Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
But as Dawson watched Wilbur rip the squirrel to smithereens with his powerful jaws, he realized there was no way he could send the vicious animal home with Magnolia.
Even if she wasn’t the least bit scared of him.
She looked like he was the best boy ever as she watched his razor-sharp teeth disemboweled the toy.
“Now don’t be in such a rush to get rid of him. He just needs to warm up to you.” Her eyes lit up. “In fact, I have an idea that might quicken the process. Do you have any bacon?”
“Probably. Poppy just finished going to the grocery store and she loves ba—wait, where are you going?”
Magnolia didn’t reply as she opened the back door and disappeared inside.
Not wanting to be left with Cujo, Dawson didn’t hesitate to follow.
When he got to the kitchen, he found her searching through the refrigerator.
Like the other day when she was there, she brightened up the kitchen like a beam of pink sunlight.
And once again, he couldn’t help being the storm cloud.
“I doubt bacon is going to make Wilbur like me.”
She turned and lifted a package of bacon triumphantly. “Then you don’t know the power of bacon.”
Dawson wasn’t convinced, especially when he stepped out the back door holding the baggie of crumbled bacon Magnolia had microwaved and Wilbur’s head came up from where it had been resting on a pile of shredded squirrel.
The gleam in those dark eyes didn’t say “Yum, bacon.” as much as “You’re dead, motherfucker. ”
“Remember.” Magnolia came up behind him so he couldn’t turn and run. “Only give him one piece at a time and only if he follows a command. Try stay first.”
“If he stays, how will I give him the bacon?”
“You’ll have to approach him.”
Damn.
He hesitantly moved closer. “Stay.”
The dog got to his three feet and growled.
Dawson took a step back and Magnolia placed a hand on his waist. It was weird how her light touch calmed him.
“Say it with more authority and open the baggie so he can smell the bacon.
He opened the baggie and jiggled it. “Stay!”
Wilbur stopped growling and his nose lifted as he sniffed. That was good enough for Dawson. He threw a piece of bacon at him and the dog caught it in mid-air with a snap of powerful jaws.
Magnolia laughed. “Good, but you should have handed it to him.”
“Screw that. I’m not losing a finger.” The dog licked his mouth as if to say a finger sounded damn good to him. In case he decided to try feasting on one of his, Dawson threw him another piece of bacon. Catch. Snap. Swallow.
“Make him do something for it,” Magnolia said. “Try sit. Although that might hurt his hip where the stitches are. Maybe try down.”
“Down!”
The dog cocked his head.
“Close enough.” Dawson tossed him another piece.
Magnolia snorted. “You are too easy.”
“Hey, as long as the dog isn’t trying to eat me, I’m going to reward him.” But he still gave it another shot. “Down!” Wilbur hesitated just a second before carefully lowering to his stomach. Dawson’s eyes widened. “He did it!” He looked back at Magnolia. “He did it!”
She gave him a smile filled with pride. He didn’t know if that pride was for him or Wilbur, but it didn’t matter. It made him feel damn good.
“See,” she said. “You two are going to be great buddies.”
Dawson didn’t know about that. Wilbur only seemed to tolerate him when he had bacon in his hand. When the baggie was empty, the dog started growling again so Dawson went back in the house to make more.
While he was there, he made two bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches for their dinner.
He had never cooked for a woman besides Poppy—not that making a sandwich was cooking—and he felt a little awkward when he carried the paper plates out.
Until Magnolia beamed like she had when he’d brought her the flowers and a salad from Sloppy Joe’s.
Those twinkling eyes and smiling upside mouth made him want to give her .
. . everything. Again, he worried about how close he was getting to her.
He should have cut things off today like he’d planned.
But then she’d texted the hell out of him and he’d realized there was no cutting things off with Magnolia.
He would just have to be strong until she left town.
Or he did. And if Magnolia could talk Cadee into taking his inheritance and dropping the lawsuit, that would be sooner than later.
For now, he just needed to keep things friendly.
He set the plates on the table. “I didn’t know where a BLT falls on your list of things that aren’t good for you. So, I cut yours in quarters so you can exercise your willpower however you want.”
