The hellion

by LaVyrle Spencer

  Rachel touched her lips, smiling. Why, he's as nervous as I am! Her smile grew wider. Imagine that, the Hellion of Franklin County getting all unstrung over walking to a woman's door!

  She watched him come up the walk, assessing his new honed profile, and the hand dropped from her lips to her skittering heart. The bell rang. Her eyes closed for a moment while she savored the wild anticipation. Then she smoothed her skirt unnecessarily and moved to open the door.

  And couldn't think of a single word to say.

  They stared at each other with a breathless hush of appreciation, standing as still as the long shadows across the yard, feeling the awesome tug of nostalgia and the even greater one of reality. She had caught him smoothing his tie again, and his hand remained half hidden inside the suit jacket at waist level, unmoving now. At closer range she saw things she'd only glimpsed on the church steps. The puff of skin was gone from above his tight, crisp collar. The jowls had disappeared, leaving the skin about his jaws looking healthy and resilient. His eyes seemed clearer, the pockets of loose flesh gone from beneath them. And his coloring had changed from drinker's pink to runner's bronze.

  After what seemed like aeons, he finally dropped his hand to his side and breathed "Hi."

  "Hi," she managed, though the word seemed to stick in her throat and came out in a queer falsetto. Her eyes swept him from shoulders to toes and she blurted out, "You look wonderful!" Then she felt herself blush.

  With a lift of his chin he laughed, and the sound relieved some of the tension. "Thank you, but I think you stole my line. You look"-his appreciative gaze scanned her, missing nothing-"absolutely perfect. Prettier than when you were sixteen."

  "Well…" She flapped her hands stupidly and stepped back. "Come in. I'll get my purse." Rachel Hollis, act your age! You're gawking and blushing like an adolescent in the throes of hormone change!

  He watched her walk away-slim hips moving with scarcely a sway, narrow shoulders bare beneath delicate spaghetti straps that emphasized her fragility. Her shoes were very high heeled and backless and made a soft lapping sound against her heels as she went. Her muted blue floral-print dress was elasticized at the waist and just above her breasts, and there appeared to be nothing beneath it except her body. Tommy Lee's bones seemed to turn to jelly as he watched her bare shoulders disappear. She was, plainly and simply, the most desirable woman he'd ever known. How ever would he make it through the evening without touching her?

  In no time at all she was back, holding a tiny white purse, a shawl caught in the crook of a wrist. Several feet before him she stopped, glanced up uncertainly, and gave a fluttery half-smile, then dropped her eyes to study the clasp of her purse as she toyed with it. "After being married all these years I'm afraid I'm out of practice in the art of dating. I feel inept and awkward."

  He studied her for a moment, then a grin lifted one corner of his lips. "Awkward? You, Rachel?" He chuckled and moved toward the entry. "You haven't been awkward since you lost your baby fat at… let's see, when was it? About thirteen?" He cocked his head as he opened the door. "Fourteen?"

  She swept past him with mock imperiousness, scolding, "Thomas Gentry, I never had baby fat!"

  He couldn't resist slipping a hand to her waist as they moved toward the car. "Oh, yes, you did. I've got pictures to prove it."

  "What pictures?" His hand sent shivers along her arms and raised the fine hairs of her spine, as did the sight of his car, freshly washed and waxed for the occasion. As he leaned forward to open the car door for her, she caught the scent of sandalwood and spice in his after-shave.

  "I've got pictures of us as far back as when we used to go bathing together in a plastic pool. Remind me to show 'em to you sometime."

  She knew which pictures he referred to and felt uncharacteristically ruffled and shy at the thought of the snapshots of their two plump, naked baby bodies side by side. But the subject was cut off as he slammed the door and rounded the hood of the car. She watched him pause to light a cigarette before getting in beside her, bringing the sharply pleasant tang of freshly lit tobacco with him.

  The interior of the car was immaculate, and the man at its wheel the essence of companionability as they drove out to his place without once exceeding the speed limit. When they approached the spot where he'd flung out his plastic glass the last time she was riding with him, she leaned forward to peer around him at the woods and ditch. Then she gave him an impish grin.

