Where There's Smoke

by Sandra Brown

  He’d been very sweet, calling his friend a stupid jerk-off and taking Heather’s side on all points. Heather took a closer look at Tanner and decided that he was much more handsome than the creep who’d cheated on her.

  After polling her best friends and discovering that they, too, thought Tanner was a good catch, she changed the tenor of the time they spent together. Soon it was known around school that she was “with” Tanner. She couldn’t have been happier with the way things had turned out.

  Since Heather Winston was the most sought-after girl in the junior class, Tanner was also walking on air. The first time he kissed her they’d frenched, and it nearly took the top of his head off. All the guys agreed that she had a body—taking after her mama, who was indisputably the hottest-looking bitch in Eden Pass. There was a lot of good-natured speculation in the locker room as to just how much of Heather’s delights ol’ Hoskins had sampled.

  Tanner’s responses to these teasing jeers were deliberately vague. Most of the guys chose to think he was getting all he wanted but was protecting Heather’s reputation with gallant silence. Those more cynical figured he hadn’t seen or touched anything that a swimsuit would cover.

  The truth lay somewhere in between.

  Tonight, he had unbuttoned her blouse and gotten his hand inside her brassiere. Heather permitted him to fondle her anywhere above the waist. Below it was where she customarily drew the line.

  They were on the brink of a breakthrough, however. The gentle feathering of his tongue across her nipples had pushed Heather to a sexual height she’d never achieved before. Yearningly, she brushed her hand across the fly of his shorts.

  He made a strangled, groaning sound. “Please, Heather.”

  Tentatively she pressed her palm against the bulge in his crotch. Her friends had warned her that “it” got huge and hard. Even so, she was timid of his erection. Yet curious. And desirous. And her friends were going to start believing she was weird if she didn’t move things farther along.

  “Tanner, do you want me to?”

  “Oh God,” he moaned and began frantically grappling with his zipper.

  He shoved her hand beneath the waistband of his underwear, and before she was quite prepared for it, her hand was filled with pulsing, adolescent lust.

  Tanner muttered incoherently as she timorously explored his shape. She knew how this monstrous organ was supposed to couple with her body, although she didn’t understand how it possibly could. Still, it was exciting to imagine. Her mind drifted through an array of erotic images, intensified by recollections of some of Hollywood’s recent renditions of sex, movies that her mother had forbidden her to see.

  Then he ruined it.

  “Oh, God!” she cried. “What…? Tanner! Oh, puke!”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he panted. “I couldn’t help it. Heather, I—”

  She leaped up and headed for the lake at a run, refastening her bra and buttoning her blouse as she went. When she reached the pebbled beach, she knelt and swished her hand in the water. She was repulsed, not so much by the substance on her hand but by necking in general. It was so juvenile, so common, so unromantic. Nothing like the misty love scenes in the movies.

  She moved along the beach until she reached the fishing pier, then walked out to the end of it, sat down, and stared out over the water. Tanner caught up with her there a few moments later. He lowered himself beside her.

  For a moment he said nothing. When he did speak, his voice was ragged with emotion. “I’m sorry. Christ, I didn’t mean to. Are you going to tell?”

  Heather saw that he was humiliated, and she regretted her adverse reaction to what she knew wasn’t entirely his fault. She stroked his hair. “It’s all right, Tanner. I didn’t expect it and overreacted.”

  “No, you didn’t. You had every right to be disgusted.”

  “I wasn’t. Truly. Anyway, it’s okay. Of course I won’t tell anybody. How could you think I would? Just forget about it.”

  “I can’t, Heather. I can’t because…” He hesitated as though to gather courage, then blurted, “Because if we’d been doing it right in the first place, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  Heather returned her gaze to the moonlit water. He’d never come right out and said he wanted to go all the way. He wanted to—she knew that. But knowing it and hearing him say it were two different things. Hearing it was much scarier because it forced her to make a decision.

  “Don’t get mad,” he said, “but hear me out. Please. I love you, Heather. You’re the prettiest, sweetest, smartest girl I’ve ever met. I want to, you know, know everything about you. Get inside you,” he added softly.

  His words shocked her in a pleasant way. They made her body tingle in secret places. “That’s sexy talk, Tanner.”

  “I’m not just feeding you a line. I mean it.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Look around.” He gestured back toward the parked cars. “Everybody else does it.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “Well, do you think… I mean, don’t you want to?”

  She gazed into his fervent eyes. Did she want to? Maybe. Not because she was passionately in love with him. She didn’t see herself spending her life with Tanner Hoskins, the grocer’s son, having children and grandchildren with him, growing old together. But he was sweet, and he clearly adored her.

  She gave him a qualified yes.

  Encouraged, he scooted closer to her across the rough boards. “It’s not like you could get AIDS or anything because we’re not strangers. And I’d make damn sure you wouldn’t get pregnant.”

  Amused by his earnestness, she took his hand and squeezed it between her own. “I’m not worried about any of that. I’d trust you to take precautions.”

  “Then what’s stopping us? Your folks?”

  Her smile faded. “Daddy would probably shoot you if he knew we were even having this conversation. Mother…” She sighed. “She thinks we’ve already done it.”

