Ain’t She Sweet?

Miss Creed, going dejectedly up to bed, sat for a long time at the open window of her room, and gazed blindly out upon the moonlit scene. She had spent, she decided, quite the most miserable day of her life.

GEORGETTE HEYER, The Corinthian

The painting had been here all along, a ferocious web of crimson and black, cobalt and ocher, with angry trails of yellow and explosions of green. Not a drop cloth at all. It had never been a drop cloth. She gave a choked sob and went down on her knees next to the enormous canvas spread across the concrete floor, ran her hands over an encapsulated paint lid, a fossilized cigarette butt. These weren’t objects dropped by accident, but relics deliberately left in place to mark the moment of creation. A strangled hiccup caught in her throat. There was nothing random about these dribbles and splatters. This was an organized composition, an eruption of form, color, and emotion. Now that she saw it for what it was, she couldn’t believe she’d ever mistaken it for a drop cloth. She crawled around the perimeter, found the signature in the far corner, ran her fingers over the single word ASH.

She fell back on her heels. Even in the garish light of the single bulb dangling from the rafters, the painting’s tumult spoke to the chaos in her own heart. She swayed. Let its angry rhythm claim her. Moved her body. Gave herself up to misery. Gazed into the painting’s soul.

“Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Sugar Pie . . .”

A hoot. A whistle.

“Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Sugar Pie . . .”

Her head snapped up.

“Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Come out and play . . .”

She shot to her feet. Cubby Bowmar and his boys were back.

They stood on the small crescent of lawn in front of the carriage house—six of them—beer cans in hand, faces turned to the moon, baying for her. “Come on, Sugar Beth . . . Come on, baby . . .”

Hoots and howls.

“Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Sugar . . .”

They chanted and chugged.

“Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Sugar . . .”

Wolf whistles, yowls, drunken, piggish snorts.

She stormed toward them. “Cubby Bowmar, I’m sick of this. You stop it right now!”

Cubby threw out his arms and fell into Tommy Lilburn. “Aw, Sugar Beth, all we want is some love.”

“All you’re gonna get is a big fat piece of my mind if you and your sorry-ass friends don’t haul yourselves off my property.”

Junior Battles lurched forward. “You don’t mean that, Sugar Beth. Com’ on. Have a beer with us.”

“Does your wife know you’re here?”

“Don’t be like that now. We’re just havin’ us a boys’ night out.”

“A morons’ night out is more like it.”

“You’re the mos’ beautiful woman in the world.” Cubby tucked his free hand under his armpit and flapped it like a one-winged rooster as he began the chant again. “Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Sugar . . .”

Junior took it up. “Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Sugar . . .”

Tommy threw back his head, spewing beer and woofing.

“Oh, for Lord’s sake be quiet.” She spun on Cubby, ready to light into him, when, out of nowhere, Colin appeared like a dark avenger and launched himself at them.

Cubby let out a grunt of pain as Colin’s shoulder caught him in the chest and brought him down. Colin went after Junior next, a sharp jab to the jaw that made Junior howl as he slammed into a tree. Carl Ray Norris tried to run away, but Colin threw himself at his back and brought him down, taking Jack McCall along for the ride. Eight feet away, Tommy dropped to the ground before Colin could touch him.

Gradually, Colin realized that nobody was fighting back. He cursed and rose to his feet. He stood with his fists on his hips, legs braced, waiting for Cubby or Junior, for Jack or Carl Ray. Moonlight glinted off his dark hair and gleaming white shirt. He looked like a pirate, the black sheep son of a noble family forced to earn his fortune plundering Spanish galleons and beating up rednecks.

He opened his palms, taunted them in a low, harsh voice. “Come on, boys. You want to play. You play with me.”

Sugar Beth’s eyes shot from Colin, to the men on the ground, to Tommy crawling on all fours trying to find his beer. The blood roared in her ears. “Isn’t one of you going to fight him?”

