The Stranger: The Heroes of Heyday (Harlequin Superromance No. 1266) (6 page)

Her fingers clenched, and she looked up, startled and hot-cheeked from the sudden rush of adrenaline. The rain ran down her face as she stared helplessly at the rather large man standing in front of her.

Who was he? He looked familiar, but…

“It's Phil, Phil Earnshaw!” He reached out to squeeze her arm. “It's good to see you, Mallory, good to see you. Even if we are a pair of drowned rats out here!”

Of course. She couldn't forget that hearty voice, that overly friendly touch. It was Freddy's father, State Senator Phillip Earnshaw. They'd met only once, at Mindy and Freddy's engagement party, but for a career politician, once was apparently enough.

She managed something like a smile. But, God, of all the people to run into! And it certainly showed her the foolishness of believing a rain hood could render her completely invisible to everyone else, including the blackmailer.

“Hi,” she said. “Yes, the weather's a mess, isn't it?” She was relieved to feel the boat slowing down for its first stop at the inner harbor.

She couldn't breathe properly. She had to get off.

“I want to tell you how much we're enjoying your lovely little sister. It's not an easy life, campaigning. She's young, I told Freddy that might be a problem,
but she's doing real well. She's handling things like a trouper. And of course, she's pretty as a picture.”

Mallory tried another smile, hoping he'd assume the rain was responsible for its unnatural quality. He had two or three men with him, all in elegant black coats with large, shiny black umbrellas shielding them—and him—from the rain.

She, on the other hand, probably really did look like a drowned rat.

Worst of all, he was so loud. He might as well have been shining a spotlight on her.

“Yes,” she said valiantly, keeping her voice low. “Mindy is a wonderful person.”

The boat was coming to a stop. She had no idea where they were, but it didn't matter. This was her exit.

But Phil Earnshaw was ready to move on anyhow. Politicians had to work the crowd. “Super to see you,” he was saying again, this time patting her hard on the shoulder. “Just super.”

Finally he and his entourage were gone, though several of the other passengers were still staring at her, wondering what that had been all about. With shaking fingers, she pulled the drawstring of her hood tighter and bent to pick up her purse.

And that's when she realized that the money was gone.

 

W
HEN THE DOORBELL RANG
, Mindy looked up at the clock guiltily. How could it be midnight already? She'd been sitting here with the sketch pad in her lap
for the past four hours, and yet it felt like about forty-five minutes, at most.

She slipped the paper under the sofa cushion, cast a quick glance in the mirror and hurried to let Freddy in.

“Baby!” He swooped through the door, his arms full of white roses. He waved them at her with a flourish and then, depositing them on the table, he pulled her up against his chest. “We missed you tonight. Are you feeling any better?”

“Lots,” she said, pressing her nose into his shirt and taking a deep breath. She loved the cologne he wore to parties. If only she didn't hate the
parties
so much. “Headache's all gone.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I'm glad. Poor baby, I hated to think of you here all alone tonight, with no one to rub your head.”

She shut her eyes, fighting back the guilt. He was too good—she didn't deserve him. There hadn't been any headache, of course. Every now and then, she just couldn't face one of the seemingly endless events on his social calendar.

Usually it happened when she was feeling tired, or insecure about her looks. If her face broke out, or if she had premenstrual bloating, or if she just couldn't afford anything new to wear, sometimes she told him she had a headache and stayed home. He thought she was devastated to miss the excitement, but she was secretly thrilled to have an entire evening to draw and watch TV and slouch around in an old T-shirt and socks.

Lately, though, she'd been letting herself do that too often. She'd have to watch out. Freddy was beginning to worry. As he left tonight, he'd said maybe she should go see a doctor, find out what was causing all the headaches.

He guided her to the sofa now and sat down, ready for a cuddle. But, as he sat, the sketch pad she'd hidden beneath the cushion crinkled noisily. He lifted slightly, felt around beneath his knees and pulled out the incriminating papers.

He frowned at her, half teasing, but half genuine disappointment. “Mindy,” he said as he flipped through the pages. “You were supposed to be sleeping.”

“I did sleep,” she said. “But when I woke up, I needed something to do. I didn't draw for long, only after my headache was better.” She looked up at him. “Don't be mad.”