  "Mmm… not tossing your glasses out into the weeds anymore?"

  He only swung his eyes her way, gave a lazy smile, then carefully tamped out his cigarette, dropped the butt into the ashtray, and closed it. She noted each improvement in manners with an uplift of the heart.

  "Do you know, you're the first man who ever gave me a bag of beer cans?"

  "And you're the first woman who ever chewed me out and gave me a lecture on demon rum." They smiled at each other, remembering that night.

  The car swayed through the curving woodsy drive, and when they pulled to a stop, he ordered, "Wait here," then got out with a bounding movement and appeared at her door to open it. They took the wooden ramp side by side, not touching, then he solicitously opened an ebony door to let Rachel precede him into the house. Music was playing softly, and a delicious aroma wafted through the air. He touched her elbow lightly and gestured toward the stairs leading up to the living room, calling, "Georgine?"

  In the next moment Rachel was standing in the spotless room and his new maid was rounding the corner from the kitchen.

  "Rachel, this is Georgine, who's been given the task of keeping me from perdition. Georgine, this is Rachel Hollis, a girl I went to school with."

  Georgine tipped a small bow. "I know Mrs. Hollis… You run the dress store in town." Then she turned to Tommy Lee, informing him he'd had a call from someone named Bitsy who said she wanted him to call back. Finally, she asked, "Are you ready for your drinks now?"

  "Drinks" proved to be a delicious concoction of pineapple juice and coconut cream, served in narrow stemmed glasses with fresh pineapple chunks and cherries on thin skewers. Rachel sipped hers, tasted no alcohol, and raised her eyebrows. "Mmm… delicious." She wondered if his drink was plain or spiked, but didn't ask, only glanced around the living room to find the plants had been trimmed of drying leaves, washed, and sprayed with leaf polish. The tables gleamed and the carpet hadn't one dot of lint or ash on it. Under Georgine's care the lavish room had truly come to life.

  "How about taking our drinks out on the deck?" he suggested, and pulled the door open, then followed her out. The sun was hovering an hour's ride above the western rim of the lake, sending a highway of shimmering gold straight at them across the water. Overhead a pair of gulls caught the sun on their wings and squawked their tuneless call. It was warm, peaceful, and private. Rachel rested her glass on the railing, then leaned her hips against it, squinting into the bright reflection. "This place is really beautiful."

  She watched him find and light a cigarette. Odd how the simple motions held a new attraction for her as he tilted his jaw, flicked a thumb on the wheel of the lighter, and scowled through the cloud of smoke. He threw his head back, exhaling, turned abruptly, and caught her watching him intently.

  Immediately she looked at the lake.

  "You like it?"

  "Yes, very much. Who could help but like it?"

  He turned his back to the view and perched a buttock on the rail, one knee riding wide and the suit jacket gaping open as he swiveled toward her. "I built it for you," he said matter-of-factly.

  Her eyes flew to his, and they stared at each other for an endless moment. His new untinted glasses left the expression in his brown eyes open for study, and she saw there a grave sincerity that rocked her senses. Gone were the days when she wanted to turn away from his probing gaze. Now she wanted to immerse herself in it. He looked so different. Younger. Less worry-lined. Head-turningly handsome. She stood riveted before him while he made no move whatever to touch her, yet she felt touched
in a wholly wonderful way. She became acutely conscious of his masculine pose, the tailored beige jacket having fallen aside to reveal expertly cut brown trousers stretched between his cocked hips.

  At last she found her voice. "Yes I know. I recognized it the moment I walked into it."

  "Did you?" His voice was gently gruff.

  "It was unmistakable."

  "And what did you think?"

  Again she gazed out over the lake. "That I was married to Owen when you built it."

  "So you were." He lifted his glass, watched her over the rim as he took a drink, then dropped the hand to his knee.

  "Oh, Tommy Lee, whatever were you thinking, to do a thing like that?" Her eyes were troubled, and the corners of her mouth tipped down as she turned toward him.

