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  I’d manipulate him into doing my will just as Momma had manipulated Papa and me. The idea of my resorting to her conniving ways made me queasy, but what choice did I have? Frank seemed determined to save me despite my protest. Still, I vowed to be a nicer Picker to him than Momma had been to me.

  Shouts, threats, and intimidation were her tools of the trade. My way would be kinder, gentler, and more effective. A grateful smile, a gentle touch, and a genuine sense of caring would bind a Pick closer than slaps, slurs, and screams ever could. A judicial use of my chosen arsenal mixed with a measured dose of sex would make Frank a most willing Pick.

  My plan was simple, but brilliant. I’d seduce Frank and then convince him he didn’t want to sell Papa’s house. That would be the easy part. He already cared for me and he was lonely. But to keep him in line, I needed a long-range plan. I decided to let Frank come to me on Fridays. He could touch me, taste me, and deposit his loneliness inside my broken womb. I wouldn’t let him kiss me on the mouth however. That part of myself I’d hold in trust in case Johnny returned. Frank would want to kiss me full on the lips, and he’d want to come to me more than once a week. But in the end, he’d accept my terms. What choice would he have?

  A box containing an emerald silk robe—a birthday gift from Frank—lay on my bed.

  It had a deep v-neck, long sleeves, and stopped three inches above my knees. The cuffs and neckline were accented with a soft French lace dyed to match. A detachable tie belt held the little robe together. Frank had given me the robe when I was in Havenwood. Tonight, I’d wear it for the first time. Hopefully, it’d make me more enticing to him. I’d use his gift to help make him my Pick. Momma would’ve loved the irony of it all.

  Standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror, I checked my body for flaws. My breasts were a tad bit large in proportion to the rest of my body, but that could prove a plus in this case.

  After showering and washing my hair, I slipped the silk robe on without drying off first.

  The dampness of my skin helped bind the cloth closer to my form. My long auburn hair contrasted nicely with the green. I pulled a few strands over my shoulders, let them fall across my breasts, and watched the outline of my bosom grow more distinct.

  The back door slammed. I nervously counted Frank’s footsteps as he climbed the stairs. He’d have to pass the bathroom to get to his bedroom. With precise timing, I opened the bathroom door and ran smack into him.

  "Watch out there, Becky."

  "Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. Did you get the geraniums repotted?" I took two steps back to allow him a better view.

  "Most of them. I’ve still . . . still got . . ."

  Frank’s sudden stuttering indicated he’d definitely noticed me.

  I locked my arms behind my back, forcing my breasts to push up and out. "You’ve still got what?"

  "I’ve still got a dozen left to do, but I’ll finish them tomorrow."

  I smiled. "And I’ll help you."

  "You took a shower," he said, stating the obvious.

  "It’s so hot. I thought a shower would cool me off." I turned sideways to allow his roving eyes to take in my profile. "I saved some hot water so you could shower too."

  "That’s a good idea. Is that the robe I bought you?"

  "Sure is." I ran my hand down the sleeve. "It’s so soft and cool. Feel how cool it is."

  He reached out to touch my sleeve, but I grabbed his hand, and placed it on my shoulder. "Feel here, Frank. Even the lace is soft." I rubbed his hand back and forth from my shoulder to the top of my breast. "It feels good, doesn’t it?"

  He nodded and I released his hand. He hesitated a moment before removing it.

  I pranced out into the middle of the wide hallway, held out the bottom of my robe, and twirled in a slow circle. "How does it fit?"

  "It fits fine, Becky." His eyes focused on my face, then drifted slowly downward.

  "You’ve got a good eye." I ran to him, threw my arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek. "It’s the nicest present I ever got." I hugged him tight, letting the dampness of my body seep into his shirt.

  Frank stiffened, relaxed, and then slid his arms around my waist.

  "I can’t imagine my life without you," I whispered.

  He pulled me tighter against him.

  We held each other a long time, saying nothing, soaking in the warmth of another human’s touch. I don’t think he realized his right hand had slipped down to rest on my hips. If I kissed him full on the lips now, I’d have my Pick. But I couldn’t do it. I’d never kissed any man on the lips except Johnny.

