Southern Fried Blues (The Officers' Ex-Wives Club) Read online

  She’d be damned.

  She’d been rednecked.

  This one was a lot smarter than he let on.

  She jutted her chin until her nose was high enough for her to stare him down. “I donate it to our annual Hicks Without Hogs drive at work.”

  “Right decent of you.” But if that ornery spark was any indication, his coughing fit had nothing to do with the pollen count.

  She took the paring knife to the first peach. The skin slid off in even, curving strips. “Somebody has to give us Northern folk a good name.”

  He rolled a peach out of the neat line Anna had arranged them in. “Baking pies like that, all you need to do is loosen your tongue up a little, and nobody’s gonna notice the Northern part. You make biscuits too?”

  Anna snatched his peach away and put it back in place, but only to distract her from thinking about him thinking about her tongue. “Three-point question.” She sliced her peeled peach and dropped the slices into the bowl, then grabbed another peach.

  “How about a trade instead?”

  And there was that tart strawberry flavor sitting on the back of her tongue again. “What kind of trade?”

  He shifted her last three peaches, putting the smallest in the middle. “You tell me all about your biscuits, and I’ll tell you where I went while you were putting my kitchen together.”

  The way he asked about her biscuits inspired thoughts that had nothing to do with baking. “Oh, I think I’m going to need something better than that.”

  “Huh.” He scratched his chin. “What’re you doing tomorrow night?”

  That sparked a big old ka-thump! in her chest. Her hand wobbled. The peach skin slid off with a jagged edge. “Studying.”

  “Thought finals were over.”

  “Need a certification at work.”

  “Gotta eat though.”

  She started to tell him about her Sunday baking system that allowed her to eat labeled leftovers the rest of the week, then realized he was grinning at her like he already knew.

  She’d way underestimated him.

  And she didn’t like that she couldn’t decide if she liked smart Jackson or dumb Jackson better. She knew one thing for sure. She liked smart Anna, and smart Anna took care of herself first.

  While she was deciding if she could take care of herself and let him in a little further, she conjured up a Southern smile of her own. “That’s so sweet of you to worry about little old me. But I’m in a real busy spot at work right now, and I need to keep my focus so I can keep eating. I’m sure you understand, being such a busy, important man yourself.” If he was worth her time, he’d fight for it.

  Instead, he coughed into his hand again, his eyes going all crinkly, and then he had to turn away and cough again.

  She sighed in her peaches. She couldn’t even politely stall for time without getting laughed at.

  He eventually recovered, though his straight face seemed to be a struggle. “Reckon I should feel special you’re taking the time today to make me a pie.”

  And suddenly she didn’t care if he was laughing at her, because he probably had issues of his own if he had to hide who he was behind that goofy redneck act. And if he could spend the time flirting with her, then she could be nice back.

  “Well.” She grabbed another peach and took her knife to it. “I don’t make pies for just anybody.”

  When he didn’t answer right away, she cut a sideways glance at him. His smile softened. “Careful there,” he said. “Next step’s letting me buy you some ice cream.”

  He was watching her as if she were a puzzle he’d like to unravel, and the interest in his eyes was enough to make her want to be unraveled. Her knife slipped, and something sharp stung her thumb. She shifted over to the sink and flipped on the cold water to rinse off the peach juice, then grabbed a paper towel.

  Jackson came around the counter. “Okay there, Anna Grace?”

  “Fine. Really. It’s a little knick. I do this all the time.”

  He set one hand at the small of her back and cradled her injured hand with the other. She caught a whiff of Old Spice. Something tingled low in her belly.

  “Might could be you’re working too hard.”

  She’d never believed in kissing boo-boos. A mini–panic attack seized her chest, but his touch dulled the throbbing in her thumb. When she tried to brush off his concern, she instead leaned closer to his warm, solid body. “Baking isn’t work.”

  His rumbly chuckle sent delicious shivers over her skin. “It’s putting all those peaches and sugar where they’re supposed to be, hm?”

