Sweet Talking Man

Fancy returned to tug at a wayward thread, rolling it into a ball. “Can’t go on what we see. Scripture tells us man sees what is on the outside, but God sees a man’s heart. Perhaps John—”

“Oh, you can bet he was attracted to that outside.” Abigail bounced big pretend breasts against her chest.

“Hush,” Fancy said, but laughing anyway. “Speaking of not judging a book by its cover, how are the art lessons going?”

Abigail stilled, her mind flipping to the intimacy between her and her instructor the other night. “We’ve only had one lesson. I suck at drawing.”

“Language,” her mother warned.

“Oh, please. Suck is a perfectly good word. Don’t act like you don’t use it.”

“Me? I’d never use language unsuitable for a preacher’s wife,” Fancy said, a twinkle in her eye. Abigail knew very well her mother dropped the occasional curse word, but that was what made Fancy Beauchamp one of Magnolia Bend’s most-liked women. She could bake a mean pie and dance the tango, and believed a well-placed curse word was effective.

“The class is filled with women.”

“He’s a good-lookin’ man.”

“But odd. He wears sandals with pants and has a ponytail.”

“So did Jesus.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Only you would compare Leif Lively to Jesus.”

“Why not? Both have magnetic personalities and woman kneeling at their feet.”

“Would you be serious?”

Fancy reached out and tweaked Abigail’s nose. “Lighten up, Francis.”

“You’re quoting Stripes? Nice.” Abigail stacked the three pillows at the end of the scarred wooden table. “So are you going to get around to what you really want to ask me?”

“You mean something besides how your art lessons with Mr. Yummy Yoga Pants have been going?”

Abigail couldn’t help herself. She chuckled.

Her mother brushed her wispy red hair from her face. “Now, that’s the Abi I love. Big laugh. Fun girl.”

Abigail snorted. Yeah, right. Her mother remembered things differently than she did. “I still laugh.”

“Not often enough.”

“Yeah, well, life sucks sometimes.”

Fancy sank into the fluffy armchair. “Come sit and tell me about Calhoun.”

Abigail took the opposite chair, releasing a huge sigh. “Well, he’s back. He says he’s home to stay.”

Fancy’s gaze dissected Abigail’s face. “You think he’s serious about staying?”

“He says so. Morgan left him, presumably for another man. Quite frankly I’m surprised she lasted five years with him. She saw him as her ticket out of the bayou, but no one could have told Cal that. He was so certain he’d missed out on the life he was supposed to live.”

“What a dumb ass,” Fancy said.

Abigail trilled, “Language.”

“Yeah, yeah. I grew up a Burnside. My papa could make a sailor blush. Apple, tree and all that. Besides, I say my prayers every night. The Good Lord knows Calhoun is a dumb ass, so forgiveness should be forthcoming.”

“True. So Cal’s living with his parents and says Buster gave him his old job at the plant. That surprised me—Buster was furious at him for abandoning us to go chasing fame and fortune.”

“Time has a way of healing anger for some folks. Buster loves Calhoun and the man isn’t getting any younger. He needs someone to take over the business when he retires.”

“Buster will never retire.”

“Don’t be too sure. Diabetes is tough on the body and he’s been having issues with his legs.” Fancy stared out at the winter-weary branches of the roses she loved to tend. “So what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve known Calhoun Everett Orgeron ever since he drank his first sip of milk. He’s the kind of man who leans on people to get what he wants.” Her mother looked at her, eyes soft and sympathetic.

“What?”

“He wants you back?”

Abigail clutched the arms of the chair, worry clawing her insides. “Why would you think he wants me back?”

“I just told you. I know Calhoun. He’ll want his old life. He thinks he deserves it because he’s an Orgeron...and because he has a pretty smile. He blew through his savings living in California, played footsie on the beach with a veritable child and now he’s home. He’s not going to sign up for eHarmony, so he’ll be over at Laurel Woods sweet-talkin’ you.”

“Well, he can bark up another tree.”

Fancy reached over and patted her hand. “You never could resist Calhoun.”

“The hell I can’t.” Abigail sat up straight. “He broke my heart. I spent years with my self-worth pancaked, so I’m done with Cal. His smile doesn’t work on me anymore.”

“Good girl. I’ve been worried. I saw Birdie yesterday and I swear that child could not stop talking about Daddy this and Daddy that. She’s going to make it harder to say no to Calhoun. Birdie will want to be a family again.”

“We are a family...just not a family who lives together. Birdie understands that. I just need to come up with some guidelines.”

“It won’t be just Birdie who’ll press this. Be prepared, daughter of mine. Be prepared.”

Abigail nodded as her cell phone rang. The clanging bells signaled the ringtone for St. George’s. “That’s the school. Hope Birdie’s sore throat hasn’t turned into strep again.”

Abigail stood, answering her phone. “Hey, Lelah, don’t tell me Birdie’s running a fever.”

Lelah Carter, the most efficient school secretary this side of the Mississippi said, “Oh, no. She’s good. Just thought you should know Cal checked her out thirty minutes ago. Said he was taking her to the Dairy Maid. He’s on the checkout list so I let her go with him, but after I thought about it, I figured you should know.”

Abigail closed her eyes. This was why she needed to clear her head of fluff and attend to Cal and what his return meant for their lives. “Thanks, Lelah. I don’t want her to miss any instructional time, so I’ll have a word with Cal.” She clicked the end button and collapsed into her chair.

“Everything okay with Birdie?” her mother asked.