Page 35 of The Best Man Wins

“Something of a pre-requisite to living in the south?”

She chuckles. “My pops owns a stable not far from here…it’s how Ray and I became friends, actually. We used to ride together.”

“Riding horses,” I say. “How romantic.”

My eyes lock with Cora’s. A frown tightens the corner of her mouth.

Suddenly, Cora lifts her head from Ray’s shoulder and looks around the circle. “I just want to take a second to thank everyone for being here…it means the world to me to get to know Ray’s friends and family. I know you haven’t known me very long at all, and it must be overwhelming for some of you to have this stranger suddenly entrenched in your life…but you’ve welcomed me with nothing but open arms. I’m so grateful for it.”

“Oh, dear, you’re an angel to say that. Come here.” Ray’s mother hooks an arm around Cora’s shoulders and pulls my sister into a hug. “You’ve been a delight. You and your brother. And we can’t wait to meet your parents.”

My heart tightens in my chest.

“Oh…” I watch as Cora gently peels herself out of Mrs. Dalton’s arms. “My father isn’t with us anymore. He passed away.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” I feel sympathetic eyes on me, and immediately my skin turns to stone.

“It was a long time ago,” I say, brushing their pitying looks off.

“What about your mother?” Roxanne pries.

“She’s sick,” I interrupted. I tell a little white lie so Cora doesn’t have to. “She won’t be attending unfortunately.”

Roxanne’s mouth opens and then shuts as she processes the oh-so-tragic information. Apparently, her Southern charm hasn’t armored her enough for this level of darkness. When she tries again, she says, “Well, darling, if you need someone to walk you down the aisle…”

“Braxton will do that.” Cora smiles graciously. She’s far more talented at handling sympathy than I am. “He’s always picked up the parental slack, so to speak…”

This conversation is hitting too close to home, and I stand abruptly. “Does anyone need a refill?”

Colburn shakes his bottle. “I’m empty.”

“Me too,” Lena chimes in.

I snag the empties and head to the house. Conversation continues in a muted murmur the further I get. The temperature drops rapidly once I step away from the open fire, but I welcome the fall chill. I’ve broken a sweat on the back of my neck. The porch lights are on, and I follow them inside.

I dump the empty bottles in the recycling bin and pluck two fresh bottles from the refrigerator. As I hunt around for a bottle opener, I hear the sliding porch doors hiss open and shut. Bare feet pad into the kitchen, followed by the familiar smell of lavender perfume. Out of the corner of my eye, Susie’s form melds with the kitchen counter.

“Rough crowd,” she says. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be better when I get these bottles opened…how do they find anything in this house?” The countertop is littered with recipes cut out from magazines and cookbooks, and the drawer organization only makes a modicum of sense.

As I rummage through what I assume is the third junk drawer, I feel Susie’s hands on my back. She’s kneading her fingers into my shoulders like a cat. “You’re tense,” she says. “Relax. I can help you work out some kinks…or work them in…”

Finally, I shut the drawer, face her head-on, and cross my arms. “Are you drunk?”

Her mouth falls open. “What? No!” Her eyes look clear, and she isn’t slurring her words, but that still doesn’t explain her bizarre behavior. Susie presses her lips together, leans in, and drops her voice to a whisper as she explains, “I’m flirting.”

“Don’t do that.”

The long eyelashes flutter when she blinks. “Why not?”

“If you want me, tell me.”

Those luscious lips part, and she looks to be hunting for the words, and then she comes out with, in almost a sigh, “I want you.”

“Tough.”

Now she looks truly confused. “What?”

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