The Wrong Bridesmaid

It’s barely a whisper, the way she says my name. But seeing Hazel turn around, the anger in her eyes drawing me in before it melts when she realizes who she’s talking to, is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. And the twinkle that grows in her eyes, a twinkle of good humor, is even better.

But that’s only because it was dark last night and I couldn’t clearly see her face as she came in my arms.

“So, you willing to answer a question from me?” I repeat, and her smirk grows, curling at the edges of her lips and making me feel all sorts of things.

“That depends on what you want to know,” Hazel says sassily. “Or if we’re just going on a ranking scale. You know, one to ten.”

Puss N Boots is jam-packed with people, all eyes locked on us, but it feels like it’s only Hazel and me. I step closer to her, until we’re toe to toe and she’s looking up at me. I cup her jaw in my hands, tracing her cheekbones with my thumbs.

“You’re beyond any ranking scale,” I tell her quietly, looking directly into those soulful eyes. “But I do want to know if I can kiss you again.”

Her smile is answer enough. I run my thumb across her soft lips, leaning in. I pause, drawing in the scent of her perfume, tasting her breath on my tongue before she comes the last half inch, and I feel her lips again.

The kiss is heady, soft and sweet at first. I want it that way just to prove a point, not to anyone watching—the whole bar’s faded into obscurity in my mind. No, this is to prove to myself that last night wasn’t a fluke. But a heartbeat later, we quickly ignite.

I feel her press into me, my arms going to her narrow waist as Hazel wraps her arms around me and I feel her lift to her toes, hungry for more. I move my hands to her hips, encouraging her up.

In a single bounce, she leaps, her legs encircling my waist, and I cup her jeans-covered ass. She responds by shoving her tongue into my mouth and I growl, meeting her aggressiveness with my own.

Dimly, in the background, I hear the crowd break out in hoots and hollers, someone yelling, “Hell yeah, Hazel! Ride that boy!”

Another voice yells, “Always figured her for a Chevy lover, but I guess she’s a Ford girl!”

Laughter commences, but I don’t care. Not when I can feel the heat from Hazel’s core against my belly through our clothes and she’s kissing me like she can’t get enough. I pull back, on the edge of tossing her to the nearest flat surface, like one of her beloved pool tables. But I don’t want to give the patrons that much of a show, so I force myself to turn the kiss into more of a sweet peck. Trying to cool us down by degrees, I rub my nose along hers, and up close, her smile is sweet. “Hi.”

“Hey there, yourself.” She slides down my body, and though she steps back only a few inches, I feel the loss of her. “What are you doing here?” she asks, her nose crinkling cutely.

You are all I’ve thought about all day. But of course, I can’t say that, so I downplay it. “Well, I was craving one of Tayvious’s life-changing burgers. And I really wanted to see you.”

She looks surprised but pleased. “Then let’s get you a table. Come on.”

She grabs my hand, dragging me to an already occupied table. The two guys there look amused by Hazel, seemingly not reading that her mood has shifted in the few steps their way.

When she gets there, her voice has gone from the sweet flirtiness she offered me to that of a lioness ready to rip heads off. “Alright, Pork and Beans, time’s up. Move it.”

She taps the tabletop to emphasize her point, and the two guys chuckle. One says, “Yeah right.”

The other one backhands his buddy’s arm, still laughing. “We ain’t going nowhere. But fine, bring us a pitcher of beer.”

He waves Hazel off dismissively, and I have to fight back a laugh when Hazel slams the table with the side of her fist hard enough to make the bowl of peanuts spill and both men jump in surprise. “No. You had your chance, but you’ve been hogging my table for a solid hour without ordering. Now, scoot over to the bar if you want that beer.”

I bite my tongue, wanting to back her up but knowing she doesn’t need my help. Still, I offer a glare to the two guys.

“What’s it gonna be, fellas?”

