Sidewalk Flower Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2013 Carlene Love Flores

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-243-2

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: JS Cook

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For my dad, whose voice I still hear singing me to sleep.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My heartfelt thanks to: Anna and Kathleen—my precious first readers, my critique partner, Lynne, for her input and advice, the fantastic women writers of the Waterworld Mermaids, and to my beautiful family for their unconditional love.

  SIDEWALK FLOWER

  A Sin Pointe Novel, 1

  Carlene Love Flores

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  “Trista Jeane, you’ve got a telephone call.”

  Trista glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find the fluffy, beauty shop curls of at least one of her gramma’s neighbors peeking through their lace curtains, just wondering what scandalous thing Grace’s granddaughter had to settle over the phone now.

  She knew that was what they all thought of her. It didn’t matter how many hours she spent knee deep in dirt and green bean plants helping Gramma out, she’d always be known as the girl who’d brought that wild Australian boy with the neck tattoo and his wallet on a dog chain to the senior park, at Easter no less. What they didn’t know and she didn’t care to share with the Ferns and Dollys, Eds and Franks down at the clubhouse was that she was so pissed at Jaxon, he wouldn’t dare call her right now. The neighborhood was safe. Tattoo, wallet chain, and Aussie-free. But if it wasn’t Jaxon, there was only one other person she was expecting, not looking forward to, but expecting, a call from.

  “Coming, Gramma.”

  Through the screen, Trista could hear loud flowing water and a pounding piano intro as she moseyed up the stairs and then fumbled with the handle. She entered the front door of Gramma’s trailer protecting a fresh handful of green beans. A few small clumps of moist soil clinging to her bare knees wiped off easily against the doorframe. She dared not let any of it fall on the freshly scrubbed floor inside. A pair of skeptical, wide eyes greeted her as the ringtone continued to sound. Her hi-tech world must seem pretty strange to Gramma who still baked her own bread, darned her socks and hung clothes to dry.

  “Hurry up, dear. Here, give me those.”

  Trista quickly unloaded her harvest into the sink. She splashed ice cold faucet water over her dirty hands and then patted them on the powder blue kitchen towel hanging from the oven handle. Her voice hurried, she picked up the phone just as the Phantom’s Overture began its last chant. “Hello?”

  “Yes, ma’am. May I speak with Trista Hart?”

  “This is her,” she said in her best I’m doing this because I’m a good friend voice. She was 99.9 percent sure the polite drawl on the other end belonged to Jaxon’s cousin. “Are you Lucky?”

  He laughed. And then seemed to recover enough to keep up the respectable formalities of their conversation. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  He didn’t sound like a kid. The one Jaxon had guilted her into giving a ride back to California when she left Gramma’s.

  She could continue on in this funny chase of one-liners surrounding his name but the reason they were to meet up crept back into her thoughts. How could Jaxon have asked her to host his tag-along stranger cousin on her return road trip? He knew how serious her plans were but had still saddled her with this cousin because didn’t she always drop everything to help him out? Yep.

  Her best friend’s timing on this one stunk. Like a “skunk oil mixed with tomato juice mixed with vinegar” kind of stinky. Why had she agreed to this again? She huffed.

  She was about to ask when and where they should meet up when a female’s giggle sounded in the background. Playful, taunting words echoed through the line, something like “Come get it if you want it.” Surprisingly, she was curious to hear Lucky’s response. Would he be the typical guy and tell Trista he had to go? He was related to Jaxon, after all. But the phone made a thudding sound followed by another and then the call disconnected before she had the chance to find out.

  She sat, amused, matching stares with Gramma who finally gave her own huff and then went back to snapping tips from beans. Maybe he wouldn’t call back and she’d be off the hook.

  No such luck. She answered her phone with a sigh.

  “Hi. Sorry about that. So, Jaxon said I could catch a ride out to his place with you.”

  Well he sure got to the point, didn’t he? “Yes, that’s apparently the plan.” She glared up toward the ceiling, questioning the hateful powers that be.

  “So, when do you plan on heading out?”

  “This Sunday.”

  “Jaxon said you’re staying just outside of Nashville?” The young man pried her for details while she remained determined not to give them.

  “Yes,” she said, picturing Jaxon’s face and wondering if Lucky resembled him at all. That’d be her luck, stuck with a clone of her selfish best friend when all she really wanted was to get the next leg of her trip done and over with, alone, and then head back to work in Cali.

  “Okay, well a buddy of mine is heading up there tonight. I can get a room somewhere in town and you can pick me up Sunday, if that works for you.”

  She pondered a second more. His maturity level had her worried at this point but he seemed harmless enough. Plus, Jaxon would hear of any misbehavior on the young gun’s part. Oh, what the hell? She made him an offer then, hating her bleeding heart.

  “Lucky, how about I just come get you tonight?”