  "Why don’t you take your shower now, Frank?"

  "Yeah … sure," he said, his voice deep and wavering. He broke his hold and pulled back. "What are you going to do?"

  "I’m going to cut us a piece of pie." I reached up and tweaked his nose in an effort to dispel the awkwardness of the moment.

  Frank laughed and headed for the bathroom. We traded smiles as he closed the door.

  *****

  The shower was still going when I returned. Slipping into Frank’s bedroom, I opened the windows, turned the candlestick lamp next to his bed on low, and flipped on the small oscillating fan sitting on the walnut dresser. A ladderback chair set sandwiched between the dresser and its matching chest-of-drawers. I parked myself in it and waited.

  The door between Frank’s bedroom and the bathroom opened. He switched off the bathroom light, strode into his room wearing only a towel tied around his waist. He was busy brushing his wet hair and walked right past me.

  "Here’s your pie, Frank."

  The man jumped four inches. "Damn, you scared me. What are you doing here?"

  I crossed my legs. "I brought your pie, silly."

  His attention went to my legs. "I thought we’d... we’d meet downstairs."

  I uncrossed my legs, got up slowly, and walked over to him. "Taste this." I shoved a forkful of pie into his mouth.

  He swallowed. "Great, but Becky, you shouldn’t—"

  "Lemonade pie tastes better after it sets a spell, don’t you agree?" I offered him more.

  He accepted another bite and nodded.

  I took a small taste. "I cut a big piece so we could share. Do you mind?"

  "That’s fine. Why don’t you get us some milk while I get dressed?"

  "Okay, but I want to talk to you first." I laid the saucer of pie on the dresser, took Frank’s hand, and led him to the padded cedar chest at the foot of the bed. "Sit down, please."

  "Let’s talk downstairs. I need to get dressed."

  "And I need to say this now. I’ve seen you in a towel before, Frank."

  He hesitated and then sat.

  I retrieved the chair from the corner and placed it directly in front of him. "Please listen carefully and don’t speak until I finish."

  "Okay."

  I sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. The fate of Papa’s house depended on my next words. Tonight, I’d find out if I’d inherited any of Momma’s picker abilities. I handed Frank a photograph. "Do you remember this?"

  He studied the picture. "Yes, it’s the picture I tore the day you claimed Donald . . . the day Helen fired Anna Santo."

  "Yes," I said, relieved he’d decided not to interject Donald into our conversation. "Momma tore up all my pictures of Johnny that day. This one was taken the day Grandpa Eli, Papa, Johnny, and I won the blue ribbon for our roses at the state fair. You stopped Momma from ripping it up. Remember?"

  "Yes. I tore Johnny’s picture off."

  "But you saved most of it for me."

  "It seemed important to you."

  "It was." I pointed to my image. "When you split the picture, you tore my image in half."

  He handed me the photo. "I’m sorry."

  "If you sell this house, you’ll be tearing me in half for real."

  "I know you love this house, but it’s not good for you here. You deserve more of a life than this."

  "We both deserve more of a life, an
d I’ve come up with a plan that gives us everything we want."

  "What kind of plan?"

  I’d watched Momma play Papa enough times to know a champion Picker starts by giving her Pick a compliment. Then, she sprinkles in some guilt before going for the kill.

  "You’ve worked hard building up our business, Frank. I hate to see you lose it."

  "I wouldn’t be losing it, I’d be selling it."

  "Can you put a dollar amount on all the time and energy you’ve put into the store?"

  "Probably not, but the Kirbyville store is a great deal."

  "And we shouldn’t pass it up. We should buy it."

  He shook his head. "I can’t have both stores."

  "We can if you’ll listen to me." Frank looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, but I pushed on. "Instead of expanding the Sugardale store as we’ve been planning to do, we use that money as a down payment on the store in Kirbyville. The present owner can carry the note for the rest."

  "I can’t be in two places at the same time, Becky."

