“Cotton,” I whispered.
“I like that one too,” Cotton declared, gazing at it critically.
“I can’t take that,” I said to him and he looked at me.
“Why not?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“I… it’s…” Why not? Was he mad? “Because it’s worth a fortune,” I explained.
“I know,” Cotton retorted. “Got about a dozen offers on it, all, like you said, a fortune. Didn’t like the feel of any of ‘em. Didn’t want it hangin’ wherever those folk would be.”
“But –” I began but Cotton cut me off.
“Like the feel of it hangin’ wherever you might be.”
At his words, which rocked me to my soul, I let Max go, my hands went to my cheeks and before I could stop myself I cried, “Oh bloody hell! I’m going to cry!”
Then I did. I burst right into tears.
Within an instant, I was in Max’s arms. I put mine around him and held on tight, shoving my face into his chest and crying like an idiot.
It was several moments later when I heard Cotton mutter, “Women.” Then sounding like he was on the move he asked, “What’s for dinner?”
I felt Max’s body get tight against my wet cheek.
I tipped my head back to look at him, the tears subsiding when I saw his neck was twisted and he was staring toward the kitchen and, regardless of the fact that Cotton just gave both of us priceless pieces of his art, Max’s expression appeared murderous.
I followed his eyes and saw Cotton pulling himself up on a stool.
“Get me a beer, Max, it’s been a long day,” Cotton called, leaning forward to look at the rolls then he spun on the stool and exclaimed, “Right on! Crescent rolls!”
“Cotton –” Max started but my arms gave him a squeeze, Max stopped speaking and looked down at me.
“He just gave us his photos,” I told him. “We can give him dinner.”
“Yeah, I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since Alana died or least not a good one.” Cotton drew in an audible breath through his nostrils and he declared, “And whatever’s cookin’ smells good.”
“Fish pie,” I told him and Cotton grinned.
“I like fish,” he said.
It was low, it was soft but I definitely heard Max growl.
I gave him another squeeze with my arms, let him go and, slower, he let me go too. Then, wiping the tears from my face, I went back to the rolls.
Max got Cotton a beer and I had poured frozen peas into a bowl and was setting them in the microwave when lights flashed on the wall.
“This is a fuckin’ joke,” Max clipped from his place, hips against the sink, beer in hand, unhappy expression on his face as he stared toward the drive.
“Max’s popular,” Cotton noted.
“I’m noticing that,” I replied, also looking out the windows.
I watched a figure come up the steps then I recognized Arlene walking across the porch toward the door. Her eyes were on us and she didn’t bother to knock, she just walked right in.
“Hey y’all,” she called, striding toward the kitchen like she lived there. “Hey Cotton.”
“Heya Arlene. What’s shakin’?” Cotton greeted.
“Don’t shift some of this weight, everything,” Arlene replied, she stopped at the mouth of the U in the kitchen and looked at me.
“That don’t look all that bad,” she observed.
“Um…” I muttered, “hi Arlene.”
“What’re you doin’ here?” was Max’s greeting.
“Damon whaled on her, had to check, see she’s all right,” Arlene explained to Max then turned to me. “Woulda thought it would be worse, thought he really walloped you one. Least it looked like that.”
Something unpleasant was emanating from Max and I took a step closer to him. His response was to slide an arm around my waist and yank me back so the side of my back was to the side of his front.
“What’s this about?” Cotton asked and Arlene turned to him, walking to the bar and putting her forearms on it.
“Last night Damon Matthews backhanded Nina at The Dog,” Arlene answered like she would say, “Last night, I made a TV dinner and watched the News.”
“What?” Cotton exclaimed on a near shout, his eyes moving to me and then narrowing on my cheek. “Is that was that is?”
“Yeah,” Arlene replied before I could speak then she turned to Max and ordered, “Get me a beer, will you Max?” Then without pause she turned back to Cotton and went on. “Damon came into The Dog, manhandled Mindy, Nina here didn’t like that, got in his face. He gave her a shove, she shoved him right back and he backhanded her.”
Cotton was staring at me throughout Arlene’s recitation and now he didn’t look happy. “You shoved Damon Matthews?”
I shifted against Max’s body and said, “He was being, um… rude.”
“Girl, that kid is rude, came outta his mother’s womb rude,” Cotton told me. “But he’s also solid as a rock and mean besides. What’re you thinkin’ gettin’ into his face?”
Max entered the conversation at this juncture, saying in a dangerous voice, “He shouldn’t have touched her.”
“No, agreed, he shouldn’t,” Cotton returned instantly. “But he’s Damon Matthews. Half the acts that boy perpetrates, he shouldn’t do.”
“Nina doesn’t know him and didn’t know that,” Max replied.
“She could take one look at him and know not to get in his face,” Cotton retorted.
“Bottom line, Cotton, he shouldn’t have fuckin’ touched her,” Max stated and the way he did, the room fell silent.
Arlene eventually broke the silence by sharing, “Max messed him up in the parking lot.”
Cotton looked at Max and asked, “How bad?”
Cotton asked Max but it was Arlene who answered. “Figure it ain’t a lesson he’ll forget anytime soon. Whole town’s talkin’ about it. It’s like Christmas and your birthday all rolled into one, what with Dodd dead and Max beatin’ the crap outta Damon.”
Cotton chuckled but I exclaimed, “Arlene!”
She looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “What? Not sayin’ anything anyone ain’t thinkin’.” Then she moved to the other stool, slid on it and eyed the crescent roll dough on the cookie sheet. “Fantastic!” she cried. “Crescent rolls! Got enough for one more?”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Max muttered from behind me.
“Sure,” I said to Arlene and she grinned.
Cotton leaned toward Arlene and stage-whispered, “We’re crampin’ Max’s style.”
“Whatever,” Arlene stage-whispered back, turned to Max and called, “Max? Beer?” Then she turned back to Cotton and said, “What’s up with the pictures?”
Cotton answered but it was Max who had my attention.
“I’m thinkin’, Duchess,” Max murmured in my ear, “that I’ll give you the keys to your car but we’re both gettin’ in it, drivin’ down the damn mountain and checkin’ into the hotel.”
I bit my lip and twisted my head to look at him. Then I smiled. Then he let me go. Then I got Arlene a beer, slid the crescent rolls into the oven, took the bowl of peas out of the microwave and poured more in.
***
“I gotta carry you upstairs?” I heard Max ask and I struggled with it but I opened my eyes.
“Sorry?” I whispered when I semi-focused on him.
“Never seen anything like it, honey, when you’re out, you’re out,” Max said, took my hand and pulled me out of the chair.
I blinked and looked around.
The last thing I knew, dinner consumed, beers consumed, three glasses of wine consumed (all by me) to Max’s displeasure, we moved to the living room with our uninvited guests and a plate full of cookies. Max made a fire while Arlene and Cotton ate my cookies and entertained me.