Read Online The Sweetest September (Home in Magnolia Bend) by Liz Talley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Liz Talley
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wanting him to stay so she wouldn’t feel so alone.
His flash-bang smile surprised her. “That’s the girl I remember from Boots.”
“Yeah, I have a good sense of humor when I’m not hormonal, on the verge of tears or cracking up...though I bet you wish you had never answered that knock-knock joke at the bar.”
“It was funny.”
“Yeah,” she said, walking toward the bed and sinking onto the plush comforter. “So...”
“I’m writing down my number.” He picked up the notepad by the phone. “If you need anything...”
“I won’t.” She hadn’t wanted anything from him in the first place. Her plan had been so simple—tell him about the child and fly back to Seattle. Okay, she hadn’t wanted to fly back to Seattle and face the music with her family...over turkey no less. She’d imagined the scenario several times over the long flight to Louisiana. “Pass the green bean casserole. Oh, and by the way, I’m pregnant.”
How fun was that?
Spotlight on her as she enacted the next installment of “Shelby the Eternal Screwup”—a yearly special airing near the holidays when family members were apt to ask things like “How are you?” And since Shelby prided herself on being honest and relishing the jolt on the faces of her brother, sister and assorted cousins, the answer was always shocking.
“How are you, Shelby?”
“Good, David. I lost my virginity to Dad’s junior partner, who swore he loved me and would marry me when his wife died. How are you?”
Yeah. That’s pretty much how it went. Come to think of it, saying, “I’m pregnant by a man I met at a back-road honky-tonk” sounded tame by comparison. Maybe dropping that doozy over the white-chocolate-cranberry cheesecake wouldn’t be so bad.
“Look, Shelby, I know we’re veritable strangers.”
“Veritable?”
“Virtual?”
“We know each other carnally. That’s pretty much it.”
He lifted both his eyebrows. “And that’s all it took.”
“Touché,” she said.
“My point is that I’m here for you. You aren’t alone.”
Shelby ran her hand over the fine needlework of the velvet lumbar pillow. “It’s been a tough afternoon, and you’ve been pretty damn decent.”
He spread his hands. “What else could I do?”
“You could have done a lot of things that weren’t as nice as what you did. I dropped a tornado on you and you didn’t hide in a cellar.”
“I don’t have a cellar. This is Louisiana.”
Shelby smiled and took time to study him in the golden light of the room. Despite the grimness shadowing his eyes, John Beauchamp was a fine specimen of a man. No pretty boy, he had a ruggedness that called to mind Clint Eastwood in his younger days. Brows that easily gathered into perplexity, a hard jaw that spoke of stubbornness and a sensual mouth that, though often drawn into a line, could curve into a wicked smile.
She remembered his scent, remembered the way his muscled chest felt beneath her fingertips, the way he’d kissed her...like a man starved.
Now that she knew he’d lost his wife over a year ago, she understood the desperation in his kiss, recognized the same need throbbing inside her. After Darby dumped her, her ego had been fragile and she’d been ripe for the plucking...or ripe for the—well, she wasn’t going there. Suffice it to say, she’d been just as desperate as John to feel the touch of another person.
“Time to process all of this would be nice,” he said. “So, I’ll let you rest and say good night.”
She nodded because she still struggled to believe her whole life had been turned on its ear. In six and a half months she’d become a mother...if she didn’t lose the pregnancy. Process? Not a bad idea.
“Good night, John,” she said.
For a moment he looked uncertain, like he wondered if he should extend his hand or offer a hug or something.
Luckily, a knock at the door interrupted the awkwardness, and Abigail hurtled inside, balancing a tray, which she sat on the
His flash-bang smile surprised her. “That’s the girl I remember from Boots.”
“Yeah, I have a good sense of humor when I’m not hormonal, on the verge of tears or cracking up...though I bet you wish you had never answered that knock-knock joke at the bar.”
“It was funny.”
“Yeah,” she said, walking toward the bed and sinking onto the plush comforter. “So...”
“I’m writing down my number.” He picked up the notepad by the phone. “If you need anything...”
“I won’t.” She hadn’t wanted anything from him in the first place. Her plan had been so simple—tell him about the child and fly back to Seattle. Okay, she hadn’t wanted to fly back to Seattle and face the music with her family...over turkey no less. She’d imagined the scenario several times over the long flight to Louisiana. “Pass the green bean casserole. Oh, and by the way, I’m pregnant.”
How fun was that?
Spotlight on her as she enacted the next installment of “Shelby the Eternal Screwup”—a yearly special airing near the holidays when family members were apt to ask things like “How are you?” And since Shelby prided herself on being honest and relishing the jolt on the faces of her brother, sister and assorted cousins, the answer was always shocking.
“How are you, Shelby?”
“Good, David. I lost my virginity to Dad’s junior partner, who swore he loved me and would marry me when his wife died. How are you?”
Yeah. That’s pretty much how it went. Come to think of it, saying, “I’m pregnant by a man I met at a back-road honky-tonk” sounded tame by comparison. Maybe dropping that doozy over the white-chocolate-cranberry cheesecake wouldn’t be so bad.
“Look, Shelby, I know we’re veritable strangers.”
“Veritable?”
“Virtual?”
“We know each other carnally. That’s pretty much it.”
He lifted both his eyebrows. “And that’s all it took.”
“Touché,” she said.
“My point is that I’m here for you. You aren’t alone.”
Shelby ran her hand over the fine needlework of the velvet lumbar pillow. “It’s been a tough afternoon, and you’ve been pretty damn decent.”
He spread his hands. “What else could I do?”
“You could have done a lot of things that weren’t as nice as what you did. I dropped a tornado on you and you didn’t hide in a cellar.”
“I don’t have a cellar. This is Louisiana.”
Shelby smiled and took time to study him in the golden light of the room. Despite the grimness shadowing his eyes, John Beauchamp was a fine specimen of a man. No pretty boy, he had a ruggedness that called to mind Clint Eastwood in his younger days. Brows that easily gathered into perplexity, a hard jaw that spoke of stubbornness and a sensual mouth that, though often drawn into a line, could curve into a wicked smile.
She remembered his scent, remembered the way his muscled chest felt beneath her fingertips, the way he’d kissed her...like a man starved.
Now that she knew he’d lost his wife over a year ago, she understood the desperation in his kiss, recognized the same need throbbing inside her. After Darby dumped her, her ego had been fragile and she’d been ripe for the plucking...or ripe for the—well, she wasn’t going there. Suffice it to say, she’d been just as desperate as John to feel the touch of another person.
“Time to process all of this would be nice,” he said. “So, I’ll let you rest and say good night.”
She nodded because she still struggled to believe her whole life had been turned on its ear. In six and a half months she’d become a mother...if she didn’t lose the pregnancy. Process? Not a bad idea.
“Good night, John,” she said.
For a moment he looked uncertain, like he wondered if he should extend his hand or offer a hug or something.
Luckily, a knock at the door interrupted the awkwardness, and Abigail hurtled inside, balancing a tray, which she sat on the
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