“Of course I'm not mad,” he said quickly. He would have hated to think of himself as an overcontrolling male. “It's just that, if you weren't really sick, I wish you had come with me. I was the only man there without a date. It was pretty uncomfortable.”

She took the sketch pad out of his hands and folded the top cover over. Her stomach tightened as she saw he really was upset. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly.

He hadn't leaned back yet. He was watching her with a strange expression on his face. That look made her stomach tighten into such a small ball she felt a little nauseated.

“Mindy, I need you to tell me the truth about something,” he said. “The honest truth, okay?”

She couldn't speak, so she nodded. But in her mind she crossed her fingers. She'd tell the truth, if she could. If it wasn't too dangerous.

“Do you really think you're going to like being a politician's wife? Do you think all the parties and dinners and fund-raisers and stuff are going to be too much for you?”

For one ecstatic second, she actually thought he was offering to give it all up. To become just sweet, comfortable Freddy—a businessman, maybe, or a tax attorney. To abandon the dream of being Mr. Frederick Earnshaw, up-and-coming politician, future governor, or senator…. or maybe, though no one ever dared to say such audacious things, something even more glittering and powerful.

But then reality kicked in, and she understood what he was really asking.

He needed a partner, a second star to glitter faithfully beside him, or perhaps just a little behind. He needed energy and creativity and enthusiasm for this life. Could she be that partner, or had he fallen in love with the wrong woman? Had he put this beautiful diamond ring on the wrong finger?

Had he chosen a girl who would be nervous and tongue-tied, or, even worse, hiding at home with a headache?

Fear shot through her. “Of course it's not too much for me,” she said, forcing herself to sound surprised
and slightly amused. “I just had a headache, honey, that's all. And you know, I think you were right about the doctor. I was wondering if it might be eye strain. I might need glasses.” She saw him knit his brow. “I mean, contacts. I might need to get contacts.”

He grinned, and she saw that he had allowed her playful tone to push the unwelcome doubts away. He loved her, she knew that. He was probably just as unnerved by the thought of real trouble in their relationship as she was.

She tilted her head and gave him a teasing smile. “In fact. I think I'm hopelessly nearsighted. I can hardly even see you right now. Maybe you'd better come a little closer….”

She reached out and tugged on his bow tie, which unraveled under her fingers into a black silken ribbon. His breath came faster. He tilted toward her.

“I'd better not risk getting too close,” he said, his whisper thick and playful. “If you ever get a look at what a homely dude I am, you might fall right out of love with me.”

She laughed, because of course he was the most handsome man alive. He was gentle and good and so sexy she was already melting, just because he had smiled at her.

“All right, then,” she said. “Just to be on the safe side, I'll shut my eyes.”

She tilted her head back, exposing her throat. He loved to kiss her there first, and work his way down her body. He usually didn't kiss her on the lips until
they were already making love, and she was on the edge, gasping for breath. Then he'd kiss her hard, catching those little cries between his teeth.

It was all so thrilling, so perfect. And so different from the only other experience she'd ever had.

She had thought joining the Heyday Eight would be wicked and fun, kind of rebellious and sexy and cool. She'd been so angry at her mother and Mallory, so ready to assert her independence.

In her mind, she hadn't ever taken it further than the moment when her client would gaze, admiringly open-mouthed, at her sexy animal-tamer costume.

But it wasn't fun. Instead, the experience had been…

It had been disgusting. And strangely pathetic. For both of them.

Dorian Swigert, that was his name, she'd never forget it. The name fit him. Odd and unattractive, full of ugly, bony angles.

For months afterward, the very idea of sex had made her gag. She was sure she'd never be able to see a naked man without remembering Dorian.

Without remembering a pale, freckled back with seeping red lines running across it. And the sweaty face of a stranger, a twisted stranger who wanted her to whip wounds into his skin, rub them hard, and then use her bloody hand to milk him to a noisy, disturbingly bestial climax.

When he left, she'd been sick in the hotel bathroom's plastic trash can. She had been as numb as a
china doll for weeks, except when she tossed in her sleep and dreamed about blood and woke up roiling with nausea.

