High Noon

phrase came out in capital letters.
    “Yes, I recall a feud. Something about a garden club committee.” Which was an old rift before she’d come to Mac Namara House. As age had only ripened it, no one who lived under Cousin Bess’s roof was permitted to speak or associate with the Tidebars.
    “Miz Tiffany? She had her own people to clean, but I did for her now and then when she had a party or just needed another hand. She still living?”
    “She is.” And Phoebe relaxed again. The odd and delightful Mrs. Tiffany was much safer ground. “And as colorfully as ever.”
    “Was on her fourth husband when I did for her.”
    “She’s had one more since, and I believe is currently on the prowl for number six.”
    “She always kept her name, didn’t she? Tiffany, no matter how many she hooked down the aisle.”
    “Her second husband’s name,” Phoebe explained. “She stuck with that, however many came after, as she likes the sparkle of it. Or so she says.”
    Bee’s lips twitched. “Your cousin, as I recall, didn’t have much truck with Miz Tiffany.”
    “Cousin Bess didn’t have much truck with anyone. She was a…difficult woman.”
    “We are what we are. I’d see your mama now and again, enough to say how do you do, when I did for Miz Tidebar. You favor her.”
    “Some. My daughter more. Carly’s the image of her grandmother.”
    “She must be a pretty girl. You tell your mama Bee Hector sends her best.”
    “I will. I think she’ll enjoy the connection. She’s very fond of Duncan.”
    “We’re fond of him around here, too.” Bee leaned in a little while the men continued to argue. “What’re you going to do with that boy?”
    “Duncan?” Maybe it was the wine, the steady beam from Bee’s eyes, but Phoebe said what first came to mind. “I’m still deciding what I’m going to let him do with me.”
    Bee’s laugh was an explosion of mirth. Her thick finger tapped Phoebe’s shoulder. “He’s brought other pretty girls around here.”
    “I expect he has.”
    “But he hasn’t brought any of them around for my approval before today.”
    “Oh.” Phoebe decided she could use another sip of wine. “Did I pass the audition?”
    Bee smiled easily, then she thumped her hands on the table. “Y’all want pie and ice cream, we have to clear this table.” Under the general scramble, Bee looked back at Phoebe. “Why don’t you grab some of these dishes, haul them into the kitchen.”
    And that, Phoebe decided, made her by way of family.
     
    She ended the evening necking with Duncan at her own front door. “I can’t ask you in.” More brain cells fried when he changed the angle of the kiss, spun it out. “Which, mmm, is a euphemism for not being able to go up to my room and get each other naked.”
    “When?” His hands glided up her, torturing them both. “Where?”
    “I…I don’t know. I’m not being difficult or coy. I hate that word. Carly. My mother.” She waved a hand toward the house. “It’s all so complicated.”
    “Have dinner with me. My place.”
    Her bones turned to mush as his lips trailed down her neck. Dinner at his place, now that was definitely code for sex.
    Thank God.
    “You’re going to cook?”
    “No, I want you to live. I’m going to order pizza.”
    “I like pizza fine.”
    “When?”
    “I…I can’t tomorrow. I have to—” She should think it through, of course. Be practical, be cautious. “Tuesday. Tuesday night. I’ll drive over after shift. As long as—”
    “There isn’t somebody on a ledge, or holding hostages. I get it. Tuesday.” He leaned back. “What do you like on your pizza?”
    “Surprise me.”
    “Planning to. Night, Phoebe.”
    “Okay. Wait.” She threw her arms around his neck again, dove headlong into the kiss until the need inside her edged toward actual pain. “Okay.”
    She went straight inside before she did something insane like pull his clothes off, then almost dreamily wound her way upstairs. The man could kiss her into a steamy puddle of lust. And, she had to admit, though she was eager for Tuesday night, this anticipation, this not-quite-yet bumped up the pulse and warmed the belly.
    If she’d felt this damn near giddy before over a man, she couldn’t remember it—or him. That was saying something.
    She heard the TV in the family room, and Carly’s laughter. Not quite bedtime, she thought. And she wanted a moment, just a moment or two by herself before she took what must have been a dopey smile