Seeming to find sense, they shove off from the table and stomp through the other occupied tables like a small herd of buffalo. Hazel gives the table a quick swipe with the cloth at her waist and turns to me with a smile. “Seems we have an available table right here.”

“Is your hand okay?” I ask quietly as I sit down and Charlene appears at Hazel’s side.

“Psssh, that wasn’t nothing but a little love tap,” Charlene answers. “You should see the dent she put on the side of the old cash register one time.”

“Oh.”

“Char,” Hazel says, “you don’t need to make me sound like a hothead.”

“Psshaw,” she says to Hazel, “you are who you are.” To me, she says, “I ordered you a Fat Pussy burger and a beer. I remembered that’s what you wanted last time.”

Hazel clears her throat and says sharply, “Thanks, Charlene.”

Unbothered, Charlene shrugs and says with a wink, “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

But she’s smiling happily as she walks off, leaving us alone. I look at Hazel, my brows furrowed. “Not sure about that friend of yours.”

Hazel looks over her shoulder, her eyes following Charlene as she works the room. “She’s good. She’s checking my tables for me so I can hang out here a minute longer. But I do need to make my rounds. I’ve been distracted for a bit.”

She doesn’t sound the least bit upset about that, which makes me feel warm inside. I get even warmer when she leans forward and places a quick smacking kiss to my lips before walking away. But not before I see the happy smile on her lips and bright sparkles in her eyes.

She knows I’m going to be sticking around for the rest of her shift. And ideally, after that too.

I sit back, enjoying the view as I watch Hazel work the room. The way she interacts with everyone, leaving them smiling with her special brand of sass, snark, and sweetness, is amazing. She’s got the whole room in the palm of her hand, even without tonight’s attention-grabbing activities.

“You hush, Tom Simmons, before Helen hears you talkin’!” she says at one point, earning huge laughter from one table of older gentlemen. “Besides, he don’t need no hints!”

I’m tempted to go ask the old codger what hints he might have for me when a plate is set down in front of me. I expect it to be Charlene making another flirty appearance, but when I drag my eyes from Hazel, I see another remarkably beautiful woman. Etta Livingston.

Politely, I give her a nod. “Thanks for the burger and beer.”

Etta doesn’t pull out a knife, so I guess that’s a good sign. “No problem. Though you might want to wave at the kitchen window. Tay Tay put a little extra love in your Fat Pussy tonight.”

I glance toward the window and see Tayvious’s wide white smile. I answer with a smile of my own and add a head nod of appreciation, hoping the “extra love” isn’t spittle . . . or some other kind of bodily fluid.

In the split second it took to thank Tayvious, Etta has made herself at home, sitting on the stool across from me and munching on one of my fries. Well, I guess they are her fries, too, at least until I pay my bill. “Help yourself.”

“Seems we need to have a little chitchat, you and me.” She grabs another fry, using it to point at each of us.

“Is that so?” I ask as calmly as possible, snatching up my own fry. “Is this the part where you tell me that if I hurt Hazel, you’ll have my balls in the fryer before the next sunrise?”

Etta laughs harder than I expect, her eyes watering. “God no. She doesn’t need me to threaten you, and that would get me in trouble with the health department. I ain’t risking my Puss for your testicles. Besides, she told me this morning that it was casual, didn’t mean anything.”

I flinch before I can hide the reaction, and I realize how out of practice I am at staying stoic. Etta sees it, knowing the unspoken truth. “I see. Well, she also said it was awesome, if that soothes your pretty ego a bit.”

She looks at me expectantly, and I take a deep breath. “It does.” I glance down at my fries, silently offering another. “Guess we’ve all got egos.”

“Perhaps.”

I pick up another fry myself and set it back down. “So, if we don’t need to talk about me and Hazel, what do we need to talk about?”

I ask the question to open the door, but I already know the answer. If Etta doesn’t want to talk about Hazel, she wants to talk about Uncle Jed.

