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Hoots and howls.
“Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Sugar . . .”
They chanted and chugged.
“Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Sugar . . .”
Wolf whistles, yowls, drunken, piggish snorts.
She stormed toward them. “Cubby Bowmar, I’m sick of this. You stop it right now!”
Cubby threw out his arms and fell into Tommy Lilburn. “Aw, Sugar Beth, all we want is some love.”
“All you’re go
Junior Battles lurched forward. “You don’t mean that, Sugar Beth. Com’ on. Have a beer with us.”
“Does your wife know you’re here?”
“Don’t be like that now. We’re just havin’ us a boys’ night out.”
“A morons’ night out is more like it.”
“You’re the mos’ beautiful woman in the world.” Cubby tucked his free hand under his armpit and flapped it like a one-winged rooster as he began the chant again. “Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Sugar . . .”
Junior took it up. “Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Sugar . . .”
Tommy threw back his head, spewing beer and woofing.
“Oh, for Lord’s sake be quiet.” She spun on Cubby, ready to light into him, when, out of nowhere, Colin appeared like a dark avenger and launched himself at them.
Cubby let out a grunt of pain as Colin’s shoulder caught him in the chest and brought him down. Colin went after Junior next, a sharp jab to the jaw that made Junior howl as he slammed into a tree. Carl Ray Norris tried to run away, but Colin threw himself at his back and brought him down, taking Jack McCall along for the ride. Eight feet away, Tommy dropped to the ground before Colin could touch him.
Gradually, Colin realized that nobody was fighting back. He cursed and rose to his feet. He stood with his fists on his hips, legs braced, waiting for Cubby or Junior, for Jack or Carl Ray. Moonlight glinted off his dark hair and gleaming white shirt. He looked like a pirate, the black sheep son of a noble family forced to earn his fortune plundering Spanish galleons and beating up rednecks.
He opened his palms, taunted them in a low, harsh voice. “Come on, boys. You want to play. You play with me.”
Sugar Beth’s eyes shot from Colin, to the men on the ground, to Tommy crawling on all fours trying to find his beer. The blood roared in her ears. “Isn’t one of you going to fight him?”
Cubby rubbed his knee. “Dang, Sugar Beth, we’re too drunk.”
“There are six of you!” she shouted.
“We might hurt him.”
“That’s the idea, you fool!”
Junior rubbed his jaw. “It’s Colin, Sugar Beth. He’s a writer. Everybody’d get pissed off if we fought him.”
“I’ll do it, then, you worthless sons of bitches.” And she hurled herself at him.
Colin staggered backward, taken by surprise. She swung at him, and he grunted as her fist caught the side of his head. She gave a hiss of pain—his head was harder than her hand—but didn’t let that stop her. Instead, she shot out her leg and caught him behind the knee.
They went down together.
He gave an oof as her elbow sank into his midsection, then sucked in his breath. “What are you doing?”
“Kickin’ your ass, you sneaky, rat bastard!” She tried to rise to her knees so she could swing again, but she slipped in the damp grass and came down hard across him, so she attacked his chest instead.
“You’re going to hurt yourself!” He caught the waistband of her jeans and yanked on them, rolling her to the side, going with her, pi
She gazed up at him.
His teeth glittered, and his eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you ready to settle down yet?”
She hit him as hard as she could.
He winced, grabbed her upper arms, and pinioned them. As she tried to free her knee, he anticipated the movement and trapped her under his thigh. She kicked out with the other leg and caught him in the calf. They rolled. Now she was on top. Instead of retaliating, he tried to contain her, which made her furious. “Fight back, you lying limey sissy!”
“Stop it!” He tried to snare her other leg. At the same time, he growled at the men, “Get her off me before she breaks something.”
“She’s doin’ okay,” Junior said.
“Watch ‘at other knee,” Carl Ray called out.
He was a few seconds too late, and Colin let out a bellow. She’d missed the bull’s-eye, but she’d caught him high enough on the thigh to hurt. He uttered a low, particularly vile curse and rolled her beneath him again.
You’re going to be a woman for the ages, Sugar Beth.
The echo of her mother’s words sent shame spiraling through her, and the adrenaline that had fueled her ran out. Another man. Another brawl. She felt sick.
Gradually, Colin realized she’d stopped fighting. The pressure on her chest began to ease. He rolled off.
She heard the pop of a beer can followed by Cubby’s voice. “Looks like the fun’s over, folks. Guess we better be on our way.”
Feet began to move. “’Night, Sugar Beth.”
Somebody’s keys jangled. “’Night, Colin.”
A belch. “Y’all take care now.”
Moments later, she heard the sound of truck engines.
Colin stood, the sound of his breathing harsh in the night air, his chest heaving. He gazed down at her, then extended his hand to help her up.
She ignored him and made it to her knees by herself. Her elbow burned from a scrape, and she’d ripped her slacks. She felt something hot on her face, but it took her a moment to realize she’d started to cry.
Colin’s heart wrenched as he gazed down at her and saw tears glistening on those beautiful cheekbones. He’d finally done it. He’d finally brought Sugar Beth Carey to her knees.
With a strangled exclamation, he sank down next to her and drew her close. She didn’t fight him. He began kissing her eyelids, her cheeks, sipping up the moisture. His own eyes burned, and he blinked against the sting. He ran his hand down the fragile bumps of her spine. Kissed her temples. He was a man of words, but he couldn’t think of anything to say except the ridiculous, which came out as a rusty whisper. “You’ve read my book, I see.”
She nodded against him.
He pressed his forehead to hers. Breathed in as she exhaled. Tried to think of some way to make it all disappear, but he couldn’t come up with a thing.
“I feel like I was raped,” she whispered.
He winced.
Her breath fell soft on his face. “I know all of it was written long before I came back. And everything you wrote was true. I know that. I was fair game. More than fair game. And you could have written worse about me than you did. I even understand why you didn’t tell me right away. What good would it have done, right? And now, at least I’ll be prepared.”
“Don’t, my love,” he whispered. “Don’t try to justify something that hurts you so much.” He cradled her face, kissed the damp trail on her cheek. “If I could do it again, I’d write it differently.”
“Facts don’t change.”
“How we see them does.”
He would have stayed there kneeling on the ground with her forever, but she pushed away from him and sank back on one calf in the wet grass. “I found the painting tonight,” she said slowly.
Another sword through his heart. “Did you?”
“In the studio. The drop cloth. The drop cloth is the painting.”
He told himself to get it over with quickly, but she was still talking. “When I was growing up . . . All those times I’ve searched the studio since I got back . . . I never saw it for what it was. Not until tonight.”
The time had come to drive the final nail in his coffin. He rose to his feet. She did the same. Her hair tumbled over her cheek, and her hand trembled as she pushed it away. “No wonder my father always laughed when he talked about the painting. She hid it in plain sight.”
Her top button had come unfastened, revealing the edge of her bra, which was creamy white, very much like her soul. “You have what you came for, then,” he said.