Page 28 of Moonshine and Magnolias
“Your turn.” She held up another peach, expecting him to take it.
Instead, he gently grasped her wrist and brought her hand up to his mouth. His gaze seized hers, and she had to control the shiver of desire that shot through her. His lips opened to take a bite of the sweet fruit. “Incredible,” he said, his voice husky.
Juice dripped down his chin, and her brain occupied itself by fighting with her feet on the benefits of rising on her toes to lick it off. She wet her lips. “Uh-huh.”
He moved her wrist out of his way, clearing the path between their breaths. But he did nothing, only waited while a bird called out and a squirrel darted up a tree.
It would be so easy to give in to the rush making her stomach squirm, to finally know what his lips would feel like on hers and explore the tingling in her body. Instead, she firmly shoved the fruit in his mouth and let go, forcing him to grab it before it fell.
“Keep your mouth to yourself, mister,” she said.
“I will if you will.”
She narrowed her eyes at the challenge. “Oh, I will.”
Rob’s smile changed, from teasing and playful to something more serious, and his eyes grew solemn. “Hard to believe these sweet little fruits have been the cause of so much trouble.” He took another bite, keeping his tablet clear of the juice.
“No trouble for me,” she answered, her voice tart.
He gave a shaded half-smile. “I imagine the IRS sniffed around here a lot, with your family being moonshiners and all.”
Not that she remembered hearing. “That’s something you’ll have to ask Aunt Eulalee. The stories are very vague when it came to my family’s illicit activities. It would have served them right if they got caught.” That last bit slipped out before she could put a clamp on her personal opinion. They were supposed to celebrate that history in front of guests. It was too easy to be distracted by the delicioustension whenever Rob was near.
He put his tablet on the bench and shook his hand so the excess fruit juice dripped to the ground. “So you don’t approve of how they made their money. Even under the circumstances.”
The Clayton Prohibition story had been tweaked for audiences many time over the years, and she usually fell in with the party line. But she didn’t want to lie to Rob, who knew more about it than the average guest. “I appreciate that they did what they needed to, and it was fine before it became illegal. But once the Prohibition amendment was ratified, they should have found another form of income. Instead, my family profited off the weaknesses of others.” She shook her head. “Power, prestige, all because they made money. It makes for a nice, enthralling tale, and usually I impart the stories with a smile. So now you know the sordid truth. They were rule breakers. Don’t romanticize it.”
Rob only nodded as he took another bite of his peach, his mouth twisting in a wry smile.
“You don’t agree?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t want to judge without knowing all the facts. I’m not saying your viewpoint isn’t valid. But I’d want the other side to have a chance to defend itself. Prohibition activities were sometimes kept secret, even between a man and his wife, brothers, cousins. Maybe your family didn’t know.”
“What, the money magically appeared in Mason jars hidden around the house?” Too bad that wasn’t true now. It would explain the source of the extra income she was still trying to find.
A beep sounded and she patted her pocket for her phone to turn it off. The rooms should have all been cleaned by now, but she still wanted to check Brandi’s work before she started her own afternoon schedule. Only her phone wasn’t the one making noise.
Rob leaned over to the tablet and turned off its timer. “I have to get cleaned up before Hal and I hit the town.”
“You set your alarm?” She hoped she kept the surprise and pleasure out of hervoice.
“I thought I might get distracted going through the tour.” He flashed her a grin and she steeled herself against the awakened need inside her. “I was right.”
***
The parlor’s wide, comfortable sofas and cushy chairs beckoned to Rob to sit and relax, to let the ideas flow, to be creative for once instead of destructive. He settled into a recliner facing the fireplace and put his spiral notebook over the arm of the chair. The curtains had been raised to let in the morning light, giving the room a cheerful glow that would have been appealing to callers waiting for the lady of the house to be at home.
He opened the notebook and smoothed his hand down the lined page.
Louis Upshaw, he wrote across the top.
After that amazing beginning, the images and scenes and narrative plaguing him since he had read through the journals fled, leaving behind a cavern of nothingness. This was stupid. Hal throws an off-hand comment about writing a book and suddenly that was where Rob’s energy accumulated? He had a job to do. One he wanted done so he could maybe get to know Wendy outside the confines of his family history.
Rob’s attempt at telling her the truth two days ago, by bringing up her relatives and Prohibition, had ended in disaster. She’d been gone most of yesterday so he regrouped and formed another plan of attack. The parallels between her ancestors and his own illegal activity should have bolstered his cause instead of revealing her law-abiding opinion. But was that what she really believed, or what she thought was appropriate. He’d seen her dip into dreams, even when she tried to hide it. They weren’t always the same as her reality.
He tapped the pencil’s eraser on the paper. If the notebook had been hard bound, he would have slammed it shut. As it was, the softer cardboard made a light slapping sound as it hit the paper under it.
His History
