Chapter 10
The next morning, there was a knock on my door at seven o’clock sharp. Zeppelin raced to the door, barking excitedly. I followed, telling him to pipe down. I had a coffee in one hand and stuffed a Pop-Tart into my mouth with the other so I could open the door. When it swung open, I was still chewing.
Cy was on my doorstep, and the beauty of his eyes struck me full force with such strength that I had trouble swallowing the last of the Pop-Tart. His long black hair was neatly combed this morning, which was a definite improvement.
His unruly beard still stuck out in all directions, but maybe I was getting used to it seeing as I found myself focusing on his eyes, his extraordinary cheekbones, and the line of his long, straight nose. I only wished I could see the rest of his face better. I suspected his smile was attractive, but his top lip was shielded by facial hair.
“Your girls started work early this morning,” he said in his gravelly drawl. “I collected some eggs.”
It was only then that I realized he had several eggs cradled inside his large hands.
“My girls?” I asked, confused.
“The chickens.”
“Oh. I didn’t...” I shook my head. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me that the danger birds might be laying eggs. I hadn’t even thought to check.
For the first time, Cy wasn’t wearing an oversized flannel shirt, but a T-shirt and faded jeans. It was a fitted gray T-shirt, and my word, he had some serious muscles. I’d previously noticed his wide shoulders, but now I could see the swell of his biceps and the ropy muscles in his forearms. His T-shirt clung to his trim waist, and his jeans hugged narrow hips.
Nice body, Bumpkin.
Lifting my cup, I took a slug of coffee to cover my surprise at the improvement a simple change of clothes had made.
Zeppelin jumped up at Cy, trying to get high enough to lick his face. Cy laughed, taking a step backward. “Almost dropped one.” He nodded down at his hands. “Grab that top egg before it gets scrambled.”
I wrinkled my nose, curling both hands around my half-empty coffee cup. “But they haven’t been sterilized.”
“Sterilized?”
“They’ve come from a chicken’s butt. They must need cleaning.”
His mouth tugged up as though I’d said something funny. “Just take the egg, then you can wash your hands.”
With my nose still wrinkled, I reached for the egg. But I breathed in his scent at the same time, woodsy and fresh, and my gaze was focused on what I could see of his smile. My fingers landed on warm skin instead of a cool egg, and a spike of awareness shot through me. It was the same feeling I’d had when he’d touched my face as we were giving Zeppelin a bath.
Either Cy was giving off power surges like a faulty battery, or I was more attracted to him than I was willing to admit.
Feeling my cheeks start to heat, I snatched the egg and stepped back with it. He might be kind, and unexpectedly quick-witted, but he was the last person I should find attractive. A bumpkin drug dealer? No thanks.
“Is that coffee?” Lifting a hopeful eyebrow, Cy nodded at the cup I was holding.
“Well, it’s too early for a margarita.” To counteract any color that might have leaked into my cheeks, I put a little bite into the words.
“I’ll take a cup.” Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, brushing past me. Cy had several inches on me, and the size of his shoulders and arms was impressive. As was the rear view of his faded jeans, which I couldn’t help but admire while he walked toward the kitchen.
Very nice butt, Bumpkin.
Despite how wrong it was, I took my time walking down the hallway to admire the hug of his jeans and his lazy stride. He put his handful of eggs on the kitchen counter, and I set the one I was carrying next to them. After thoroughly washing my hands, I got out a mug and hit the button to make coffee come out of Carla’s magic machine.
“Cream?” I asked. “Sugar?”
“I’ll take it black.”
Once I handed him the coffee, he leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed one foot over the other. “How about you tell me who threatened you?” he suggested.
I gave him a flat look over the lip of my cup. “How ’bout I don’t.”
His gaze traveled over my face. He had to be registering my annoyance with the way he was trying to muscle into my business.
One of his shoulders lifted and then dropped in resigned acceptance. “Suit yourself.” He took a sip. “Mmm. Good coffee.”
“Right?” At least there was one thing we could agree on.
“How’s your oven?” he asked.
“The setting you suggested worked fine.” I motioned to the empty pizza box on the counter. “The last two nights, my pizza was edible. Made a pleasant change.”
“You had the same meal two nights in a row? Should I tell you the settings to cook something else?”
“No need.”
“No need?” he repeated. His brow creased with puzzlement. “You’re not fixing to cook anything else?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the freezer open and motioned with his coffee to the stack of frozen pizza boxes I’d stuffed into it. “What’s all this?”
“It’s pizza, of course.” I let out an exaggerated huff of breath. “Pizza belongs to a category of food called Not Grits. I assume that’s why you don’t recognize it.”
Shutting the freezer, he turned to face me. “Pizza can’t be all you’re planning to eat?”
“Why not? Did you not see the Michelin star printed right there on the side of the box? Besides, I bought different flavors.”
