The Family Feud: The Family Feud / Stop The Wedding?!. Carol Finch
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still humming with sensual awareness. Good gracious! The impact Morgan had on her at sixteen was a drop in the proverbial bucket compared to the potent effect he’d had on her tonight. Their first kiss had been branded in her memory a decade ago, but it had been superimposed by tonight’s mind-scrambling, body-sizzling, knock-you-off-your-feet kisses and caresses. For certain, what that man did to a woman’s senses was worse than a drug overdose. It should be declared illegal in all fifty states!
Willfully, Jan tried to stop quivering like a tuning fork and focus absolute attention on Kendra who was struggling to gain her feet and moaning in nauseated torment. Janna grabbed hold of her sister and steered her toward the bathroom.
It was a long night that granted Jan only fits and starts of sleep. But she was there each time Kendra needed her, soothing her, consoling her. If this was Kendra’s method of purging Richard Samson’s memory and his betrayal it should be effective. She’d cursed Richard soundly and consigned him to hell with each agonized breath.
Bleary-eyed, Jan awoke and glanced at the digital clock. As near as she could figure she’d gotten a whopping two hours’ sleep. Kendra was still oblivious to the world so Jan made use of the shower and tried to clear the fuzzy cobwebs from her brain. Jan glanced around Kendra’s room, recalling that her suitcase and car were still at Morgan’s place. The thought of going commando was a little unsettling, but Jan wasn’t about to borrow anything more than a blouse from her sister. For certain, she couldn’t wear her own beer-stained shirt.
Quickly, Jan rummaged through Kendra’s over-stuffed closet. She slipped on a black knit blouse and tiptoed from the darkened room. Since Kendra’s apartment was only two blocks from Main Street, Jan hiked off, hoping the walk would invigorate her. She needed coffee—intravenously would be best. But she’d settle for a cup from the Peanut Gallery Café.
Janna walked into the busy restaurant and men’s heads turned in synchronized rhythm as she ambled to the counter. Did she have her shirt on backward, or what? Why were men staring openly at her? Must be her wild hairdo, she decided as she slid onto the tall stool. Those untamable chestnut curls were probably in a wild tangle after her morning walk.
“Hey, Janna. Heard you were back in town.”
Jan glanced up and smiled at Shirley Knott, the waitress. “Hi, Shirley, could I have a cup of coffee, please?”
“Black or blond and sweet?” Shirley asked as she champed on her chewing gum, and then fluffed her puffy platinum hair.
“Definitely doctored,” Jan requested.
Shirley grabbed a cup and picked up the steaming pot. “So…how are you coming with that rift between your folks?” Snap, pop.
“Just getting started on the project,” Jan replied.
Shirley smacked her gum and leaned her forearms on the counter. “Ask me, you need to grab them both by their shirt collars, drag them into the same room and knock their heads together a couple of times.”
Jan took a cautious sip, then smiled. “I’ll admit the idea holds certain appeal, but I was saving that for my last resort.”
Shirley nodded her dyed blond head pensively. “Yeah, I s’pose that’d be best. I gotta tell ya though, I was shocked down to my skivvies when I heard your folks split up. My gosh, they’ve been married forever.”
While Jan drank her coffee, Shirley commenced to explain—in detail—what went wrong with her marriage. From what Jan ascertained, reopening the lines of communication between her parents was essential. Shirley and her ex, it seemed, had relied heavily on shouting matches and juvenile retaliations.
Before Jan finished her second cup of coffee, two of her mother’s friends walked over to add their two cents’ worth. The female consensus was that, basically, men were insensitive, obtuse, unobservant idiots who required social and emotional training. The lists of improvements needed to bring the male of the species up to snuff went on—and on.
The threesome volunteered to teach Jan’s dad how not to behave like an imbecile when he was obviously wrong. They offered to instruct John on how to do his share of domestic chores and how to combat the stupidity of walking out on Sylvia, who’d been devoted, steadfast and loyal forever. Since John was one hundred percent at fault—according to the women—he should hightail it to Sylvia’s Boutique, throw himself at her feet and humbly beg forgiveness. Oh, and bringing a bouquet of flowers, along with a card that read “I’m so terribly sorry for being a fool,” wouldn’t hurt, either.
Jan exited the café, startled to find four men—who hadn’t given her a second glance in high school—trailing her. Why was she—who’d been the opposite of popular and pursued a decade ago—suddenly the center of attention? Probably because she was braless and pantiless and male radar picked up on that sort of thing. Regardless of the reason for the unwanted attention, Jan was escorted to the hardware store. What she wanted, instead, was time to gather her thoughts before encountering her father.
“WHAT THE DEVIL is going on with Janna?” John Mitchell questioned.
The comment drew the attention of Morgan and five customers. They strode to the window to join John. Morgan frowned disapprovingly when he noticed who was vying for Janna’s attention. Jealousy nipped at him like a rabid dog, but he restrained himself from marching across the yellow brick road to retrieve Janna. Word had obviously spread through Oz that Janna had transformed into a bombshell. Every skirt-chaser in peanut country had come to take a gander at her.
“What’s this all about?” John demanded of Morgan. “First I find her car parked at your house overnight and now this!”
When the customers flung Morgan speculative glances he wished John would’ve kept his yap shut. “Janna came by to see you last night, but you weren’t home. She drove Kendra’s car to the apartment.”
John muttered under his breath—something about his younger daughter going wild and the older one turning into a streetwalker. Morgan would’ve loudly objected, but his thoughts derailed when Janna wiggled and jiggled her way across the street. He couldn’t take his eyes off her chest to save his life. Neither, he noted, could the other men who’d pressed their faces against the window. With that flaming hair framing her pretty face and that trim-fitting blouse that hugged her unbound breasts like a lover’s caress, it was all Morgan could do not to groan aloud.
Damn, seeing her and wanting her were becoming synonymous. He had to get a grip before he embarrassed himself in front of John and the customers. Criminey, he’d been in a state of arousal most of the night—up to and including his erotic dreams that featured hers truly. The cold shower he’d taken this morning had lost its effectiveness and he was back to wanting her with what was fast becoming an irrational obsession.
The door chimed its musical refrain as Janna entered the hardware store. Morgan’s gaze dropped to her breasts and he clenched his teeth when he noticed the other men—John excluded—were looking their fill. Morgan wanted to clobber his customers. Two of them were married, damn it.
Janna nodded a quick greeting, then focused her attention on John. “Daddy, I’d like to talk to you in private.” Her gaze skittered briefly to Morgan. “Could we use your office?”
When John reluctantly followed Jan down the aisle, one unattached customer leered at the hypnotic swing of Janna’s hips. “Man, did she turn into one hot tamale.”
“Hubba, hubba,” bachelor number two purred.
“Shezam!” Bachelor number three all but drooled on himself.
“Knock it off, fellas,” Morgan snapped as unwarranted possessiveness roared through him and his traitorous gaze focused on her denim-clad fanny.
“I’d like to knock some of that off,” bachelor number two said rudely.
Infuriated, Morgan grabbed the man by the nape of his shirt and propelled him out the door. At the moment Morgan wasn’t proud to call himself a man because he didn’t want to be lumped in the same category with these disrespectful, heavy-breathing