  “Okay.” He paused. “Yes, ma’am. That sounds good but...” The words trickled out, as if he was afraid to accept her invitation but was trying to be real polite about it. Had she allowed too much venom to froth her voice? Why did she care? Holy hell, she was such a sucker. This was why Jaxon walked all over her back home. Because she let him. Annoying as he might be, his antics really were harmless. There was no friendship contract they’d signed in blood saying she’d be the doormat in the relationship because she could handle the most crap but it had sure worked out that way.

  “Listen, you can stay with me and my gramma for the weekend.” She smeared an innocent clump of leftover soil into her palm until it was just a stain. “Just tell me where I can meet you and when.”

  “Um, yes ma’am. If you’re sure…”

  “I am.”

  “Okay,” he said. Was that a crack in his voice she’d just heard him try to cover up with a cough?

  This must be what he would say whenever he didn’t believe her. She expected to hear lots of “Okay…cough, coughs” the next few days since she had no intention of making the trip easy on him. Jaxon was the one who deserved this treatment, she knew that. But her best friend was too busy being absent, so Lucky would be taking the heat for him.

  “Well,” he continued. “My buddy’s dropping me off at Slanger’s. You know where that is?”

  She had heard of the club. It wasn’t the cream of Nashville’s crop, but it wasn’t the seediest place either. Although, it was Friday night, the night she’d found to be filled with the more desperate people out looking for distractions from their week. She’d handled worse. “Sure, what time?”

  “Eight
?”

  “Okay, I’ll see you there at eight.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She would respectfully pass it by Gramma first. And if she turned up to Slanger’s and Lucky even so much as rubbed her the wrong way, two things would happen. First, she’d make a call to Jaxon. Hell be it if Vangie answered, and second, she’d put Lucky up in a motel for the weekend, using the band’s corporate card, of course. It would be a bill Jaxon would deserve to pay.

  A few hours later, she sat in her Jeep, readying to back out of Gramma’s tapered driveway. It was always harder to maneuver in the darkness and she’d better not crush one of the pretty flower pots lining the drive. Fern from across the park didn’t need any more ammo in her quest to prove what a reckless young lady Grace had staying in their sanctuary. Fern Thadberry. That would be Trista in fifty years if she didn’t get certain things in her life sorted out on this short break from the band. Crotchety old spinster. That was mean, she knew it. Maybe old Fern had grown up across the street from a church too, and had been left to the devil as well. Her hands shook so she squeezed the steering wheel, itching to get moving.

  “Should I wait up for you, sweet pea?” Gramma had already given the okay on bringing Jaxon’s cousin back to the trailer. Funny how she softened up at night, once the chores were done and the day had been productive.

  It had been a damned good thing Trista’d introduced Jaxon for the first time at night. His tough, gothic exterior hadn’t seemed to bother Gramma. He’d worn his wallet on that silver chain, ripped jeans and his black, always black, t-shirt that didn’t even begin to hide the neck tattoo poking out from the collar. Gramma had told her, as they got ready for bed that night, that she could see into his heart. He had a good soul underneath it all, she’d said, so he was welcome.

  Apparently, so was his kin.

  Leaning into the driver side window, her elbows spread wide across the frame so Trista couldn’t quite leave yet, Gramma got one of her rare concerned looks. “What’s the matter? You’ve been hot and cold and fidgety all week.”

  “Have I?” Now wasn’t the best time to admit her troubles to the strongest woman she’d ever known.

  “Dear, I found the milk in the cupboard this morning and Fern says she saw you flip the bird at her trailer Tuesday night when you were leaving.” Gramma paused then gently pushed Trista’s hand down from hiding her face. “Look at me, sweet pea. You don’t have to go on to Duketown. There isn’t a human being on God’s green earth you need to prove anything to.”

  Trista just shrugged. For once, Gramma was wrong. She did have something to prove—that she wasn’t a scared twelve-year-old girl anymore and that just because her son of a bitch stepfather had gotten himself buried right next to her mother, he wasn’t going to keep her from finally paying her proper respects. “I’m very sorry, Gramma. I’ll try to get my act together. I just have a lot on my mind with the rest of this trip and then the upcoming tour with the guys back home.” It was the first time she hadn’t been excessively giddy to be heading out on the road with the band.

  “And taking this newcomer along with you.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that too.”

  “Well, I’d say you could leave him here with me while you’re in Oklahoma but I honestly don’t think it’s a good idea you going there alone. It’s too bad Jaxon couldn’t come. I guess this cousin is better than no one. Don’t you think?”

  She’d better make a joke and fast if she wanted to keep out of those murky waters. “Oh Gramma, I wish I could leave the both of them here with you. That would really drive old Fern crazy.”

  It took three of the longest seconds Trista could remember ever having to wait but Gramma finally cracked a smile and then winked. She knew better behavior was expected from her without it having to be said. “You sure you don’t need me to wait up?”

  “No, that’s okay, but I won’t be out late. You might still be up by the time I get home. You’re sure it’s okay if Lucky stays here the weekend?” I really wouldn’t mind if you said no right now, Gramma.

