Poker Posse 1: Looking at Rose Read online

  “Terrible girl. You know I didn’t mean that at all.”

  Rose finished checking the alternator and moved to the starter. “I know, but Daddy wouldn’t have forgiven me if I let that opportunity slide.”

  A heavy sigh punctuated her mother’s response. “Of course. Joe loved his jokes almost as much as he loved his motors.”

  “Which made me very popular with the guys.” Rose could hear the sarcasm in her own voice and hoped her mother didn’t pick up on it.

  Viola Whittman didn’t miss a thing. “Your daddy knew who your real friends were, Rose. That’s why he let you take care of running off the fake ones yourself.”

  Rose rested her hands on the radiator and looked at her mother. “Really? I thought he only tolerated Nick and Harlen because they were the sons of your friends. And he tolerated Jake because he was Nick’s and Harlen’s friend.”

  Viola, perched on the stool near Rose’s father’s workbench in the garage, shook her head, the soft blonde hair curling over her shoulders. “Oh no. Joe could tell those boys kept an eye out for you, honey. Why do you think Judge Hampton only gave Jake eight months in juvenile detention when he stole your daddy’s car?”

  Rose looked over at the covered GTO that had belonged to her father. “Daddy loved his goat. I was surprised he let Jake back into his shop when he got out.”

  “He was disappointed in him, but he knew Jake looked out for you the most.”

  Rose turned back to the car. From the time she was six and they were ten, Rose had tagged along with the three boys on their excursions around Magnolia. They’d been the ones to teach her how to cast a line into the creek and hit dead center instead of bouncing her lure off the opposite bank. And when Rose was twelve and drawn the attention of an older boy on the football team with Jake and Harlen, it had been Jake that had shown her the moves to fend off unwanted advances.

  “Until they left,” Rose grumbled. It still hurt, even twelve years later, that Nick, Harlen, and especially Jake, simply walked out of her life.

  “But you had the girls.”

  Frustration and anger that she’d kept bottled up bubbled to the surface. “By default, Mama. Norah and Ellie accepted me because their brothers liked me. Mirrie and Ari let me hang around because they were friends with Ellie and Norah.”

  “That’s not true. They liked you, not because of their brothers.”

  Wiping her hands on a rag, Rose moved past her mother to the workbench and began rummaging around for the part she needed. “Mama, I’m not saying that they don’t love me and I don’t love them. I do. They’re like my sisters. But I’ve never felt like I fit in with them. I was taller than all of them and more interested in fishing and fixing cars than Barbie dolls and dress-up. When we had sleepovers, I had to sleep on the floor because I was too big for the beds. And being as sweet as she was, Mirabeth always made sure everyone else slept on the floor.

  “I could never swap shoes or share clothes with them because everything I had, if it fit, was too long on them or theirs was too short on me.” She slapped the rag on the work top and turned to look at her mother. “I didn’t feel like I fit in. I still feel like a freak sometimes.”

  Viola slid off the stool and wrapped her arms around Rose. The warmth and comfort of her mom’s touch, the strength in her arms as she held Rose, settled the jangled nerves and awkward feelings inside Rose. She didn’t return the hug, not with the grease and dirt on her hands likely to smear her mother’s pretty pink dress, but she lowered her head so her cheek rested on her mom’s crown. “I’ll get you dirty,” she mumbled.

  An indelicate snort sounded, and Viola pulled back. “Like I can’t wash my clothes and change into something else.” She reached up and cupped Rose’s face in her soft hands. “I wish I could take those feelings away, but I can’t. You’re a strong woman who knows who you are and what you want. But I do understand how you feel.”

  Rose shook her head and turned back to the bench. “How can you, Mama? You’re normal-sized. You’re not like me.”

  “Rosamund Leigh Whittman, you aren’t the only one who feels like an outsider. How do you think it feels for me when I’m around my friends?”

  Confused, Rose swung around and watched her mother tap her foot in irritation with her arms crossed over her ample chest. “But they’re your friends. You’ve known them since you all were babies.”

  “And there are times I wonder why I’m with them. I’m nothing like them.”

