Sweet Southern Nights. Liz Talley
pulpit.
“Ow.” He twisted away.
“Don’t forget I’m your mother. And that when you call on Jesus it better be for something important and not in vain, Jacob Edward.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled with only 10 percent sarcasm. “But I’m pretty sure Jesus understands. He had a mother, too.”
That made Fancy smile. His mother could be awfully bloodthirsty for a preacher’s wife. “Even so, you know that your behavior—”
“Doesn’t reflect on you or Dad. I’m my own person,” he said, knowing he probably sounded like a petulant child. What was it about mothers that did that to a guy?
He knew what people around town said about him—that rascal Jake’s the family rebel. He drinks, whores and avoids church. Real degenerate. He didn’t mind that version of himself. No, because that version prevented people seeing through him to the pitiful coward beneath the bullshit.
He couldn’t pretend to be the tortured hero, because he hadn’t been a hero on that lonely stretch of highway, in the twisted wreckage beneath that huge harvest moon. He’d lain in his friends’ blood, crying like a baby. He hadn’t been able to help Clint...hadn’t been able to save Angela. In fact, his weak attempts to tug Clint from where he lay had done more damage than good.
Jake Beauchamp...coward.
So he covered it up with being a degenerate. He knew he was the perfect head case for a shrink, but he didn’t care enough to change. Because changing meant he’d have to remember, have to dig the knife beneath the skin to clear all the gunk. Change meant hurting again.
“I know who you are, honey, and neither your father nor I have tried to change you. Your behavior, however, is never off the table.”
He nodded because she was right. Neither of his parents rode his case like they could.
His mother patted him. “Just remember you’re in your father’s house.”
“God?”
“No, Dan’s. Well, you know what I mean. Now, what’s going on between you and Eva? Because I gotta tell you, Jake, I think she’s really going to need some support in these upcoming months.”
A thread of alarm cinched his heart. “Why? What’s wrong with Eva? Is she sick?”
“Of course not. She’s healthy as a horse, but that’s exactly my point—you don’t know what’s going on in her life, and that’s abnormal.”
“Wait, what’s going on in—” Jake left off the rest because the good town doctor, Jamison French, had stopped right in front of them.
“Morning, Jake. Mrs. Beauchamp,” Jamison said, giving them both his best bedside smile.
“What’s up, James?” Jake asked, extending a hand and giving the man a good firm Beauchamp handshake.
“Good morning, Jamison, and it’s just Fancy,” his mother said.
“Of course. Well, looks like a good turnout,” Jamison said, making polite conversation the way any decent human being would.
So it wasn’t that Jake didn’t like Jamison. He liked him fine. It was just that Jamison was the Cary Grant to Jake’s James Dean. They were both single, good-looking guys in their thirties with all their teeth. No baggage, from good families with a decent income. And the target on their backs in Magnolia Bend had been fixed. The thing that made him twitch was the fact that Jamison was the better of the two, with his perfectly combed blond hair and artsy-fartsy hipster glasses framing sparkling blue eyes brimming with wit and goodness. In contrast, Jake crushed beer cans, peed in the woods and wore old frat T-shirts.
“It is a good turnout.” Fancy nodded, a pleased smile curving her lips.
“By chance have either of you seen Eva?” Jamison asked.
“Eva? What the hell do you want with her?” Jake snarled, puffing up his chest, hands curling into fists. He spit at Jamison’s feet and bared his teeth.
Okay, so he didn’t actually do either of those things...but he thought about it. After all, Jamison Fancy Pants had no business asking after his Eva.
Correction. Just Eva.
“She was in the kitchen,” Fancy said, pointing over her shoulder, her eyes holding a question.
“Great. I’m picking her up for the Zydeco Festival over in Garden City. Buckskin Nash is performing at noon, so...” Jamison looked at his watch. He actually had one. Nice Swiss Army stainless steel, with all those gauges divers needed. Figured.
“Here I am, Jamison,” Eva said, from behind Jake. They all turned toward her, and Jake noticed for the first time how pretty Eva looked. She’d worn her hair in a ponytail and had put on makeup...or at least shiny lip gloss that made her lips kissable. She wore a strapless short romper thing, which looked too sexy to be wasted on Jamison. “You ready?”
“I thought you wanted to talk,” Jake said.
Eva finally met his gaze. Her eyes looked defiant, almost angry. “You were the one who wanted to talk. I have a date, so you’ll have to wait until later.”
Jake frowned...something he rarely did. “Fine.”
Eva lifted a bronzed shoulder that also looked kissable. Wasn’t as shiny as her lips. Just luminous. “Ready?”
Jamison smiled and damn him, his eyes moved down Eva’s body. If the man had had a mustache, he might have twirled it. “Absolutely.”
Jake clenched his fist and turned away. What the hell did he care who Eva dated? She’d dated at least three dudes since she’d moved to Magnolia Bend, and he’d not blinked one eye. Of course, that had been before she’d kissed him, chiseling a brick out of the wall of indifference he’d built between him and her obvious charms.
“See you around, Jake,” Jamison said, using his manners.
Jake grunted.
“Bye, honey, have fun,” Fancy said, giving Eva a motherly smile. “We’ll talk later. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
Eva looked at his mother with a grateful smile and followed Jamison out of the hall. She hadn’t even told him goodbye. Had treated him as if he didn’t matter, as if he hadn’t even been worth the kiss she’d given him yesterday.
“Where are you going, Jake?” Fancy called as he stalked off.
“To the bathroom,” Jake said, not needing to go to the bathroom but wanting to find a place where no one would talk to him or meet his eyes. He didn’t want the confusion to show, and the urinal worked as well as any place.
EVA TAPPED HER toe to the music and sipped the ice-cold beer Jamison had bought for her. The band on stage was decent, and the sun had finally retreated behind a cloud, giving them all some relief. Listening to zydeco was fun...when it wasn’t ninety-two degrees and you were sitting beneath a shady tree. Garden City hadn’t planned for the heat, which was stupid because they were holding a festival in September. That equaled scorcher on the scale of Louisiana weather.
“You okay?” Jamison asked for the third time in an hour. He looked crisp and cool. She had no idea how, because he wore linen pants.
“Fine,” she said, taking another sip and fanning herself. “I’m having a good time.
“Good,” he said with a smile, raising his arms and clapping along as Beebo Nash cranked up a solo on the accordion. The ocean-blue polo Jamison wore rode up on his toned biceps and revealed a trim stomach peeking out above his pants. “I’ve been dying to take you out for a while. I’m so glad you said yes this time, Eva.”