  "You don’t have to. Gordon Zagat does a good job managing the store when you’re out of town, doesn’t he?"

  "Gordon does a great job."

  "Does the Kirbyville store have a manager?"

  "The owner says Neil Abbott is an excellent manager."

  "There’s our answer. We hire excellent managers and divide our time overseeing both stores. It’s only an hour’s drive to Kirbyville. It’s a good plan, isn’t it?"

  He stroked the side of his face. "That might work."

  "It will work." I reached for his hand. "I haven’t been much help to you since I returned from Havenwood, have I?"

  "Yes, you have, but I wish you’d get out more. It’d do you good to mix with people again."

  "You’re right. I just needed this past year and a half to get myself together. You can’t imagine how horrible that place was."

  Frank squeezed my hand. "I’ll never forgive myself for letting them put you there."

  "It doesn’t matter now. That nightmare is over and I’m ready to take my place beside you. Let’s buy the other store. With the help of two good managers, we could make Cooper’s Hardware and Garden better than ever."

  He grinned. "We could, couldn’t we?"

  "Yes, and we could still live here."

  Frank went to stand near the window. "It’s a good plan, business wise, but I can’t stay in this house any longer. And I can’t leave you alone with Helen."

  "Why do you suddenly hate Papa’s house so much?"

  "I don’t hate this house. It’s a great house, but we need to get on with our lives. We can’t do that living here."

  I went to Frank. "You haven’t heard the best part of my plan yet. Please let me finish before you rip out my heart."

  "I don’t want to hurt you, but my mind is made up about getting us out of here."

  "Listen to the rest of my plan." I placed my hands on his bare chest. "The problem isn’t this house or Momma. The problem is the twelve feet."

  "The twelve feet? What are you talking about?"

  I took a deep breath, rallied my Picker strength, and made Frank an offer I hoped he couldn’t refuse. "The twelve foot hallway that separates our bedrooms."

  Frank retreated backwards. "I don’t know what you mean."

  "You’re right when you say we need to get on with our lives. We need to get on with our lives together."

  "You’re talking crazy, Becky. Hell, I’m still legally married to your mother. She sleeps right downstairs."

  "And she’s been sleeping downstairs for years. As you said, your marriage to her has been dead for ages. We all know that, including Momma."

  "Even so, your mother—"

  "Momma goes to Monsieur Henri’s three times a week. Do you really think it’s only her hair that’s getting done?"

  "You mean Helen and Henry Nash have something going on?"

  "Sure, and he’s not the only lover she’s had. I can’t believe this comes as a surprise."

  Frank rubbed the back of his neck. "Henry is, but I knew long ago Helen was running around on me. I chose to ignore it. I guess the whole county has been laughing at me for years."

  "Momma’s always discreet. She picks men who have more to lose than she does if the word gets out. That’s how she controls them."

  He didn’t speak. Could he have another reason for wanting to divorce Momma and leave Sugardale?

  "Are you seeing someone, Frank?"

  "No …not anymore. When I was living at the store, Agnes Shaver stopped by a few times after she got her divorce. Helen and I hadn’t shared a bed in over a year. I just wanted someone to talk to, but one thing led to another."

  "Is that why she quit and moved to Valdosta?"

  "No. Her brother offered her a better job." Frank leaned back against the windowsill. "It didn’t mean anything to either one of us. We were just lonely."

  "I’m glad to hear that because I know in my heart that you and I were fated to be more than stepfather and stepdaughter. You know that too. Don’t you?"

  Frank stared at me, but didn’t deny my words. "You’re nineteen and I’m . . . old."

  "I’m going on twenty, and all the girls I went to school with are either married or engaged. Many of them are pregnant or have kids already. And you’re not old. You’re just experienced. Besides, I look at you through old eyes, remember?" I moved closer to him. "I like what I see very much."

  Surprise washed over his face.

  Desperation breeds boldness. I backed up a few feet, summoned all my courage, and slipped off my robe. "Do you like what you see?"

  His gaze wandered from my face to my feet and back up again, making strategic stops along the way. "This won’t work."