Etta leans in, her eyes sharp. “What do you know about this subdivision thing?”

Not quite the part about Uncle Jed I was thinking, but I’m not surprised by her question either. “I guess we’re diving right into the deep end?”

“If you were expecting Lifetime movie–style questions, you got a lot to learn about me,” Etta says with a chuckle. “And I’ve never been much on beating around the bush.”

“That definitely runs in the family,” I tell her, and Etta beams, taking it for the compliment it is. “So I won’t either. I didn’t know anything about it until I saw the billboard on the way into town. Since then, all I know is that Jed is up to his usual shit, looking out for number one.”

Etta shakes her head. “It’s more than that. He’s going to destroy Cold Springs. Look around here, what do you see?”

I do as she instructs, noticing the patrons of the establishment and forcing myself to not stare at Hazel the whole time. “Uh, bunch of people eating burgers, drinking beer, playing pool and darts.”

Etta reaches across the table and smacks me in the back of the head in a very Cold Springs maneuver. “Deeper than the superficial, Ford.”

I growl but take a deeper look. “Working-class folks. Lots of blue collar, couple of geezers . . . all Cold Springs natives.”

“This is an endangered species, Wyatt,” Etta says. “It’s a community that looks out for each other, takes care of each other. But Jed would destroy this if he could.”

“What do you mean?”

Her sigh is heavy with their history, fresh as if it happened yesterday. I’ve heard the stories, both Jed’s version, which makes him out to be the wronged party, and the likely more accurate rumors around town that paint him in a much less favorable light.

“I need you to understand, this is not about the shit that went down between us. I told you, no Lifetime movies here.”

She pins me with a hard glare that demands a response, so I nod and pick up my burger, not wanting it to get cold, and dig in while she starts her story.

“Okay, so a few years back, Jed started mouthing about this big plan he had. He was gonna buy land cheap, develop it, and then sell at a huge profit. I mean, that’s business, that’s what he does. But he wasn’t talking about buying land that was for sale, or even offering money to folks who might be interested in selling. Because people who want to sell usually have some idea what their land is worth. No, he wanted to score the land at bargain-basement prices. That’s where Mayor Bill comes in.”

I finish my bite, asking, “My dad?”

I’m not sure I want to know what Etta’s talking about. Uncle Jed is rotten to the core, unsalvageable. But Dad? I’ve had problems with him, but he’s not as bad as Jed. Surely, I didn’t miss that. And I couldn’t have . . . caused it, could I?

Some of my inner thoughts must show on my face, because Etta gives me a pitying smile.

“Take a drink, baby,” she says quietly. “You’re gonna need it.”

I don’t give it a second thought, just pick up my beer and throw half of it back in one gulp. Slamming it onto the table, I nod that I’m ready.

“Jed found land he liked on the edge of town, where he can create his own ready-made world of cookie-cutter houses. Problem was, there were people who owned the land, and they didn’t want to sell. Not that he even asked them.” She sneers, her thoughts about my uncle abundantly clear. “No, he was sneaky, got the city council to pass some property tax rate hikes. At the time, nobody noticed because they didn’t seem to actually affect anyone. They were about single-family home rates for an area that is all zoned as farmland. Nobody saw Jed’s long game.”

A sick realization comes to me as I start to put snippets of previous conversations together, but I let Etta tell it her way. She shakes her head in disappointment, but it seems to be directed at herself more than anything. “That was, until there was a proposal to change the zoning, making the farms into single-family sites, which will then be under the umbrella of the new rates. You gotta understand, those folks are barely scraping by as it is. If the zoning changes or their taxes go up, they’ll literally lose their homes, their farms . . . to Jed, who will build his subdivision.”

The scheme sounds exactly like Jed, so I’m not surprised at his puppet mastering something like this, but I mentally play out the angles.

“What does Dad get out of it?” I ask. “He’s already pissed off half of town, something I never thought he’d do.”

