The Liar

After a gulp of beer, Clay tapped a finger to her nose—another life-long habit. “Don’t get your nose out of joint. I like knowing you can take care of yourself. I like it better Griff’s looking out for you, too, so there’s no point getting pissy about it.”

“I’m not getting—” The baby stirred, let out a plaintive cry.

Clay glanced at his watch. “Like clockwork. Feeding time.”

“I’ll take him to Gilly.”

She wasn’t pissy, Shelby thought. A little annoyed, yes, and entitled to be. She’d gotten herself into a mess, no question about it, but she’d also put considerable time, effort and creativity into pulling herself and her child out of that mess.

She didn’t want to be “looked after.” It slid too close to what she’d let happen before. Hadn’t she allowed Richard to “look after” her? To make all the decisions, run the show, lead her where he wanted her to go?

It wouldn’t happen again. And she was going to make damn sure she showed her now four-year-old daughter what a woman could do if she worked hard enough, stood straight enough.

If she looked after herself.

•   •   •

LATER, SHE DEALT with party debris, carting in leftovers, bagging up trash. In the kitchen her mother and grandmother put the kitchen to rights.

“I’m making up a big batch of frozen margaritas,” Ada Mae announced. “Mama and I have a yen for some.”

“I could have a yen for a frozen margarita.”

“Forrest and your daddy will probably stick with beer.” While she worked, Ada Mae peered out the window, nodded. “Looks like they’ve about got the extra chairs and picnic tables put away. I don’t know what Matt and Griff have a yen for, but expect Emma Kate might join our margarita party. You ought to ask what they’d like to have.”

“I will.”

“Or maybe the four of you want to go on out for a while. Oh, look how sweet Griff is with Callie.” Ada Mae stopped to beam out the window now. “He’s tying balloons on her wrists.”

“She thinks if there’s enough of them on her, she’ll lift right off the ground.”

“And see there? He’s lifting her up, letting her pretend she’s flying. That man’s born to be a daddy. Some are,” she said as she got out her big blender. “Your brother Clay, for one. He’s so good with his babies. I wish they could’ve stayed awhile longer, but little Beau needed to go home, and Jackson was ready to fall asleep standing up. Callie, now, she’s still got energy enough.”

“Chocolate cake, and the excitement. She’ll be spinning until bedtime.”

“She sure does dote on Griff, and he right back on her. You can tell a man’s character by the way he treats children and animals, I say. You’ve got a winner there, Shelby. One who’s going to look after you right.”

“Ada Mae,” Viola said under her breath, casting her eyes heavenward even as Shelby spoke up.

“I’m looking after me.”

“Of course you are, honey! Just look what a bright, sweet child you’ve raised, and on your own, too. It sure eases my worries seeing you with such a good man—fine-looking, too. We met some of his people when they came down to visit and help him with the old Tripplehorn place. Fine, good people. You should go on out and ask him to Sunday dinner.”

Shelby’s heart began to throb. She knew what it meant when a southern woman talked about lineage and Sunday dinners.

“Mama, I’ve only been seeing Griff for a couple months.”

“He puts a light in you.” Cheerful, oblivious, Ada Mae dumped generous scoops of ice in the blender with the tequila and margarita mix. “Puts one in your baby girl, too. And Lord knows he looks at you like you’re the double chocolate cream in the candy box. He’s got an easy way with friends and family, and has his own business. You don’t want to let a man like that slip away.”

“Let me help you with that, Ada Mae,” Viola said, and hit the switch on the blender to drown out any more words.

Shelby didn’t ask him to Sunday dinner, or suggest they go out with Matt and Emma Kate. She told herself she wasn’t avoiding him over the next several days—just that she had a lot to see to. Just that she had a point to make that she could see to her own.

She did just that with Callie off on a playdate with a new friend, and the afternoon free.

She took time to work on her next playlist—circling back to the second round of the fifties. And with the raise she’d gotten the week before at both jobs, she opted to funnel that extra into a single credit card payment.

If she kept being careful—didn’t buy any more new dresses no matter what her mama said—she should have another paid off by her own birthday in November.

That would be the best gift she could ask for.

At the knock on the front door, she closed the laptop, went down to answer.

Griff stood on the porch, smiled at her. “Hey.”

“Hey back.” She tried to fight off the flutter in her belly, and politely stepped back to let him in—stepped back just enough to avoid a hello kiss.

“Your mother wants shelves in the laundry room.”

“She has shelves in the laundry room.”

“She wants more.”

“That sounds like Mama. I’ll show you.”

“How’s it going?”