it’s also Phoenix’s fault that he goes from job to job? That he’s currently making minimum wage working as a clerk at the hardware store and living with his parents?”
“You can’t judge him!”
Although Riley had spent a lot of time around Buddy through the years—thanks to the friendship between families—he’d never cared for him. Buddy had always been an egotistic braggart. “But he can judge others.”
“In this instance, I think he’s got the right. Anyway, he wrote Phoenix before she was released. But either she didn’t get his letter, or she ignored it, like yours.”
Riley felt his muscles tense. Buddy was six feet four inches tall and weighed probably 230 pounds. A single blow from his meaty fist could cause significant damage. Even with a bat, Phoenix would never be able to defend herself. “What did Buddy say in that letter?”
“I don’t know. It’s not as though Corinne read it to me. But it was something to the effect that she’d regret it if she came back here.”
No wonder Phoenix had reacted the way she had when she’d heard them on her porch last night. She must’ve thought the Mansfields were coming for her. “He’d better not hurt her,” Riley said.
His mother frowned at the firmness in his voice. “I have no say over what he does,” she responded.
“Then maybe he should be warned.”
“About...what?”
“If he hurts her, he’ll answer to me.”
His mother’s mouth dropped open. “You’re taking her side? Coming out in opposition to my best friend’s son? When he’s the one who’s lost a sister?”
“Phoenix is Jacob’s mother,” he said, as if he’d be doing it for the sake of his son. But he knew in his heart that Jacob wasn’t the only reason he was willing to defend Phoenix. He admired her guts and determination almost as much as he admired her desire to be a mother to her child. Whether she was guilty or not seventeen years ago, she deserved the chance to prove herself.
He was drawing the line.
“What’s wrong with you?” her mother snapped.
Phoenix set the frying pan to one side and turned in surprise. It wasn’t easy to cook in Lizzie’s trailer. Hemmed in by stacks of packaged goods—trash her mother, for some strange reason, found valuable—plants, a bevy of dog bowls and giant bags of dog kibble and an overlarge hamster cage that took up most of the table, she had barely enough room to move on the sticky linoleum. Maybe that was why her mother never bothered with real food—she could no longer fit in her own kitchen. “What do you mean?”
“You’re smiling and humming and acting all...happy. What have you got to be happy about?” Lizzie absently petted one of her five dogs, this one a poodle, as she narrowed her eyes. “Did you have a man over last night? Was that the fuss that woke me?”
Phoenix felt her face flush. “No, I didn’t have a man over.”
Lizzie studied her more closely. “Then why are you blushing?”
“Because you’re embarrassing me!” For the past seventeen years, she’d rarely allowed herself to even think about sex. She hadn’t wanted to miss physical intimacy as much as the other women seemed to; that was all some of them talked about. She also hadn’t wanted to get involved in the kind of romantic relationships that sometimes sprang up between them as a replacement. “I’d rather not talk about my sex life—especially with you,” she added as she dished up the scrambled eggs she’d made for breakfast.
“What is it, then?” her mother pressed. “What’s put you in such a good mood?”
“Nothing! It’s a beautiful Sunday, that’s all. And I have plans to go into town.” She was going to use the internet to create her Facebook page so Jacob could message her. She was looking forward to making contact with him again without having to go through Riley.
“Yesterday was a beautiful day, too,” her mother said with a saucy lilt, as if there had to be more to it.
And there was. Her lift in spirits had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the fact that at least one member of the Whiskey Creek community didn’t have hard feelings toward her—that and how feminine she felt in her new clothes. Who would’ve thought a lacy bra and a pair of matching panties could make a woman feel so...attractive?
She was beginning to think that maybe it wouldn’t spell doom to have a man’s hands on her body—as long as she waited until after Jacob went to college. At that point, she could probably start dating and, possibly, get serious.
“You’re not a lesbian, are you?” her mother asked.
Phoenix slammed the drawer after getting them each a fork. “Stop. No.”
“Did those women in that prison ever try to touch you?” Lizzie accepted her plate grudgingly, but Phoenix guessed that, deep down, she enjoyed the care she was receiving. At any rate, Phoenix hoped she did. It wasn’t readily apparent, wasn’t as if her mother ever said anything to show her appreciation.
“Did they?”
“No,” Phoenix insisted, but that wasn’t strictly true. Although no one had gotten very far, in the beginning she’d had to fight to keep herself from being used—and that had earned her some dangerous enemies, which hadn’t made the time she’d served any easier.
“So you still like men.”
Phoenix refused to meet her eyes. She was afraid her mother was saying, So you still like Riley, and she wasn’t going anywhere close to that question. She didn’t like Riley, not in that way. Anyone would think he was handsome, because he was. “Right now I’m only interested in Jacob, okay? I’ll worry about everything else in a couple of years.”
“You’re what...thirty-five?” Her mother spoke around the bite she’d just taken. “That’s getting up there, but you could have more children if you don’t wait too long.”
The toast popped up. Grateful for the distraction, Phoenix turned to butter it. “I’d better figure out how to support myself first.”
“You look like you’re doin’ fine to me, all dolled up in those tight jeans. They must’ve cost a pretty penny.”
She’d been thinking she’d help support her mother if she could. Lizzie had trouble getting by on her disability check. But that comment made her wonder why she’d even consider it. “They were a gift.”
“From who?”
Phoenix hadn’t been planning to tell her mother about last night. But if she did, maybe Lizzie would quit reminding her how much everyone hated her. It was difficult to hear, even though, for all intents and purposes, it was true. “Kyle Houseman.”
Her mother’s fork clanged on her plate. “Why would Kyle Houseman give you anything?”
“To