“The new subdivision is going to be hundreds of houses, all at the higher tax rate. New voters who’ll be more than happy to elect the guy who got them their new home built. Then those assessments will make the surrounding area go up in value, pushing even more of those kind into town and our kind out, and so on and so on. Cold Springs revenue will go through the roof, but at what cost?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer but fills in herself: “The people. People who’ve lived here for decades will be forced out. It’s already happening too.”

I look around the room, realizing what she meant about an endangered community. “How?”

“Businesses through downtown are getting hit because Jed owns a bunch of the commercial buildings. He’s raising rates on his leases, bragging to everyone that we’re going to be rolling in dough soon. But nobody can afford it now. A few places have already had to close. If, and that’s a big if, he gets his way, he’s going to basically own the town—the subdivision, downtown, and of course, your dad.”

She goes silent, eyeing me thoughtfully while I process everything she’s told me. But she’s left out one important piece. Finally, I speak up. “What do you need from me?”

Etta smiles. “Quick on the uptake, aren’t ya? I’m not just telling tales to listen to myself talk. You’re a Ford, but I get the feeling you’re not like Jed. I thought maybe you could talk some sense into your uncle, or your dad. That is, if you give a damn about Cold Springs. Or the people here.” She cuts her eyes to the side, and when I follow her gaze, I find Hazel. “She said you were only here for the wedding, probably leaving soon. That the case?”

She’s not talking about whatever this shit is with my uncle anymore. Despite her earlier statement that she wasn’t going to get involved with Hazel and me, she’s asking my intentions.

“I hadn’t made any plans when I came, just wanted to be here for my brother,” I admit, showing more of my heart to her than I typically would. “I wanted to come in, toast, and leave.”

“And now?” she presses.

“Haven’t made any plans on leaving yet either,” I confess. Her right eyebrow lifts in disappointment . . . that I might be leaving or that I might stay, I’m not sure. And though this is the first real conversation I’ve ever had with her, I can feel the weight of her expectations dropping onto my shoulders. Like everyone else in this town, she wants something from me and only cares about my last name.

Except Hazel. She likes you in spite of your name and doesn’t want anything more from you than a good fuck.

I bristle at the idea that Hazel is nothing more than that. But I painfully remind myself that I know better. I can’t stay here, shouldn’t be here.

A good fuck is all you need too.

Maybe. But is that all I want?

“Look,” I continue, “if you’d asked me two weeks ago what I’d be doing tonight, I’d have told you that I’d be doing the same thing I do every night—cracking a beer after a long day of work and sitting on my ass alone at home. No offense, but after a day in the woodshop, I don’t really need to pay extra for beer I can store in my own fridge. But somehow, I came back to Cold Springs, something I didn’t want to do, for one of the few people I give a shit about, my brother. Seeing him happy has already made this trip down memory lane worth it.”

Etta nods, but I hold up a finger. “As for Hazel? She’s an unexpected surprise, one I’d like to continue exploring. But all this shit with my family? I walked away from it for a reason, and I don’t know if I want to get involved. Even if I did, Jed and Dad wouldn’t listen to me. I’m the ungrateful son of a bitch who walked out and barely deserve the family name any longer.”

Etta hums. “Black sheep or not, you stay around and ‘continue exploring’ as you say, you’re gonna get mixed up in it. Can’t be helped when you’re a Ford, even if you barely deserve the name.”

“You say that differently than they would.”

“I know. But sticking around will only make it harder for Hazel when you go, because we both know . . . you’re gonna leave. And she’ll be here, watching Cold Springs fall apart with your name carved in the ruins.”

She draws a work-worn finger across the tabletop, writing out Ford.

Well, shit. Talk about pulling no punches. Etta Livingston is brutally harsh and bluntly honest. No wonder Jed left her. He’s not man enough to handle her. He needs soft ego stroking and a woman who defers to him in all ways.

