Emma, Mr. Knightley, And Chili-Slaw Dogs Part 3

"She can have them all." Rubbing her temple, she smiled crookedly. "Bless her heart. She's three gallons of crazy in a two gallon bucket and no one has time for the mess. I don't know why Mrs. Gray threw me with that comment at the bridge party. Silly, isn't it?"

"Absolutely. But anytime you want me to use my oldest-friend super powers, let me know. I have a lot of advice for you."

"I'm afraid to hear it." She stared out at the houses, each carefully rimmed with white wooden fences or ironwork posts. "I can guess what you'll say, anyway."

"That saves me the effort, then."

"You want me to tell my mother I'm not her party planner."

"Or her chef. Or her companion. Or her watchdog." He checked the rearview mirror before sliding into the far lane.

"I know. And I'm sure it will get better with time." But she didn't sound convinced. He glanced at her, afraid to speak what they both knew: Caroline's mother was becoming completely dependent on her daughter. No amount of waiting was going to help the situation. Three years had gone by and she had gotten more possessive, not less.

"You're right." She straightened up, forcing her lips into a bright smile. "I've been thinking of starting something new."

"Another book?"

"Well, I never finished the last one." She shrugged. "Fiction isn't my forte. I've been thinking of an essay for The Atlantic on the rise of disaster memoirs."

"I-lived-through-the-greatest-plane-crash-in-history type?"

"Right. There was that book about the girl lost on Mount Hood and she had to bury her dead fiance in a snow bank with his shoes as markers. The advance was half a million, which is a lot of money when we already know how it all ends. It's definitely a trend in memoirs right now." She beamed at him and he forced his gaze back to the road. He'd forgotten how happy she looked when she got an idea for a story.

"I could be wrong, but I think The Economist just had a story like that a few months ago."

"Oh." She visible slumped. "I feel so out of the loop."

"You can keep up with all of this stuff on line. Even my grandmother keeps up with what's happening in the world." He kept his tone gentle, but if she wanted to get a piece printed in a national magazine, she had to know what's been done already.

"Right, but that's Blanche. She said she was starting a senior internet dating site, too." Caroline's lips tilted up.

"You know what I mean."

Her smile faded. "I know. I just get so caught up in..."

"Bridge parties." He turned off the main road and slowed, shifting down as they entered the long, tree-lined drive leading to the Werlin mansion. The late evening sun illuminated every leaf and tussock of gra.s.s with a golden glow.

"Right. And it's my own fault." Her voice was so defeated that he let the car slow to a complete stop and shifted to neutral.

"Listen. It was one idea, a good one. And somebody already got there before you. How many times has that happened?"

Her lips tilted up just a fraction. "About a million."

"Exactly. I think you're out of practice. You've gotten soft. You get a good idea, it's shot down, you want to slink back under the porch and lick your wounds."

She snorted. "My, don't hold back or anything."

"You want me to be honest? Well, here's the truth. You used to be a lot tougher, because you had to be." He remembered the year she worked at The Post. She was darn near frightening. If she thought she had a story, she chased it down without giving up. The girl next to him was as beautiful, as smart, and as generous, but she'd lost her confidence.

She was quiet for a few moments. He hoped he hadn't said too much. People always asked for the truth, but not many truly wanted to hear it. His chest constricted a bit, wondering if he'd hurt her. That wasn't what he'd intended at all.

"You're right. And it was just one idea." She turned to him, new resolve in her gaze. "I'm crawling back out from under the porch, okay?"

"Perfect." He shifted into gear and let the car move smoothly forward.

"I haven't been here since that New Year's Eve party." She c.o.c.ked her head. "What ever happened to your date, that reporter from Natchez?"

"Sandy? Oh, I see her around." He tried to make it sound like they had some sort of friendship, but truthfully, he actively avoided the woman.

"She asked me if you'd inherit Badewood or if your brother would get it."

He threw her a look and was glad the tree-lined drive was a straight shot.

