That One Night

by Brenda Novak

  She had been a virgin. She hadn’t lied about that.

  “Conner? Are you listening?”

  He wondered how long it would be before she hit him up for money. “Hmm?” he said.

  “I was saying that a lot of people come to hunt and fish once summer gets here. They camp along the creek below the south pass. We’ve never charged anyone to use our land—people have helped themselves for years—but they gather our wood for fires and often leave their garbage behind. We could establish some campsites and charge sixteen, eighteen dollars a night.”

  “We’d have to police it, collect payment and run off anyone who won’t pony up,” Conner said automatically, not particularly excited by the idea. Finding a solution for the ranch didn’t matter anymore, unless he could do it overnight.

  “True, but we could make two, three hundred bucks a night,” Roy said.

  Conner glanced at him. “How? The Bureau of Land Management controls a chunk of the south pass, and the government doesn’t charge for camping, does it?”

  Roy fingered his mustache, then smiled. “Learned something since you’ve been here, have ya?”

  “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know we’re not going to make any money selling something people can get for free.”

  “I would’ve thought so, too, until water started going for two and three dollars a gallon.”

  “That doesn’t happen around here.”

  “We still trust our water. That’s why people want to come here. But if we start charging campers, maybe the BLM will follow suit. Even if they don’t, it’d be worth it—if only to get visitors to stick with the free BLM sites so we won’t have to clean up after them.”

  Conner nodded, marginally interested because the idea seemed to have some merit, but in the end, his dark mood won out, and they sat in silence until Roy finished his beer. Setting his bottle down, the foreman finally stood to go, but Conner stopped him with a question.

  “How well do you know Delaney Lawson?”

  “She grew up here, for the most part,” Roy said. “She’s a real nice girl, has a drink at the Honky Tonk now and then, bakes a great pie. She’s single, if that’s what you’re after. You interested?”

  In making her pay for what she’d done to him, maybe. Conner didn’t answer. “What about Rebecca?”

  “Hang out at the Honky Tonk or the barbershop or even the convenience store long enough and you’ll learn all you want to know about Rebecca Wells,” Roy said. “Her daddy’s the mayor.”

  “So she’s locally famous?”

  “I’d say it’s more like she’s—” his lips twisted into a wry grin as he shoved his hands in his pockets and jingled his change “—notorious.”

  “How’s that?”

  “When she was, oh, ’bout seventeen, she ran away with a biker, but she was too hard to handle, even for him. He sent her packing right away.” Chuckling, he scratched his head where his hat had left what looked like a permanent imprint. “She’s getting married soon, though. And believe me, you don’t want to hook up with her, anyway. Just ask Josh Hill. They’ve had a feud going for as long as I can remember. The whole town stays out of their way.”

  “What’s wrong with Rebecca? Besides her hair?”

  He shrugged. “She’s wild. She set the high school on fire trying to burn the mascot symbol into the football field, and dyed Mrs. Reese’s hair blue the night before she was supposed to chair a meeting for the Daughters of the American Revolution, and—”

  “The hair thing wasn’t an accident?” Conner asked.

  Roy shook his head. “Mrs. Reese’s son was dating Rebecca, and Mrs. Reese stepped in to make sure it didn’t come to anything. The blue hair was Rebecca’s way of saying thank you.”

  Then, maybe Rebecca could identify with his desire for revenge, Conner thought.

  Roy stretched his hands toward the fire, mistaking Conner’s smile for interest in his story. “It all turned out for the best, though. I can’t see Byron Reese with Rebecca. He works at the bank with his father, but he’s too much of a mama’s boy.”

  “Rebecca lives with Delaney, doesn’t she?”

  “Yeah, they’ve been friends for years.”

  “And they’re completely loyal to each other.”

  “You got that right. Gilbert Tripp once backed his truck into Delaney’s car at the Quick Mart, then tried to drive away before Rebecca and Delaney could get out of the store. Rebecca got behind the wheel and chased him down. He gave her some excuse about how Delaney had parked wrong and the accident was really her fault. Rebecca pulled him out of the truck by the shirtfront and gave him a black eye.”

