Something to Talk About. Dakota Cassidy
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act on their simplistic views of the world just to make the boo-boo better.
Not thirty feet from Lucky’s, the scent of freshly brewed coffee rose, making Em’s alcohol-weakened stomach lurch, taking her mind off the little girl momentarily. Or was her stomach lurching at the sight of the Magnolias, lying in wait, all phony smiles as they sat at the new café, hoping to make her their first pounce of the day?
The Magnolias, or Mags as everyone around town called them, were the backbone of all town social events, and what everyone perceived as the cream of Plum Orchard society. The chosen ones with rich families, and what was considered the proper connections.
Em always secretly compared them to henchwomen due to the fact that getting into the Magnolias was as difficult, and probably as bloody, as joining the mob. Unless, of course, you entered by birthright. She’d never been a Magnolia, but Dixie had once been the leader of their pack. They were exclusive, snobbish and plain old mean if anyone dared cross them.
When Dixie had come back to town—a changed woman—she’d crossed the Mags, and they were never going to let Em forget that even though she wasn’t allowed access to their exclusive club, she’d betrayed them simply by accepting Dixie.
Squaring her shoulders for the barb they’d certainly shoot at her, Em forced herself to make her feet move past Louella Palmer and her gang of Magnolia-scented thugs, each sipping on fancy coffee with whipped cream and sprinkles.
Louella, beautiful and blonde, pristine in a winter-white cowl neck dress and deep burgundy knit shrug, coupled with knee-high, brown leather boots, wiggled her fingers at Em. “Hi, Em! How’s tricks—I mean, Trixie?” Lesta-Sue Arnold and Annabelle Pruitt giggled on cue like all good gang members do when their head gangster tugged on their puppet strings.
If there were ever a day, today would be the one, when slugging Louella Palmer right in her perky nose was highest on her bucket list. Her reference to Em’s ex-husband, Clifton, and his cross-dresser name, Trixie, had everyone in town turning around.
Always look your demons square in the eye, Emmaline Amos—then lift your chin and show ’em all your secrets. You get there before they do, there’s nothing they can touch if you’ve already touched it.
Sage advice from Dixie the ex-demon.
Em lifted her chin, securing her dark sunglasses on her nose to fight the effects of the glaring sun and the stares of everyone around them, waiting to see if she would react.
She chanted in her mind, Be Dixie. Be one with the Dixie. “Oh, he’s right fine, Louella. How’s that rhinoplasty you’ve got scheduled comin’ along?” she called back, stopping just feet from the white steel table they’d gathered ’round like it was a cauldron and they were witches, mixing a brew.
She smiled with innocence at the group, eyeing each one of them, then setting her sights on Louella, still recovering from her crack about the bump she currently had on her nose, courtesy of tanglin’ with Dixie. “Silly me. How insensitive to make mention of it when it’s clear you still haven’t even made the appointment.”
Em didn’t wait to see their faces. Pivoting on her heel, she breezed off, catching the low cackle of Dixie’s future mother-in-law, Jo-Lynne Donovan, from the corner of the café. Jo-Lynne flashed her a quick thumbs-up and a warm smile before returning to her steaming coffee, making Em instantly regret her unkind comment.
Just because Louella Palmer had come precariously close to ruining her life in Plum Orchard, had turned her children into the subject of cruel jokes at school, was no reason for her to take pleasure in cheers from the crowd. That would make her as bad, if not worse, than Louella Palmer.
But she shot a conspiratorial smile back at Jo-Lynne anyway; because today, Louella’s gruesome was something she just couldn’t cotton on top of her minihangover.
Head down to fight the yellow beast of the sun in the sky, Em went straight for the hardware store’s door, stopping just shy of entering when she sensed a presence, a large, warm, almost-imposing presence.
Her eyes flew upward, locking gazes with an intense pair of light brown eyes surrounded by a thick fringe of lashes. The sun glazed them for a moment, turning them a deep, glimmering whiskey.
It was him.
Her cheeks went hot.
The him she’d spent far too many hours daydreaming about since they’d first made eye contact over two months ago. Him laughing, his perfectly straight white teeth flashing when he smiled at her. Him, gruff and darkly beautiful, his thickly roped arms wrapped around her waist, securing her to his side.
Him when he leaned in low and took her mouth, letting his tongue rasp along hers and kissing her like her lips were the very reason he breathed.
And yes, even him naked, with every corded muscle that made up his smooth planes and rigid lines hovering above her, hard against her belly, her legs tight around his waist as he thrust into...
Her heart stopped pumping, the unquenchable heat in her veins threatening to set her limbs on fire.
His square jaw was almost too square, too hard and unforgiving until it shifted when his lips turned up in a smile of inquiry, leaving Em holding her breath.
Apparently, “him” didn’t recognize her. Disappointment flared in the pit of her belly. To be fair, her hair was a little longer now, and she did have dark sunglasses and a hat on.
Somehow, in her daydreams, when they saw each other again, he would’ve known her if he was blind.
Em’s stomach clenched and released then contracted into a tight fist again when he cocked his dark head in the direction of the interior of the hardware store as if to say, “Ladies first.” He patiently held the door, his squared fingers covered in Band-Aids, scratches and hangnails.
The cool breeze blew another swift gust, carrying with it his scent, crisp and clean—like Irish Spring and fresh creek water. The way he smelled made perfect sense to Em. A man like him, hard and raw, sinful from head to toe, didn’t need expensive cologne as a final touch to his rough perfection.
Em’s heart finally struck up the band again, and began to boom in time with her head. Her fingers clutched the strap of the purse slung over her shoulder. Words, as they always did with a man, especially this man, failed her.
A bump from behind jolted her forward, making her aware she was staring. “Gawking, honey,” Dixie whispered in her ear. “Stop gawking and say, ‘hello, divine man. Need a screw for your screwdriver?’”
Em did everything she could to keep from gasping at Dixie’s suggestive words, nudging her in the ribs before sending the man a cool smile and whisking past him into the hardware store, Dixie in tow.
She headed straight for the farthest aisle from the door, almost running into Nanette Pruitt and Essie Guthrie without even acknowledging them, refusing to stop until she was as far away from that man as possible.
Dixie’s ankle boots clacked behind Em, skidding to a halt when she rounded the corner and hid behind a pallet of two-by-fours.
Em grabbed Dixie by her arm and pulled her close, scrunching her eyes shut. All that rapid forward motion left her stomach sketchy at best.
Dixie fought to catch her own breath in a harsh wheeze, before asking, “Why did we just run all the way across Lucky’s like we were runnin’ from a band of Magnolias with lit torches?”
The stomp of work boots as Lucky’s employees loaded and unloaded pallets of heavy wood made her wince, but it was the stench of turpentine and furniture polish that was almost her undoing. She took a gulp of air, thanking whoever was in charge of the universe the moment passed.
Dixie smoothed Em’s hair off her shoulder, giving it a gentle tug. “One more time. Why did we run all the way to the back of the store when what you need is in the front?”
“Because that’s him!” Em wheezed back, pressing her fingers to her queasy stomach and tugging her knit beret farther