  “Exactly.” She pulled the paper towel away from her thumb and inspected the injury. Very little bleeding, barely a tiny knick. The bigger injury would come from the electric shock when she broke contact with him before grounding herself.

  Jackson brushed his thumb over the wound. “Looks like you’re gonna make it.”

  “It’s no big deal.” She forced herself to look up at him. “I’ve got a Band-Aid in my purse.”

  His eyes were warm and smoky over his crooked grin. “Course you do.” He pressed a soft kiss to her thumb. “How about I go get that for you?”

  Some padding for her self-preservation would be more effective. Lust, she reminded herself. She was good with lust. Six and a half years of practice at it.

  She slid her hand out of his grasp. “I can get it.”

  “As the lady wishes.” He picked up her knife and the peach. “You got some particular way you been peeling and cutting these here?”

  Anna snatched the peach back. “I’ll just be a minute. The peaches can wait.”

  “You sure do know how to make a guy feel useless, Anna Grace.”

  “I—you—you’re not useless.”

  “I dunno. You don’t need help with your ants. Don’t need help with your peaches. Probably wouldn’t let me hold a door for you if it was raining a hurricane and you had your hands full. Don’t matter what it is, you don’t ever take help, do you?”

  “Like the help you offered in your own kitchen?”

  She gave herself a mental pinch. Her prissy side was coming through again.

  But his slow grin told her she’d walked into that.

  “Aw, now, that’s different. You lost fair and square on that one.” He leaned into the counter. “Besides, I reckon that pie you took was good payment for a job well done.”

  “I baked that pie.”

  “And I’m right looking forward to this one. So you gonna let me help with your peaches or not?”

  She brushed an errant strand of drying hair out of her eyes. “You have to earn helping with my peaches.”

  His gaze dipped to her mouth again. Abruptly, he stepped back. “Dunno, Anna Grace. Ain’t so sure you’re ready for that.”

  The back door flung open. Kaci shuffled in with a goofy grin. She’d wrapped a sarong around her waist, and her belly button ring glinted in the light. “You get that pie in the oven yet?” she asked. “Lance is firing up the grill.”

  She stopped and glanced between them.

  Anna turned back to the peach. “Almost.”

  “No hurry if you’re busy,” Kaci said.

  “Just waiting on the all-clear to go outside for the man-work,” Jackson said.

  “Huh.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Anna watched Kaci give them both another once-over. “Well, if that’s the case, you go on out there.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jackson snitched a peach slice and winked at Anna. He took the plate of ribs Kaci pulled out of the fridge, then disappeared out the back door.

  Kaci fluffed her hair and tied it back into a ponytail. “He flirting with you?”

  “I think so.”

  “Sugar, if you don’t know for sure, he’s not doing it right.”

  If the strawberry taste in her mouth and the weird thumping of her heart were any indication, whatever it was he was doing, he was definitely doing it right.

  And based on the way Kaci was grinning
, she knew it.

  But it wasn’t until after the pie was in the oven that Anna realized Jackson hadn’t told her where he’d gone when he left her alone in his kitchen. But then, she hadn’t told him about her biscuits either.

  They’d been too busy talking about her peaches.

  JACKSON DIDN’T KNOW he was a pie man until that long spell between the best pies he’d ever tasted. Those funny notes she kept sending him had him intrigued, but if he were the kind of man to fall in love, it would’ve been the peach pie that did him in.

  Her ex-husband was a lug-head to walk away from Anna Grace’s pies.

  Thoughts like that made him glad he’d gotten out of the kitchen when he had. But then he’d gone and snagged the seat next to Anna when the ribs came off the grill, and with her eating that peach pie right next to him, he was getting ideas he shouldn’t be having. Not with hunting season coming on.

  “—And I swear on my daddy’s grave,” Kaci was saying, “that pumpkin landed plum smack in the middle of a pig farm. Went half a mile if it went an inch. My momma’s face ’bout near turned purple when that old pig farmer showed up with half a hog carcass and a bill for the rest of it.”

