Banjo Man

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “Ellen!”

  “No, I’d never do that. I promise.” She held up three fingers in the Girl Scout oath, and then added with a wink, “But I am anxiously awaiting confirmation of my diagnosis.”

  Laurie avoided her friend’s eyes, turning away with her hands clasped behind her back. “The patient isn’t sure herself yet.”

  “Ah, understandable, considering the patient’s recent case history.”

  Laurie licked her suddenly dry lips. “Is it your considered opinion that the patient could survive exposure to such a disease?”

  “Oh, sweetie”—Ellen stepped closer—“it’s life that’s the disease. Love is the cure.”

  Later, standing beneath the hot spray of the shower, Laurie tipped back her head and let the water wash over her upturned face. But instead of soothing her, the water’s rush added to her restlessness. She felt fidgety, itchy, all in a dither! Out of nowhere a scene from an old western movie popped into her head: a captive tied up on top of a red-ant hill. That was just how she felt! It was as if her skin were alive, every nerve ending aflame, every synapse relaying a single message over and over again: desire.

  His kiss. His touch. The heat of his body.

  She wanted Rick Westin.

  But if she got him, what in the world would she do with him?

  Laurie dissolved into heated laughter, and turned the cold water on full force. There had to be some calm, logical, mature way to deal with this entire situation. Trouble was, she couldn’t think of a thing.

  She turned off the water, stepped from the shower, and covered herself with a fluffy terry towel. Rubbing herself dry, she was suddenly and totally aware of her body and its own secret, teasing promise.

  What would it be like to make love with a man? What would he think of her body, these narrow shoulders and small, pink-tipped breasts, these hips? Were her hips too bony to be provocative? Were her buttocks too flat? Did men like that, or did they want full, curving bottoms to cup in their hands? And her knees … and her feet … and the parts of her body she was carefully not naming, not even to herself! Could she ever let a man look at her naked?

  The thought sent horrified shivers racing down her spine from her reeling brain.

  But her traitorous body was busy with its own fantasy. Her heart was turning somersaults in her throat, her stomach was tied in a knot, and her skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat. Naked. What would it be like to stand in front of a man naked? Or in front of a naked man?

  No sooner thought than imagined! With her mind’s eye she saw Rick Westin, with his dark, flashing eyes and the now-familiar smile tugging at his lips. And what else? Well, he had broad shoulders, and dark hair on his chest. But was there a lot? Just a little? She had been too scared to notice. Which would she like better? And his chest was tanned and solid, the muscles as well defined and beautiful as those on some Greek statue. And all that muscle tapered down to those slim hips that she had to keep her eyes off when he wore his tight, faded jeans. She had seen no more than that, but she was sure he’d have rock-hard calves, and strong, solid thighs and … oh!

  She let her forehead rest against the steamed glass of the mirror and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Heavens! Another complication. If she couldn’t think sexy, she sure couldn’t do sexy. But she wanted to.

  Yes! If the truth be told, which it might as well be, she, Laurie Bridget Margaret O’Neill, wanted to think and do and be sexy! And whether it made any sense or not, she wanted to think and do and be it with that wild, wonderful banjo man.

  And with a toss of her head and just one skeptical glance back into the mirror, she dressed for work and rejoined Ellen in the kitchen.

  “Finally! I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to get my bathroom back. And after downing three cups of coffee all by my lonesome, I need it!”

  Laurie was instantly repentant. “Ellen, I’m sorry—”

  “Laurie! I’m just joking. Don’t apologize!”

  “Sorry—”

  “Yikes! There you go again.” Rolling her eyes heavenward, Ellen sighed. “Laurie, stop it. Do not apologize for every breath you take. Laugh a little at life. You need to step away from being Sister Loretta Ann; let Laurie live her own life.”

  Dark color mottled Laurie’s cheeks. “Yes, I’m not a Sister. I don’t feel like a Sister. And—”

  “And you don’t look like a Sister! That’s some gorgeous outfit you left draped across the dining-room chair. Not what you went out in yesterday morning, is it?” she asked with more than a hint of a grin.

  “No, I … or rather Rick bought it for me in a boutique yesterday while I was having my hair cut.”

  “Which also looks very unnunlike, Sister Loretta Ann.”

  “Oh, don’t do that, please, Ellen.”

  “Uh-oh … I can tell from the way you wrinkle your nose, I’m in trouble. You know, you used to do that all the time when we were kids; that was how I could tell you were really mad at me when I broke your doll carriage or knocked your goldfish bowl off the desk.”