  He remained silent for a long time, studying the contents of his glass while swirling it distractedly, bumping it against his kneecap. Then he captured her brown eyes with his own and spoke softly. "Remember how we used to dream about it?"

  "Yes, I remember. But that was… years ago."

  He went on as if she hadn't spoken, glancing lazily over his left shoulder at the lake. "It's right where we always said we'd like to live." She felt his eyes move back to study her profile. "And it has all the windows you said you wanted, and all the natural wood I said I wanted." He drew deeply on the cigarette. " And the master bedroom with enormous walk-in closets made of cedar, and the view of the lake, and the fireplace for winter, and the sliding doors and deck for summer." He pointed above their heads with the tip of the cigarette. "That set of steps leads directly down from the bedroom, right to the lake for midnight swims."

  Rachel's heart was thundering and her lips dropped open as she resisted the urge to look up at the deck cantilevered over their heads. My God, he remembered everything. She recalled walking in here the first time, noting his choices, adding them up, and wondering what the bedroom looked like. Why should it come as such a shock to know it, too, was designed from secrets whispered in the dark more than two decades ago?

  The sliding door rolled back and Georgine asked, "Would you like your salads out here?" At the far end of the deck stood an umbrella table and four cushioned chairs.

  "No, thank you, Georgine, we'll come inside." Tommy Lee eased his leg off the rail. "Rachel?" He swept a hand toward the door, and she let her eyes meet his. But they skittered away again from the impact.

  The table was simply but elegantly set with thick slubbed linen placemats and matching blue napkins in ivory rings, a centerpiece of blue and brown, and a pair of ink-blue candles, already lit. When Tommy Lee had solicitously settled Rachel into her chair, he took the one directly opposite, reached for his napkin, and glanced up to find their view of each other blocked by the tall tapers. Without a word, he leaned over to push the centerpiece and candles aside, smiled, and settled back into his chair, saying, "There… that's better."

  She busied herself removing her napkin from its ring, but felt tingly in the ensuing silence, and even more unnerved when she looked up to find him relaxedly lounging in his chair, studying her bemusement with a look of total appreciation.

  The salad was made of crabmeat, endive, and water chestnuts and was served without wine. Scrambling about in her mind for a subject of conversation, Rachel finally asked, "So… did you and Darrel make ten?"

  His head went back as he laughed, and the movement gave him a look of renewed youth that caught at Rachel's heart.

  "Yes, we made ten, and tied Darla. Now the fight is on for eleven."

  Their eyes met. Rachel felt a rich closeness to him in that moment as they spoke of things linking them to more than this night. But when the subject died, she sensed him in little hurry to pick up the strings of another. He seemed content to sit there in silence, studying her while the fork trembled in her hand.

  When she could stand it no longer she finally insisted, "What are you looking at?"

  A grin tugged at his cheek. "You. Trying to get my fill."

  "Well, you're embarrassing me."

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to." But still he didn't look away. "I'm trying to grasp the fact that you're really here at last, sitting at my table across from me. Incredible…"

  She didn't know what to say, so she fiddled with the hem of her napkin.

  "You know, Rachel, through the years I watched you maturing, and sometimes I'd grow angry with you. I'd want to call you and say, why don't you wither up or get gray or haggard! But instead you just grew more and more beautiful as the years passed."

  She braced an elbow on the table, dropped her forehead onto her knuckles, and shook her head. "Keep that up and I'll have to leave."

  "Is that a blush I see?" he teased, cocking his head as if to see behind her hand.

  She propped her chin on the hand and presented him with a tight-lipped grin. "What do you think? I told you, I'm out of practice."

  He laughed, sending a flash of white teeth through the growing shadows. "Ah, I love it."

  "Could we please change the subject, Mr. Gentry?"

  "As you please. Pick one."

  She clasped her hands in her lap and said softly, "Beth."

  "Which one?" he asked.

  She felt herself color again as she answered quietly, "Your Beth. You said she's living with you."

