Town Square, The (16 page)

“I see,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

“Emmits also said he could arrange for your name to be permanently changed to Jenkins if that’s what you want.”

Inside her, her heart finally took that swan dive, and instead of water, it encountered the hard ground. A name change? Wentworths had been in this country since 1756. “How?”

“He knows a judge who would keep it quiet.” He gripped her hand again, hard, making her aware of each individual bone, and how fragile they all seemed right now.

It would be a huge, final step. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

He patted her hand suddenly. “Bertha’s coming.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks and Arthur’s smoked ham, steaming mashed potatoes and gravy, and canned corn—one of his favorite meals here. The chicken breast, wild rice, and broccoli she often ordered usually delighted her, but today, it only made her nauseous.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes on her food, praying Bertha wouldn’t stop to chat like she usually did.

“Thanks, Bertha. This wonderful food will help us figure out what to do with the story. I’m sure of it.”

She beamed, the lines on her round face lifting from the compliment.

How he could pull off charming anyone right now baffled her. Then again, it wasn’t his name they were talking about changing.

When Bertha left, he reached for her hand instead of his utensils. “Talk to me.”

A headache was developing at the base of her skull, and all she wanted to do was close the door to her bedroom and have a good cry.

“Arthur, I don’t know. Changing my name…” It would be like disowning her father, wouldn’t it? And saying she wasn’t her mother’s child, even though she had passed.

“I know it’s a big step, but I don’t know how to make things right here. We can’t just tell the town it’s not your real last name. It begs too many questions. If you’d come here with your real name, with only me knowing about your past, things would be different.”

Right. They’d have to explain why she’d used a different name, which would mean her real reasons for coming to Dare would get out.

Suddenly the sunny walls of the tavern seemed to turn black and ominous around her. It was like she was in a cage…and worse, one of her own making.

His blue eyes were the only source of light around her. She focused on them.

“I’ve told you that I want you to stay, and I mean it, Harriet. I love you. But this is a major hurdle.” He lowered his head, as if suddenly tired, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Harriet. Or your sister.”

And they could. People didn’t easily forgive deception—and certainly not of this kind. The bold truth was that she’d come here to wreak revenge on Dare’s favorite son and had instead fallen in love with him.

“Even if you decide to leave Dare and resume using your real name, people could still find out about what happened.”

And be as unforgiving as they’d been in her community back East. Yes, she and Maybelline had concluded that as well. If they reassumed the name of Wentworth, they might become pariahs again no matter where they went. And always, always there would be questions and lies.

Continued exile seemed the only future.

Suddenly the years she had left in this life seemed too long, too heavy to bear.

“I’ll do anything you want, Harriet,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Help in any way.”

“I know,” she whispered, staring at her plate again.

The simple food reminded her of how different her life was now. The old life was fading the longer she stayed here, and sometimes, she felt like she was fading with it. Like the initial scent of perfume first sprayed in the morning that wears off by the end of the day.

“I want you to meet my family. I want to take you for supper, but I’ve been…” He sighed long and deep. “I didn’t know how to handle the questions about where you’ve come from. As an outsider, people are curious, and you’ll be the first girl I’ve brought home.”

Even though she knew he couldn’t have brought any of his New York girlfriends home, the sweetness of it still blew through her.

“My mom has an inner radar about things being off. George and I never could get a single thing past her. I don’t want—”

“To lie to them,” she finished, finally realizing his full dilemma.

He was in love with a woman who had lied about who she was, and he was trying to protect her. Who said all the knights in shining armor had died with the Crusades?

“I need to think about it, Arthur. And talk to Maybelline. We’ve…discussed this situation a lot. But we weren’t sure how to get out of our current…predicament. Thank you for providing a possible solution.”

“I love you, Harriet, and I do want you to meet my family.”

This time she clasped his hand tightly. “I want that too, Arthur.”

“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s eat before this dinner gets any colder.”

And he winked, but it didn’t hold its usual sparkle. Her mouth lifted, but it wasn’t a real smile.

They picked at their food. Arthur managed to convince Bertha that the story they’d been discussing had ruined their appetites as he paid the bill.

When he drove away from the tavern, she turned in her seat. “Let’s go up to the Bluffs,” she whispered, not wanting to go home yet, not wanting the unavoidable conversation with Maybelline or the long, sleepless night ahead.

“Okay,” he said, glancing over at her.

When they reached the bluffs, the half moon looked like the piece of chocolate meringue pie she’d turned down at the tavern.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, sliding as close as she could, minding the stick shift, needing comfort, needing the connection with him that always made her feel like everything was perfect even when it wasn’t.

He pulled her toward him, angling his body on the seat to press them as closely together as possible. His arms left her, and she gasped when the entire bench seat squeaked back a few inches. Then he leaned back and pulled her on top of him.

They’d never been this close, and her body thrummed with a darker passion than she’d even known.

She poured all her fear and passion into the kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, and she was shocked to hear a moan erupt from deep inside her. His hands slid down her back, his fingers tickling her waist through the wool coat.

She eased back and dealt with the three buttons holding her coat in place. His hands slid inside, one brushing her stomach, causing every hair on her body to stand up straight. He pulled her back onto his body, and now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she could make out his heated gaze.

“I love you,” she whispered, knowing it was true, letting at least one part of her be honest and free.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and then his hand cupped her face. “I wasn’t sure you were ever going to tell me.”

A slight sob—a combination of relief and naked vulnerability—rushed out. “I didn’t know if I should. Things have been…so complicated, and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“The only thing that could hurt me is not being with you, or seeing
you
get hurt. I don’t want anything to hurt you anymore, Harriet.”

It was something he couldn’t control any more than she could, but she pressed her face to his chest just the same.

