Chapter 6
“Why am I doing this?” Brodie asked his reflection in the mirror above the dresser.
“Probably because you feel beholden to Bernie for not shooting you over the Linda deal.”
Brodie whipped around to find Knox leaning against the doorjamb. “You are right, but at least it’s only for dessert and coffee.”
“Blackberry cobbler is the Saturday night dessert at Tertia and Noah’s place,” Knox said.
“Just my luck,” Brodie groaned. “My favorite pie, and I have to carry on a conversation rather than enjoy it.”
“Maybe Audrey will storm in and kiss you again,” Knox teased.
Brodie shook his head slowly. “Not if she wouldn’t mind having this Wanette woman for a neighbor. She’ll leave me hanging out to dry if she likes the lady. But if she’s going to create a scene, I hope she does it before Tertia brings out my cobbler.”
“The way your love life is running, that probably won’t happen,” Knox said.
“Don’t I know it,” he said and patted his brother on the shoulder. “Want to take my place? The woman has never seen me.”
“Nope,” Knox answered with a grin. “I like peach cobbler better than blackberry.”
Brodie felt like his boots had fifty-pound weights attached to them as he slowly made his way down the stairs, across the foyer, and out on the porch. He told himself that this woman could make him feel like Audrey did when she kissed him, but the little voice in his head laughed.
He checked the time on his phone, and whether the situation was win, lose again, or maybe a draw this time, he had to go.
He crossed the yard, slid behind the wheel of his beat-up truck, and hoped that Wanette only liked men who drove fancy cars.
“That silly thought was something a teenage boy would come up with,” he scolded himself.
“I’ll just tell her that I’m not interested in dating right now. ”
Driving down the lane and across the road to the café seemed ridiculous since he could have walked in less time than it took to get in the truck and start the engine.
But after the recent spring rains, all the grounds were saturated.
If he hadn’t driven, he would have arrived with muddy boots and quite possibly splotches of dirty water halfway to the knees of his jeans.
His mother taught him that a gentleman left his boots at the door if they were in a mess, but if his jeans had dirty water spots halfway to the knees he couldn’t leave them very well.
He checked the clock on the dashboard—five fifty-five.
According to Bernie, six o’clock on the dot was the magic hour when he was supposed to walk through the doors.
He had seen a picture, albeit not a good likeness, of the first five women that Bernie had set him up with.
Linda was the sixth one, and she went to the same church, so he knew what she looked like.
He hadn’t even seen a picture of the woman he was to get to know that evening, but he knew her name and he could scan the place for a yellow rose lying on the table.
“Seven isn’t even my lucky number,” he muttered as he parked close to the door, got out of the truck, and went inside. “And speaking of luck?”
Evidently, dear old Aunt Bernie had not done her homework. A bouquet of yellow flowers in a pint jar sat in the middle of every single table. Brodie wasn’t up on his flowers enough to know if they were roses or tulips.
Tertia came from the kitchen and whispered, “Back table in the corner.”
“Thank you,” Brodie said with a nod and started that way. Had he known that meeting his biological father came with a long rope with a noose already tied to hang unmarried men, he might have thought twice about coming to north central Texas.
“No, I wouldn’t,” he whispered.
“You must be Brodie Callahan.” A red-haired woman slid out of the booth, stood up, and said in an accent that left no doubt that she was from the Deep South, “I’m Wanette Richards.”
Brodie held out a hand. “Yes, I’m Brodie, and I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Wanette said and shook his hand. “Shall we sit and get to know each other? I took the liberty of ordering black coffee and blackberry cobbler for you and a cup of green tea for me.”
“Thank you,” Brodie said, and waited for her to sit before he slid into the booth on the opposite side. “So, no dessert for you?”
And no sparks or feelings like I have with Audrey, he thought.
“I avoid sugar, red meat, and carbs,” she answered. “I’m not diabetic or a vegan, but I do take care of my body. I own a gym in Gainesville, so I have to set an example for my clients.”
“I’m an organic farmer,” Brodie said.
She didn’t stare at him, but through him. “That means you play in the dirt?”
“I do,” he answered.
“Well, then this date is a bust,” Wanette said. “But since I drove all the way up here to meet you, I’ll still have my tea before I leave.”
Brodie stopped himself from rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, but he did give a silent thank you for whatever reason Wanette didn’t like farmers.