  Conner considered this tidbit of information as he finished his beer and started on the bottle he had waiting in reserve. “No kidding?”

  “That’s our Rebecca.”

  “Who’d want to marry a woman like that?” Conner asked.

  “A man who doesn’t know any better. A man from out of state. She’s moving to Nebraska after the wedding.”

  “When’s that?”

  “In June, I think. Dottie would know,” he said, as Dottie came in from the kitchen carrying a bowl of ice cream for each of them.

  “What would I know?” she asked as Sundance stood and started wagging his tail. Champ stayed where he was but thumped his tail against the floor.

  “The date of Rebecca’s wedding,” Roy said.

  “June twenty-sixth. Then she’s off to Nebraska.”

  Conner declined the ice cream in favor of continuing to nurse his beer, but Roy accepted a bowl.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do once she’s gone,” Dottie said, propping one fist on her hip. “No one can get my hair to hold a perm the way she can. Poor Delaney will miss her, too. They’ve been like Siamese twins ever since they started grade school.”

  Conner didn’t say it, but he thought Dottie’s hair would do well to lose the perm. And he wasn’t too sad for Delaney, either.

  “Bring your bowl to the sink when you’re done,” Dottie told Roy, and turned back to the kitchen. She paused at the door. “You two make any progress on finding someone to take over for me while I’m gone? Lydia could have that baby anytime, you know.”

  Conner scowled. He didn’t have the patience to deal with domestic matters at the moment.

  Fortunately, Roy answered for him. “We’ve been pretty busy, but we’ll start looking right away.”

  “Unless you want to go hungry, you’d better. How’s your grandfather, Conner?” Dottie asked.

  Roy cocked an eyebrow at Conner, as if to say that was one question he couldn’t answer for him, and Conner sighed. “Fine.”

  “I thought we’d see more of him now that you’re here, but the ornery old coot hasn’t been out once.”

  Conner didn’t want to talk about Clive. It reminded him too much of all the effort he’d put into the place these past two months, effort that was now a waste. The Delaney situation would make him look as though he hadn’t shaped up at all.

  “You got a headache?” Dottie asked, when Conner pressed his fingertips to his temples. “You want me to get you a couple Tylenol?”

  “No, thanks.” Suddenly he stood, because he couldn’t sit still another minute. “I’m going out,” he said. “See you both in the morning.”

  * * *

  “MR. ARMSTRONG?” The high-pitched voice came through the phone a little too loudly, as though the caller had a hearing problem, and Conner yanked the handset back a few inches to stop the sound from grating through his hangover like a buzz saw.

  Wincing, he tried to clear the cotton out of his mouth so he could speak. “Yes?” he said, wondering what time it was. Roy had come to collect him at the Honky Tonk at closing, just as if Conner had asked him to be there. But Conner hadn’t asked him to do anything and still didn’t understand how Roy knew exactly where to find him.

  In a town this size, it probably wasn’t very difficult to locate someone, he decided. However, he was a little mystified a
s to why Roy had come. What did it matter to him if Conner made it home or not?

  He blinked and trained bleary eyes on his alarm clock. Seven o’clock. Why would someone bother him so early on a Sunday?

  “This is Millie Lawson,” the voice was saying. “You probably don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your grandfather’s. He used to come into my store all the time.”

  “Who?” he said, pulling the blankets higher to cut the chill.

  “Millie Lawson.”

  He groped through his mind, trying to place the name but couldn’t. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Lawson?”

  “Actually, I’m not calling for me. I’m calling for my daughter, Delaney.”

  Delaney’s name caused Conner’s sleepiness to fall away almost instantly. He shoved himself into a sitting position, which he regretted when the pounding in his head threatened to level him again.

  Here it comes, he thought, lying back to ease the pain. Delaney’s first appeal for money.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “She needs a few thousand dollars to tide her over.”

