Free Baby, Drive South by Stephanie Bond Page B

meadow lay before them. The high school and gymnasium had once stood on this spot, with countless outbuildings. The tornado had obliterated this patch of land so extensively even the footers of the buildings had vanished. The brothers had found rusted basketball hoops in trees and yellow school buses nose deep in three feet of dirt. Once cleared, the plateau had become a gathering place for their men.
    The barbecue was contained in an area the size of a football field outlined with tiki torches. Rows of wooden tables and benches extended from end to end. Enormous smoking grills sat at one side, emitting delicious aromas of beef and pork. Country music played from a couple of elevated outdoor speakers. It had all the makings of a good party.
    Except the men of Sweetness, who outnumbered the women of Broadway more than two to one, stood to one side and conferred as if they were planning a covert mission. And the women congregated on the opposite side, as if trying to decide if they were going to put up a fight.
    The women did not look happy, and based on her body language, their ringleader was letting Marcus and Kendall know why.
    But what a body Rachel Hutchins had. She stood holding her little pooch with one hand, and making a point with the other hand. The woman’s tanned legs went on for miles. Porter lamented leaving her side earlier, then reminded himself that entertaining the little lady doc was for the greater good. Being in the military had trained him for self-sacrifice.
    “Let’s get this party started,” Porter said loudly to interrupt.
    When Rachel looked his way, her expression softened. “Porter…you made it.”
    “Under doctor’s supervision,” Porter said, deferring to Dr. Salinger, who hung back.
    Rachel gave Dr. Salinger a suspicious glance, then turned her attention back to the Armstrong brothers. “So…what are you going to do about it?”
    “We have a few problems,” Kendall announced to Porter.
    Porter almost felt sorry for his brothers—they were totally inept when it came to dealing with women. He turned a charming smile on Rachel. “Like?”
    “Like the women are getting eaten alive by mosquitoes,” Rachel said, her head weaving. The woman was accustomed to getting what she wanted.
    “Marcus will round up bug spray,” Porter offered. “See? Problem solved. Let’s turn up the music and get everyone dancing.”
    Her pretty nose wrinkled. “We don’t like this music.”
    Porter’s smile wavered. “You don’t like country music?”
    “If that’s what this is,” Rachel said, gesturing to the speakers playing a Toby Keith song, “then no.”
    Porter balked. That could be a problem. But he tried to remain cheerful. “I’m sure we can round up some other CDs, something more…contemporary.”
    Rachel held up her iPod. “Is there a dock for this in your sound system? I have some fantastic playlists with Lady Gaga.”
    Porter exchanged anxious glances with his brothers. If they thought they were facing mutiny from the men before the women arrived, a Lady Gaga song would send the men stampeding.
    “Kendall will check for you,” Porter assured her. With no small amount of relief, he remembered the ace up their sleeve—good Southern food would calm the savage females. “I know everyone must be hungry—just wait until you taste Bubba King’s ribs.”
    Rachel crossed her long shapely arms, inadvertently pushing up her cleavage. “I hope you have something on the grill other than cow and pig. At least half of us are vegetarians.”
    Porter dragged his gaze away from her chest. “V-vegetarians?”
    “Some are vegan.”
    “Vegan?”
    “And we have a few fruitarians.”
    Porter was hit with the sudden and awful realization that the Armstrong boys had gotten in way over their heads. He’d made a big mess of things by injuring himself and almost scaring off their only doctor in one fell swoop. Because of his miscalculations, hot water would have to be rationed. And he’d grossly