Mister Dick

Marta stepped out onto the wide veranda, wiping her hands down the front of her apron. It was covered in giant watermelons, and she’d had it since I was a little kid. I smiled at her, more than a little concerned to see how much she’d aged in the last year or so since I’d been here. Her hair was tied back as usual, but the blonde strands were now silver. There were more lines etched onto her face, and her cheeks were hollowed, though that might have been because she’d lost some weight. She’d always been so soft and round and ready with a hug. When I was little, I used to pretend she was my mother.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

I smiled at the nickname she’d given me ages ago. As a kid, I’d been pretty much the opposite of sunshine. In fact, most of the time, I’d been sullen, spoiled, and plain nasty. But Marta always managed to get a smile out of me, and her warm hugs were reward enough.

“You’re up early,” she said, coming to stand beside me.

“I slept like the dead.”

“That’s the fresh air, I’m guessing.”

“Could be the Xanax,” I quipped.

“Don’t be cheeky,” she murmured, giving me a quick hug. “Is there anything in particular you want for dinner? I’ll be sending Mr. Bill to town for some things in a few hours.”

Mr. Bill was the caretaker of the property. Again, he’d been around for as long as I could remember. And we’d always called him Mr. Bill. Honestly? I had no clue what his last name was.

“No,” I replied quickly. “I’m good.” I hoped she wasn’t remembering how awful I’d been over the holidays a few years back. Nothing says a girl has grown up more than the level of embarrassment she feels when thinking back to how rotten she’d been.

“Did I tell you Georgia is coming for a few days?”

It took everything in me to keep my cool. Georgia? One guess as to why she’d decided to pay her mother a visit. She must have found out Mister Dick was coming to town. She’d had the hots for him ever since that summer he first came here and ruined me for anyone else.

“That’s nice,” I managed to say. She was Marta’s daughter, which meant she’d been a part of my life as long as I could remember. We’d never been close. I was big enough to admit that it was partly because I was jealous of her relationship with her mother. I used to pretend Marta was my mom on account of the fact that my own mother was a flake. She was a flake with zero maternal skills and at the moment was in some wellness center in the Swiss Alps. Honestly, between her and Axel for parents, it was a damn miracle we three girls weren’t more screwed up than we were.

As for Georgia, she thought I was spoiled and bitchy—which I could handle, because sometimes I was spoiled and bitchy. It was the dumb thing that pissed me off. She told me to my face the last time I was here that I was dumb as dirt. Right before I accidentally on purpose spilled an entire bottle of red wine in her lap.

“She still pre-med?” I asked, not because I cared, but because I didn’t want Marta to know I didn’t care. Funny how that worked.

“She’s taking a break. Trying to decide if she wants to continue with her courses or move to a different college and become a veterinarian.”

I rolled my eyes. Internally, of course. I didn’t want to make Marta uncomfortable.

“When is Boyd coming?” Marta’s tone was light, but I felt her eyes on me, and I shifted my feet nervously. That summer, he’d managed to worm his way into her heart, and she’d always had a soft spot for him. He was kind of a superhero that way.

“Soon,” I replied, eyes on the driveway.

“Okay, then. We’ve got a couple of hours at least.”

I yanked my head back just in time to see the soft smile that touched her pale lips.

“Until what?”

Marta laughed softly and stepped back, her hands on the screen door. “Until things get interesting.”

16

Boyd

The drive to Live Oaks was brutal. A storm in Tennessee dumped a shit ton of snow and sleet across the area, which added at least a couple of hours to my trip. By the time I reached the Louisiana state line, I was ready for a shot of tequila chased by a couple of cold beers.

The plantation was about an hour from New Orleans, not far from a few of the biggies that were open to the public. That summer we came out here after my mom married Axel, my mother tried to convince me to come along and tour one of them. Bodhi didn’t have a say—he was too young to say no to Mom. But for me, it had been a hard no for a couple of reasons. One, I didn’t give a crap about history or old houses. And two, if the family went and the house was empty, it meant Echo and I could spend the entire afternoon having sex in her bedroom.

Which we did.

The Mansfield place was different from the others. His family had managed to hold on to it for several generations, and it was still a working plantation producing sugarcane. As far as I knew, Axel split his time between the plantation and his place in Nashville. He was currently in the Maldives on a working vacation with Samantha Needles. I’d talked to him a few days back. Told him I was headed to Live Oaks and would he mind if I got busy in his studio. He’d custom-built a beauty on the property, and I’d done some recording there for my last record.

He’d been fine with it, but just before he hung up, his voice got real low. He cleared his throat in that way that told me the man meant business, then he threatened to separate me from my balls if I hurt Echo.