by Elena Aitken
Missy swallowed uncomfortably, hating the lump in her throat, and looking down at her boots so he wouldn’t see the longing in her eyes.
Thankfully, he didn’t press her for an answer. He squeezed her hand, gently flipping it over so the underside of her wrist was facing up. He rolled down her glove until the blue veins were visible, stark against her white skin, the pulse beat blinking like a beacon. Lowering his head, he kissed her heartbeat before rolling the glove back up. Then, he gently released her hand, smiled at her, and walked away.
As she readied herself for their date on Monday night, Missy hummed a Christmas carol softly, feeling excited.
He’ll be here to pick me up in ten minutes.
She generally dressed provocatively for dates. Grateful to be asked at all, she was anxious to show her companion that she was up for a “good time.” But, not tonight. Tonight was going to be different. Lucas treated her like a nice girl, and while she couldn’t change her history, the least she could do was dress like what he wanted. What she wished to be.
Week before last, at the Christmas Stroll, Missy had caught sight of a girl from high school whom she’d always admired, Jenny Lindstrom, with that handsome visitor who’d been in town for a couple of days.
Jenny was all dressed up in black velvet pants, a cream blouse and a soft-looking cream sweater. The way the guy stared at Jenny, Missy understood she didn’t need a low-cut dress or tight jeans that showed every curve. Jenny looked beautiful—classy, like the lady she was—and he treated her special, Missy could tell.
Thinking of Jenny had given Missy the idea to drive up to the Target in Bozeman where she could put together an outfit a little bit like that for her date with Lucas. Nothing too short or too clingy. Something ladylike. Something classy.
Missy looked in the mirror now, smoothing her hands over her cream, silk-like pants that hung loosely over her filled-out, size fourteen figure. On top she wore a new, silky, black blouse that wasn’t cut too low, and over that, she wore a black cardigan sweater with tiny cream-colored dots and little pearl buttons. She’d splurged on low black heels, and on her way to the checkout she scooped up a string of pearls with matching pearl studs she’d found on a rack near the registers.
She didn’t put mousse or gel in her hair to make it bigger or more styled. She brushed it back from her face and put it in a simple ponytail on the nape of her neck that curled into a sweet ball, and she tied it with a simple black ribbon. Instead of her usual heavy makeup with bright red lipstick, she asked herself how Jenny would do hers, opting for some black mascara, subtle grey eyeliner and light pink lip gloss.
Every moment as she got ready, she thought about Lucas Flynn. He had to know she had a bad reputation. And yet, he’d treated her with respect, like he wanted to get to know her despite the way she’d lived her life so far. The way he looked at her made Missy wonder about second chances, about changing her ways, about finding someone who might like her for more than her body, who might even lov—
Missy swallowed uncomfortably, remembering the stupid wish she’d made on the loading dock after Lucas left her on Friday night. She’d looked up at the sky and found the brightest star, closing her eyes and hearing the wish in her head before she had a chance to talk herself out of such silliness.
A light gasp interrupted her daydream, and she turned to find her mother behind her. Emma Branson may have been standing behind her daughter for a while, watching her in the mirror, but Missy hadn’t noticed.
“Oh, Missy,” her mother murmured, covering her mouth with her hands. “You look so beautiful.”
Missy smiled, smoothing her pants uncertainly. “You think so?”
“Swear to God, baby girl. You look like you’re goin’ to church…or to a wedding!”
“I’m not, mama. Just out dinner.”
“Oh.” Emma’s face fell, jowls wobbling against the collar of her faded floral housedress. “With a man?”
“Uh-huh. But he asked me proper,” said Missy. “He’s nice.”
Her mother worried the Kleenex in her hands, looking nervous. “You comin’ back here later, Missy?”
“I don’t know,” said Missy. But Jenny Lindstrom’s face flashed before her eyes and she changed her answer. “No, mama. I’m not inviting him back here later. I’ll be coming home alone tonight.”
“Even if the date goes good?”
Missy took another look at herself in the mirror, at her outward transformation from “Easy Missy” to a nice-looking girl.
“Especially if the date goes good,” she answered, just as the doorbell rang.
Jenny Lindstrom would be proud.
Chapter 3
When Missy opened the door, Lucas felt his face break into the most unguarded smile he’d offered anyone in over four years.
Man alive, she looked pretty!
For him.
She’d dressed up like this for him, an ugly ex-con with nothing to offer a pretty girl. His heart started thumping like mad.
“’Night, mama,” Missy called back into the house, closing the door behind her.
She struggled to put on her jacket as he watched, feeling dazed, but finally he snapped out of his trance, reaching out to give her a hand. He took the lapels, holding the jacket open so she could step into it.
The smile she gave him in return? It made his throat dry and his cold cheeks hot.
“You look beautiful,” he said, offering her his arm.
“Thank you,” she said as they stepped onto the sidewalk and started walking toward town.
He’d seen her in little other than her work clothes, except for once or twice when he’d seen her in jeans—too-tight jeans—when she’d come in to pick up food on her day off.
This was a different girl. This was a different woman.