I think about my Aunt Chrissy, Jed’s wife, whose main job seems to be staying in trophy-wife condition, and try to find a single similarity with Etta, but there simply are none. I don’t know how Jed and Etta could’ve ever been a thing, except that Etta was probably as beautiful as Hazel, thirty or so years ago.

Still, it’s plain as day that they’d be a match made in hell.

Or maybe she wasn’t this way until she had her heart broken . . . by a Ford. Is Etta saying I’ll do the same to Hazel?

“You think I should go now?”

Etta rolls her eyes, and if she could, I think she’d slap me in the back of the head again. “No, asshole. I’m saying to stay and handle your shit. Quit running away like a scared kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” I tell her coldly. “And I don’t appreciate being told what to do.”

She doesn’t back down, smirking. “Seems I’ve hit a nerve. Is that what your daddy did? Or what he still tries to do?”

She’s right, on all accounts. But the person who treated me most like a stupid kid was Jed. So I don’t answer.

Instead, I give her a guarded look and return to eating my almost-gone burger as though we haven’t been talking at all. The burger is cold, and despite its deliciousness, it sits like sand in my mouth and I have to force it down.

“Fine then.” She stands up but pauses at the side of the table to get the last word in. “Do whatever the hell you want, but remember that there are people here who do give a damn, Hazel included. And we could really use your help. We’re trying to save this whole town from Jed. Help us. Help her.”

Without waiting for my reply, she leaves. I watch her go, but after a few steps, I look for Hazel instead. She’s dropping a round of drinks off at a table full of couples who look like they’re enjoying a night out while the kids are home with babysitters.

They’re all laughing at something Hazel’s said, and when she turns to walk away, her smile is bright and real. I scan the rest of the restaurant, seeing people eating and drinking and playing, all having a good time together.

Is this what Jed wants to ruin?

And for what? Money?

The idea disgusts me so much I push my mostly empty plate away.

A few minutes later, Hazel completes her rounds and comes back to my table. “Judging by the deep groove between your eyebrows and the super-frowny face, Aunt Etta was her usual, charming self? Whatever she said I said, ignore it.” She waves a hand dramatically. “She makes up stuff all the time, nearly a compulsive liar.”

She’s trying to cheer me up, so I force a smile to my face. “Etta said you told her last night was awesome. That a lie?”

Her blush is all the answer I need. “Well, I might’ve said that.” She winks teasingly, but she’s searching my face with perceptive eyes. “Look, whatever Etta said . . . seriously, forget it. I’m off in ten minutes. How about if we play a game or two, just hang out for a bit?”

I consider saying no, not because I don’t want to spend time with Hazel. I do, so much. But she comes with a whole different set of expectations, ones I’m not sure I can live up to. The alternative is worse, though, so I nod.

“Yeah, that sounds fun. You got that ridiculous pink pool cue with you?”

She gives me a very insulted look, although she’s grinning in her eyes. “Of course. Joan of Arc lives here, locked up safe and sound next to Etta’s stick in the office.”

I grab her hand, bringing it up for a kiss along her knuckles. “Go get it and I’ll meet you by the tables.”

A table clears as we approach, and I ask, “Eight ball?”

Hazel nods and I quickly rack the balls.

She chalks her cue and breaks, dropping a solid, the three, and the game is on. Any fantasies of her taking it easy on me because of last night evaporate on her next shot, a twin-rail bouncer that pockets the six.

Thankfully, I do get a chance when her shot on the two barely misses the side pocket. Hazel’s good, leaving me without much of an angle on anything, but with a lucky shot, I’m able to put both the fifteen and the ten into their pockets.

“That was bullshit,” Hazel grumbles but, at the same time, smiles a little.

“Just watch,” I reply, but while I sink the fourteen, I also scratch.

“Fuck!” I hiss, stepping back. “Your shot.”