There had even come a time when she thought she couldn't go on.

But Freddy, like the answer to a prayer she hadn't believed she had the right to pray, had miraculously changed all that. With his warm arms and gentle lips, he had somehow managed to erase those pictures and make new, beautiful ones to take their place.

He had even quieted her dreams.

And that was why, she thought as she opened her arms and held him to her heart, she mustn't ever let him down again.

And why it was going to be so terribly hard to tell him the truth.

A
LL
S
ATURDAY MORNING
,
Mallory was a nervous wreck. She was counting the minutes until Mindy arrived, partly because she always loved her rare weekends with her little sister, and partly because this visit was so important. She'd have two short days to persuade Mindy that honesty, however painful, really was the best policy.

Plus, Mallory found herself eyeing the telephone the way she might watch a big, poisonous spider that was crouching on her counter. By now the blackmailer must know how disobedient Mallory had been. Not only had she tried to follow him, but she had also dared to dictate how often and how much he could require her to pay.

So how long could it be before the phone rang? And what form would his fury take this time?

Luckily, the bookstore was always hectic on Saturdays, which helped the hours pass more quickly.

It was Story Time over in Calliope Corner, the children's area. On her last visit home, Mindy had painted a darling mural of an ornate circus calliope on the
walls, and Mallory had loaded the space with colorful pillows and stuffed tigers, lions, gorillas and monkeys.

The kids loved it. As an added attraction, Binky Potter, one of the seniors from the local high-school drama club, came in for two hours every Saturday to read aloud to the children.

That had been one of Mallory's best hires. Binky, who was gorgeous, always dressed up like a sparkling blue-sequined circus ballerina, and Mallory had noticed a trend of older brothers suddenly volunteering to bring their siblings in for story time.

Binky was also a darn good actor, terrific with accents and silly voices. Mallory knew she'd sell at least a dozen copies of whatever book Binky chose each week.

The rest of the store was hopping, too. If Mallory hadn't been so distracted, she would have been thrilled. If business kept up like this, she'd be able to pay Roddy back sooner than she'd thought.

The mayor of Heyday, Joe Dozier, didn't often grace her with his business, but today she couldn't seem to get rid of him. Though Joe had plenty of money to spend, he wasn't her favorite person. He treated his wife badly, openly mocking her squeaky voice and mousy manner.

Plus, he had a mean look in his little eyes. She suddenly found herself trying to imagine how his voice would sound if it had been mechanically altered.

He was trying to pick out an antique book about the
circus to give a friend he wanted to impress, and he'd been combing through Mallory's special collection for two hours now. She couldn't just leave him here alone. He was heavy-handed and had already almost torn one of the old, fragile pages.

So, though she'd much rather be back in Calliope Corner, watching Binky act out
Madeline's Rescue,
she was forced to stay and listen to Joe criticize the books in a transparent effort to shame her into lowering the prices.

“Is this mildew? Oh, that's too bad,” Joe was saying as he leafed through a lovely copy of
A Scotch Circus.
“You know what that will do to any other books on the same shelf.”

Mallory didn't answer. Her vision was pretty good, and she saw no discoloration at all. And she wasn't lowering the price on that one, even if it was speckled brown clear through from endpaper to endpaper.

Stifling a yawn, she scanned the store, looking for Wally. Maybe she could get him to babysit Joe for a while.

Instead, she noticed Slip Stanton standing over by the magazines, talking to a couple of other men, one of whom was, she saw with dismay, Tyler Balfour.

Great. All her favorite people in the store at once. Seeing them together surprised her—Slip was hardly Tyler Balfour's type. But then she made the connection. Slip had just bought the Black and White Lounge from Tyler.

That made Slip the newest member of the Down
town Merchants Association. Which didn't make any of the old members very happy.

He seemed to feel her attention on him, and looked up with a smile. She was surprised to see that the gold tooth he'd always had in the front was gone. He must have realized that, while it might have looked appropriately roguish at the Absolutely Nowhere, his bar on the outskirts of Heyday, here in the chamber of commerce crowd it marked him as an outsider.

“Hey there, Mallory,” he said, moving away from Tyler who, Mallory noticed, made no move to follow.

