The Talk of the Town (19 page)

“You’re not going out with that jailbird,” Frederick said with a snarl.

“What right have you got to interfere in my life?” she snapped. “What right have you got to insult my guests?”

“We didn’t mean to be rude, Roxie.” John’s face didn’t bear any of his normal cheer. From his brown eyes to his down-turned mouth, he looked worried. “But it was such a shock, seeing you with Bauer that we just sort of blew up.”

She gave him the gimlet eye. “I still don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

“We care about you, Roxie,” Bill said, almost irritably. “And we’re concerned about you.”

“If we interfere,” Frederick added, “it’s only for your own good.”

She covered her face with her hands. She was no longer certain whether she was infuriated, amused, or both. It seemed no matter where she went or what she did, she couldn’t escape people’s misguided but sincere desire to protect her from herself. It was a conspiracy of concern that was driving her crazy.

Amusement won out. She dropped her hands, raised her eyes heavenward, and intoned gravely, “Dear Lord, please save me from all these fools who wish to run my life for my own good.”

“Okay, okay, make jokes about it,” Bill sputtered. “Why should we waste our time worrying if you don’t.”

“My point precisely,” Roxie said in a no-nonsense tone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date to get ready for. And if I’m not mistaken, you three have perfectly lovely wives waiting for you at home.”

She darted away before they could find new ammunition to fire at her. Glancing back, she saw them, their heads shaking as they stood on the sidewalk conferring together—more than likely, she thought, on whether a straight jacket or a net would be more effective to use on her. She dashed up the porch steps and into the house, running to the pounding beat of her heart. Each step rang with the message that pursued her.

She was going out with Luke on a real date!

“Roxie?” Mary called from the kitchen.

She did an about-face at the foot of the stairs and headed to the back of the house, coming to a stop in the kitchen doorway. “What, Mother?”

Mary looked over at Roxie, not missing a stroke of her paring knife on the potato she was peeling. “Are you okay, dear?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You look a little harried.”

“I’m fine. Really. But I am in a hurry.”

Mary paused then and pointed with the blade of her knife toward the jar of honey that she’d moved from the table to the counter. In a tone utterly without inflection, she said, “Did Luke bring the honey?”

A tingle tracked up Roxie’s spine at the deliberate lack of expression. “Yes, he did. It was one of three jars he inherited from his grandfather. He said it was to thank me for the lunches I brought him.”

Mary resumed her interest in her potato, turning her back to her daughter. “Do you think he’d mind if I used a little of it the next time I fry chicken?”

“Oh, no, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a bit.”

“Especially if you invited him to dinner.”

Roxie glanced at her mother’s slim back, her slenderness emphasized by the apron tied around her waist, and knew another burst of gratitude. “Speaking of which,” she said with studied nonchalance, “I won’t be home for dinner tonight.”

Mary raised her head to look across the room at her daughter. “Oh?”

“I have a date to go to the carnival.” After a thudding heartbeat, she added, “With Luke.”

“Oh,” her mother said again. Then she smiled before returning her attention to the potato.

It was enough. Encouraged by her mother’s attitude, Roxie tore upstairs to get ready. Her brothers’ animosity was forgotten, and her own lingering guilt over her actions this afternoon faded into naught.

Her bedroom looked much as it had when she was a girl. She remembered coming home from school one day and finding that her mother had decorated it fit for a princess. Even though the pink walls and white eyelet curtains and lampshade were too juvenile and frilly for her now, she had more important things on her mind than redoing her room—especially tonight.

After taking a long soak in the bathtub and washing and pin-curling her hair, she put on her cotton wrapper and went rooting in her closet for something to wear. She tried on three different dresses but rejected one of them as too long, one as too short, and one as too dowdy before finally settling on a pale blue voile dress that she had been saving for a special occasion. She wanted to look pretty for Luke. What she didn’t want was a repeat of this afternoon’s performance.

She glanced at her bedside clock and saw that it was already fifteen minutes till six. Time was getting away from her and she was nowhere near ready. She checked to see if her hair was dry. It was, so she pulled out the bobby pins, tossed them into the top drawer of her vanity, then sat down on the tufted bench to finish up.