She shrugged, as if she knew what he was silently asking. "I figured you'd use your own best judgment. I don't blame her. A girl can be distracted by the idea of having a third floor ballroom all to herself."

He supposed so, but it had still taken him by surprise. "Somehow between my invitation and the day of the Werlin's party, she'd done a little investigative work. Whenever she looked at me, I could see that Ionic portico reflected in her eyes."

Caroline raised a hand to her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to stifle her giggles. "Poor you."

"Yes, poor me." He made the saddest face he could manage but couldn't hold it for long. He'd been disappointed, true. Sandy kept asking him where he'd bought his car, his watch, even his suit, like she was prepping for a turn on 'The Price Is Right'. Offensive then, amusing now.

"Looks the same." He motioned to Werlin's home, happy to see the bright new paint but nothing else of note on the Greek revival style mansion. Adding wings or changing the face of such an historic house was an offense punishable by social shaming.

"Remember the old Muro place?" Caroline seemed to read his mind. "That businessman from Florida that tore out all the bright red brickwork?"

"And then covered the timber framing in pink stucco." The man claimed he'd been blacklisted because he was from out of town, as if Miami was Memphis. No, it was the crime he'd committed on that beautiful old house.

She slid out of the car and they stood together in the gra.s.s, taking in the bright spring evening. The frogs from Yellow Creek were in full song; peepers and bullfrogs giving their best in the hope of attracting a mate. Deep green Kentucky blue gra.s.s covered the expansive front lawn and Brooks could see the swell of manicured acres rising in the distance, dotted here and there with giant oak. He would never leave his teaching position at Midlands College, but moments like this made an emotion rise in his chest that was akin to the deepest longing. This was his town, his people, his heritage.

He turned to Caroline, taking her hand and tucking it in his elbow. "Too bad we're inside. It would have been a wonderful night for a garden party."

She stood still, as if she hadn't heard him. "I know I should want to travel the world, to have a demi-ta.s.se of espresso at the Eiffel Tower or lay on the white sands of Bora Bora. Maybe even move to Rome and get an Italian boyfriend who drives a Fiat." Glancing at him, she smiled. "But I don't know if anything will come close to Th.o.r.n.y Hollow."

He wanted to agree, say that was just what he'd been thinking, but somehow the words stuck in his throat. It was true this place was close to heaven on earth, but he wanted more for her. A lifetime of garden parties, no matter how perfect, were not what she was born to do.

He struggled to put this into words but every phrase that occurred to him seemed like he was lecturing her on how to live her life. "Then let's not waste a minute of it."

A bit of reality might help. The particularly grating relationships of a small town might be a better tool of persuasion than any nagging he could do. There was probably nothing like a long-held feud or a dose of small-minded bigotry to convince her to expand her horizons.

"Men of sense, whatever you may choose, do not want silly wives." Mr. Knightley

Chapter Five.

Caroline inhaled the freshly mown gra.s.s smell and felt a sense of well-being spread through her, from the top of her head to her sandaled toes. This very moment, life was as perfect as it could possibly be. The setting sun lit up the Werlin house like a spotlight. Every detail of the historic old home seemed to shimmer. The combed gravel circular driveway was shadowed by enormous cedar trees.

"Looks like Manning and Debbie Mae are here." She pointed to the sleek silver coupe at the far end of the circular driveway. "This past weekend was the first time I'd seen her in forever. She kept saying we would get together for coffee, but it never happened."

"Same here. Manning says his case load has been crazy this year but things change when you get married."

Caroline brushed her hair back and lifted her chin. Obviously, that wasn't the whole story but she couldn't share their losses without asking Debbie Mae for permission.

He went on. "There couldn't have been a sudden spate of property development disputes in our little county not could Debbie's fourth graders need twice as much lesson planning as last year."

"Maybe it's not just about being married. That sounds so..." She waved a hand, searching for the right word.

