Chapter Ten
Rhett stalked the shady, tree-lined street. What had he been thinking? He never visited the dog park. That was Doc’s territory. They had marked Everland like two alphas claiming territory. His dad got the park. Rhett got Sweet Brew. His dad got Chez Louis. Rhett got Smuggler’s Cove. Dad had a membership to the upscale Ocean Springs Yacht Club, while Rhett keptCalypsodocked at the more low-key Buccaneers Marina. Today he’d crossed enemy lines and for what? To check on Pepper and see how she did walking a dog?
No. The truth was worse. He’d gotten curious about a woman. Worse, he’d allowed that curiosity to propel him into the park and the interaction hadn’t gone unnoticed.
It was enough to almost make him miss the uncomplicated days of the Birdie era. Nobody gave a hoot over a couple who’d gone steady since junior high. There were no surprises between them until she left him standing at the altar while the whole damn town watched with stomach-churning expressions.
Like it or not, Pepper Knight had captured his attention. It wasn’t just that she was striking, the thick brows that somehow worked on her otherwise delicate features or the small mole dotting her upper lip. And it had nothing to do with the way her tight pants hugged her hips. Those helped, but it was something more.
When she looked at him, recognition sparked, like catching a glimpse of one’s reflection in a window. She’d been hurt deep, too, and he’d never been able to resist helping anything lost.
“Rhett Jamison Valentine, kindly hightail your tushie over here.”
Lou Lou had her Suburban parked across the road, glaring out the driver’s-side window with an expression that could freeze hell to an ice rink.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. This day took a sharp turn from bad to worse.
“Keep it PG for the little pitchers. Besides, you know how I feel about foul language.” Lou Ellen had the manners of a belle and the ears of an elephant. She also swore like a sailor after her third mint julep, but reminding her of that fact would get him nowhere fast.
As he crossed the road, the back window rolled down and four heads popped out.
“Hey, Uncle Rhett.”
“You’re in trouble.”
“Big trouble.”
“Hoo-wee. Mama is maaaaaad.”
His four nieces could barely contain their glee. Guess it was another day ending iny.
“And you all defended me, right?” he said, giving them a mock glare.
“Nope,” they chimed in sweet unison. The little devils.
His sister removed her sunglasses, and a pang slammed through him. Lou Ellen was the spitting image of Mama. The same platinum-blonde hair. And same penetrating take-no-prisoners stare that cut right through a man’s soul.
“Butter my biscuit,” she sang out, slapping the steering wheel. “The gossip’s true. Youareinterested in your new neighbor.”
Damn it to hell. How did she always do that? Know exactly what he was thinking. He raked a hand over his head and leaned in. “Can you talk any louder? Pretty sure Miss Ida May only caught half of that, five blocks away, with the windows shut.”
“The truth is stamped all over your face,” she pushed on. “That’s the same expression you used to get on Christmas morning.”
Busted.He crossed his arms over his chest. No one ever caught him off guard like his sister. Her Sherlock Holmes–like powers of perception were fierce. It was a shame the CIA never came knocking. Although on second thought, maybe they had, and she was secretly an international spy hidden behind a smear of pink lipstick and blue eyeshadow. “I don’t—”
“Don’t burst a gullet denying what’s obvious to anyone with two working eyes. Word to the wise, little brother. Ida May is ready to start a new neighborhood watch program so get your P’s and Q’s in order, and”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“do you have condoms at home? Unexpired ones? Better safe than sorry, I always say.”
Overhead, two buzzards circled leisurely. They might get lucky after his sister was finished with him. “Nothing is going on.”
“Mm-hmm. Except that you haven’t engaged in a willing, non-work-related conversation with an eligible member of the opposite sex since I don’t know when.”
“I like my life.” He knocked a boot against her tire. “I’m happy.” Or at least not in the grip of soul-destroying active unhappiness. If someone would happen to run their fingers over his heart, it would come up coated in thick dust.
“Stop sulking, you big baby. I’d hand over my Macy’s card to have that magical falling-head-over-heels feeling again.” Her pert nose crinkled. “Instead I’ve got to text Snapper and remind him that we’re out of laundry detergent. Again. And the front hall toilet’s not flushing right for the second time this week. I don’t know what y’all are doin’ in there,” she hollered over one shoulder.
“Sorry, Mama!” the kids shouted from the rear, sounding the opposite of apologetic.
Rhett hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Know what? I’m gonna get going.” Lou Lou’s long-suffering husband, Snapper, was a far more patient man than him, poor son of a bitch. His sister had the biggest heart in four counties, but also the biggest mouth.
