Simple Gone South (Crimson Romance) Read Online Free Page A

folded her linen napkin and placed it beside her plate. That’s when Brantley knew she was nervous. Nervous was not easily recognizable in a woman with a steel spine, but betraying etiquette was a sure sign. One did not remove one’s napkin from one’s lap until arising from the table—of course unless you had to clean food off your person that someone had thrown at you. Which wasn’t likely to happen here. “Do you plan to go to church?” she asked.
    Ah, that’s why she was nervous. There had been a time when he would not go—could not go—into Christ Episcopal and kneel for communion at the same altar where those coffins had sat. But he’d gotten past that—more or less.
    “Sure,” he said. “If I don’t spill on my good clothes tonight.” Though that wasn’t really a factor. Brantley and Charles were exactly the same size. In fact, apart from a few gray hairs mixed with the blond and a slight softening around Charles’s jaw brought on by age, they looked pretty much the same.
    Big Mama and Dad laughed a little, not because Brantley had said anything funny, but because they delighted in everything that came out of his mouth. His head began to pound.
    “Good.” Big Mama looked at her napkin, unfolded it, and put it back in her lap. “How do you feel about going to early service and having brunch after?”
    “Sounds fine,” Brantley said. “Too bad Lou Anne is closed on Sundays. I could use some diner food.”
    “Actually,” Big Mama said, “Evelyn’s nephew went to the coast this weekend and I asked him to bring back some fresh shrimp. She said she would make us some shrimp and grits.”
    Shrimp and grits—also one of Brantley’s favorites. Made by Big Mama’s housekeeper of forty years. But that meant—
    “Good!” Big Mama rose and Brantley and Charles jumped to their feet. “Don’t get up, darlings,” she said, not meaning a word of it. “I hate to eat and run, but I have errands and I know you two want some time together.” She delivered cheek kisses to her son-in-law and grandson. “I’ll see y’all at church and back at my house after.”
    Brantley and Charles sat down again as she clicked away on her little leather flats. Damn. They were going to eat at the dining table. Something was up.
    Brantley met his father’s eyes and almost asked.
    Charles looked toward the golf course and then his watch. “I believe we have time to play nine before the Crimson Tide kicks off. What about it, Son?”
    “Sure,” Brantley said. “Sounds good.”
    • • •
    Brantley slid into a seat on the back row of Merritt Community Playhouse with no time to spare. He had been given a show program that contained ads, thanks, corporate sponsors, and a spread on Junior League projects—Hospice, Habitat for Humanity, Children’s Hospital. There was a list of the performers in the order of appearance, but not the acts. Missy and Lucy were about halfway into the show. It was only then that it occurred to him to wonder just what it was they were performing.
    Most of the acts turned out to be immediately recognizable and predictable—Janis Joplin, Faith Hill, Carole King, a dressed to the nines Dolly Parton, that kind of thing. There were a few show tunes, a la Liza Minnelli and Barbra Streisand. Junior League women weren’t known for embarrassing themselves by having shoddy trappings, so the props and costumes were good. He tried to guess who Missy and Lucy would be portraying but couldn’t think of many female duos, and none that seemed likely. He just could not see them as the Judds.
    But there was nothing on this earth that would have prepared him for those two women walking on that stage dressed as Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora. And not just any Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora. Oh, no. These were not the men of the new millennium who had kids and gave money to the homeless. These were the bad boys from the ’80s. Missy had not been kidding about those tight pants, though she had not