  “Now, did you aim the trebuchet, or did your friend?” Anna asked.

  Kaci tossed a napkin at her.

  “Decent question,” Jackson said.

  “What about you, Bubba?” Lance said. “Seem to recall you had a few good tales.”

  Anna’s eyes narrowed at him. He had a feeling she was onto him. And he wasn’t entirely disappointed.

  He did like his competition smart.

  He took another bite of pie and tried to stay on the earthly plane. Damn good pie.

  She was ruining him for biscuits. She really was.

  “Yeah,” he finally said, “I got a couple good ones.”

  “Which one’s your favorite?” Anna asked. She had a sparkle in her eyes, like she expected him to refuse to tell it.

  He wasn’t one to disappoint a lady. “Dunno about that, Anna Grace. Stories like that, you gotta earn ’em.”

  She fiddled with the pie server, stroked a finger down the handle. He felt a familiar tightening down south.

  He’d gotten a good number of biscuit offers back in Auburn this summer, but not one of them had grabbed his attention like she did.

  Her voice went low and husky. “Pretty sure I’ve earned this one.”

  Kaci snickered.

  “She’s got a point, Bubba,” Lance said.

  “That’s how it’s gonna be, is it?” Jackson leaned back in the chair, crossed his ankle over his knee, and reached back to a few memories he held close. “Reckon I was about fifteen or so,” he said. “Had a friend who liked to have some fun. Get creative. Give our mommas heart attacks. So one day we were hanging out, and we started talking about what we were gonna be when we grew up.”

  “What were you going to be?” Anna asked.

  Jackson scratched his head. “Hadn’t rightly decided yet, but Craig, he said he was gonna fly rocket ships to the moon. So I got to thinking, and I told him we could build a rocket right in our own backyard.”

  Kaci leaned forward. “Did you?”

  “Tried real hard,” Jackson said. “Tell you what, if that old Hoover of Momma’s had as much suction power as those commercials said, we would’ve done it on the first round. Instead, we had to amp that sucker up and give her more power.”

  Kaci was near salivating. Lance shot him a dirty look, probably because Jackson’s rocket story was bigger. Anna Grace, though, was sucking her lips in like she was afraid she’d laugh before the punch line.

  “How far did it go?” Kaci breathed. “Did it blow up?”

  “Made it high as my granddaddy’s oak tree if it made it an inch. Would’ve gone further, but Craig’s astronaut steered like a girl.”

  “Your momma,” Kaci said. “You break any arms or legs?”

  “Nah, but little Eunice wasn’t ever the same.”

  “You put your dog in the rocket?” Lance said.

  “Shucks, no. It was some old Cabbage Patch Kid. Course, Momma was madder’n a wet hen over that too. Ruined her Hoover and broke a good doll.”

  A whimpery laugh slipped out between Anna’s lips.

  Figured she’d like that, since she managed to make vague references to his momma every few notes.

  “She blister your backside?” Kaci asked.

  Jackson chuckled. “Nah. Daddy handled us instead.” Sent Craig home to Russ for a whooping, then sat Jackson down, looked over that old modified engine sitting there in the backyard, and said, Son, you owe your momma a new vacuum. Then I don’t care what it costs, you’re going to space camp this summer. Long as I got breath in my body, I ain’t gonna let you waste those smarts you got.

  “So you fly planes now?” Anna asked.

  He shook his head. “No waiver for what I’ve got.”

  Her brow wrinkled.

  “Damn shame,” Lance said.

  Anna Grace’s wrinkle got wrinklier.

  Jackson flicked a mosquito off his arm. “Don’t you worry none,” he said to Anna. “Doctors say I got at least six months.”

  He was working up a little guilt for the way her eyes went wide when Kaci smacked him in the shoulder. “Don’t you be falling for that old line,” she said to Anna. “He ain’t dying, he’s color-blind.”

  Jackson looked at Lance, who grinned. “Sorry, Bubba.”

  “Your turn, Anna Grace,” Jackson said. “You got any fishing stories?”