She laughed as she rose from where she’d been crouched down scratching Wilbur. “You know me too well, but, obviously, you didn’t see the slice of bacon I snuck while crumbling Wilbur’s. I have no willpower where bacon is concerned.”
He pulled out a chair for her. “Lucky bacon.”
She shot him a surprised look over her shoulder.
And he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t know why that had slipped out of his mouth.
Or maybe he did. Even though he knew it was best if they remained friends, a part of him still wanted her to be unable to resist him .
. . as much as he was unable to resist her.
Even now, he couldn’t help taking a deep breath of her subtle sweet scent as he helped her scoot her chair in or noticing the soft curve of her neck.
Wilbur watched them eat from his bed before the scent of bacon must have been too much and he finally got up and hobbled over.
The dog was adjusting well to only three legs.
His gait was different than most dogs, but he still had no problem getting around.
He hesitated as he approached the table, his gaze darting from Magnolia to Dawson.
Then shockingly, he came over to Dawson’s side and rested his head on Dawson’s knee.
Which earned him an entire bacon slice.
“You should crumble that,” Magnolia warned. “If he eats too much, he might get sick.”
But Dawson was too happy the dog was starting to warm up to him to pay attention to the warning.
Four slices of bacon later, Wilbur threw up all over the cement patio floor. Magnolia didn’t say a word, but the way she pressed her lips together as she leashed Wilbur to take him outside said it all.
Once he was finished cleaning up the mess, Dawson followed them. He found Magnolia curled up in the porch swing with Wilbur lying at her feet. The homey picture they presented made Dawson’s chest feel that funny tight feeling again.
He rubbed it away as he climbed the porch steps. “Is he okay?” Wilbur lifted his head and growled as if to say, “Good enough to kick your ass.”
“Now none of that,” Magnolia scolded as she reached down and scratched the dog’s ears.
She sent Dawson a stern look. Or what she must have thought was a stern look.
There was nothing stern about Magnolia. “That goes for you too, Dawson Hennessy. Stop reacting to his fear with fear.” She patted the spot next to her on the swing.
“Now pull up your big boy panties and come sit down.”
He kept a close eye on Wilbur as he cautiously took a seat.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She gave Wilbur a pat on the head. “Good boy.”
“More like vicious boy.”
She leaned over and bumped shoulders with him.
“Play nice. Especially when you’re a growler too.
If I had run off when we first met, we never would have become friends.
” She kicked off her pink sandals and plopped one pink-nailed foot onto his lap while she set the swing into motion with the other. “This is heaven.”
She was right. It was pretty much heaven. The gentle sway of the swing. The glow of the disappearing sun still tinged the horizon, bleeding up into the twilight sky with its faint half-moon and one twinkling planet.
Magnolia wiggled back into the corner of the swing, adding her other foot to his lap. “Just so you know, foot massages are welcome.”
But foot massages were something else he’d never done. So, he wasn’t sure how to go about them. Or why he got so hot and bothered from just the thought of touching a foot.
But Magnolia feet weren’t just feet. They were the prettiest feet he’d ever seen in his life.
They were narrow with high arches and toes that neatly lined up in a row, biggest to smallest, like pretty pale pink rosebuds.
He couldn’t control the hitch of his breath when he took one foot in his hand and started kneading.
Magnolia tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Mmm, that feels good.”
The deep sound of her satisfaction had Dawson hardening beneath his zipper. He shifted her feet, hoping she hadn’t felt it.
“I love a porch swing,” she said.
He pushed into her arch with his thumb. “My daddy made this one for my mama from a whiskey barrel.”
“So that’s where you get your talent for restoring things.”
The comment took him by surprise. He’d never thought he’d gotten anything from his daddy.
Jaxon had gotten his love of cooking. Huck his charm and carpentry talent.
Poppy his looks. But Dawson was more like his mama.
Unemotional, stubborn, and mean. So being compared to his daddy made him feel . . . like he wasn’t such a failure.
“He was good at building things.” Dawson stared at the bright star twinkling on the horizon.
“He was also a good cook and funny. He loved to tease and joke around like Huck. There’s not one memory I have of him where he’s not smiling and laughing.
Of course, I don’t have all that many memories of him.
