“Craig says he got a great spot for tailgating tomorrow,” Maura said. “Getting out after the game should be a cinch.”
“He always did have luck with parking lots,” Russ said.
Were they kidding? They were talking aboutparking?
No wonder Jackson didn’t talk much about his family.
Louisa got another one of those gleams in her eye. The kind that normal people got when they were about to slip a snowball down their sister’s back in sub-zero temperatures.
The kind that made Anna wonder—again—if she should’ve declined the invitation to come this weekend.
“Momma says marry the first time for love, the second time for money.” Louisa’s face shone with a pompous arrogance she was entirely too young to properly manage.
But, unfortunately, she was entirely rich enough to try anyway, and she was sitting in a chair that probably cost Anna’s monthly salary, and she was implying that Anna was only here because she, too, wanted a chunk of Russ’s wallet.
The thought sparked a fuse she hadn’t realized she possessed.
Her temper rocketed into the stratosphere as if it were attached to Neil’s iPod and retainer. She savored the flight, narrowing in on her target, burning, building to her climax, and smiled sweetly through the flames spewing from her mouth. “Well, bless her heart.”
And then everything exploded in a silent, slow-motion shower of embers, burning out the last bits of her anger as they hit the frosty air, as if she were watching the fireworks from far away and hadn’t heard the boom yet.
Deb’s lip curled. Her breasts rose, shoulders bouncing back. Her hand fluttered to her chest.
Louisa choked on something akin to a laugh-gasp.
Maura’s hand flew to her lips.
Russ’s mustache twitched. He discreetly coughed into a napkin. Blesshisheart.
And then the boom hit.
Her chair jerked out from beneath her.
It would be a long walk back to Georgia.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
He hadn’t known he was sitting on the fence until he toppled over onto the wrong side, only to discover what was wrong had been right all along.
—The Temptress of Pecan Lane, by Mae Daniels
Jackson could count on one finger the number of times he’d been furious with his momma.
He was still deciding whether he added another finger to that count, but at the moment, his primary mission was getting himself and Anna Grace out of that house.
He was on his feet hauling Anna out of her seat fast as he could manage, given the way he was choking back a snort of laughter the likes of which this dining room hadn’t ever seen. “Great dinner,” he said. “Promised Mamie we’d meet her for bowling, and golly gee, wouldja lookit the time.”
Momma’s eyes narrowed into slits. “But I made sweet potato pie.”
“Might could have some for breakfast instead.” He tugged on Anna Grace’s arm to get her to move. She wouldn’t look at him, but he recognized the slump of her shoulders and the tilt of her head. Reminded him of the day he’d first laid eyes on her. Made him angrier than a rabid armadillo that his mommaand sister would hurt her. “Night, y’all.”
Anna’s feet finally moved in the right direction. He let up his grip on her arm and instead steered her by the shoulders through the house and into the cool evening.
He barely made it down the front steps before he swung her against him. Tears glittered in her eyes.
“Jackson, I?—”
He sealed his mouth over hers, gripped her waist and hauled her close until they were chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach, knee-to-knee. And he kissed her.