  “But—”

  Viola held up a finger as she ticked off each point. “Betty Jo has a PhD from MIT in electrical engineering and worked for NASA. Mabel has law and political science degrees from Duke and was mayor of Magnolia three times. Twice she ran unopposed. Lucy has worked as the nursing supervisor at the county hospital, not to mention being the head ER and Trauma nurse in one of Savannah’s busiest hospitals. And Raelene. As fickle about men as that woman is, she found the time to get herself an MBA and develop and run a premiere marketing and advertising firm. Now tell me, why wouldn’t I feel inadequate next to them?”

  Rose was stunned by her mother’s revelation. She’d always known about the accomplishments of her mother’s friends. Norah, Ellie, Mirrie, and Ari had always been proud of their mothers’ careers just like she was, but it amazed Rose how close to her own feelings her mother’s were. “You have a master’s degree in library science and you ran the school district library program for thirty years. I think that’s equally amazing.”

  “And you own and run your own store and online catalog business. What I’m trying to say is—”

  Rose interrupted. “I get it, Mama. We all feel different, not quite right, sometimes.”

  Viola seemed relieved. “Yes.”

  With the part in hand, Rose moved back to the car. “I get it, but it’s just a little hard when I tower over everyone.”

  “Not everyone. There’s Parker Greene; he’s as tall as you.”

  “True, but he’s a guy, and he looked better with Mirabeth when they were married. She’s the closest to my height, but she’s only five eight.”

  “Height isn’t everything.”

  Rose snorted and worked to loosen the bolts securing the connector to the battery cable. “It is when most guys can’t look you in the eye.”

  Viola laughed and settled back onto the stool. “Baby, very few men look a woman in the eye.”

  They’d had this conversation a few times when she was a teenager and right before she left for the culinary institute, so Rose finished her mom’s statement for her, “Especially when it isn’t the head on their shoulders they’re thinking with.”

  “Exactly.”

  Ibraham looked her in the eye. Always. In the year she’d known him, Rose couldn’t think of a single instance when he was talking to her that his gaze ever dipped below her chin. Not that she’d be offended by his attention. Oh no, offended was the last thing she’d ever be if he decided to take his friendly pats or pecks to the next level. Just the thought of doing more with Ibraham had Rose’s temperature rising. Her body ached. While she scraped the corrosion from the battery cable, Rose decided it was a good thing she still had to take her shower before she headed over to Miss Lucy’s house, where Helena was playing hostess for the night. She’d have to take care of that particular ache after her mom left.

  “Honey, I can call Ray.”

  Rose was startled from her thoughts by her mom’s comment. She rolled her eyes at her juvenile reaction, then smiled at her mother. “Uncle Ray had two engines and a transmission to rebuild, not to mention a few oil changes lined up. If you wait for him to take care of this, you won’t make Miss Mabel’s card party this week or next week.”

  Viola Whittman nodded. “And you’d miss your own party.”

  Turning her attention to the battery connector and cable, Rose shrugged. “It’s not really a party, Mama. We talk about how our weeks went and pig out on pizza or whatever takeout one of us picks up.” Rose looked up in time to see her mother’s
face tense and wrinkles crease her usually smooth brow.

  Concern and something that sounded like disappointment filled her mother’s voice. “You don’t go out?”

  With one hip on the grill of the car, Rose looked at her mother. “Mama, Helena wouldn’t be caught dead in the Fire Hose for fear of running into her daddy, and you can’t tell me you or your friends would be very happy if we decided to go to the Palace for some fun.”

  Her mother did exactly what Rose expected when she stiffened and shook her finger at her. “I best not hear that you and your friends are down at that…that…place.”

  “But they have an amateur night,” Rose teased.

  “I will not have you displaying yourself, prancing around with pasties so some stranger can stuff dollar bills in your thong.”

  Rose roared with laughter at the thought of her and her friends taking the stage at the strip club. Their mothers would glower at the male audience while the girls danced and peeled off clothes. “I can see you and Miss Mabel slapping wandering hands.”

  Viola couldn’t help but chuckle. “Betty Jo would be rewiring the sound system, while Lucy would set off the fire alarms.”

  She was laughing so hard, Rose had a difficult time fitting the fixed battery cable onto the post. “And Miss Rae—”

  Her mother groaned. “Lordy, Raelene would be up on the stage with y’all showing her Arabella the right way to bump and grind.”

