Free Fire Raiser by Melanie Rawn

southwest corner of the house.
    The coffee was Dominican, the cream was real, and the pie crusts were so light they nearly floated off the plates. Evan gleefully pigged out on blackberry, apple-raisin, pecan, pumpkin, and coconut-banana. The only reason there was no lemon meringue was that the boys had hijacked it before dinner.
    “Don’t worry about it,” Holly told Erika after she apologized a second time for the lack. “Evan will be having dreams about this for a week—which will help when all he gets for dinner is half a head of iceberg lettuce and a tomato.”
    Later, on their way out to the car, Holly smacked Evan upside the head.
    “Ow!”
    “That’s for gobbling up those pies as if you never get a decent meal at home.”
    He grinned. “I’ve been trying to remember one.”
    “Oh, funny man. You just talked yourself out of the tomato.”
    “You’re a cold, cruel woman, McClure.” He swung her around and planted a great big sloppy kiss on her mouth. “That,” he told her, “is for knowing that framed posters of Monet water lilies don’t belong in the same house, let alone the same room , with black Naugahyde sofas.”
    She choked on a giggle even as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Gib and Erika’s front door was closed. “God, you’re wicked!”
    “Just observant. They do pay me for that, y’know. Which means I heard what she said when you asked if she’d been over to Monticello yet.”
    Holly cast another guilty glance over her shoulder and slid into the driver’s seat. “I’m trying to think up something tactful to say, Lachlan. I’m not having any luck.”
    “Could there possibly be anything tactful to say about a woman who goes to Monticello and talks about the lawns?”
    “Wicked and nasty.” She switched on the engine and huddled into her coat while waiting for the heater to kick in.
    Evan eyed her profile for a moment. “Please tell me you’re not going to ask why he married her.”
    “Gently, Big Guy,” she advised. “Gib was the first person with a Y chromosome who, when he said I was pretty, I believed him. Besides, we’ll have to invite them to dinner soon. Social reciprocity, Southern hospitality, and all that.” When he snorted, she went on, “Yeah, okay, I noticed the Naugahyde. But furniture has to be washable when you’ve got kids running around the house.”
    “Teenagers ought to be civilized enough not to destroy stuff.”
    “Tell me that again in a dozen or so years,” she advised wryly. “But—oh wait, I forgot. Your children are perfect!”
    “Damned right they are,” he affirmed.
    She unlocked the parking brake and shifted into reverse. “You’re just being smug because you know Clary Sage has a foolproof spill spell. Although if we really want to do it up right, I’ll have to find out where Cousin Cam is gallivanting around to this millennium—he does things with textiles that you wouldn’t believe.”
    “Are you trying to change the subject?”
    “Why would I want to do that?”
    “To deflect me away from discussing your old boyfriend.”
    “He wasn’t.”
    “But he wanted to be. Or at least his wife thinks he wanted to be, and maybe that he still does.” As she slanted him a skeptical glance, he shook his head. “Look, Holly, I know he’s an old friend or whatever, but let’s get real, huh? A guy knows when another guy’s pussy-whipped.”
    She gave a derisive snort. “Is there any woman in the world so incredible in bed?”
    “I assume you’re asking out of pure intellectual curiosity.”
    “There’s nothing intellectual about the fact that if I ever tried to pussy-whip you, you’d be gone faster than—”
    Evan shook his head again. “That’s not how it works, babe. It’s not just the fucking. I mean, he’s her second husband, right? And they’ve only been married a few years. It’s gotta be something about her that makes him panic every time he thinks about losing her. And before you say it, I don’t want