“There are vegetable gardens around the side of the house, and fresh herbs on the windowsill.” He pointed his coffee toward the potted plants I’d assumed were for decoration. “At least you can make something fresh to have with the pizza.”
“I don’t cook,” I informed him.
“Not at all?”
“Well, I can make Pop-Tarts.”
“Homemade from scratch?”
“What?” I gave him a confused frown. “There’s no such thing as homemade Pop-Tarts.”
“Then how do you make them?”
“Put them in the toaster.”
He set his coffee on the counter, as though there were no way he could demonstrate the depths of his incredulity other than by spreading both of his large hands. “Let me get this straight. You can’t cook anything? Putting a Pop-Tart in the toaster is your closest equivalent?”
“What is it with everyone in this town and cooking? Anyone would think it was some kind of local law. Cook or get arrested. Sheesh!”
Crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Most folks like to eat at least some food that doesn’t come in a box. It requires combining ingredients and applying heat.”
“Well, I’m used to having dozens of restaurants and takeout places within a block of my apartment. It’s not my fault that all you have around here is trees.”
Leaning back against the counter, he slowly shook his head. His eyebrows were drawn down as though I’d told him something tragic, and he let out a sigh, though his eyes held a glint of amusement. “I can’t let you eat that much frozen pizza, and I don’t live far up the road. If you were willing to try to keep your rudeness contained, I’d let you come to my place for dinner?—”
“Wait. I’m going to stop you right there.” I held up one palm. “I’m not interested in a hookup, so you can forget about trying to put any moves on me.”
Cy shook his head, his brow furrowed. “That’s not what this is. My niece is staying with me. She’s bored, and it would be good for her to have someone other than me to talk to.”
He seemed almost offended by the idea he might have been hitting on me, and I studied him, trying to work out if he was for real. So far, he’d been kinder to me than any man I’d met in a long time, and experience had made it hard for me to believe he wasn’t asking for anything in return.
Even if he was genuine, there were all those rumors about him. He didn’t seem like a drug dealer, but my experience was limited. And where there was smoke there had to be fire, right? The last thing I needed was any more trouble.
“My niece is fifteen, visiting from Nashville,” Cy added. “You need to eat, and frozen pizza isn’t real food. So come for dinner, and I’ll give you a no-moves guarantee.”
Funnily enough, I believed him on the no-moves thing. But I still shook my head. “It’s not a good idea for me to go to your house.”
“What’s wrong with my house?”
“For starters, I don’t need any trouble with the law.”
With a slow blink, he scratched his wild beard. “What in the devil are you talking about?”
“I heard you grow drugs.”
His hand froze on his beard midscratch, then dropped as he drew his head back. The skin between his eyes pinched as though what I’d said had hurt him. For a moment, his expression was so pained, I regretted telling him.
“Who said that?” he asked.
“It was one of the bakery’s customers.”
He was silent for a moment, then gave a little nod as though to say it was to be expected. “I’m a Baxter,” he said on a resigned exhale. “And to folks around here, that’s the worst thing a person can be.”
“Your family has a bad reputation, but you’re really just misunderstood?” My tone made it clear that I didn’t believe him. Eric wasn’t the first unreliable man I’d dated, and I’d heard too many stories that turned out to be lies. It may have taken me longer than it should have, but maybe I’d finally stopped trusting too easily.
He shrugged. “Folks here only think they know me. I’ve been gone for years. They may have had the misfortune of knowing my daddy, but he was the one who grew weed, not me.”
He seemed honest, not that I hadn’t been mistaken about that kind of thing before. His gaze was level, his eyes clear, and his manner as confident as ever. Thing was, I wanted to believe him. I was probably just a fool, wanting to keep trusting the wrong people, but I couldn’t seem to help it.
“So your house isn’t likely to be raided by the police anytime soon?” I asked.
“I can’t make any promises about that, seeing as I don’t run the sheriff’s department.” He picked up his coffee cup to drain it, and when I didn’t say anything, he added, “It’s your choice. I’ll make burgers tonight with my own homemade ketchup. Come or don’t come, whichever you please.”
Burgers did sound good, even without proper ketchup. A lot better than having pizza again. And I’d only need to stay long enough to eat.
Cy put his empty cup in the sink, then picked up Zeppelin’s leash, getting ready to leave.
“Do you put pickles on your burgers?” I asked, watching him clip the leash to Zeppelin’s collar.
“Why?” He straightened. “Don’t you like them?”
“I more than like them. Pickles are my bottom line. Without them, there’s no burger.”
He shot me a sideways look, his lips quirking up. “Noted.”
Despite how he was trying to hide them under all that facial hair, I noticed his teeth were white and even. “You have a nice smile,” I mused aloud.
His eyebrows shot up. “Was that a compliment?”
It was only because he sounded so incredulous that I said, “I was only surprised not to see any chewing tobacco stains. And as far as I can tell, you don’t have any teeth missing. At least, not the ones at the front.”