  Rose didn’t doubt for one second that would be exactly what Ari’s mama would be doing. A final twist of the wrench, and she was finished. Still chuckling, Rose grabbed the bad connector, her tools, and the rag, and slammed the hood shut. “I can see her doing that, Mama. And Miss Mabel and Miss Lucy fussin’ her out with every beat.”

  Viola slid behind the wheel of her car and turned the key. The engine rumbled to life. Through the open garage door, Rose could see the streetlights had come on despite the lingering summer twilight.

  “Thank you, honey.” Viola smiled.

  Rose leaned down and let her mother hug her through the open window of the car. She pressed a kiss to her mom’s cheek. “Love you, Mama. Have fun with the ladies.”

  “You have some fun too. Talk to the girls. See about finding someplace fun to explore, even if you have to drive into Savannah.”

  Rose doubted any of her friends would be up for something like that tonight. “We’ll see.”

  Her mother pulled out of the garage and down the drive. As the door rolled noisily back into place, Rose turned her thoughts to Ibraham. She couldn’t see him in the Fire Hose, where all the firefighters, EMTs, and local sheriffs hung out. That would be like dropping a black panther in among puppies. Was he the kind of man to frequent a place like the Palace? And what would he do if she were to appear on stage. A performance meant only for him but done in front of dozens of curious onlookers?

  Heat stirred in her belly. Her breasts ached, and her nipples grew tight, pressed against her plain cotton bra. Between her thighs she could feel the tingle start. She cursed, tossing the tools and parts onto the workbench to be sorted later. She needed a shower. Now. But not a cold one. Nuh-uh, she had every intention of utilizing her fantasies to the fullest extent.

  If she was late to meet her friends, so what. She had the desserts. Chocolate smoothed all ruffled feathers.

  * * * *

  Viola Whitman sighed at the cards she held. Two of hearts. Eight of diamonds. A look at the community cards laid out in front of Betty Jo Lipton made it clear. She had a handful of nothing. When her turn came, she shook her head. “Fold.”

  Betty Jo chuckled and laid down the winning hand. Across from her, Lucy Krikkel grimaced and tossed her cards into the middle of the green felt-covered table. “I swear, Betty Jo, if I have any luck at all, it’s nothin’ but bad.”

  Viola pushed her cards toward Lucy, as did the other two ladies at the table. After fifty-odd years, Viola was well used to Lucy’s tendency to exaggerate. Just as she was used to Mabel’s habit of bossiness, Raelene’s flirtatiousness, and Betty Jo’s instigating ways.

  Strawberry-blonde Betty Jo stacked her winnings onto her growing pile of chips and asked, “What has your knickers in a twist now, Lucy?”

  Lucy gathered the cards and began to shuffle. “It’s Helena. My girl needs to get a life.”

  As Viola took a sip of her sweet tea, Raelene gave a sexy and suggestive chuckle. “Did she walk in on you and Alan having video sex again?”

  The tea went down the wrong way, leaving Viola sputtering and coughing. Across from her, Mabel did the same.

  Betty Jo rolled her blue eyes, then gave Viola a couple of whacks on the back to stop her choking and corrected her friend, “Raelene, it isn’t video sex, it’s cybersex.” To Viola, she asked, “You gonna live, Vi?”

  Viola nodded, gave a final cough or two, and blinked the tears from her eyes. “Y-yes.”

  Betty Jo looked at the platinum blonde dabbing at the tear-smeared mascara under her golden eyes. “How ’bout you, Mabel?”

  Mabel nodded, then croaked, “Raelene, Arabella would be shocked if she could hear you.” She tossed her ante for the next hand into the center of the table.

  A snort, much like the one Viola’s late husband used to make when he slept, left Rae’s lips as she added her ante to the pot. “My girl wouldn’t know what cybersex was if it came up and bit her on the butt. Arabella should have been a Catholic nun the way she avoids anything related to sins of the flesh. Instead, as a good Southern Baptist, she just sucks the fun right outta life. My life.”

  Viola winced at the cutting yet accurate assessment of Rae’s daughter’s personality. Ari was a nice girl, a bit on the prudish side, but considering Rae’s tendency to attach herself to men—

  Lucy, in her typical rebel fashion, jumped to Ari’s defense. “That is not so. Ari is a sweet girl, Rae. Considering what you’ve put her through, you should count yourself lucky that your only child even talks to you.”