“These are new clothes,” she admitted, a sheepish twinge to her voice. “I haven’t been on many, um, dates. Real dates. And I remembered an old friend of mine who dressed up when she…”
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s silly and I’m not saying it right.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I saw her recently and she’s a ‘nice girl.’ Her name’s Jenny Lindstrom. And, um, anyway, I saw her at the Holiday Stroll last weekend. She was dressed up all special for a date and I thought, well…maybe I could do that too. I could dress like a ‘nice girl,’ too.”
It hurt his heart to hear these words, and yet she offered them without a shred of self-pity, with nothing more than honesty and a hint of wistfulness.
“You are a nice girl,” he insisted.
She pressed on his arm, turning to him, making him stop walking and meet her eyes. “No, Lucas. I’m not.”
“I’m with you right now, and I say you are.”
“Wishing it’s true won’t make it so.”
“Sometimes wishes come true,” he murmured, thinking about his life exactly four months ago today. He’d had four more days left on his sentence. Locked up. Now here he was, taking the prettiest girl in Gardiner out for dinner.
“Haven’t we already had this conversation?” she asked, giving him a small smile. “I don’t wish on stars, remember?”
“Yeah…except you were out there for a few minutes after I went back inside. I wondered if you’d maybe made an exception.”
A slight shrug of her shoulders made him wonder if maybe she had.
“I have an idea,” he said as they started walking again. “Tell me what you wish instead.”
“Okay…let’s see…” She chuckled lightly as her hand squeezed his arm. “Well, I’d wish folks were nicer to me, I guess. I know why they’re not. But I wish they’d give me a chance, you know? There’s more to me than…you know…”
He covered her hand with his, encouraging her to keep going, but she stayed quiet. He asked gently, “What else?”
“What else? Oh, I don’t know. Well…maybe it would be nice to have a friend. You know, a girlfriend. No, two!” She giggled, and the sound was like
music to Lucas. “Two girlfriends. And we’d make popcorn and watch ‘The Bachelor’ together. And they’d come in to visit me while I was working, and I’d give them free Cokes. And I wish I had”—her voice was softer now, and Lucas strained to hear her, sensing this part was especially important—“a boyfriend. Someone who liked me. Not for the—the other stuff, but for who I am. Really liked me. Maybe even…”
“Maybe even what?”
“No. Nothing. That’s enough.” She cleared her throat. “Your turn. What do you wish for?”
He glanced over at her face as they walked across the bridge, the Yellowstone River rushing below. Stopping to loosen his arm from her hand, he reached for the railing, and she sidled up next to him, resting one elbow on the metal bar so she could look at him.
“Well,” he started, “I wish I’d never gone to prison. I wish my sister Jody hadn’t ended up marrying the guy who I beat up. I wish that I was still a movie theater manager in Missoula instead of a short-order cook in Gardiner. But, even if I was, I’d wish for this blond-haired, blue-eyed girl I know to be my girlfriend, because I really like her. Because she’s the nicest girl I know.”
He turned to find Missy’s eyes bright with tears. “You have to stop crying every time I’m good to you, Missy. Because I’m only going to treat you good. And I want you to—”
She surged forward, pressing her lips to his.
It was the last thing he expected, but it only took a moment for his arms to close around her, pulling her tight against his chest, tilting his head so their lips fit better together. She whimpered as he pushed his tongue gently between her lips, the smell of her tropical lip gloss driving him wild as her gloved hands slid up his chest to rest on his cheeks. Aside from the fact that he hadn’t kissed a woman in many years, he was smitten with Missy, really into her, and holding her in his arms felt better than he could have imagined.
But he also didn’t want for her to think she needed to be physical with him just because he was taking her to dinner. It seemed like the lines between offering herself to someone out of real affection and offering herself to someone for a thousand other bad reasons were very blurred for her. And frankly, unless she really liked him, unless she only wanted to be with him, he’d just as soon not make out with her, not fall for her, not get his beat-up heart broken.
He skimmed his lips gently down her cheek to the soft, warm skin of her neck where he kissed her lightly before drawing back to look into her eyes.
She was worried. He could tell right away.
“Was that not okay?” she asked, brow furrowed, voice breathless.
“That was amazing,” he answered, holding her tighter against him. If she needed evidence that he was into her physically, for reassurance, she could have it. His body was unmistakably aroused.
He pushed against her and she looked instantly relieved by the evidence of his attraction.
“Then why did you stop?”
“Because that’s not how I want to get to know you. I want to get to know who you are first.”
“Why?” she asked, her face so innocent and sweet, so surprised and hopeful, he wished he could memorize it.
“Because you’re worth knowing, Missy. Just for you. For what’s in here.” He raised one hand from the small of her back to tap lightly against the side of her head. “And here.” He lowered his hand to her chest, flattening it well above her breasts where her heart was racing.
“But why me?” she whispered, mesmerized.
“Because you remind me of someone,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her along so they could resume their walk once again.
When they arrived at the Grizzly Guzzle Grill, the greeter, Sally Jansen, gave Missy a surprised once-over before turning up her nose.
“Oh, look: it’s Missy.”
She inhaled sharply, hoping Sally wouldn’t embarrass her in front of Lucas. “H-Hi, Sally.”