  “What?”

  “This is about money, isn’t it?”

  “I guess,” she said. “If you’re talking about Dottie’s job. From what I understand that pays a pretty good salary.”

  Her words took a moment to sink in. “Dottie’s what?” he asked.

  “Her job. I heard Dottie Richens tell Elzina Brown and Sheila Smith at Bridge Club the other night that you’re looking for someone to take over for her while she attends the birth of her new grandbaby,” she explained. “I was hoping you’d consider my daughter for that position.”

  “Delaney, er, your daughter doesn’t have a job?”

  “She’s the town librarian, but the library’s closing down for remodeling in another week.”

  “Which means she’ll be out of work.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you want her to work here.”

  “She’s attractive, bright and well-read. And she can cook. Not many young women can cook these days,” she added proudly.

  Delaney was also a few other things he wasn’t going to mention. “Why doesn’t she call me herself?”

  “Well, I haven’t told her about this yet. I was hoping you’d be willing to come to Easter dinner next Sunday afternoon at my place so you can meet her.”

  Conner shoved a hand through his hair, wondering what was going on here. Were the two of them setting him up? Delaney had said she wanted nothing from him. He knew better than that, but this kind of approach seemed a little odd. It was uncomfortable being suspicious of a seventy-something-year-old woman who sounded sweeter than sugar.

  “I’m a little confused,” he admitted.

  “I’m sorry, dear. It’s just that I wanted to talk to you before I brought Delaney into it because there’s something you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, I hesitate to say anything because this information shouldn’t reach certain ears, but…”

  “But what?”

  She cleared her throat. “Delaney has a few…physical limitations.”

  “What kind of physical limitations?”

  “Well, Dottie mentioned that she sprays for bugs, even on the outside of the house. But I don’t think Delaney should do that. Or clean the oven, either. And she certainly shouldn’t carry anything too heavy.”

  Conner pinched the bridge of his nose. This Millie person wasn’t making sense. Maybe she was senile. “Why don’t you want her to spray for bugs?” he said.

  “Because it could harm her unborn child. Delaney’s expecting a baby—out of wedlock,” she added, as though she was terribly embarrassed but felt it necessary to clarify the exact nature of Delaney’s “physical limitations.”

  Conner hesitated. How was he supposed to respond to this?

  “I’d appreciate it if you could keep that to yourself.”

  “Uh…sure. No problem.”

  “And if you could find it in your heart to overlook her situation,” Millie went on, “I’d be most grateful. I’m really quite worried about her. My Laney’s not the kind of girl this would make her seem, mind you. But she’s gotten herself into a bit of a…mess.”

  She wasn’t the only one she’d gotten into a mess. “I’d be happy to consider her for the position.”

  “That’s wonderful. And you’ll come to dinner on Easter?”

  “Sure,” he said. “What time?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DELANEY SIGHED as she pulled into Aunt Millie’s driveway. Millie had insisted she come for dinner today, but Delaney wasn’t in the mood to endure any more silent disapproval. She’d made extra pies because it was Easter, expecting a boon in business that hadn’t materialized. Every inquiry she’d made into finding a new job had resulted in another dead end. And morning sickness was beginning to plague her—all day.

  Opening the glove compartment, she withdrew the films of the ultrasound she’d had done in Boise a few days earlier, and let the sight of them buoy her spirits. Mostly black, they revealed little to the untrained eye. But Delaney had insisted on keeping them as a memento of seeing her baby’s heartbeat for the first time.

  Closing her eyes, she pictured the fluttering white flashes she’d seen on the screen and felt the same emotions she’d experienced in the doctor’s office. Soon she’d have a baby of her own. There was something wonderful about that, even though—ever since she’d talked to Conner at the library—she felt as though she was holding her breath, waiting for the sky to fall. He hardly seemed the type to let what she’d done to him go easily. But the longer she went without hearing from him, the more hopeful she became.