  That was the crux of Heather’s hesitation. Her mother. She didn’t want to validate Darcy’s low opinion of her.

  Her relationship with her father was uncomplicated. He thought the sun rose and set on her. She was his pride and joy, his precious little girl. He would gladly die for her. She was confident of his unconditional love.

  Her relationship with her mother wasn’t as clearly definable. Darcy had a volatile and unpredictable personality. She wasn’t as easy to love as her unflappable father. If Fergus was as constant as sunrise and sunset, Darcy was as changeable as the weather.

  Some of Heather’s earliest memories were of Darcy dressing her up and taking her downtown. She would parade her up and down the sidewalk of Texas Street, in and out of shops, making sure that everyone saw them and stopped to speak. Darcy had always liked to show her off.

  But once they returned home, her mother’s indulgent affection ceased. She withdrew the love she showered on Heather in public and began preparations for their next outing.

  “Practice your piano, Heather. You won’t win any blue ribbons in the competition if you don’t practice.”

  “Stand up straight, Heather. People will think you have no pride if you slouch.”

  “Stop biting your nails, Heather. Your hands look horrible, and besides, it’s a terrible habit.”

  “Wash your face again, Heather. I can still see blackheads around your nose.”

  “Your jumps need work, Heather. You won’t get reelected cheerleader next year if you start shirking.”

  Although Darcy professed to push her because she wanted her to be and to have the very best, Heather suspected that her accomplishments were more for her mother’s sake than for her own. She also suspected that underlying Darcy’s maternal love was a deep resentment that bordered on outright jealousy. It puzzled Heather. Mothers weren’t supposed to be jealous of their children. What had she done or failed to do to provoke this unnatural emotion?

  As Heather matured, their tiffs had become more fre
quent and virulent. Darcy imagined that Heather was sexually misbehaving. She persistently made veiled accusations and sly innuendoes.

  What a laugh, Heather thought scornfully.

  Her mother was the one guilty of sexual misconduct. Everybody knew her reputation, even the kids at school, although no one had ever confronted Heather with it because they didn’t dare. She was too popular.

  But the whispered rumors reached her. It was a struggle to ignore them, especially at home when her mother was being particularly nasty. Countless times she could have used the latest gossip about Darcy to shut her up. But she hadn’t and she wouldn’t because of Fergus. She wouldn’t do or say anything that might indirectly hurt her father or cause him embarrassment.

  So when Darcy railed at her about her relationship with Tanner, and hounded her with questions about the depth of it, she withstood the inquisition in sullen silence.

  Beyond petting, she hadn’t done anything shameful. The fundamental reason for her abstention was that she didn’t want to become like her mother. Obviously she had inherited Darcy’s robust sexuality, but she didn’t have to act on it. The last thing she wanted was a reputation for screwing around—like mother, like daughter. Nor would she betray her father’s love the way her mother did.

  Tanner had been sitting quietly at her side, patiently giving her time to sort through her misgivings. “I feel everything you do, Tanner. Honestly,” she said. “Maybe not as urgently,” she added with a gentle smile. “But I love you enough to want to have sex with you.”

  “When?” he asked thickly.

  “When we feel the time and mood are right. Okay? Please don’t pressure me about it.”

  His disappointment was plain, but he smiled and leaned forward to give her a tender kiss. “I’d better take you home before it gets any later. Your mother will have a shit fit if you’re thirty seconds late.”

  They arrived punctually. Nevertheless, Darcy was waiting for them at the front door with a glare for Tanner and a lecture for Heather on how a girl couldn’t be too protective of her good name.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.”

  Bowie Cato and Janellen Tackett faced each other across the desk in the cramped office at the shop. He was surprised to notice that her eyes were on a level with his. He hadn’t realized when they met the first time that she was almost as tall as he. She had looked so dainty, frail even, sitting behind that large desk, looking as nervous as a whore in church.

  Now why would an analogy like that pop into his head when he was in the presence of a lady like her? As though he’d spoken his thoughts out loud, he hastened to make amends.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t around when you called The Palm. Hap—Mr. Hollister—gave me your message to come by when it was convenient. Is now convenient?”

  “Yes, and it was kind of Mr. Hollister to remember.”

  “He’s been real decent to me.”

  “Well, thank you for coming. Have a seat, please.”

  She indicated the metal chair behind him. He lowered himself into it as she resumed her seat behind the desk. She carefully smoothed the back of her skirt and sat down in one fluid motion. Some motions like that she carried off gracefully, without thinking about them. At other times, particularly when she was looking directly at him, her movements were as jerky and uncoordinated as a newborn colt’s. She had the jitters worse than anyone he’d ever met. If he said “boo!” she’d probably faint dead away.

  He couldn’t imagine why Miss Janellen Tackett was nervous over this interview. She was the one holding all the aces. He needed her; his future hung in the balance, not the other way around.

  “I…” She got a false start and began again after clearing her throat. “We’ve had a job become available.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her large blue eyes opened even wider. “You knew about it?”

  When would he learn to keep his fat trap shut? “I, uh, heard you fired a man after accusing him of stealing.”