  "Yes, it will. We can buy the Kirbyville business. I can take classes at the college and help at the store. We’ll still have this house, and the city apartment will be our special place." I moved toward him. "We can have it all."

  "Kirbyville is hardly a city," he said as his eyes focused on my breasts.

  I laughed. "It’s bigger than Sugardale." I ran the back of my hand down the side of his face. "Together, we can have it all, and we’ll never be lonely again."

  Frank swallowed twice. "Put on your robe, Becky, before things go too far."

  I stepped close enough to feel his breath on my skin. "It’s your decision. If you want to split us up and break my heart in the process, then put this robe back on me." I handed him the green silk. "I’ll go back across the hall and never bother you again."

  Frank ran his tongue over his lips. He reminded me of a hungry kid in a candy shop trying to decide what to sample first.

  I slid my arms around his neck and nibbled on his earlobe. His hands found the small of my back. The heat of his rising desire warmed me through the towel. I planted short, eager kisses on his neck and whispered, "Make me happy, Frank. Make us both happy. Love me . . . please."

  CHAPTER 17

  Frank made a hard thrust deep inside of me. With that thrust, he finished with me, but didn’t move. He relaxed his arms causing my 114 pounds to have to bear more of his weight. I could feel his heart lying on top of mine, beating in syncopated rhythm with his pulsating manhood as it spewed his seeds across the barren wasteland where Johnny’s child once lay growing.

  Finally, Frank rolled to my side. He kissed my neck, ran his hand across my chest, down my stomach to my knees, then back up as if checking for damage. Did he think he’d broken me somehow? He pulled me close. His arm became my pillow. A kiss on my cheek and a lazy smile showed his satisfaction with me for a job well done.

  He looked at me with eyes bright, but tender. I knew the gleam in his eyes stemmed as much from gratitude as it did from sated desire. By giving him a chance to save me from more unhappiness, I’d given him a chance to be my hero. A long-buried truth brought to life in one of Grandpa Eli’s lesson-stories floated across my mind.

  Grandpa had once said, "If a woman makes a man feel like her hero,
he’ll move heaven and hell to please her."

  As I watched Frank dozing, I vowed to take Grandpa’s words to heart. I’d make Frank my hero, my hero Pick. In time, he’d give me Papa’s house. Then no one could ever take it away.

  Perhaps the best gift I’d given Frank was the opportunity for his own redemption. He’d been trying to save me for years. Trying and failing. He’d failed to save me from Momma’s beatings, failed to protect my baby, and failed to keep me out of Havenwood. My deep sadness wounded him greatly. Now, he’d found a way to make us both happy.

  Frank rested only minutes before reaching for me again. His left hand wandered up and down my body. Gentle, but calloused fingers traced the invisible trail of cool air emanating from the oscillating fan. The fan sucked in air tinged with the fragrance of the yellow jasmine bushes that danced beneath the bedroom window.

  It wasn’t the fault of the little fan that it failed to cool my warm body or Frank’s hot passions. Indeed, the gentle machine put forth a most valiant effort. But skin rhythmically moving across other skin produces friction, and friction produces heat.

  Frank eased inside of me again. This time, his thrusts were more controlled. He stoked the fire between us, letting it rise and fall with the exuberance of a refinery flare. In the final moments of our primal exchange his labors were so intense, I feared he might spontaneously combust, incinerating us both.

  Momma would come home from her Bible retreat and find only the ashes of two people lying on Frank’s bed. Surprisingly, that thought held some appeal to me. She’d always wanted matching urns to put on the fireplace mantel. Now, she’d have something to put in them. My ashes in one and Frank’s in the other. But I quickly dismissed the fantasy. After all, who would take care of Papa’s garden if both Frank and I were decorating Momma’s mantel?

  *****

  It was almost midnight when I stepped into the front of the claw foot tub. Frank had suggested we take a shower together. I didn’t see the danger at the time and agreed. But as he stepped in behind me, a tremor washed over me. I suddenly realized it was one thing to share a man’s bed, but quite another to share his bath.