Slip was holding out several long white pieces of paper. “I'm giving away some free dinners at the Black and White. Just to the other merchants on the street. Want a couple?”

Mallory tried to look pleased, but everyone knew about the lounge's dreadful food. “Well,” she said, “I usually work right through dinner.”

He thrust them forward another couple of inches. “Take some anyhow. We're open late. We've completely overhauled the menu, and I gotta get the word out things have changed for the better.”

Reluctantly she took them, scanning her mind for anyone she could give them to. Wally was always broke, always scrounging for a free meal. But he was only eighteen and wouldn't be able to order the stiff drinks necessary to help him choke down the nasty fare.

“Hey, your sister's coming to town today, isn't she?” Slip grinned and added another ticket to the stack.
“Bring her with you. If she's not too good for us here in Heyday, that is. Now that she's marrying into the big time.”

His tone had an edge of bitterness, and Mallory wondered just how far this man's outsider complex might go. She tried out his voice in her mind, too. If he distorted it electronically, how would it sound?

Linda Tremel, who had been standing at the register looking at greeting cards and, obviously, eavesdropping suddenly made a rude noise. “She'd better
not
start thinking she's too good for Heyday! Just because you marry into the big time doesn't mean you get to stay there.”

Linda jammed one of the cards back into its slot and slapped two more onto the counter. “It's not quite ‘till death do us part' in their world. It's more like ‘till boredom or a better bimbo do us part.'”

“So true.” Slip winked at Linda. “And, as the ex Mrs. Austin Tremel, I guess you'd know.”

Linda ignored him, except for a slight elevation of perfectly waxed eyebrows. She might not have Austin Tremel's social backing anymore, but she obviously still felt superior to Slip Stanton from the Absolutely Nowhere.

“Seriously,” she said to Mallory in her husky voice. “These days most marriage vows are written in disappearing ink. You tell her I said be careful, okay?”

Mallory nodded. “Sure,” she said calmly. “I'll tell her.”

Some people in town hadn't forgiven Linda for
some nasty behavior in the first couple of years following her bitter divorce. Rumor had it she was an alcoholic and had sometimes warmed her cold bed with hapless teenage boys.

Rumors, of course, weren't always true. But Mallory, who knew that even good people might have a shameful secret or two, couldn't help feeling sorry for her.

Especially since, for the first time since her marriage, Linda was going to have to work for a living. Her new garden store would open in just a few days, and she was already getting a taste of the rigors of owning a small business.

Mallory hoped she could make a success of it. At least she'd picked a good market. Here in the Shenandoah Valley people loved their gardens and might be willing to spend more money on that than they ever did on books.

Mallory had just finished ringing up Linda's cards when, with a merry tinkling sound, the front door opened. Hopefully, she looked up, and smiled as she saw Mindy enter, like a breath of fresh air, in a glow of sunshine curls and a cloud of soft blue cotton.

Most of the men in the store stopped what they were doing and stared, even the ones who had been enjoying Binky Potter's
Madeline
performance.

Mallory knew what the men saw. Mindy was a beauty, young but ripe and subtly sexy. Hair that fell halfway down her back in glimmering waves. Round, large eyes as blue and sparkling as any of Binky Potter's sequins.

That's what the men saw, but in that first instant Mallory was looking for things that mattered more. Mindy had, thank heaven, put on at least another five pounds. A year ago, Mindy's bones had jabbed unnaturally at her too-pale skin, stretching it like broken twigs stuffed in a plastic bag.

And she was relieved to see that Mindy's eyes looked more normal. For the past few years, they had been feverishly bright in deep, haunted sockets.

Mallory knew that, after everything she'd been through, Mindy would never be exactly the same again. But Freddy Earnshaw must be very good for her. She was clearly getting stronger every day.

Mallory said a quick prayer that she was strong enough.

And that, when the time came, Freddy would be, too.

“Mallory!” Mindy spied her at the cash register and called out in a delighted, musical alto that made several of the customers instinctively smile. “Mallory, I've got a surprise! Look who came with me!”

She moved out of the doorway, and with a flourish ushered in a tall, blond, beautifully dressed man. Her fiancé, Freddy Earnshaw.