Cubby rubbed his knee. “Dang, Sugar Beth, we’re too drunk.”

“There are six of you!” she shouted.

“We might hurt him.”

“That’s the idea, you fool!”

Junior rubbed his jaw. “It’s Colin, Sugar Beth. He’s a writer. Everybody’d get pissed off if we fought him.”

“I’ll do it, then, you worthless sons of bitches.” And she hurled herself at him.

Colin staggered backward, taken by surprise. She swung at him, and he grunted as her fist caught the side of his head. She gave a hiss of pain—his head was harder than her hand—but didn’t let that stop her. Instead, she shot out her leg and caught him behind the knee.

They went down together.

He gave an oof as her elbow sank into his midsection, then sucked in his breath. “What are you doing?”

“Kickin’ your ass, you sneaky, rat bastard!” She tried to rise to her knees so she could swing again, but she slipped in the damp grass and came down hard across him, so she attacked his chest instead.

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” He caught the waistband of her jeans and yanked on them, rolling her to the side, going with her, pinning her.

She gazed up at him.

His teeth glittered, and his eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you ready to settle down yet?”

She hit him as hard as she could.

He winced, grabbed her upper arms, and pinioned them. As she tried to free her knee, he anticipated the movement and trapped her under his thigh. She kicked out with the other leg and caught him in the calf. They rolled. Now she was on top. Instead of retaliating, he tried to contain her, which made her furious. “Fight back, you lying limey sissy!”

“Stop it!” He tried to snare her other leg. At the same time, he growled at the men, “Get her off me before she breaks something.”

“She’s doin’ okay,” Junior said.

“Watch ‘at other knee,” Carl Ray called out.

He was a few seconds too late, and Colin let out a bellow. She’d missed the bull’s-eye, but she’d caught him high enough on the thigh to hurt. He uttered a low, particularly vile curse and rolled her beneath him again.

You’re going to be a woman for the ages, Sugar Beth.

The echo of her mother’s words sent shame spiraling through her, and the adrenaline that had fueled her ran out. Another man. Another brawl. She felt sick.

Gradually, Colin realized she’d stopped fighting. The pressure on her chest began to ease. He rolled off.

She heard the pop of a beer can followed by Cubby’s voice. “Looks like the fun’s over, folks. Guess we better be on our way.”

Feet began to move. “’Night, Sugar Beth.”

Somebody’s keys jangled. “’Night, Colin.”

A belch. “Y’all take care now.”

Moments later, she heard the sound of truck engines.

Colin stood, the sound of his breathing harsh in the night air, his chest heaving. He gazed down at her, then extended his hand to help her up.

She ignored him and made it to her knees by herself. Her elbow burned from a scrape, and she’d ripped her slacks. She felt something hot on her face, but it took her a moment to realize she’d started to cry.

Colin’s heart wrenched as he gazed down at her and saw tears glistening on those beautiful cheekbones. He’d finally done it. He’d finally brought Sugar Beth Carey to her knees.

With a strangled exclamation, he sank down next to her and drew her close. She didn’t fight him. He began kissing her eyelids, her cheeks, sipping up the moisture. His own eyes burned, and he blinked against the sting. He ran his hand down the fragile bumps of her spine. Kissed her temples. He was a man of words, but he couldn’t think of anything to say except the ridiculous, which came out as a rusty whisper. “You’ve read my book, I see.”

She nodded against him.

He pressed his forehead to hers. Breathed in as she exhaled. Tried to think of some way to make it all disappear, but he couldn’t come up with a thing.

“I feel like I was raped,” she whispered.

He winced.

Her breath fell soft on his face. “I know all of it was written long before I came back. And everything you wrote was true. I know that. I was fair game. More than fair game. And you could have written worse about me than you did. I even understand why you didn’t tell me right away. What good would it have done, right? And now, at least I’ll be prepared.”

“Don’t, my love,” he whispered. “Don’t try to justify something that hurts you so much.” He cradled her face, kissed the damp trail on her cheek. “If I could do it again, I’d write it differently.”