  “Dear, I trust your judgment as much as I trust my own.” Gramma smiled like she always did, her lips held together, like a lady who didn’t think it right to give too much away.

  “Thanks, Gramma. Love you.”

  “You too, sweet pea.”

  She treasured the adoration now because when the sun rose, she’d be Trista Jeane again.

  Trista backed out onto their side street, carefully missing the flower pots and mustered up a friendly wave toward Fern’s trailer, and then she headed toward the city.

  The nighttime air in late March was just on the right side of the thermometer for her. Driving with the windows down, the wind had its way with the curls that had escaped her messy bun. It felt so good. She needed lots of good right now. Hopefully Lucky would turn out to be a tolerable guy to have around for a few days. It sure would help to ease the nerves about Sunday’s departure to Duketown. That reminded her…she needed to look up the florist’s address. Surely, the two-street town would have finally gotten one in the last decade and a half.

  She parked her Jeep and prepared to get out. A tall man who looked to be about her age approached from the club’s door, on a seemingly obvious path in her direction. His baby blue western shirt was rolled up to the bend of his elbows and the first few buttons were left open. Its gentle color was immediately soothing which should have set off all her gut instincts not to trust him. When it didn’t, she took a step back, ready to wait inside the Jeep if she had to. She squinted as he neared her.

  Why was he smiling? She didn’t know him.

  Men. That was her answer.

  She sighed and remembered she was there to pick up a Jaxon clone. Taking a moment to look away, she scanned the parking lot for someone shorter with a bulkier build. More menacing. No one fit the bill and so she glanced back toward this mystery blond guy. “Long, Tall Texan” popped into her mind and wouldn’t leave her alone until she hummed the tune out loud.

  A black duffel bag was slung over his shoulder and as he came within a couple feet of her, she got that familiar love-hate feeling that goosed her insides. He was close enough for her to see his face. She hadn’t seen eyes that shade of blue on anyone other than Jaxon. And their hair was the same dark blond with sun-touched lighter strands on the surface. Only the person in front of her with the friendly smile wore his long enough to pull back into a ponytail instead of shaved close on all sides save for the top.

  He set his large, sagging bag down and presented her a hand. “Trista? I’m Lucky, thanks for comin’ out here to get me.” His grip was firm, engulfing hers, although he looked momentarily at a loss for any more words.

  “It’s not a problem,” she offered, thoroughly disarmed, hating every second of it. Was irresistible charm coded in these boys’ DNA? Promise a girl you’ll be there for her, yank back the promise at the last minute because you can’t grow a pair and stand up to your damn jealous girlfriend and then expect everything to be forgiven because you know when to say sweet things like “thanks” and “sorry”?

  She inhaled then let the hot air whistle out through her clenched teeth.

  Oh, and you happen to have been born with eyes the color of the ocean? She was breaths away from revoking Jaxon’s best friend card because of this letdown. If she thought about it for a zillion years, she’d never understand how he’d been able to cancel on her. He was the one person who knew how hard it was going to be for her to step foot back in her birth town, to relive those childhood memories. And Lucky, well, he didn’t even have a status yet, unless you counted “complete stranger tagging along at the worst possible time”. Why do you do this to yourself, girl? That was the question, wasn’t it? Well, she knew why. Letting someone down when they were in need was a big, big problem. It just wasn’t in her DNA.

  However, she wasn’t a pushover and she wasn’t gullible or naïve. Spending her life in and out of places like Slanger’s, following around the band as she did, it wasn’
t the life for an innocent. Her plan to remain aloof at this first meeting was slipping away. She remembered thinking they might go inside, allowing her to see Lucky amongst what she thought might be his peers. If he was any kind of trouble like his cousin, a noisy bar would flush it out of him.

  “Did you want to hang around here? I don’t mind if you do.” She dangled the offer like bait on a pole.

  “Nah, I don’t think so. Did you?” Interesting. Lucky wasn’t biting.

  A jeans and t-shirt clad drunk stumbled out of Slanger’s front entrance. The music had gotten louder and the inside voices clamored to stand out. “Probably not. I guess we can head back to my place,” Trista said, giving up on her plan to scope him out.

  “Okay, sounds good.” He opened his door and easily slung his bag into the back seat then sat down and buckled himself in.

  “What? No more yes ma’am, no ma’am?” She taunted, her eyebrows raised and her head tilted toward him.

  Lucky smiled and looked at her when he answered. “I thought you were Jaxon’s age. I was brought up to be respectful to my—”

  “Your elders?” She squawked in disbelief. He may have sounded younger on the phone but in person, he was obviously all grown man, well-aged with lots of pluck.

  “Yes—Trista.” The apples of his cheeks rose as his voice lowered.

  She shook her head. This guy couldn’t have been more like his cousin in needling her if he’d tried. She turned the Jeep’s engine over and began the drive home to Gramma’s, wondering what in the hell she’d gotten herself into.

  Chapter Two

  “Gramma, this is Lucky. Lucky, this is Gramma Grace.” It was no surprise that Gramma had stayed up.