Free Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel by Laura Trentham

Fournettes.”Your father trusted me to raise you right.”
    “Speaking of dear old dad, I got another email. That makes the second one in two weeks. Any clue what’s going on?” He pulled at his bottom lip. Months would typically pass between the brief emails confirming Nash was still alive and vice versa.
    “Does he know you’re back in Cottonbloom?”
    “He does now.”
    “Maybe he’s planning to come up here on leave to see you.”
    “Didn’t say anything about it. If fact, he didn’t say much of anything beyond giving me a weather forecast.” Even when his mother was alive, his father had flitted in and out of their lives. When he was at the house, he’d seemed almost a guest. The oilrig was his home, and the men who worked on it were his family. Nash had long ago given up hope of connecting with his father in any meaningful way.
    “Time will tell, I suppose.” His aunt’s voice was distant.
    He got out, unlocked the Defender doors, and tossed his duffle in the backseat. His aunt’s car hadn’t moved. He rapped on her window, and she rolled it down.
    “You okay?”
    “I’m fine. Fine.” Yet still she sat with her hands tight on the wheel. “The Fournettes…”
    “What about them?”
    “I used to think they couldn’t be trusted.” The furrows along her forehead deepened.
    “Used to think?” He curled his hands over the window frame and ducked his head low to see her better.
    “Maybe I was wrong to judge them all just because—” She cut herself by looking away and clearing her throat. “I need to be getting on to the Quilting Bee. The ladies will be waiting.”
    She rolled up the window, forcing him to let go and step back, and executed a wide turn in the deserted lot. He coughed in the resulting plume of dust and climbed behind the wheel before he had to pull out his inhaler. The AC blew cool air into the already hot cab. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.
    The odd conversation had teetered on an almost-apology. While her shake had gotten worse and she occasionally forgot things, she was still sharp. He had no doubts that she remembered with perfect clarity Tally’s visit and her subsequent brush-off. He also had no doubts that she had done it not out of spite, but to protect him. But protect him from what? The Fournettes were good people.
    He pulled up to Tally’s gym still chewing on the past. With his hand on the door, he hesitated. Was he pushing things? Considering she’d almost killed herself on the way out of his cottage, the look on her face somewhere between embarrassment and horror, she might go out of her way to avoid him.
    Maybe he should leave it be, but he couldn’t forget the feeling of being curled around her, breathing her in, her soft body pressed into his. Even with the evidence of his mortifying exhibition, the draw to her was more than physical.
    Her fingers toying with his imparted a sense of comfort and closeness he hadn’t felt in years. While their shared history was years ago, it had been an important part of his life, and he wanted to recapture it for a myriad of reasons.
    He took a breath, the humidity making his lungs work for the oxygen, and stepped inside. An overhead bell tinkled. It should have been easier to breath in the cool air, but nerves kicked his breathing rate up a notch.
    A tall, muscular man with tattoos along both biceps occupied a stool at the front desk, staring at the computer and clicking the mouse. He closed the window, but not before Nash saw an online chessboard. A couple of beefy men lifted with the free weights in one corner. No sign of Tally.
    Damn. Not only disappointment but worry quickened his blood flow. What if her ex had been waiting in her parking lot or in her apartment? “Is Tallulah around?”
    The man raised his eyebrows, and although he didn’t smile, Nash sensed his amusement. “Yo, Tally!”
    Tally came around a corner holding a rag and cleaning spray. She stopped short, shifted on her feet, and glanced