“I know it,” she whispered. “Touch me, Arthur. I want you to touch me.”

His fingers tickled the baby curls at her neck, and he tried to roll them over so that she was under him. It was awkward in the cramped space of the front seat, and her knee banged into the glove compartment.

“This is the last place I want to touch you, but it’s our only option right now. It’s at times like these that I miss New York.”

Her head was pressing against the door, and she had to raise her knee against the seat to get comfortable, but that was an overstatement since she felt every spring in the seat against her back. She tried to ignore the embarrassment of her skirt hiking up her thighs.

“How far are we talking here, Harriet?” he whispered in the dark, cold seeping into the car now that the heat was no longer blowing.

Warmth spread across her cheeks. “Just some,” she whispered, unable to say more. A lady
never
said more.

His chuckle was deep and dark. “So I’m just supposed to know what ‘some’ means?”

“Arthur, you’re a smart man,” she said as he leaned over her, his head near the steering wheel.

Bracing himself with one hand on the floor, he traced the line between her breasts. She swallowed thickly. When he reached the hem of her pink sweater, she held her breath as he inched it up slowly, his fingers tracing her skin.

Her flesh cooled as he exposed it, and their mingled breath could be seen in the dark car.

When he reached the underside of her breast, he swiped his finger across her ribs. “Is this some?”

“Arthur, you’re embarrassing me,” she whispered.

“We’ve never talked about it, but now might be a good time. You told me that night that you’re a virgin.”

She huffed out a breath at the reminder of that horrible incident. “Yes.”

His hand covered her breast, and then his fingers dipped inside her white bra to stroke. She shifted on the seat under him, the sensation like lightning across her skin.

“I know it makes me old fashioned, but I’m glad you are.”

He eased her bra up, and she shifted to try and help him.

“Let’s just touch
some,
Harriet.”

And then he lowered his head to her breast.

It was a shock, having his mouth tug on her nipple. She’d never done anything but kiss a few boys before. But as he nipped and sucked, she didn’t care. Her body arched off the seat, the springs digging into her back, but it only heightened her sense of wanting to be closer to his warm, wet mouth.

His hand journeyed lower and touched the edge of her bunched up skirt, pushing it up to her waist on the right side. Sliding under her bottom, he pressed her against him, and she felt it, that hard line of his desire.

With his mouth sucking strongly, she tilted her head back, reaching out to tunnel her fingers in his dark thick hair. He shifted to the other breast, and this time, she couldn’t hold back the moan. It shattered the silence of the dark night around them. And in response, he lifted her still closer and moved his hips against hers—a question, an invitation.

It felt shocking, yet so good that she used her raised leg to press up against him. And he responded in kind, moving his hips against hers again. Oh sweet heavens.

Then he pressed his mouth to her bare stomach and rubbed his forehead against her cold skin. “Okay, we’d better stop now.”

He leaned up to kiss her on the mouth, but didn’t linger, and then eased off her and opened the car door, exiting awkwardly.

“I’ll give you a minute to straighten up,” he said and shut the door.

She righted her bra, wincing at the sensitivity in her breasts. Is this what people called unfulfilled desire? A few of the girls had talked about it in school. Every part of her body throbbed, almost like it was in pain, but it wasn’t like the pain that came from hitting an elbow or scraping a knee. It was an urgent pain in her belly, and since those same girls had told her so, she knew Arthur was experiencing it too.

In the darkness, it was difficult to smooth her hair back into place, so she did the best she could. There would be no finding the bobby pins in the dark. Hopefully Maybelline wouldn’t say anything when she got home.

She slid to the passenger side and waited for Arthur to return. He was smoking a cigarette, something unusual for him, the red tip illuminating the trail of smoke in the darkness.

Should she go out and join him, or did he need some time to settle too? She decided to wait.

He finally returned to the car and turned to glance at her.

“You all right?” His voice was gruff.

Her cheeks flamed, but she nodded.

“Good. Let’s get you home then.”

And as he drove, she realized there was one more thing she was looking forward to. Telling him she loved him when she said goodnight and went inside.

She might not know what to do about her name, but at least she knew how she felt.

Somehow that seemed more important.

Chapter 16

W
orking and playing became Harriet and Arthur’s rhythm as April arrived, and excitement grew over the May 7th launch of the paper. She finally went to his parents’ house with him for supper, and they got through the night all right, his family talking more than she did. Fortunately no one had asked questions about where she was from. It was almost like they knew not to go there.

The trap had seemed incredibly tight that day.

The Bay of Pigs captured everyone’s attention mid–month, especially Arthur, whom she heard speaking Spanish on the phone in raised tones one day right before he pounded out his latest editorial on the typewriter. When she asked about him knowing the language, he absently remarked that he’d learned enough to get by with the help of a classmate from Puerto Rico when he lived in New York. A man of hidden talents for sure.

While Arthur rushed to keep up with current events surrounding Cuba and the launch, she and Maybelline agreed not to hurry into any decisions. Changing their name would be a big step, and the guilt they felt over considering it was huge.

Her old life continued to slide away, almost like the ice blocks around Dare’s Snake River that were breaking away with each passing day, disappearing from view as they became water again.

One night, she made the decision to put her mother’s pearls back in the jewelry box and don simpler jewelry. And when they went to Krotter’s Bowling Alley, she wore a looser skirt. Everyone had smiled knowingly at that the first time. Arthur suggested a bowling shirt for
The Western Independent
in a dark green that matched her eyes. The first time she wore it, her self–consciousness was so acute she was sure she was blushing from head to toe. If only people back home could see her now.

But as she fell more in love with Arthur each passing day, a niggling fear grew inside her. With each day they waited, it would be harder and harder if they finally decided to tell the truth. It was like a trap was tightening around her.