Freddy was smiling in a self-deprecating way that was so charming Mallory felt cynical to find herself imagining him rehearsing it in front of the mirror.

Mindy held his hand protectively, as if she had found a Norse god wandering loose on the highway and brought him home as a gift to the city. He was
spectacularly good-looking, Mallory had to admit. Now the women were staring, too, smiling, thrilled at their luck.

Mallory wasn't thrilled. She had wanted Mindy to herself this weekend.

But worst of all, as she hugged her future brother-in-law and struggled to hide her dismay, she couldn't help wondering whether, somewhere in this crowded store, or out there on Hippodrome Circle, a blackmailer was staring at Freddy, too.

And was smiling, thrilled at his luck.

 

T
YLER HADN'T BEEN SURPRISED
to discover that Rackham Books was the warm, welcoming heartbeat of Heyday's downtown retail area. The Rackham family's last business, the Ringmaster Café, had been the same. Comfortably cozy, it had drawn people in, both locals and visitors passing through the little town whose eccentric circus legend guaranteed it at least an asterisk on every tourist map.

Once in, they had lingered, reluctant to return to the real world, letting Mallory and her mother pamper them with friendly service and fantastic coffee and pie.

Ironically, that was what had made it the perfect spot for the Heyday Eight. The atmosphere was so wholesome, so full of family charm. Who would ever have suspected those pretty little co-ed customers of propositioning the lonely salesmen traveling to Richmond, or the tired truckers a thousand miles from home?

Watching Mallory now, Tyler saw that, even after all her losses, even after the shame of seeing her café's picture in a dozen newspapers and the tragedy of nearly losing her mother, she still had the same magic.

All morning long, people had entered Rackham Books through the musical door, but they didn't ever seem to leave. They browsed through the neatly ordered bookshelves, chatted with other customers, listened to the ballerina read stories to the children. Sometimes they took books to the armchair niches Mallory had created between stacks, and sometimes took them out the side door to the reading garden.

But Tyler knew that what they were really waiting for was a chance to talk to Mallory. They asked her for book recommendations and updated her on everything from their surgeries to their nasturtiums. The little kids gave her hand-drawn pictures of their new kittens, and the older kids confided about their rotten report cards.

And, amazingly, she seemed to care. Tyler, who hung back by the magazines, which were centrally located and gave him a panoramic view of the human circus, was amazed. Tyler had no idea what his own secretary's birthday was, though she'd worked for him for five years, but Mallory knew that little Erica Gordon's puppy's birthday was coming up in three weeks, and that Harry Wooten's fifteenth anniversary had been celebrated at Bennini's last night.

Apparently the only person in the shop she
didn't
like was Tyler.

And yet, even he was allowed to linger quite a while. She had eyed him coldly several times, but he'd been there nearly an hour before she finally got fed up.

It was right after Mindy and her glossy fiancé left to get some lunch at the diner down the street. Mallory had seen them off at the door, and then, squaring her shoulders, she'd made a beeline for Tyler, who was all alone by the magazines.

“Finding everything all right, Tyler?” She made the classic shopkeeper's line sound poisonous. Her smile wasn't a millimeter smaller than it had been for the other customers, but it was as cold as if she'd just dug it out of the polar ice cap.

“I wasn't really looking for anything special,” he said pleasantly. “Just browsing, getting acquainted with the shop. You seem to be the center of social activity for the town.” He smiled. “As always.”

She bristled, of course, though he actually hadn't meant to be sarcastic.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “We try to provide plenty of excitement for visiting investigative journalists. Have you found the bookies in the bathroom yet? The still behind the Dumpster? The drug deals go down in the poetry section every Wednesday at eight.”

“Mallory.” He reached out to touch her arm. “I know how angry you are. It was rotten luck that the Heyday Eight chose to work out of your café. But be fair. I couldn't sit on a story that big just because it would embarrass you.”

“
Embarrass
me?” She flushed, but she kept her voice low and half turned away from him, pretending to straighten the fashion magazines. “It nearly destroyed me. It did destroy the café. It did destroy my mother.”

“I know,” he said. “I'm sorry.”