“Facts don’t change.”

“How we see them does.”

He would have stayed there kneeling on the ground with her forever, but she pushed away from him and sank back on one calf in the wet grass. “I found the painting tonight,” she said slowly.

Another sword through his heart. “Did you?”

“In the studio. The drop cloth. The drop cloth is the painting.”

He told himself to get it over with quickly, but she was still talking. “When I was growing up . . . All those times I’ve searched the studio since I got back . . . I never saw it for what it was. Not until tonight.”

The time had come to drive the final nail in his coffin. He rose to his feet. She did the same. Her hair tumbled over her cheek, and her hand trembled as she pushed it away. “No wonder my father always laughed when he talked about the painting. She hid it in plain sight.”

Her top button had come unfastened, revealing the edge of her bra, which was creamy white, very much like her soul. “You have what you came for, then,” he said.

She nodded. “The last Ash canvas this large sold at auction for four and a half million dollars.”

“You’ll be a wealthy woman. Independent.”

“This canvas won’t bring as much.”

“No?”

“I want mine in a museum, not hidden away in a private collection. That’ll limit the bidders. But all I need is enough to make Delilah secure.”

“You’ll have a lot more than that.”

“I suppose.”

“Our noble, self-sacrificing heroine.” He didn’t say it sarcastically, but she stiffened, and he cursed the part of him that was so terrified of the sentimental that he tainted everything with cynicism, even when he didn’t intend it. He forced himself to utter the question he’d been dreading. “When are you planning to leave?”

“As soon as I make arrangements for the painting.”

“That shouldn’t take long.”

“Maybe a week.”

He touched her hair. “I love you, you know.”

Her lips trembled and a tear caught on her lashes. “You’ll get over it. Take it from one who knows. Love’s not an emotion that lasts forever.”

“Have you gotten over Emmett, then?”

“I must have, or I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you so quickly.”

Hearing her openly admit her feelings should have gratified him, but it only deepened his pain. “Do you have so little trust in yourself?”

“It’s not a matter of trust. I’m being realistic.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t leave. Everything you need is right here in Parrish.”

“You’re wrong.”

“What about that children’s bookstore you talked about? It doesn’t have to be a dream now. This is your home, Sugar Beth, the place where you belong.”

“No, it’s your town now.”

“And the place isn’t big enough for both of us, is that it?”

“You know it wouldn’t work.”

“You need to be here. You have family.” He drew a ragged breath. “And you have me.”

Dismay darkened her eyes. “That’s why I have to leave.” Her lashes dropped, and she turned way. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“I found the painting last week.”

She looked back at him.

“When we were searching the studio. I’d been in there at least a dozen times before, but . . . I was in a foul mood that day—knowing I was losing you—and you were standing next to it. I turned my head to snarl at you. Something about the colors, the violence of the paint . . . It grabbed me by the throat.”

She nodded as though she understood, although even he didn’t entirely comprehend the turbulent emotions that had claimed him right then.

“When were you going to tell me?” she asked.

“Every day this past week.”

She didn’t get angry as he expected. She didn’t seem reproachful. Instead, she gazed at him with something that looked like understanding.

He sensed her getting ready to move away again, and he spoke before she could. “I want you to marry me.”

Her eyes shot open.

His words should have rattled him—he’d never imagined saying them again—but they felt exactly right. He took a step closer and cupped her exquisite face. “I wish I had magnolias, or gardenias perhaps. Something to make the grand romantic gesture. I’m quite capable of it, you know.”

She rested her cheek against his palm, but only for a moment. “I could never do that to you.”

Her lack of courage maddened him. It felt too familiar, too much like his past. “I won’t beg, Sugar Beth. I begged a woman once in my life, and I’ll never do it again. You’re either strong enough to love me—strong enough to let me love you in return—or you’re not. Which is it going to be?”