"Disloyal?" Brooks dropped the keys in his pants pocket and shrugged. "But it's human nature, Finley. I know how you feel. I haven't seen Manning since the last reenactment, at the Battle of Champion Hill." Brooks said that as if she'd remember exactly which month it was held. Although she teased him about what she'd once called his 'little obsession', she knew it wasn't just marking Civil War history; it was family time. Blanche raised funds for battle grounds and the boys were both die-hard Civil War buffs.

"Does he come visit you at Midlands much?"

"Not since the wedding. He keeps saying he will, but you know the rest." He grinned. "It's love. I'm not holding a grudge. She's perfect for him. Thoughtful, smart, funny. I'm glad they found each other."

She almost missed a step, catching the toe of her sandal in the soft blue-green gra.s.s. "You mean, you're glad I fixed them up. Without me none of that would have happened." She paused, her gaze fixed on a distant point. "When they first started dating, I sort of regretted it. She was with him all the time. Now I remind myself he could have ended up with someone we both hated."

"Hm. I would have made an effort to get along with any woman he decided was the one he wanted to send the rest of his life with."

"You think so? What if he'd chosen some fake-tan, big-haired bimbo for a wife? I worked hard to bring those two together. He needed someone who shared a lot of his interests, especially that nutty reenactment stuff you guys do. You know that Debbie Mae even bought some old tin cookware so she could join you two? She'll be cooking for the camp."

"Really." His tone wasn't overly enthusiastic and she wondered if he'd wanted to keep the reenactments as sacred brotherly bonding time. If she were Debbie Mae, she'd let them have it. Swatting mosquitos, eating off tin plates and washing her hair in a creek wasn't her idea of a great time. History or no, sometimes a girl just had to lay down some ground rules. Sleeping on a real mattress was one of them.

"She's also planning a big party sometime this summer. I think she missed us."

His lips tilted a bit. "She does have a knack for entertaining. Her Super Bowl parties are the bomb. As for Manning. I don't think he would have married just any girl. You know, whatever the commercials say, men don't want an air-head for a wife."

She rolled her eyes at him. "There are exceptions to the rule, but you're not trying to insist that men will choose brains over beauty? I think we both know that's not true."

He stopped, leaning back, taking her in from the top of her perfect blonde hair to the delicately painted toenails. "I've always felt women put the greatest burden on themselves to be beautiful. I'm not saying you should all stop brushing your teeth or shaving your legs, but women could always put more time into being interesting, than being beautiful."

Her mouth dropped open a little bit and a small puff of air escaped, like he'd socked her in the stomach. "Even if the entire female population swore off highlights and manicures, men would still choose the most beautiful woman in the group. It's just the way men are. No amount of women's lib will change that fact."

"How can you, an educated woman, say something so s.e.xist?" His eyes went wide. "What about gender equality? What about enlightenment? What about," he gestured mutely at the s.p.a.ce between them, "friendship?"

"All very good things. But no match for basic biology." She sighed. "I wish I were wrong, but I'm not."

"If we're going to start pointing fingers, women are just as shallow. They'll choose the tallest man in the room, the one with the deepest voice and the biggest muscles. It doesn't matter if he can't string two words together, he'll have women falling all over him."

"Ha!" She started toward the house, leaving him to follow in her wake. "We may go for a quick look, but there's a difference between momentary distraction and enduring boring chit chat for the rest of your adult life. True attraction has to survive a twenty minute conversation."

He'd caught up with her, his long legs keeping pace with her as she stalked toward the wide, sweeping veranda steps. "Wait a minute." He held out a small spray of forget-me-nots and tucked them into the soft loops of her chignon. His lips tugged up as he looked her over. "Pretty."

"You stole flowers and want to plant the evidence on me?" Her tone was arch but she couldn't help smiling a bit. Every girl likes to be called pretty. Which reminded her of the conversation currently derailed by a well-timed compliment. "Hold on, are you trying to make a point?"

"No point. The color brings out the blue in your eyes."

Caroline rolled those green-blue eyes at him and headed toward the steps.

"You know what the real kicker is? For men, it's not looks or brains. If all else is equal, women might choose the smarter man, but they'll always choose the richer one."