  Shoving the ultrasound films back into her glove compartment, she gathered the berry pies she’d brought, and got out. Judging by the cars in the drive, the whole gang was here. Lula and Vern Peterson’s blue sedan sat parked a few feet from her bumper, along with Ruby McCarrel’s old Cadillac and an unfamiliar, nondescript white pickup.

  Movement in the front window told Delaney she’d been seen, so she started up the drive. She’d grown up with Aunt Millie’s friends and loved them all. The stooped and withered Vern, who wore his polyester slacks pulled almost to his chest, had helped Uncle Ralph teach her how to drive. When she was twelve, the small, spry Ruby had shown her how to shave her legs—since Millie hadn’t kept up with the practice. And Lula, silver-blue hair always shining and perfectly coiffed, had bought her the most expensive pair of shoes she’d ever owned, for the Homecoming Dance during her sophomore year. They’d all gone with her on the trip to Disneyland, too, even chipped in for souvenirs. But, of course, they’d moved a little faster in those days. Vern had stood taller, his bones less noticeable through his thin skin; Lula had still been wearing high heels everywhere, forever careful to match them with her handbags; and Ruby…well, Ruby hadn’t changed much. She still dyed her hair a harsh black, painted on her eyebrows and wore bright red lipstick.

  They’d all been good to her, but because of the coming baby and her job situation and her strained relationship with Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph, Delaney had too much on her mind to tolerate their slow pace today. She’d meet the newest addition to their group, whoever was driving the white pickup, eat and help clean up, then grab a newspaper and head home, she decided. She needed to keep looking for a way to make some additional income during the next few months. Certainly there had to be something she could do while the library was closed.

  “There you are,” Uncle Ralph said as soon as she set foot on the doorstep. He’d spoken very little to her since she’d told them about the baby, but he seemed congenial enough today. Delaney wondered what had happened to soften him, then saw Vern hovering behind him at the door.

  “We were just coming to fetch you,” he added.

  “Am I late?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” Vern said.

  “Then, what’s the hurry?”

  “There’s someone here we want you to meet.” Uncle Ralph
took one of her pies and held the door.

  Delaney hesitated on the stoop, surprised by their apparent eagerness. “Who is it?”

  “This is the fella who—” Ralph started, but Aunt Millie’s voice rang out from the living room, interrupting him.

  “Laney? Come in, dear. Hurry. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Were Aunt Millie and her friends up to their old matchmaking tricks? Surely not while Delaney was pregnant! Aunt Millie had once mentioned wanting to introduce her to Preston Willigut, her piano tuner. Maybe they’d invited him to come for dinner. But the only pair of young eyes that looked up when she entered the room didn’t belong to Preston. Golden-brown and framed with thick lashes, they belonged to Conner Armstrong.

  Oh, no. Delaney stopped abruptly.

  “We have a special guest today,” Millie announced, her round face positively beaming. “And he’s going to help us out with your…little problem.”

  “My little problem?” Delaney repeated, hearing the words echo in her head.

  “You know, with the library closing? You don’t have to worry about that anymore. Conner says you can come out and work for him at the ranch while Dottie goes to Utah to be with her daughter. Isn’t that nice of him?”

  Delaney’s knees buckled, and she put a hand on the piano so she wouldn’t sink to the ground like a deflated balloon. “I don’t need his help,” she said.

  “Is that any way to respond to such a kindness?” Millie said disapprovingly.

  “He’s Clive Armstrong’s grandson,” Lula supplied, as though that might make a difference. “And don’t worry, he isn’t going to tell anyone about the baby.”

  Lula knew about the baby? Had Aunt Millie told everyone? What happened to keeping the baby a secret?

  “Nope. I won’t tell anyone,” Conner confirmed, his voice calm and low.

  Even in her panic, Delaney could see he liked having her at a disadvantage. He smiled, but there wasn’t a hint of warmth in his eyes, and for the first time she felt worse than guilty about what she’d done. She felt uneasy. What was he up to?

  Standing, he extended his hand. “Conner Armstrong. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”