Though he gave a rueful shake of his head, he looked amused. Hopefully he’d taken it as the joke I’d intended.
As he stepped onto the porch with Zeppelin on the leash, he said, “I’ll be sure to give you extra pickles with your burger, and hope you can’t talk while you’re eating.”
I grinned, and when his lips curled up in response, I was struck even harder by the symmetry of his features, and the glimpse of what had to be a devastating smile. Good thing he had so much scruffy facial hair. Without it, I’d probably be in serious trouble.
“Dinner would be nice,” I heard myself say. “Thank you.”
“My place is five minutes that way.” He nodded up the road. “It’s the one with the gravel driveway, and you’ll see my truck parked out front. The driveway’s rough, but Noah’s pickup will handle it. Come around six.”
When I shut the door behind him, I was still smiling. But that smile disappeared when my phone rang.
The screen said Scary Drug Dealer.
Yesterday, Spike had said he’d give me a day or two to get the money. Had Josephina left town yet? He couldn’t be calling from her place, could he?
With my brain conjuring up all kinds of awful scenarios, mostly based on movies about scary thugs torturing people to get what they wanted, I answered my phone.
“You got my money yet?” Spike demanded.
“Not yet, but like I said, I’ll talk to the bank and see if I can get a loan.”
“Do it today. Get the money, or I’ll come to Tennessee.”
I let out a breath, grateful he hadn’t mentioned Josie. “Spike, listen. I’m getting regular paychecks, so even if I can’t get the loan, I can set you up with a payment plan in the meantime, until Eric gets back with the rest.”
“A payment plan?” His voice rose. “Are you fucking kidding me? You think I sell encyclopedias?”
“What, drug dealers can’t have payment plans?”
“Fuck,” he said, but in a tired way, like I might be wearing him down. “Get the fucking money before I need to pay you a visit. Clock’s ticking.” He hung up.
I rubbed my eyes, my stomach churning. Though I’d talk to the bank, it was a long shot. The chance of getting a ten-thousand-dollar loan with no collateral was slim.
I dialed Eric’s number. If I hassled him enough, maybe he’d pay what he owed just to get rid of me. The call connected after a couple of rings. Was that a good sign?
“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice. In the background was a barrage of loud noise. The thumping beat of dance music didn’t quite drown out the cacophony of voices. A shrill laugh, then a drunken shout. Clearly a party.
“Would you put Eric on?” I asked.
“Who’s this?” the woman demanded, as though she had a right to know.
“Who are you?” I countered.
“Eric’s my boyfriend,” she said. “So tell me why you want to talk him.”
I breathed out through my nose, controlling my fury. Honestly, I wasn’t shocked. I was mostly angry with myself for not dumping Eric before he got me caught up in paying his debt.
“Put Eric on,” I ordered, my tone icy. “Do it now.”
She said something inaudible, and I heard Eric curse. A moment later, he came on the line.
“Hey, babe.” The party noise in the background suddenly got muffled, as though he’d taken his phone into another room. “I don’t know what that woman said to you, but I barely know her, so whatever she told you?—”
“Eric.” I cut him off. “If you don’t pay Spike his money, I’m going to hunt you down and turn your testicles into dashboard ornaments. Are you listening to me?”
“Babe, that woman was goofing around, making trouble for fun. You know I love you.”
“Shut up and listen to what I’m telling you. I don’t care about that woman, or whatever it is you’re doing over there. Spike threatened my sister. If he lays a single hand on her, I’m going straight to the police. I’ll tell them all about how you threw a big party to make yourself look like a big shot and handed out cocaine like party favors. I’ll tell them everything.”
I should never have stuck with Eric after I’d found out about the wild three-day party he’d thrown after his band had played in Vegas. He’d always been a little insecure, thinking he needed to buy people’s respect, but that stunt had gone beyond my understanding. When I’d found out, he’d groveled, begging me not to leave him. I shouldn’t have listened.
“You can’t go to the cops! Promise me, Mags, okay? If you talk to the police, Spike will kill you. He will. That guy is a serious dude.”
“Then pay him!”
“I will, babe. You’ve just got to give me time.”
“Thanks to you, I’m penniless, running from a drug dealer, camped out in rural Tennessee. I don’t have time, Eric, and neither do you. Pay him or else. And you don’t get to call me babe. Never again!”
“What does that mean?”
I let out a huff of breath. “What do you think it means?” Then I hung up on him.
It felt good to be the one to cut off the call for a change.
And if Eric thought our relationship was over, he was right. But if he wasn’t sure if I was actually breaking up with him, he’d be more likely to do what I asked and pay Spike what he owed. Maybe it was wrong or cowardly of me not to tell him flat out that we were over, but who cared? All I wanted was to be able to stop worrying that the scary drug dealer might find a way to hurt Josie or someone else I cared about.