He traveled a lot before he . . .” He left the sentence hanging and concentrated on massaging around each toe.
When Magnolia didn’t say anything, he glanced over at her. Her eyes were open, the green depths sad and sincere.
“I’m sorry about your daddy. And I’m sorry I spent so much of our time together whining about how hard it is to not remember my mama. I would imagine remembering is much harder.”
He looked back at the sky. “Not when the memories are good.”
He thought Magnolia would have something to say about that. She always had something to say. But she didn’t say a word for a long time, the only sounds Wilbur’s snoring, the creak of the swing chains, and the chirp of night insects.
Finally, she did speak. “And your memories of your mama? Were any of them good?”
He started to say no, but then a memory did pop into his head. A memory that wasn’t good. But it wasn’t bad either.
“Mama was always on the move. Whether it was here or at Honky Tonk Heaven, she rarely sat still. But every Sunday morning, she’d come out to the porch and sit in this very swing to drink her cup of black coffee and smoke.
As kids, we learned this was the one time she would sit still long enough for us to grab her attention.
Huck would try to make her laugh. Jaxon would try to get her to deal with parental issues—like signing permissions slips or giving him money to buy one of us new boots or sneakers.
Poppy would try to get Mama’s attention by singing a song she wrote.
” He smiled. “They would circle her like working bees to the queen bee.”
“But not you.”
He glanced over to find Magnolia watching him again.
He couldn’t lie to those clear green eyes if he’d wanted to.
“No. Not me. One day, she lost it and said that Sundays were her one time to just sit and relax, and she wasn’t going to listen to any demands from her kids.
So, no one was allowed on the porch with her on Sunday mornings . . . except me.”
Magnolia smiled. “You were the only one who got to hang out with your mama on Sundays?”
“No,” he said. “I never set foot on the porch on Sunday mornings again. But I couldn’t help feeling happy that she knew I existed.”
Tears welled in Magnolia’s eyes as she sat up and cradled his jaw in her hand.
“You exist, Dawson.” She caressed his bottom lip with her thumb before she leaned in and kissed him. Not passionately, but softly . . . sweetly. As if she was kissing a scraped knee to heal it.
Strangely, that soft kiss was healing.
Just not nearly enough for the hurt he held.
All his plans to just remain friends crumbled and he took over the kiss, deepening it as he tried to absorb all her healing power.
She opened up to him as if she knew what he needed and was more than willing to give it.
Her fingers slid into his hair as her tongue greeted his with lush strokes that made him moan.
All he could think about was keeping her here in his arms and never letting go.
Keeping her all to himself and not sharing her with anyone else.
His and his alone.
But too soon, she drew away. Even in the growing darkness, he could read the panic in her eyes.
“I should probably go.”
He should have let her. He should have nodded and released her foot he still gripped and the side of her face he still cradled. But he couldn’t. No matter how much he should, he couldn’t let her go.
“Stay, Maggie May. I promise I’ll be good for you.”
More tears welled as she swallowed hard. “That’s the problem. What if you’re so good that I . . . can’t live without you?”
All the pieces of Magnolia’s puzzle fell into place. Never more than two donuts. Never more than one kiss. It had nothing to do with proving her willpower and everything to do with making sure she didn’t grow too attached to something she could lose.
Something that might break her heart.
Damned if he didn’t understand that perfectly. He had spent his life withholding himself from people so he wouldn’t get hurt. Unfortunately, Magnolia hadn’t let him withhold himself from her. She had forced her way into his heart and took up residence whether he’d wanted her there or not.
Now he had no choice but to do the same.
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m hard to lose. You can ask my siblings. I’m like a bad penny. I just keep showing up.”
She didn’t laugh. It broke his heart when a tear tracked down her cheek. “I’m scared.”
“I know, baby.” He brushed the tear away with his thumb.
“I’m scared too. But I’m more scared of letting you go.
” He softly kissed her. “Stay, Maggie May.” He wasn’t sure if he meant tonight or forever.
Maybe both. He kissed his way along the soft skin of her chin to her ear and whispered softly. “I’ll give you more bacon.”
It felt like forever before she spoke. “Well . . . I guess for bacon.”