Talking After Midnight

Truth be told, he and his younger brother, Gage, were probably needed a whole lot less in Maizy’s case since Em had come into their lives. They’d both come to Plum Orchard for their own reasons, but the biggest one had been helping Jax take care of his best friend’s daughter.

Now Em did all the things they’d once done to help Jax, and she did them a damn sight better than the two of them ever had.

But Em wouldn’t hear of them leaving Georgia—even though a small part of the reason he’d come to Plum Orchard, to help Jax renovate their aunt’s old house, was no longer a valid reason. The house was mostly done, and this was due in part to Em who’d organized and planned until it was exactly the way Jax claimed he’d envisioned it.

He should be out trying to get some contracting work. Unfortunately, his tarnished reputation made that almost impossible, and here in Plum Orchard, there wasn’t a huge call for contractors. So he took side jobs that paid little but kept him doing what he loved to do more than most anything else. Building things.

He’d thought for sure now that Jax had Em, he and Gage would just be in the way of the eventual blending of their two families.

But Em had sat both men down and firmly said, with a teasing smile, “Ya’ll don’t become less important to Maizy and Jax because the house is finished. You’re all she’s ever known since birth. You’re family. Why should that change because of me and my interferin’? You both stay put until you want otherwise. I can work around you.”

He’d been surprised by her attitude. Thought for sure, even the nicest of women wouldn’t want two messy, loud roughnecks with more issues than a stack of magazines hanging around. But not Em. Em had embraced them as hard as they’d embraced her, but most of all, she’d brought all the things to Maizy’s life not one of the Hawthorne brothers could.

Hair ribbons and sparkly dresses and pink castles made out of life-size LEGOs. Nail polish, facials, bedtime stories of evil queens vanquished with the power of love, girl time once a week with Em and the women at Call Girls and a million hugs and kisses.

“So, who are you kissing, Tag?”

“He kissed Marybell,” Jax teased.

Em’s blue eyes went wide as she pulled off her coat and scarf. “My Marybell?”

“Did you have dibs on her, Em?” Tag teased, reaching for the bag of chips he’d dug out of the pantry.

Em made a face at him, her fingers going to her throat in a gesture he knew well. It was a signal she was concerned. “Oh, hush. I’m just surprised.”

“That she’d let a schlub like me kiss her?”

“That she’d let anyone kiss her. Marybell’s...”

Tag’s ears instantly went on alert. “Marybell’s what?”

Em sighed, her eyes thoughtful and cautious. “I don’t know. She’s very private. I just get the impression she’s had some troubles, though I don’t know what, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be tellin’ tales out of school. So you mind yourself, Taggart Hawthorne. I won’t have you upsettin’ my girl with your unspeakable charms.”

Yeah. He got that Marybell was private—closed off somehow; he just didn’t know from what. But he wanted to. “My unspeakable charms?”

Jax slapped him on the back. “It’s a Hawthorne trait. Ask Em. She couldn’t resist.”

Em gave his brother a flirty smile and a peck on the lips. “It was not, either. It was all the power tools you’re related to by familial connections that grabbed on to me and just wouldn’t let go.”

“Just ask me. Can’t get her to give up that darn belt sander to save my soul,” Gage joked, breezing into the kitchen to grab a brownie from the plate Em had brought over. He held it up after taking a bite. “Have I mentioned how much I love having you in our lives, Em?”

Em’s chuckle filled the kitchen. “That belt sander is almost better than a manicure.”

Tag packed up the last of his dinner, the only sort of dinner he could afford at this point, and stuffed it into a backpack. “Don’t you worry, Em. I’ll be on my best behavior. Gotta run, guys. Have a couple of things to do before tonight. Have a good one.”

“Wait!” Em yelled, a bottle of ginger ale in her hand. She caught him at the door and held it out to him. “Marybell likes ginger ale. Has it every night with her supper—which is what I’m assumin’ the bologna sandwiches are about? Supper—you and her?”

The words made his chest tight again. Damn stupid, but it took his mind off the other stuff. The bad shit. He was tired of the bad shit. Marybell made him think of good things—so he was going with it. “Guilty.”

Em’s eyes gleamed. “Then you be sure and wow her with your uncanny intuition and take the ginger ale. I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

Tag looked down into her pretty face for signs of disapproval. “You okay with this? I know she’s your employee. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

Em grinned—the kind of grin she and Maizy shared when they were up to their eyeballs in something. “How could courtin’ Marybell cause trouble?”

Her heard the metaphoric skidding of brakes in his head. “Hold on there. I’m not courting anything. It’s just some bologna sandwiches.” He wasn’t courting. Was he? Hell, no. He was testing. Testing his social skills. Testing his ability to interact with the world again. Testing a connection that had made him feel good—as though there was life still left to live.

“I saw the way you slathered that mayonnaise on that bread like you were plastering a wall—you did it like you were da Vinci. That kind of care says courtin’ to me.”

“It’s just a sandwich,” he insisted. “I like my mayo to be even on all four corners of the bread. I just assume that’s how everyone else likes it. That’s not courting—that’s for the love of a good sandwich.”

“You call it whatever you like, Tag, but hear me clear, Marybell’s a gentle, kind soul. She’s one of the best hearts I know—one of the best friends I have—and I won’t have you toyin’ with her emotions. I don’t know everything about her, but I do know, if I lost her at Call Girls because of some silly love spat with you, I’d likely snatch old Coon Ryder’s gun from his gnarled grasp and hunt you down.”

Just one more thing he loved about Em. She was fiercely loyal. She could have wrangled the Hawthorne men and Maizy together in a million ways that would have left some of them feeling displaced, but she’d do it without a single resentment from any of them. Slow and steady with a firm hand on the prize. The prize being family.

This fact about her was to be admired. “Swear on my carefully placed mayo, I’ll be on my best behavior—a perfect gentleman.”

She gave him a motherly pat on his cheek. “You see that you are. And one more thing.”

“I know, I know. Coon’s gun. You’re not afraid to use it.”

“Leave your baggage at the airport.”

“My what?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean, Taggart. Leave all your broodin’ and sufferin’ out of this noncourtin’. Just for tonight, try to enjoy the company of another human being who isn’t related to you and doesn’t want to play Candy Land for twelve never-ending rounds.”

Tag barked a laugh. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t like Candy Land?”

Her face went soft. “I don’t like that you’ve hurt for a very long time and you might mess up this opportunity to have a little fun by dredging up something that’s long over. I’ve seen you do it before, but it wasn’t with someone I care a great deal about.”

Alison. She meant Alison. Fair. That was a fair assessment of his life at this point. He had things he was working out—coming to grips with. Sometimes they colored everything he did—or didn’t do. “It’s just a sandwich,” he defended.

“One I hope you have the most amazin’ time ever sharing with Marybell—baggage free.” She gave him a quick pinch of the cheek before returning to the kitchen to Jax.

Propping the door open, he fought the envy the picture of Em and Jax made. He loved Jax, wanted him to be happy.

But maybe, after all this time, it was time for him to find some happiness, too. Even if it was just sharing a bologna sandwich with a woman who made his pulse kick up a notch.

Maybe.

* * *

Marybell took better care when she climbed out of her office window this time, avoiding the shrubs below it and hopping right over them only to get caught up on the gutter. “Damn!” she yelped into the night, grabbing for the side of the guesthouse to no avail.

Her fingers slipped and she crashed to the ground onto something hard. Not ground-hard, something that was softer hard. And grunted.

Her eyes, still adjusting to the light, gripped an arm, muscled and covered in flannel.