As she made to pick up her hairbrush, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Leaving the brush laying on the vanity, she reached out to trace the shape of her face with her fingers and remembered how she’d traced the line of the scar on Luke’s cheek. She remembered his shuddering breath, his rampaging heartbeat, his undeniable arousal. All from a single touch.

But he’d said he would react the same with any woman.

She flattened her hand on the cool glass and imagined the heat of his skin kissing her flesh. The memory of his warmth, of his thigh muscles tightening beneath her, of his legs tangled with hers pulsated through her. With such delicate deliberation she had touched him, savoring each inch of the firm bone and textured skin. With equal deliberation she had separated herself from what she now recognized as a poor attempt at seduction. And his body had pulsed from the force of it.

He’d said it wasn’t anything she’d done.

Dropping her hand into her lap, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes, thinking she made a lousy vamp and wondering if she would ever know the warmth of his embrace, the heat of his kiss.

He’d sworn not to touch her again.

Roxie’s eyes flew open as yet another revelation came clear to her. “Oh, Luke,” she whispered to her reflection, “I want you to touch me again. I don’t want it to be the same with just any woman. I want it to be special with me. I don’t want you to admire me, Luke. I want you to love me.”

She wanted it as surely as she breathed. She wanted it because, ready for the risk or not, she loved him. She loved Luke Bauer.

Chapter 10

Calliope music hooted over the town, competing with the voices of carnival barkers hocking their wares. The Ferris wheel topped the trees and the town’s water tower, the mouthwatering aromas of hot dogs and barbecue and freshly-roasted peanuts filled the air, and the Bearded Lady and a two-headed calf vied for the dubious honor of strangest attraction. In the nearby field Model T’s and Packards sat bumper to rump with the tied-up horses and mules that had hauled in buckboards of farmers’ families who were desperate to forget, if only for a little while, the Depression and the drought.

A steady stream of carnival-goers flowed toward the arched gate of the fairgrounds. Beside the ticket booth just outside that gate, Luke stood with his hands in his pockets watching the people hurry by. It reminded him of when he was a boy with no parents to take him on the rides and no money to go on his own. He’d snuck onto the carousel once, when he was eight, but he’d been caught before the ride started. The motorman running it had grabbed him by his dirty shirt collar and holey seat pants and, in front of God and all the sneering, jeering customers who’d paid their admission, had thrown him off. He hadn’t been to the carnival since.

Things hadn’t changed all that much, he realized as he watched the parade of people. He was aware of each side-long look, each inimical whisper, and each hurried footstep going past him. There was a time when he’d have met the look with an arrogant curl of his lip, interrupted the whisper with an insolent suggestion that the speakers take a flying leap, or stepped brazenly in front of those scurrying to get out of his way, issuing a challenge that didn’t need words.

But that was long ago, another lifetime, another man. Now he did his best to fade into the woodwork of the booth, to suppress the deep desire to respond as he always had, with anger and arrogance and a pretense that he didn’t give a damn. He did his best to ignore the hurt.

Easier said than done. Because each time he caught another contemptuous glance cast his way, he thought of Roxie. He didn’t think he could restrain himself if anyone looked at her that way. And they would. He knew they would. If she were with him, she’d become part of the target. His reputation would rub off on her. Worse, because she was with him, he’d have no choice. He would have to restrain himself.

He jammed his fists deeper into the pockets of his clean khaki pants and stared down at the dirt. He’d told her he had come back to Blue Ridge because he had nowhere else to go. But in truth it was pride that had compelled him to return to home. This was the place he had to prove himself. These were the people he had to show he had changed. But even knowing how tough it would be didn’t make it any easier to deal with the constant condemnation. Some days it was easy to rein in the hurt and resentment. To turn the other cheek, so to speak. Other days it was harder. He felt as if he were being continually tested but never received a grade.

The squeal of girlish giggles arrested his musing. He looked up before he could stop himself. A trio of teenagers bedecked in their Saturday night finest gawked back, then bent their heads together for a conclave of zealous chattering. An unfriendly breeze carried the taunting hiss of the words he most hated: prison, con, crook. Within his pockets his fists balled even tighter.