Hazel chuckles, and I feel like it’s the chuckle of a killer. I might not get another chance at the game. I try to watch the table, but it’s distracting to watch Hazel caress her cue, bending over the table, and drawing her hand back to—

“Hey, big brother.”

I jump, trying not to yell as Wren sneaks up and surprises me. “Wren!”

She grins, knowing she caught me staring at Hazel. “Fancy finding you here.”

I scoff. “You knew I’d be here. But I am surprised to see you in here.”

“Winston’s brought me here once or twice before. He says it’s a safe space from Dad and Uncle Jed.” Wren waves at Etta behind the bar, who flashes a thumbs-up in return.

I gape in shock. “That woman damn near gutted me like a fish a few minutes ago, but with you . . . she’s all ‘hey baby, how’s your momma’n’em’?”

“She giving you a hard time about the subdivision?” Wren asks, and I nod. “Not really surprised. She’s asked Winston and I about it. Winston’s a brick, of course, but I told her the truth. I’ve got about as much stroke with Dad and Jed as Ryan Seacrest.”

“She accepted that?” I ask. “Or did you get the VIP stare?”

Wren laughs. “Etta knows where I stand. I might not be able to stop Jed, but I can do my part. Hell, I brought coffee to the last protest.”

“You. Protest,” I repeat, and Wren nods. “Nope, can’t see it. Doesn’t compute.”

Wren smiles wryly. “Why? I care about this town too.”

That she does, maybe more than me. Maybe I’ve underestimated my little sister. “What’s your take on the whole thing then?”

“This is exponentially worse than Jed’s usual assholery, a lot worse,” Wren says. “I shot my shot with Dad, more than once. I’ve talked with him about it until I’m blue in the face, but he ignores me. And don’t even get me started on Jed.”

I sigh, knowing what she means. “So why does everyone think I can do something about it?”

“Hope springs eternal? Return of the heir? Some pearl of wisdom like that?” she says, and I scoff.

“Pearls before swine is more like it.”

Wren tilts her head. “Maybe, just maybe, they’re desperate. Or maybe they figure you’re the one Ford with enough strength and enough balls to stand up and do your own thing once, and hope you’ll do it again. Maybe, just maybe . . . you’re their only hope.”

I growl and cross my arms over my chest, turning my attention to Hazel, who’s running the solids and joking around with the couple at the next table.

I appreciate the lightness she brings to everything. I want more of it, not all this heavy shit everyone else hits me with. I feel alive with Hazel, even if it makes me consider uncomfortable things, like what I might do to spend more time with her.

Fine, maybe like Wren said . . . I could do something.

“Well?” Wren asks, and I look over.

“Well, what?”

“I know that look, Wyatt,” Wren says. “You had that same look right before . . . right before you took off. It’s your thinking look.”

“Ah . . . well . . .”

“And that’s game!” Hazel says, standing up and grinning in victory. “Ooof, at least you got two!”

I shake my head. “Two out of three!”

“Pssh, sit down, scrub!” Hazel says. “You gotta get in line, someone already called next.”

I look, and sure enough, there’s a pair of quarters already sitting on the end of the table, along with a reed-thin guy of about fifty-five with a cue in his hand. “Sorry, young man, but this young lady and I have been going back and forth for, what, six months now?”

I sit down on the stool next to Wren, giving the man a friendly wave. “You go ahead, Mr. Irsing.”

It’s funny, watching my old science teacher and Hazel play for money. And I have to give him credit, Mr. Irsing keeps it close. But as the eight ball drops into the pocket, he shakes his head in sportsmanlike disappointment.

“Hazel, you made two weeks of practice utterly useless,” Irsing says, reaching into his wallet and taking out a twenty-dollar bill. “Honestly.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Hazel says, taking the cash. “You’re getting better. Keep it up, and I bet I’ll be handing this back to you before too long.”

“I doubt that very much, young lady. Now, I do believe Mr. Ford here wants his rematch. Take it to ’im.”