  He cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his chair. "Yes, for two weeks now, but she's gone off with some kids to the movies. She met a bunch down at the beach the first week, and already she's saying she wants to register for school here."

  "You must be ecstatic."

  "I am." His expression sobered slightly. "But it takes some adjusting."

  "I imagine it does. What… how…?..." Rachel became discomfited and waved an apologetic palm. "I guess it's none of my business."

  "Of course it is." He leaned his elbows on the table edge and met her eyes directly. "Nancy and Beth haven't gotten along well at all for a couple of years now. Nancy is what you might call an overprotective mother, unwilling to let her birdling out of the nest for the first time. They have terrible fights, and the result of the last one was that Beth ran away from home. She was gone for three days, and when we found her it was decided it'd be best if she tried living with me for a while. And so it seems, I've been granted a second chance to be a father."

  "You mean she might stay? Indefinitely?"

  "If things work out right. If she's happier here. If I can keep her on the straight and narrow."

  Her dark eyes lifted to his. "And can you?" she asked in a near whisper.

  He studied her with a loving expression in his eyes. "At this moment, Rachel, I feel as if there's nothing in this world I can't do."

  The elation caused by his words lasted through the main course, which was beef Stroganoff. He ate his without any rice, and uncomplainingly drank lime water without so much as a grimace. The wine or champagne she'd expected was nowhere in evidence.

  He talked some more about Beth, asked Rachel's advice on buying school clothes, which led to a discussion about her own store. She entertained him with humorous tales of the idiosyncrasies of her various customers, then asked him about his development corporation.

  They ran out of things to talk about and found themselves staring at each other. Out of the blue Rachel blurted, "I like your new glasses much better than the old ones."

  He grinned, but remained as before, bracing his jaw on one hand. "Oh, do you?" And she knew without being told that he'd changed them because of her.

  She felt color washing upward and knew a sense of expanding sexual awareness between them. She dropped her eyes to the banana cream pie on her plate, but they wandered from it to his coffee cup and the cigarette crooked in dark tapered fingers that toyed with the cup handle while his unwavering gaze rested on her.

  "Aren't you having any dessert?" she asked, letting her eyes skip up to his.

  He answered simply, "No, not tonight."

  And suddenly she realized how serious he was about his reform, and that he had no
t undertaken it solely because of Beth coming back to live with him. She, Rachel, had laid down parameters and he was striving to fit himself into them. And it was working. A rush of blood thrummed through her body, bringing again that sensual pounding deep in her vitals. As untamed as their longing for each other had been when they were teenagers, it seemed insipid compared to this mature reaction she was feeling for him. Yet he lounged in his chair with all the indolence of a sated maharaja, studying her closely while she fidgeted with the cloth of her skirt and grew hotter beneath his scrutiny.

  Then Georgine took away their dessert plates and said if there wasn't anything more she was going to bed, and the gentle bump of her footsteps sounded up the carpeted stairs before all was still.

  "She lives here, too?" Rachel asked, wide-eyed.

  Tommy Lee fingered the rim of his coffee cup while studying her through the smoke that lifted between them. "Yes, in one of the guest rooms."

  "Oh." So, he could no longer bring his women to that sprawling sofa.

  "Weekdays," he added, then snuffed out his cigarette.

  "Oh," she said again inanely, and wondered if he would ever try to get her onto that sofa with him. She thanked her lucky stars it couldn't possibly happen tonight with Georgine asleep upstairs and Beth probably due back any minute.

  "Would you like to take your coffee into the living room?" he asked, as if reading her mind and deciding to tease her.

  Rachel twitched and her eyes grew rounder. "Oh…" She glanced skittishly at a corner of the sofa visible beyond the fireplace. "All right," she added belatedly, but missed the grin on Tommy Lee's face as he watched her peruse the field of ottomans fit for a harem.

  But he pushed the ottomans back, and they took separate places on the sofa with a decorous space between them, and he was everything he'd promised to be: the perfect gentleman.

  And Rachel was the slightest bit disappointed.