She dropped her head and said, in a whisper, “I guess what you see as lack of courage, I see as wisdom.”

“There’s nothing wise about running from love.”

“There is when I’m involved.”

And she walked away, leaving him alone in the damp spring night.

*****

Sugar Beth moved numbly through the next few days. Other than catching an occasional glimpse of Colin’s car turning out of the drive, she didn’t see him. He’d even stopped working on his wall. Recognizing that she’d made the right decision for both of them didn’t make it easier to accept the fact that she’d damaged someone she loved. As for the damage she’d done to herself . . . Sooner or later, she’d get over it. She always did.

As she waited on customers at Gemima’s, she told herself Colin had been wrong when he’d accused her of cowardice. People who didn’t learn from their mistakes deserved to be unhappy. She couldn’t keep rushing from one man to another, handing out her heart helter-skelter, falling in love with love and then having it snatched away. Colin didn’t understand that she was protecting him.

On Wednesday, the eager representatives from Sotheby’s arrived to take away the painting. The studio seemed empty without it, but she wasn’t sorry to see it go. She had enough disturbing emotions of her own to deal with, and she didn’t need to see more of them on canvas.

The week ground on. She told herself she’d survive the public humiliation that awaited her when Reflections was published. She’d survived humiliation before.

She had no trouble securing a small loan from the bank to hold her over until the painting sold. The Ash canvas was so much larger than she’d ever dreamed. Even after she’d set up a trust for Delilah, she’d have more than enough left over to open her children’s bookstore. Colin had been right. She had no passion for selling real estate, not compared with the pleasure she felt introducing a child to a book. As soon as she got to Houston, she’d start looking for the perfect location, and she’d forget that she’d already found it in an abandoned train depot in Parrish, Mississippi.

She pushed away images of old brick walls with book-lined shelves and a reading area shaped like a caboose. She refused to picture a tiny outdoor café sitting on an abandoned loading platform or weed-infested tracks reclaimed with potted trees and tubs of flowers. Instead, she concentrated on her work.

Jewel advertised for a new clerk, but Sugar Beth didn’t like any of the people she interviewed. “You owe it to the kids to find someone who cares about selling children’s books.”

“I did,” her tiny boss replied. “I found you.”

And right there, between Sandra Cisneros and Mary Higgins Clark, Sugar Beth began to cry. Jewel hugged her, but some things were beyond consolation.

Winnie announced she was holding a Reconciliation and Forgiveness Dessert on Monday evening so Sugar Beth could make peace with the Seawillows before she left town. “Frankly, I’m not sure how much Reconciliation or Forgiveness is going to happen,” she said. “They’re just getting used to the idea of having you back, and now you’re leaving again. They’re takin’ it personally.”

“You know I don’t have any choice.”

“I know you think you don’t.” And Sugar Beth saw in Winnie’s eyes that she, too, felt betrayed.

At night, she barely slept. Instead, she stood at her bedroom window gazing over the hedge toward Frenchman’s Bride and fighting the powerful force that urged her to run to him. How could he have asked her to marry him? Had he forgotten how to count? What kind of stupidity would make him volunteer to be her fourth victim?

Saturday was her last day at the bookstore. Word had gotten around that she was leaving, and half the town stopped by to say good-bye. At least this time they wouldn’t think quite so badly of her. Late that afternoon, when things finally quieted down, she made her way to the children’s section for the final time. She was putting the small chairs back in place when Winnie burst in.

“Ryan just called from Frenchman’s Bride! Colin’s leaving Parrish today.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s moving away. Leaving for good.”

Sugar Beth’s blood turned to ice. “I don’t believe you.”

“He’s loading up his car right now. Colin told Ryan not to say anything to you until after he’d left.”

“Colin loves Parrish! He wouldn’t leave. This town means everything to him.” Even as she said it, the opening sentence of Reflections flashed through her mind. I came to Parrish twice, the first time to write a great novel, and more than a decade later, because I needed to make my way back home. “Why would he leave?” she said weakly.

