Page 67 of Whiskey Chase
“I’m gonna pretend that was meant as a compliment.” He pulled out his cell phone.
“If you try to take one picture, I’m gonna—”
Click.
“Oh, you’re in trouble now.” I threw myself at him, heedless of the clods of dirt I flung when I moved. He caught me mid-flight and spun me around laughing. I didn’t know if it was the spinning or his smile. But the bottom dropped out of my stomach, and I forgot all about being mad. All I wanted was his mouth on mine.
I kissed him hard, and he pulled me in tight against him, still holding me aloft. I hoped my tool belt wasn’t digging in anywhere important.
“Thanks for calling me, Scarlett.”
“Thanks for coming when I called,” I told him.
I heard the clearing of a throat, and Dev and I turned around. Carolina Rae was standing on her tidy little walkway staring at us. Her husband ol’ Judge Carwell was behind her peering over her shoulder.
Devlin let me slide down to the ground. “Hi, Carolina Rae, Judge. Door’s all fixed, but I’ve got bad news for you on your porch. The joists are starting to rot out. I think you’re gonna need a new porch next year,” I was babbling. As progressive as I was, I didn’t usually make out on my clients’ lawns with my... lover.
“Uh-huh,” Carolina Rae said, still staring at us. She was seventy-two but only admitted to sixty-six. “And what were you doing with your tongue down your young man’s throat?” she asked sweetly.
“I... uh...” Words, those little traitors, failed me. Even Devlin looked chagrined.
She smiled. “Ah, to be young again. Carry on. But don’t trample my coleus.”
She headed into the house without another word, leaving Judge Carwell outside with us. He was eyeing up Devlin. The front door closed behind Carolina Rae without the hitch it had before I got here. I braced for it.
“Mr. Fluffers!” Carolina Rae screeched.
“Mr. Fluffers had a little adventure,” I explained to Judge Carwell.
He grunted, still eyeing Devlin.
“You the lawyer, son?” he asked gruffly.
Devlin nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Y’all ever think of a judgeship?” he asked. Judge Carwell’s large white moustache twitched beneath his ruddy nose.
Devlin’s eyes widened, and I laughed.
“Still tryin’ to retire, sir?” I asked him sweetly. Judge Carwell ran unopposed every election for the office of county judge. He was so ready to retire he tried to convince June to go to law school.
Mrs. Carwell burst through the front door holding the muddy Mr. Fluffers. “Scarlett Bodine!”
I winced. “Yes ma’am. We’ll take him right over to Pet Paradise,” I promised.
26
Scarlett
“Oh, yeah. Just like that, baby,” I purred.
“You sound like you’re having intercourse.” June’s dry tone broke through my hot oil massage bliss. Lula, my masseuse and friend since junior high school, snorted. Lula was tall and willowy with flawless dark skin and a riot of thick hair. She was drop dead gorgeous, an exotic looking beauty who wore denim and plaid. She was also rolling in dough, having capitalized on the tourism boom that began a few years ago. She bought the withering old Victorian and—with a little help from me—had renovated it into a kitschy, cultured day spa.
Now, Bootleg Springs Spa wastheplace to rest, rejuvenate, and drop a crap ton of money.
Cassidy laughed through her hot springs seaweed facial. “I bet that’s the sound your neighbors have been hearing since you and Devlin started knockin’ boots,” she said.
“Devlinismy neighbor,” I pointed out. “He’s usually there making the noise with me.”