  True to her vibrant red hair, Rae did not let that comment pass unassailed. “What I put her through? What exactly did I do to my daughter that could be construed as harmful? Arabella was educated in the finest private school her daddy’s money could buy until he went belly-up on the stock market. She’s vacationed all over the world and lived on practically every continent, including Antarctica, since she was born. How is that a hardship, I ask you?”

  Desperate to keep the tiff from escalating into a full-blown battle, Viola interjected, “Now, Raelene, Lucy isn’t saying you’ve mistreated your girl. We know you love her to death, but it can be hard on a child when her mama is up and marrying a new man every few years.” She looked at the cards Lucy had dealt her—king of clubs and nine of hearts—and watched her flip over the first house card, king of diamonds, before Viola added, “Why when you broke your hip four years ago, Ari came right home and helped nurse you back to health.”

  Raelene nodded, the flush of anger leaving her cheeks. “Yes she did. But then she didn’t leave.” She checked her hold cards as well before looking at the other ladies. “I may be on the high end of forty, but I certainly don’t need a keeper. And I definitely do not need a prissy little spinster hanging around interruptin’ my courtin’.”

  The moment Mabel rolled her eyes, Viola’s stomach began to knot. She knew Mabel wasn’t going to let Rae’s little white lie pass, and the fireworks that might likely follow. “You are fifty-eight if you’re a day, Raelene Hewitt-Jones-Sparks-Smythe-el Hassim,” Mabel declared.

  Betty Jo didn’t look up from her cards. “Hewitt.”

  Mabel slapped down the joker and ace of hearts on the table, then scowled at the strawberry blonde who’d been winning all night. “I said Hewitt.”

  Betty Jo nodded. “Yes, but you forgot Rae up and remarried Leroy Hewitt before the man had the good sense to get himself struck by lightning on the ninth hole at Augusta. So her last names are Hewitt-Jones-Sparks-Smythe-el Hassim-Hewitt.

  “That does not change the fact that she is f
ifty-eight not forty-nine, as she’s so fond of fibbing to her gentlemen callers. And she should not call Arabella a spinster. The girl is only twenty-eight.”

  Rae pursed her lips, furious at being called out, and dropped her cards, the king of hearts and two of spades, faceup on the table, glared at Mabel, and scathingly responded, “At least my girl is two years younger than your Mirabeth, so Arabella’s just barely on the shelf, whereas your daughter—”

  Betty Jo interrupted again. “But Mirabeth’s been married, Rae, so she can’t be considered a spinster.”

  The knot in her belly grew bigger the second Viola spotted Mabel’s icy glare. She leaned forward and nudged Betty Jo’s arm. “We agreed never to discuss that. You know how Mabel—”

  Voice full of mayoral authority, Mabel decreed, “Mirabeth’s indiscretion isn’t up for discussion.”

  “Well, you started it,” Rae accused.

  Betty Jo corrected, “No, actually Lucy started it.”

  Lucy slapped down the deck of cards. “I most certainly did not.”

  Much as she hated to agree when Betty Jo was pickin’, Viola grimaced and reminded Lucy, “Actually you did. You were complaining about Ellie interrupting you and Alan when you were having cybersex—”

  “We weren’t having cybersex. We were having sex, and my girl knocked on the door and started asking if I wanted collards or corn as a side dish for the fried chicken she’d made for dinner.” Lucy shook her head and continued, “Poor Alan jumped outta bed so fast he sprained his back. We didn’t even get to our big finish.”

  Mabel frowned at her. “When are you going to marry that poor man, Lucy? You have played hot and cold with him for nigh on thirty-three years.”

  Viola had to agree. “Not to mention givin’ birth to his son and daughter. Why poor Harlen ran off to the marines the second he turned eighteen and has barely visited. You’re lucky Helena didn’t take up with some man in Savannah when she was in college like Mirabeth did.”

  “Vi.” Betty Jo tilted her head toward Mabel.

  Mabel’s stony expression had Viola hastening to make amends. “I’m sorry, Mabel. I don’t believe anyone thinks any less of your Mirrie for runnin’ off to Vegas to marry that Yankee. Why how was she to know Parker was a little light in the loafers?”