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

“He believes if he leaves, I’ll stay.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth.

“He’s planning to sell you Frenchman’s Bride.”

Sugar Beth stared at her.

“You’re supposed to contact his attorney and make an offer.”

She straightened. “He can’t do this. I’m getting my keys.”

“My car’s already out front. Hurry.”

They raced outside where Winnie’s Benz sat at an awkward angle in a No Parking zone. The tires squealed as Winnie backed out. “You have so screwed this up.” She blew through a red light.

Sugar Beth’s shoulder hit the door as they shot around a corner, and she dug her fingernails into her palms. “My gift.”

“You’re supposed to be the great big expert at handling men,” Winnie scoffed. “You’re a national disaster, is what you are!”

“Don’t start in on me again.”

“You’re perfect for him. That’s what’s so frustrating. I didn’t see it right away—how could I, you being you?—but it’s sure crystal clear now. You’re the only woman strong enough to stand up to him. He intimidates everybody else. And he needs you. Yesterday, when I saw him, he said all the right things, but it was like part of him was missing.”

Sugar Beth twisted her hands and stared dully ahead.

As they drew up in front of Frenchman’s Bride, Sugar Beth saw his Lexus parked at the side and Colin setting something in the trunk. Ryan was carrying a computer box down the steps. She threw herself out of the car and rushed across the lawn. Gordon saw her coming and began to bark. Colin watched her for a moment, then frowned at Ryan as she drew near. “I asked you not to tell her.”

“Things don’t work that way around here,” Ryan said. “You should know that by now.”

Colin snatched the carton from him and rounded the car to set it in the backseat. Ryan moved toward Winnie, and Sugar Beth closed in on Colin. He looked haughty and remote, but he had a poet’s soul, and his camouflage no longer fooled her. “This is crazy. What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re the one who decided only one of us could live here,” he said, reaching inside to move another carton.

“You!” she cried. “You’re the one who’s supposed to live here.”

“Come now,” he scoffed, as if his leaving were of no importance. “We both know Parrish is more your home than mine.”

“That’s not true. It’s yours now. Colin, don’t do this.”

“We’ve made our choices. You’ve decided to be a coward, and I’ve decided to leave you to it.”

“I’m not being cowardly. I’m being smart. You can’t walk away from Frenchman’s Bride. It’s your home. You’ve put your heart and soul into it.”

“No, Sugar Beth,” he said quietly. “I put my heart and soul into you.”

She flinched.

He leaned back into the car and repositioned a box of books. She saw Gordon’s water dish on the floor. He emerged and shut the door, his mask of remoteness firmly back in place. “Talk to my attorney about the house. I’ll get my things out as soon as I decide where I’m going to settle, but in the meantime, you’re welcome to move in.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” She gazed back at Winnie and Ryan, willing them to say something that would make him change his mind, but they looked as helpless as she felt. “Please,” she whispered. “I ran you out of town once. Don’t let me do it again.”

“You’re the one, my dear, who decided this place isn’t big enough for both of us.” He pulled something from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. As he moved away to shake hands with Ryan, she saw he’d given her the keys to Frenchman’s Bride.

“Tell Gigi I’ll call her tonight.” He hugged Winnie. “Take care of yourself, Ms. Davis.”

Winnie gave him a hard squeeze. “You, too, Mr. Byrne.”

“No!” Sugar Beth shot forward. “No, I won’t have it, do you hear me? This big sacrifice of yours doesn’t mean anything because I’m leaving whether you go or not. I mean it, Colin. You’re doing this for nothing. Next week I’m driving out of this town for the last time.”

“That would be very foolish.” He came to her then, tipped up her chin, and gently brushed her lips. It wasn’t nearly enough contact, and she tried to embrace him, but he stepped away. “Good-bye, my love.”

“Colin . . .”

He turned his back to her and walked around the car to the passenger door. “Come along, Gordon.”

