The Magnolia Inn(22)

“But by hard work and working as a fishing guide on the bayou in the lean years, Uncle Jasper should have the right to give half of it to his kin—even if I never did like Reuben and I’d still like to shoot him, it’s only fair.”

“Why didn’t you like Reuben?” Tucker picked up one end of the washstand.

“He always was arrogant, and he’s a sissy. He wouldn’t even bait his own hook when we went fishing. Besides, he pulled my ponytail every chance he got, blamed me if something got broken”—she hesitated—“and when I was twelve, he cornered me in the utility room and shoved his hand up under my skirt.”

“You didn’t kill him?” Tucker asked.

“Aunt Sugar took care of it, and we came to visit at different times from then on. Look, I think he’s insecure and angry because he can’t find his place in the world, but I still don’t like him.”

Should’ve offered him ten thousand less than I did, Tucker thought.





Chapter Six

Tucker arrived ten minutes early for the appointment that Friday, and Belinda motioned him on inside her office. She sat behind her desk with a stack of papers in front of her and nodded toward a guy who was already seated. “Tucker Malone, this is Reuben McKay. Reuben, this is Tucker. Are you both ready to get this deal finalized? Either one of you decide to back out?”

Reuben stood to his feet and stuck out his hand. “I’m ready to close this.”

“Same here.” Tucker had shaken hands with six-year-old boys who had a firmer grip.

Reuben sat back down, took off his glasses, and cleaned them with a fancy cloth he pulled out of his pocket. His eyes shifted all around the office as if he was afraid to look right at anyone. Tucker’s cop training kicked in, and he’d bet dollars to stale doughnuts that Reuben had been bullied when he was a kid. That would explain why he was so mean to Jolene—he’d been looking for someone that he could bully so he’d feel strong.

Tucker wanted to kick Reuben’s chair out from under him for being mean to Jolene. No one deserved to be bullied, but especially not Jolene. Tucker was a good judge of character, and that woman was kind, sweet, hardworking, easy to get along with, and a whole list of other accolades, including cute, kissable—

Whoa! Melanie’s my wife. Jolene’s a partner.

Belinda flipped open a folder and scanned through the pages. Tucker eased into a chair at the end of her desk where he could study Reuben to get his mind off Jolene. The man crossed his legs and kept a constant foot movement going. He was so nervous that he looked like he might bolt at any minute. Tucker had dealt with lots of men like that in interrogation, and the majority of the time, they were guilty of something—usually more than pestering a girl.

“Everything is in order,” Belinda said. “Reuben can go first. Sign beside the yellow tabs.” She shoved the set of papers over to him and turned to face Tucker. “I understand that you’ve moved your trailer out to the property, and you and Jolene have started some remodeling.”

Reuben chuckled and gave each of them a smug look.

Tucker’s hands knotted into fists. “What’s so funny?”

“Be careful of starting anything with that woman,” Reuben said.

Tucker’s hands relaxed. He leaned back in the chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. “Oh, really? Why?”

“She never has amounted to anything. Went to work in a bar soon as she was old enough, and her mama was a junkie with an alcohol problem, don’t you know?” Reuben spit out the words like they tasted nasty in his mouth. “The apple never falls far from the tree.”

It was Tucker’s turn to laugh.

Reuben stopped writing and glared at him. “That funny to you?”

“It don’t take much in the way of detective work to see what kind of tree you fell out of,” Tucker answered.

“Okay, boys”—Belinda raised her voice a little—“you can have a pissin’ contest if you want, but not in my office. You’re here to sign papers, transfer deeds and money, and then leave. After that, if you want to bloody the streets with your fightin’, then that’s your business.”

Reuben set his jaw, finished signing the papers, and shoved them across the desk to Belinda.

“Tucker, you sign where the red tabs are located while I tally up my commission so Reuben can write me a check,” she said.

Tucker hoped that she tacked on a few extra dollars for stupidity. He signed all the places and then handed her the check he’d brought—already filled out with the amount they had agreed on. He stood up and settled his cowboy hat on his head. “Am I done?”

“Yes, you are. I’ll take it all to the courthouse and file it for you. You can pick up copies of everything next week,” she answered.

Tucker turned toward Reuben. “I want to thank you for selling me your half of the Magnolia Inn. Jolene and I intend to make a booming business out of it, and I’m glad to be half owner. Maybe someday you’ll book a room with us for a weekend so you can see what you missed out on.” He flashed his brightest fake smile.

“Don’t hold your breath. I hate that place. Always did and always will. The only good thing is now I’ve got payment for all those miserable weeks my mother made me spend in that mosquito-infested swamp,” Reuben said.