  She had that devil look going again.

  She did it good.

  “You betcha,” she said.

  But she wouldn’t tell, and it was getting late. They carried their dishes in and got the kitchen mostly put to rights. Anna made like she was heading for home.

  Lance tilted his head toward her, but Jackson was already on it.

  “Let me get that door for you, Anna Grace.”

  She did that cute thing where she tried to look like she didn’t want help and didn’t want him to see her smile about it. “Afraid your momma’s going to hear you let a lady walk to her car by herself?”

  He pulled the door open. “More like wondering if you’ll let me get away with it.”

  She puffed herself up a couple of inches and marched outside.

  “Didn’t hurt a bit, now did it?” He tucked his hands in his pockets and moseyed beside her.

  Her lips were fighting another smile. “Thank you.”

  “You feel that, Anna Grace? That’s progress. I’m real proud of you.”

  This time she smiled all the way. Between that smile and her pie, he needed to keep hunting season in mind. Didn’t like it when he couldn’t get away any old weekend he liked.

  “Are you always this old-fashioned, or are you trying to goad me?” Anna asked.

  “Shucks, ma’am, ain’t nothing old-fashioned about manners.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “But if you were thinking to reward me for good behavior with your phone number, well, now, I sure wouldn’t be put out.”

  She laughed. “You wouldn’t, huh?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She paused beside her car and leaned into him. He smelled peaches and pool water and perfection, and he had to concentrate on breathing steady. “Yes, ma’am?”

  She crooked a finger. “I need to tell you a secret.”

  Hell with hunting season.

  “Sometimes,” she whispered, her breath tickling his ear and most of the rest of his body all at the same time, “a girl appreciates a guy for who he is, instead of who he’s pretending to be.”

  She pulled away and held out her hand while he was still puzzling out if she’d just confessed to liking him. “Let me see your phone,” she said.

  He handed it over and she typed away on it, tilting it so he couldn’t see what she was doing. After a minute, she handed it back to him. “If you can find it, you can use it.”

  He coughed back a chuckle. “That a co
mment on my technical skills or my puzzlin’ skills?”

  “Do you frequently have trouble using your equipment?”

  “Don’t reckon you’ll know unless I find that number.”

  Her cheeks flushed so dark they blended into the night. “That’s a very good point.”

  “Reckon a girl with your organizational skills still has my number.”

  “Oh, I kept it. In case I ever needed an exterminator again.”

  Funny girl, that Anna Grace.

  He stepped away from her car, because she’d found her flirting words tonight, but the way she kept hugging that door told him she wasn’t ready for following through.

  That was okay with him. He’d waited thirty-three years to find out he was a pie man. He could wait a while longer to find out what else she could teach him. “You have a nice evening, Anna Grace.”

  She winked at him. “You have a nice time hunting for that number.”

  It took some effort, but he waited all the way until her taillights disappeared before he tried. And when he finally found it, he wouldn’t even tell Radish how long it took. But he did get a good laugh out of it.

  My Favorite Yankee, she’d labeled herself.

  He couldn’t argue with that.

  Chapter Eleven

  He knew the pleasure of a kiss with the wrong woman, but he had yet to discover the power of a kiss with the right one.

  —The Temptress of Pecan Lane, by Mae Daniels

  A LITTLE OVER A WEEK later, Anna walked into the lab and found Jules sitting on the floor in khakis and a blue knit shirt amid piles of magazines and old efficiency reports, tossing things into her trash can.

  Cleaning.

  Anna froze. Maybe if she tiptoed back the way she came, Jules would pretend she hadn’t heard Anna come in. And Anna could pretend Jules’s cube still needed quality time with a backhoe and a label maker, and the world would keep spinning on its axis.

  Jules shot her an I dare you to say something look.

  Anna smiled, which probably looked as fake as it felt. “Hey, Jules. How’s it going?”

  “What’s it look like, genius? Don’t even think of bringing that chipper attitude in here. You didn’t get laid or something this weekend, did you?”