Gordon trotted over and hopped in, her awful, traitorous dog. Colin shut the door behind him. Gordon propped his front paws on the back of the seat and stared at Sugar Beth. Winnie moved to her side and took her hand.

“Don’t do this,” Sugar Beth whispered.

He gave her one last glance and opened the driver’s door. But just as he began to climb in, Gordon shot across the passenger seat and hopped out.

“Gordon?” He snapped his fingers.

Gordon’s head drooped. He slunk toward Sugar Beth, ears dragging on the ground. She crouched next to him, fighting the lump in her throat. “Go on, pal,” she whispered, giving him a last pat. “You’re his now.”

But Gordon gave a miserable sigh and lay down in the grass at her feet.

“That’s it, then.” Colin spoke briskly, as if he didn’t care, as if this desertion, too, had been inevitable. A moment later, he’d started the engine and begun to back down the drive.

“No!” Sugar Beth shot forward, ready to throw herself at the car, but Ryan caught her and pulled her back.

“Don’t, Sugar Beth. Have a little dignity.”

“Let me go!”

Too late. Colin Byrne had left the last whistle-stop behind forever.

Gordon began to howl, a mournful, heart-wrenching sound that came from the very bottom of his doggy soul. Sugar Beth’s teeth started to chatter. She drew away from Ryan, and as she knelt by her dog she remembered his water bowl in Colin’s backseat. Where would Colin be when he noticed it? At a gas station somewhere? Unloading a suitcase at a roadside motel? He’d endured so many losses: the father’s love that should have been his birthright, the wife who’d betrayed him by not having the courage to live, the child he’d lost, Gordon . . . and her.

She looked up in time to see Ryan pull Winnie to his side. She curled against him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was gazing at Sugar Beth instead, and in those sympathetic golden brown eyes, she saw his big heart and his deep-rooted decency. She saw a man capable of fidelity, a man worthy of trust. A man who knew how to love . . . forever.

Something loud and shrill roared in her ears. Her heart thumped against her ribs. She sank back into the grass so hard she banged her tailbone.

Dear God, she’d done it again.

“Sugar Beth?” Winnie broke away from Ryan to rush to her side. “Are you all right?”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Once again, she’d turned her back on the love of a good man.

Winnie knelt next to her and rubbed her back. “It’ll be all right.”

Sugar Beth put her head to her knees. Colin had said he wouldn’t beg, and he hadn’t, but that had been grief talking, not pride. He wasn’t leaving Parrish just so she could stay. He was leaving because he couldn’t bear the pain of being around another woman with a cowardly heart.

All along, he’d been right. Rejecting him hadn’t been an act of bravery. It was an act of fear. She’d sent him away because she hadn’t been able to find the courage to give them a chance.

Gordon licked her cheek. She lifted her head to Winnie. “I’m too afraid,” she whispered.

Winnie squeezed her shoulder.

The late-afternoon sun slid from beneath a cloud and struck Sugar Beth in the eyes. It felt like an electrical shock, and she jumped to her feet. “My purse! I need my cell. Where’s my purse?”

“At the bookstore,” Winnie said. “I’ll get mine.”

But Ryan had already handed his over. “For God’s sake, don’t screw this up, too.”

Sugar Beth’s heart pounded as she punched in Colin’s number. She’d made a colossal mistake, the mother of all mistakes, and she had to set it right. She and Colin couldn’t work this out unless they were together. She sank back down next to Gordon as it began to ring. Once, twice, three times. An automated recording kicked in.

“He’s not answering.” She disconnected and punched in the number again, but he still didn’t pick up.

“He’s licking his wounds,” Winnie said. “He’ll answer later. Let me drive you back to the store. Then we’ll move your things into Frenchman’s Bride.”

Sugar Beth’s head shot up. “I can’t move into Frenchman’s Bride.”

Winnie regarded her evenly. “You’re home for good now. You can’t do anything else.”