Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rhett strode into his backyard with one simple desire: to perform a mindless, uncomplicated task. Sanding planks for his boat project fit the bill to a “T.” The noise was rhythmic. Ashh, shh, shhsound that he could lose himself in. Almost. The conversation with Al Hogg niggled in the back of his mind. The request was strange. In order for Al to clear the way for the shelter’s funding, Rhett needed to have the Quilt Guild to nominatehimas Mr. Scallywag for the live auction.
Rhett had almost laughed himself off the road. No woman in her right mind would spend a penny to go on a date with that man. In fact, he’d be able to hold a fundraiser all on his own if he made a public promise never to ask out another woman.
Lou Ellen would never agree to it.
He sanded harder. Sweat sheened his shoulders. Anyway, no good having a construction loan if Dad wasn’t going to cough up the land rights.
He worked his arms hard, his back muscles numb with exertion as sweat flew off his brow. What sucked wasn’t just the personal blow—yeah, that stung, but by this point he was almost numb to his father’s behavior. The real kicker was that animals would suffer needlessly, and for what? A grudge that at this point was being held purely out of default. No way could Dad still feel butt hurt about Rhett’s career decision. Not anymore. At this point he maintained this stupid-ass stand-off out of a sheer lack of imagination.
“Rhett!” Lou Ellen’s voice startled him.
He dragged a forearm over his brow. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“That’s because I didn’t.” She sashayed close, plopping her handbag on the sawhorse. “But I’ve been calling your name for a better part of a three minutes. And look at you. What bee crawled up your bonnet?”
“You can’t come waltzing in here like the Queen of Sheba, Lou.” He picked up his water bottle and drained it in four long swallows. “I thought that we’d agreed on boundaries?”
“That only people who need boundaries are those with something to hide.” She glanced around the backyard like there was a trapdoor leading to a secret sex club.
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree there.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair as if the gesture could smooth out his troubled brain. “Warm day.”
“Hotter than two rats humping in a wool sock. Now find some manners and offer me a glass of sweet tea and a seat in the shade.”
“Coming right up.” No point arguing sense with Lou Ellen when the mercury rose over ninety.
He went inside, splashed cold water on his face, cleaned his hands, changed his shirt, and fixed her a glass of tea, how she liked it, six ice cubes, lemon zest, and a healthy glug of Southern Comfort. Walking it back outside, he set it down on his bistro table and took the opposite seat. The veranda provided respite from the sun’s rays, and the air held a faint lilac-ish tang from the giant butterfly bush towering over his toolshed.
“All right then.” He slapped his thighs. “Tell me what you need.”
“Ah. That right there is my favorite thing a man can ask.” She removed a hand mirror from her purse and checked her lipstick.
“Has anyone made your husband a saint yet?” Rhett huffed a sigh. “Snapper should convert to Catholicism. He’d be in like a shot.”
“Hardy-har-har.” She took a sip of the tea, made a face of approval, and took two more. “I came by to drop off a suit. It’s hanging in your closet now, fresh pressed at the cleaners. I took the liberty of selecting one of Snapper’s. He has excellent taste, seeing as I’ve picked them all out myself.”
He regarded her steadily. “Who died?”
“The auction, silly. Mr. Scallywag.”
Shit.Without intending to, he’d ended up in the middle of yet another “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” situation. The last thing Rhett wanted to do was inflict Al Hogg on the town. Except he didn’t want to fall on his own sword in the process.
The best thing to do would be to level about the whole situation with Lou Ellen. She’d be apoplectic, but at least half her rage would be turned to Hogg.
“Don’t give me that look.” She glared, crossing her legs and tapping one pointy heel against the table leg. “I didn’t want to have to resort to this.”
“Easy now.” His nuts crawled inside. Those suckers could do serious damage. “I’m not currently looking to have kids, but don’t want to take that off the table.”
“Please.” She flicked a wrist. “I am a lady. If you don’t give me what I want, I’ll blackmail your ass, pardon my French.”
He jerked back, recalibrating. Did he have anEASY MARKstamp today? “What the hell are you talking about? You’ve got nothing on me. I’m an open book.” The way to beat Lou Ellen was to admit no weakness. She sniffed out ammunition like an airport bloodhound.
“It’s not what I have on you. It’s what your sweet little neighbor doesn’t.” She jerked a thumb toward the house. “As far as I know, those panties on the kitchen floor aren’t yours, J. Edgar. They have a name printed on them. The name of the woman who lives next door.”
He froze. Shit. Pepper did have a pair of panties with her name on them, combined with a cartoon chile pepper.
Lou Ellen smiled in triumph. “Whatever dalliance you two have going is all well and good, but that doesn’t change the fact you’re going to be Mr. Scallywag for the live auction. I’ve promised everyone at the Quilt Guild. It’s the coup of the event! Bid on Everland’s most eligible—and elusive—bachelor for a night of dinner and a movie.” She dropped her hands. “And if your pretty Pepper has an issue with that, tell her to be the highest bidder, although she’ll have some competition against Kennedy Day. This is a done deal, Rhett. The live auction bid sheets have been set up, including one that says “A Night with the Love Doctor.”