And he knew with certainty that he could not subject Roxie to this.

Pivoting on his heel, he strode at a clip guaranteed to get him as far away as possible before she turned up. She probably wouldn’t show up anyway. It was already a quarter till seven. She hadn’t really wanted to go to the carnival with him. She’d been spurred into it by her brothers.

He stepped into the street, intending to hightail it back to the boardinghouse. A horn blared, brakes shrieked, and an old black automobile swerved directly into his path. He lurched to a stop. Automatically every muscle tensed as he went on alert, poised for trouble. He felt his eyes narrow when he looked down.

Roxie’s wavy hair tossed in the breeze as she poked her head out the window to frown up at him. “Where are you going? The carnival is the other way!”

“I know,” he said tersely.

“Is it because I’m late?” She smiled crookedly, contritely. “I’m sorry, but time just got away from me. And parking is at a premium here tonight, so I was—”

An angry horn and an impatient shout interrupted her flowing explanation. She glanced at the old Dodge idling roughly behind her, then gestured at Luke. “Get in and we’ll talk while I try to find a place to park in the field.”

Another imperious trumpeting terminated his hesitation. He darted around to the passenger side, and even before he shut the door they were moving. The car smelled of her rosewater fragrance and the deep summer air. He closed his eyes and let his relief seep into every pore. She had come. He only now realized how much he’d longed she would.

“As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, I’m sorry I was late.” Roxie stole a peek at him, wondering if she dare confess that it was because she’d spent so much time trying to decide what to wear. “But I wasn’t really all that late. Why were you leaving?’

Luke straightened, then looked at her. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, much less speak. She wore a dress unlike any he’d seen on her at work—a soft, summery sort of dress in a light blue color with short sleeves and a scalloped neckline. The skirt was full yet clingy, hugging the shape of her thighs as he himself longed to do. Somehow he forced himself to look away.

“I realized,” he said in a monotone, “that it would be best if we forgot the whole thing.”

“Forgot it?” she said as she banged across the field, the frame of the car squawking in protest whenever she hit a rut. “Why?”

“You don’t have to go through with this, Roxie. I know you suggested we go to the carnival in order to goad your brothers. That’s why I went along with it. I didn’t really expect you to show up, and when you were late, well—”

“I do not consider a measly fifteen minutes late,” she broke in, her voice frosty.

Before he could respond, she swung into an empty parking spot and jerked to a halt. She faced him and for the first time he saw a faint resemblance between Roxie and her fractious brother Bill. Not in the shape of her face so much as in the way she thrust up her chin and met his gaze head on.

“Whatever the reason,” she said, “we agreed to go to the carnival tonight. I was glad about it. Obviously you’re not. I’d like to know why. Is it because you’re ashamed to be seen with me?”

“How could you even suggest—”

“What else am I to believe? That you think I’ll be ashamed of being seen with you? That says a lot about what you think of me, doesn’t it?”

Luke shook his head, wondering how best to explain it. “You don’t understand how they’ll look at you, Roxie, how they’ll talk. I don’t want to subject you to that.”

She stared at him for a very long time. Long enough for him to notice that she had darkened her fair lashes and daubed on a pretty color of pink lipstick. Long enough for him to realize that she had taken the trouble to look her best tonight. Long enough to wonder why.

At length she sighed, a drawn-out expulsion that reeked of disappointment. “You know, I would never have figured you to be the sort to run away.”

A face full of ice water would have been less effective. After a startled second in which he gaped, dumbfounded, Luke closed his mouth with a snap and ejected himself from the car. Roxie didn’t move until he’d yanked open her door. Then she slid out with a knowingly triumphant smile.

The distance to the ticket booth was covered in bustling silence.

Luke’s anger with her scarcely lasted beyond the first step. He knew she was right. He couldn’t run away. Wasn’t that why he’d come back to Blue Ridge in the first place? But he didn’t feel he could speak or slow down or he’d lose the courage to go through that entrance gate.