelaced vodka—lots of vodka, very little cranberry juice—and watched as Merylinn sat forward in her seat. “All right, everybody, let’s get down to business.” Her forehead crumpled. She reached over to touch Winnie’s knee. “Honey, Sue Covner called me this afternoon. She said the lights have been on over your store for the past two nights, and that she thinks you’re sleeping here.” She took in Winnie’s sleepwear. “I told her she was surely mistaken, but apparently she was right.”
“Sue Covner should mind her own business,” Winnie retorted.
“She’s too busy minding everybody else’s.” Leeann grabbed a handful of Cocoa Puffs and tucked her feet under her on the couch.
“Deke called Ryan at work today,” Merylinn continued. “He said Ryan sounded awful.”
“Good,” Winnie retorted, surprising herself almost as much as she surprised them.
Heidi cradled her glass and looked at the others. “Y’all know how intuitive I am. I said I thought they might be having problems.”
Over the years, Heidi’s intuition had proved even less reliable than the local weather forecasters, and Winnie wished she could have found another time to get it right. “We’re going through a bumpy patch,” Winnie said carefully. “It’s nothing serious, I don’t want to talk about it, and this is just a waste of good vodka.”
Merylinn gazed at the others, and Winnie felt a stir of uneasiness as she watched some kind of silent communication pass among them. Amy picked up Leeann’s glass and stole a sip. Leeann turned to Winnie. “Honey, we’re thinkin’ it might be more than a bumpy patch. That’s why we’re here.”
“What makes you think that?” Winnie said slowly.
“Sue called me twice, the second time not much more than an hour ago.” Merylinn waved a helpless hand in the air. “Oh, shit, I’m gonna cry.”
Amy patted Merylinn’s arm, but she kept her eyes on Winnie. “Sue’s daughter called her from the Lakehouse.” She fingered her cross, looking like the mother of all sorrows. “Ryan was there. At the Lakehouse.” She took a long, slow breath. “And he was having dinner with Sugar Beth.”
They all began talking at once.
“I’m so mad at him I could spit . . .”
“We had to get here first and warn you . . .”
“You know Ryan would never look at another woman. If it weren’t Sugar Beth, nobody’d even think twice about it.”
“I just hate her. I can’t help it. She’s not going to get away with this.”
Winnie’s first thought was to blame herself. If she hadn’t left home, this wouldn’t have happened. If she’d let Ryan come upstairs last night . . . If she’d been more conciliatory on the phone . . . Acid burned in her stomach. At least they were no longer in limbo. “Ryan’s a big boy,” she heard herself say. “He’s strong enough to fight her off if he wants to.”
“But what if he doesn’t want to?” Leeann blurted out. “What are we going to do then?”
Not you. We. Whether it was vodka or fear, Winnie’s heart filled with love for these women.
They started poking and prodding. What exactly had Ryan done? How long had they been having problems? Who did Sugar Beth think she was? Winnie polished off her drink, told them how much she loved them, and refused to answer a single question.
“We’re your best friends,” Merylinn protested, refilling her own glass. “If you can’t talk to us, who can you talk to?”
“Obviously not that bastard I’m married to.”
The novelty of hearing the Golden Boy of Parrish, Mississippi, called a bastard made Heidi snort, which sent a little vodka up her nose, and they all started to giggle, even Winnie. Eventually, they settled down. Heidi drank a Cocoa Puff that had somehow made its way into her glass. Amy polished off Leeann’s drink. Merylinn refilled the cocktail shaker. Leeann picked at her nail polish. Their friendship enfolded Winnie like a warm blanket.
Leeann slipped back into her shoes, all the laughter gone from her eyes. “Ryan’s a very special man, and the sad fact is . . . if you’re not careful, Sugar Beth’s going to steal him from under your nose.”
“Leeann’s right,” Merylinn said. “Ryan is special. You can’t let her take him away from you. You have to fight for him.”
“I’m special, too,” Winnie heard herself say. “And I think it’s about time Ryan Galantine fought for me.”
They all stared at her, but Winnie was claiming her power, and she didn’t flinch. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s long past time.”
“You can’t keep me at arm’s length forever, my little beauty. I want you. Will you come to me?”
G
EORGETTE
H
EYER
,
Devil’s Cub
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sugar Beth let herself inside the carriage house, flicked on the light, and screamed.
“Welcome home, my dear.” Colin slouched in the darkest corner of the room, one hand draped over the arm of the wing chair, the other clasping a crystal tumbler of scotch. The collar of his dress shirt was unbuttoned, and Gordon lay at his feet, one ear flopped over the toe of a polished black Gucci loafer.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”
“I warned you about locking your door.”
She dropped her purse on a chair and shrugged off the jacket she’d tossed over a sweater and a short denim skirt. “You could at least have turned on a light.”
“I wanted to brood.”
“Well, stop it.”
He crossed his ankles, disturbing Gordon’s comfortable perch. “Come now, you must be accustomed to finding angry men on your doorstep. We had a date.”
“You had a date. I wasn’t asked.”
“I believe I left you a note, and we also spoke about it when we talked on the phone.”
“A one-way conversation.”
“I’m not going to sneak around.” He set down his drink with a thud and rose. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
“You’re the one who has to live in this town, dawg.”
He rose to his feet so he was looming over her. “This is your bizarre idea of protecting me.”
“No matter how much the good citizens of Parrish fawn over your famous self, you’re still an outsider, and the welcome mat can be snatched away at any minute.”
“That’s my concern. I won’t have it, Sugar Beth. Any of it.”
“You sound like one of your Victorian ancestors.”
“I don’t need anyone’s protection,” he said, advancing on her with slow, menacing steps. “And I especially don’t need the protection of a woman whose life plan seems to start and end with selling a painting she can’t find.”
“And aren’t we being supportive tonight?”
“Believe it or not, you can live a decent life without diamonds and furs.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gucci.” She moved away.
He curled his hand over the back of the wing chair. “I enjoy the luxuries my money buys, but I don’t need them, and I sure as hell wouldn’t sell my soul to get them.”
“Once again proving you’re the better person.”
“Sugar Beth . . .”
The low note in his voice suggested the time had passed for another wisecrack. “I’m not a total idiot,” she said. “I’ve never intended to support myself with the painting. I’m going back to Houston and get my real estate license.” It had been such a good idea—it still was—but she needed to work hard to inject any enthusiasm into her voice. “I have a lot of contacts there, and I want to sell high-end real estate. But that’s hard to do without an impressive car and a decent wardrobe.”
“You? Sell real estate?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Not a thing. It’s a perfectly respectable career. But I can’t see you doing it.”
“I’ll be terrific at sales.”