  “He was stealing!” Her loud exclamation startled them both. She appeared mortified by her outburst. Bowie decided to make it easier on her and in the process chalk up a few points for himself.

  “I don’t doubt it for a minute, Miss Tackett. You don’t appear the kind of person who would make accusations until you were sure you were right.”

  Bowie had overheard the man everybody called Muley virtually bragging about being fired by “that skinny Tackett bitch.” The harsh names the redneck had called Janellen and the unflattering way he’d talked about her hadn’t jived with Bowie’s memory of the soft-spoken, self-conscious lady he’d met.

  He’d asked around, subtly, and found that the Tacketts had a reputation for fairness. They expected an honest day’s work from their employees, but paid well. Miss Tackett was known to be especially reasonable and to cut her people a lot of slack. Muley Bill was obviously a liar as well as a thief.

  “That Muley character is a loudmouthed bully, Miss Tackett,” Bowie said. “So I didn’t put too much stock in what he spouted off. I’m only wondering why we’re wasting your valuable time talking about him.”

  “He was a pumper.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m offering you his job.”

  His heart lurched, but he kept his expression unreadable. He’d hoped her summons meant a job offer, but he was suspicious of being handed good fortune, fully expecting the other hand to slap him. “That sounds real fine. When do I start?”

  She fingered the buttons on her blouse. “What I have in mind,” she said haltingly, “is a probationary position. To see how… how you get along here.”

  There it was. The slap. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “This is my family’s business, Mr. Cato. I’m the third generation and feel a responsibility to protect—”

  “Are you scared of me, Miss Tackett?”

  “Scared? No,” she replied with a lying little laugh. “For heaven’s sake, no. It’s just that you might not like working for Tackett Oil. Steady employment might require some difficult adjustments since you were recently released from…”

  She shifted in her seat. “If, after a time, both parties agree that it’s working out, I’ll offer you a permanent position. How does that sound?” She gave him a wavering smile.

  Bowie also shifted in his chair and carefully regarded his hat as he threaded the brim through his fingers. If anybody else had offered him a temporary job until he proved himself worthy, he’d say “screw you” and stomp out. But he recognized the chip on his shoulder for what it was and curbed his temper.

  “Do all your new employees go through this, uh, probationary thing?”

  She wet her lips and fiddled some more with the buttons on her blouse. “No, Mr. Cato. But frankly you’re the first person I’ve ever considered hiring who is on parole from prison. I’m responsible for the daily operation of the business. I don’t want to make a mistake.”

  “You won’t.”

  “I’m certain of that. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have called you for an interview.”

  “You can check my record with the Department of Corrections. I got a lot of time off for good behavior.”

  “I’ve already spoken with your parole officer.” His eyes snapped up to hers and she blushed. “I felt I had to. I wanted to know what you… what you had done.”

  “Did he tell you?”

  “Assault and battery, he said.”

  He looked away and pulled his lower lip through his teeth several times. Again, he was tempted to walk out. He didn’t owe her a goddamn thing, and surely not an explanation. He didn’t feel he had to justify himself to anyone.

  But, oddly, he wanted Janellen Tackett to understand why he’d committed the crime. He couldn’t pin down exactly why he wanted her understanding. Maybe it was because she looked at him like he was an actual person and not just an ex-con.

  “The bastard had it coming,” he said.

  “Why?”

  He sat
up straighter, preparing to lay out the facts and let her read them as she pleased. “He was my landlord. He and his wife lived in the apartment below mine. It was a dump, but the best I could afford at the time. She—his wife—was as kind a woman as I ever knew. Ugly as sin but a good heart, you know?”

  Janellen nodded.

  “She’d do favors for me. Sew on shirt buttons, stuff like that. Sometimes she’d bring me leftover stew or a slice of pie because she said bachelors never ate right and a body couldn’t survive only on Wolf Brand Chili.”

  He bounced his hat on his knee. “One day I met her on the stairs. She had a black eye. She tried to hide it from me, but the whole left side of her face was swollen. She made up an excuse, but I knew right off that her old man had worked her over. I’d heard him yelling at her plenty of times. I didn’t know he’d started using her as a punching bag.

  “I cornered him and told him if he wanted a fistfight I could give him a hell of a good one. He told me to mind my own business. Then he beat her again a couple of weeks later. That time we had more than words. I slugged him a few times, but she intervened and begged me not to hurt him.”

  He shook his head. “Go figure. Anyway, I warned him then that the next time he hit her, I’d kill him. A few months went by, and I thought he’d gotten the message. Then one night the racket downstairs woke me up. She was screaming, crying, begging for her life.

  “I ran down to their apartment and kicked the door in. He had thrown her against the wall hard enough to put a hole in the sheetrock and to break her arm. She was cowering against the wall, and he was whipping her with a leather belt.

  “I remember sailing through the air and landing square in the middle of his back. I beat the holy hell out of him. Almost killed him. Luckily one of the other tenants called the police. If they hadn’t gotten there when they did, I’d’ve been sent up for manslaughter.” He stopped, thinking back. “I’d had to deal with bullies like him all my life. I’d had enough of it, I guess, and just sorta snapped.”