Tertia brought out a mug of tea, one of black coffee, and a bowl of cobbler with ice cream on the top. “Y’all enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Brodie said, and was glad the date didn’t have to last long. Maybe she would drink her tea fast, and he could at least enjoy part of his cobbler without her staring at him from across the table.
This date may be a complete bust, but you will be the gentleman I taught you to be. His mother’s voice was loud and clear in his head.
“So, you’re from the South?” he asked.
“Born and raised in New Orleans but spent ten years in Los Angeles trying to get a toe in the movie business. I thought my Southern accent and well-toned body would get me somewhere, but it didn’t,” she answered.
“I’ll explain why I was so blunt about this date.
I’m thirty-six years old, and I’m looking for a husband.
You are a fine specimen of a man, but you are a farmer.
I’m ready to have kids, and time could be running out for me.
I like the city life. Gainesville is the smallest town I’ve ever lived in, and I really don’t like it.
As soon as I sell my gym, I’m heading back to California to put in a surf shop on the beach.
With the right man, I can have my career and a family both. ”
“O…kay,” Brodie said. “Didn’t Bernie tell you that I was a farmer?”
“Yes, but you’re sexy and the age I want, so I thought I’d meet you and see if you are definitely into the farming business before I wrote you off,” she answered. “Can I persuade you to date me with a serious relationship in mind with a move to the sunny West Coast at the end?”
Brodie dug into his cobbler and took a bite to give himself some time to think.
Audrey would not like this woman for a neighbor either.
When he swallowed and sipped on his coffee, he finally asked, “I don’t think that’s in the cards.
Did you honestly just drive up here to meet me to see if I’d make pretty babies? That’s pretty brazen.”
“That’s the story. No use in wasting time on what won’t be,” she answered and scanned as much of his body as she could see from across the booth.
“I could use someone like you to work in my surf shop if you are willing to change your mind about living up here in the boonies. We might have a good partnership.”
He looked at the huge helping of cobbler and shook his head. Could he finish it off in three bites? “I guess you made a trip for nothing.”
“And you got dressed all for nothing,” Wanette said, “but we can talk for a few more minutes until you finish your pie. How many of these blind dates have you been on?”
“The last one canceled, but you are the seventh,” Brodie answered. “How about you?”
She took a sip of her tea. “Third. I’m probably going to do better on the West Coast, where there are lots of hard-bodied surfers. Bernie told me that you hadn’t been here long, and she didn’t really expect you to put down roots. I thought I’d take a chance on you.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Brodie said.
Before either of them could say another word, the door opened and Audrey yelled, “Brodie Callahan, where are you?”
Everyone in the café, including Wanette and Brodie, turned around to look at her. Brodie blinked half a dozen times, but the pot-bellied pig she carried in her arms did not disappear. She marched to the back of the café and glared at him.
“You are insufferable,” she declared in a loud voice. “This thing has rooted up Aunt Hettie’s tulips, and…”
“That’s not mine,” Brodie raised his voice above hers.
“Oh, yes it is,” Audrey said. “I called all the neighbors, and no one claimed it, and when I chased it out of the flower bed, it ran straight over to your place and hid under the travel trailer.”
A faint vision surfaced of a pig flying through the air just before Tripp jerked Brodie into the cellar. He’d thought it was a full-grown hog, but the critter could have been smaller. Still, where had it been and why did it show up at his place this long after the storm had passed?
“Well?” Audrey asked.
“The tornado must have blown it in from somewhere. Since you found it, it’s all yours.” He hadn’t felt so alive in years as he did when he looked up into Audrey’s angry face.
“Oh, no! Your trailer. Your land. Your pig!” she said and set the muddy pig down in the middle of the table.
The animal immediately slurped up some of Wanette’s green tea and then nudged the half-empty cup into her lap, leaving wet streaks all down her light-green silk blouse. Before Brodie could grab it, the pig finished off his cobbler and kicked the bowl with lots of juice onto his white shirt.
He turned to say something to Audrey, but she had already left, leaving only a trail of dirty boot prints on the tile floor. Wanette sat there with a frozen horrified look on her face. “I cannot believe this!” she finally squealed.
The pig must have felt sorry for her because it turned around, scattering salt and pepper shakers in its wake, and put its front feet up on her shoulders.