“We’d like a table in the corner, please. Out of the way,” said Lucas evenly.
Sally smirked at Missy before sliding her eyes back to Lucas. “You want a little privacy, huh?”
“Exactly,” he confirmed with a light smile, without any hint of smarmy suggestion.
They were seated at a corner table, just as he requested, and given two menus. Missy looked around nervously. She wanted tonight to be different and she couldn’t bear it if one of her “old friends” showed up to humiliate her with innuendo about the “good times” they’d had together.
Her hands sweated and she swallowed uncomfortably, sweeping the room with her eyes. It looked like luck was on her side tonight. She didn’t recognize anyone except for Lars Lindstrom, who was bartending. Although they’d fooled around a time or two, they’d never slept together, and he’d always been kind to her. From the bar, he gave her a genuine grin and winked in a way that was teasing, not suggestive. Her shoulders relaxed in gratitude. Maybe it would be okay.
“So,” Lucas said, folding his menu and putting it flat on the table in front of him. “Christmas is on Friday. Did you get all of your shopping done today on your day off?”
“I don’t have a lot of shopping to do. It’s just me and my mama.”
“No siblings? Father?”
“My father stepped out before I was born. Stepfathers one and two lasted for various Christmases but didn’t end up sticking around. Stepfather three didn’t like Christmas, so he canceled it.”
“Canceled it?”
“Threw out our decorations and told us we weren’t having it anymore.”
She didn’t mention that stepfather one had been the first to cop a feel of her budding breasts, and while he’d never molested her other young-lady parts, he’d found every excuse in the book for brushing against her chest.
As a ten-year-old girl she’d been incredibly frightened but unwilling to rock the boat by telling her mother. Anyway, what would she have said? Don always seems to brush into my chest while he’s serving himself mashed potatoes or helping me with my Sunday coat.
She’d chosen to ignore it instead. After a while, it didn’t mean anything. It didn’t matter because Missy didn’t matter.
Except, maybe it should have mattered and maybe it could start mattering. Maybe if she mattered to someone, things could be different. She looked up at Lucas, and her heart kicked into a gallop.
“He sounds like a jerk.”
“He was,” she said, then added: “They all were.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lucas, clenching his jaw and staring down at the table.
Missy didn’t mean to make him mad or bring down the mood. She forced herself to smile and lighten up her voice. “But…but it’s okay. They’re all gone now.”
“I’m glad they’re gone,” said Lucas evenly, looking up at her. “But it’s not okay.”
“Hey, ya’ll,” said the waitress, stopping by their table. “What can I get you?”
She knew that voice.
Missy’s heart sank.
Margit Johnson.
Missy had inadvertently fooled around with Margit’s boyfriend Cliff in the ninth grade. It really wasn’t her fault; Cliff had insisted he and Margit had broken up and Missy had believed him…until Margit walked over to her desk the following day during study hall and smacked her hard in the face and bellowed: “That’s for putting your tongue in my boyfriend’s mouth, tramp!”
Missy swallowed nervously, bracing herself.
“Heya, Margit.”
“Heya, Missy,” Margit said, looking over at Lucas then back to Missy, a mean smirk on her face. “Who’s this, here?”
“Lucas,” said Missy. “We work together.”
“New to Gardiner?” asked Margit.
“Been here a few months,” answered Lucas.
“Well, Missy’s just about the most welcoming gal in town, aren’t ya, Missy? Real friendly.”
Lucas acted like she hadn’t even spoken. “I’ll have a beer, please. A Heineken.” He looked at Missy. “What do you want to drink?”
&
nbsp; “A Coke, please.”
“A cock?” asked Margit, with wide, innocent eyes.
“She said a Coke,” said Lucas quietly.
“Oh, my bad. A beer and a Coke. Back in a jiff.”
Missy watched Margit pivot away and head for the bar, the lump in her throat almost choking her. She shouldn’t be here. She had no business pretending to be a nice girl on a date with a nice man. Things weren’t going to change. Not ever.
“Don’t let it get to you,” said Lucas, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “Just ignore her.”
Missy looked up into his eyes, his warm, kind brown eyes, and fanned her face with her free hand, trying to be brave, willing the gathering tears not to fall.
“You can put lipstick on a pig,” she whispered. “But it’s still just a pig.”
Anger blazed in his eyes and he squeezed her hand. Hard. Hard enough that it almost hurt. “Listen up, Missy. I don’t give a crap what she just said about you, but don’t you ever say something like that about yourself again. Not in front of me, anyway.”
Her eyes widened and she tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tightly though more gently.
“Clear?” he asked.
She swallowed once, then nodded as her racing heart calmed.
“Clear,” she answered.
When Margit returned with their drinks and placed them down on the table, Lucas didn’t release Missy’s hand or look up. Even when Missy’s eyes flicked up to say thanks to Margit, his were waiting for her when she looked back at him.
“Anything else?” asked Margit.
Lucas finally looked up, his face hard. Hard like a man who’d been in prison and knew how to protect himself and the people he cared about.
“Yeah. A better goddamned attitude or a new waitress.”