She whirled on him. "Patently false. I know plenty of women who have married down, even though women are statistically the ones who should be making conservative financial decisions."

Brooks stepped forward, glaring down at her, the evening light glancing off his hair and casting his features into half-shadow. She could smell his cologne, not the everyday aftershave but the darker, muskier one he wore for parties. Even in high heels she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. Their gazes locked and she stuck her fists on her hips, waiting for a nice little debate to begin. He never pa.s.sed up an opportunity to argue with her, even standing on the front lawn outside a party they should be attending.

She watched his lips start to twitch as if he'd thought of something amusing. She refused to blink. Of course he knew that women came out on the short end of the stick for pay scale and retirement packages. It was a fact. But if he thought he could say women always checked the bank statements before committing, he was dead wrong.

"Finley, name one." His voice was a low drawl as if he'd check-mated her in a game of gender equality chess.

"Well, there was..." She felt her face start to burn. There were plenty of examples, but she couldn't think of any of them right now, standing on the front lawn of the Werlin estate while music poured out the open door.

He shook his head, a quirk to his lip signaling his refusal to laugh. "Quite a list there." He stuffed his hands in his pockets in that way he had, the way that said he was tallying up a point on his mental scoreboard.

"My limited knowledge isn't the final word on the subject. How about we make this party a test? We'll observe and make careful notes on interactions. But it has to be a clear case of beauty over brains. Nothing in between. We both have to agree the person, male or female, is..." She frowned, thinking.

"Not as bright as they are attractive, and not as attractive as they are rich?"

She nodded. It felt ungenerous to state it so baldly, but that was the reality. So many people spent hours at the gym and on their beauty regimes, but would never pick up a decent book.

"I don't like the idea of searching out examples of bad behavior just to win a bet." Of course he wouldn't. Brooks was a firm believer in keeping one's nose in one's own business. "But it won't hurt to simply observe, I suppose."

"Exactly. We're not tricking anyone into anything. Now, let's get this party started before we miss all the fun and end up crawdad fishing at the creek."

He snorted. "You've never been crawdad fishing in your life."

"True. But I could always start."

Brooks couldn't help smiling back when Caroline flashed that brilliant smile. She could make the driest party seem like a bit of a sneaky adventure.

The chances of him winning the bet were good. It was a flimsy societal myth that men were brainless oglers. In reality men avoided being trapped in an intellectually unequal relationship just as much as women. He would have plenty of examples to state his case, he was sure of it.

Caroline's green eyes were narrowed, as if she was determined to march into this party and prove her point. Well, they'd just see, wouldn't they?

"Brooks, dear!" Mrs. Werlin was already crossing the ballroom, hands outstretched, as soon as they were ushered through the foyer. Her round face was creased in a wide smile and her pale blue eyes were wide with enthusiasm. Her midnight blue gown was elegant and timeless, like her historic home. He liked Mrs. Werlin for her commitment to preserving the region's history, but he loved her for her personality. He wasn't quite sure what she saw in Mr. Werlin, who was several decades older than she was and had all the magnetism of wet cardboard, but love had its own rules. "I thought Blanche would be back by now. She's been gone for weeks!"

"She decided to take the extended cruise. Something about a ship full of hotties." Brooks smiled, knowing Mrs. Werlin was perfectly clear on what Blanche was doing in the bright blue waters of the Caribbean Ocean, no matter what story his father had told this time around.

"Oh, my." Mrs. Werlin shook her head but looked more delighted than dismayed. "And Caroline, how lovely! I'm sorry you're mother wasn't able to come."

"She was, too. The weather has given her a bit of a headache." A faint pinkness bloomed on Caroline's cheeks and Brooks knew how awkward it was to use the same excuse time after time. Mrs. Ashley had debilitating headaches when it suited her. Otherwise, she was quite healthy.

"Give her my best." She gave them both a fly-by kiss and waved toward the middle of the room. "So many old friends have come to celebrate the completion of our new home. Thank you for coming tonight."

"We're happy to be here," Caroline said. "I hope we didn't miss the tour."