  An affectionate smile crinkled the corners of Laurie’s eyes. “I really was quite fond of Rhett and Scarlett, and it was terrible to see them flopping around on Mama’s rug. But I forgave you!”

  “Good. Then you’ll forgive me for whatever goof I just made.”

  “Of course, silly. It’s just that it makes me very uncomfortable to hear you make fun of the convent. There were some good things about those years.”

  “I wouldn’t know. But,” Ellen added quickly, “we did have a different way of looking at things, even then. So it’s my turn to apologize. Now, can we get on to breakfast? If the flame’s gonna burn, we’d better feed it some fuel.”

  Lazily, she strolled to the toaster and popped in an English muffin.

  From her chair at the kitchen table, Laurie asked softly, “Ellen, if I did happen to care about Rick—I’m not saying I do, just ‘if’—what should I do?”

  “Honey, I’m the last one in the world to tell you that.” She turned with a shrug, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I was crazy about him when I first met him. I hoped something might come of it—and don’t you start apologizing again, because now I’ve got Dan—but it didn’t. I’m not what Rick Westin was dreaming of on those long rides through the hills. But if you are, then it’s because there’s something special inside you. All you’ll have to do is let it out, let it shine. He’ll show you how. That man is something else.”

  “That’s what frightens me.”

  Ellen fixed her with an impatient look. “Well, you can run away and hide, or you can open your arms to one of life’s rare blessings. It’s up to you.” Turning her back, she speared the muffin on the prongs of a fork. “Here.”

  “Thank you. Ellen … have I done something to make you angry?”

  “Nothing. Listen, I’m just a grump. It’s been a tough couple of nights in the E.R.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Oh, some problems with Dan; no phone call, and small things like that.” She shrugged dispiritedly. “But that’s another story, and you’re going to be late if you don’t get moving. I’ll see you tonight.” And without another word of explanation she disappeared into the bedroom.

  Laurie felt as if she were carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders as she walked down the halls of the Rayburn Building. Emotion. Contact. Involvement. That was what she had fled the convent to find. But how in the world was she ever going to handle it all?

  It was a relief to push open the door to the senator’s office, find her own neat, orderly desk, and get to work. For the past three days she had been researching a piece of legislation concerning student loans, going back over case histories through the years, writing summaries from which the senator could draw his own conclusions. It was work that demanded total concentration, a blessed escape from the turmoil of her own thoughts.

  The hours droned by, and when Paula poked her head in the door mid-afternoon to offer an invitation for lunch, Lauri
e waved her on.

  “Thanks, but I’m going to pass today. I’ve almost got this finished. And—”

  “Oh, come on, Laurie. We’ve both worked straight through for hours, and the good senator does not pay overtime. Besides, I’d enjoy some company.”

  “No, not this time,” Laurie demurred. And then, afraid she’d hurt Paula’s feelings, she admitted, “I’m doing my ostrich routine: keeping my head buried in the books so I don’t have to think! Paula, sometimes I wonder if I have enough grit, or stamina, or something, for life.”

  “Age, that’s all it is, Laurie. You’re young and, well, particularly sensitive. You’re a caring, honest young woman, and that’s good, but painful at times; it makes you vulnerable. The years will give you a harder shell, whether you like it or not.”

  “Happen to know any place to order temporary shells, quick?” Laurie begged wide-eyed.

  “I’m afraid not, dear.” Paula smiled. “Except for a sense of humor. Sometimes you’ve got to look life in the eye and laugh.” With a twinkle in her eye she sauntered over and perched on the corner of Laurie’s desk. “Have you heard the one about the traveling salesman?”

  “I haven’t,” a husky baritone interrupted from the doorway. “But I’m ready!”

  Rick stepped into the room, bringing an invisible electricity with him. The whole room seemed to hum.

  “Glad to see me?”

  Laurie wiped the palm of one hand across her brow, hoping o hide the excitement that surged through her at the sight of him.

  In that second of silence, Rick cocked his hands against his lean hips and lifted one dark brow. “That question is not supposed to take any thought, Laurie O’Neill. The answer is ‘Of course, Rick! When we’re not together, the hours seem like days, the days weeks!’ ”

  “Rick!” She shot a nervous glance at Paula, hushing him.

  “Sorry, but Paula can tell I’m hopeless.”

  “A hopeless romantic,” the older woman chided with obvious fondness for the rash young banjo player. Apparently they had become firm friends during their conversation the week before. “Laurie, answer the man’s question.”

  “Oh, you two! What is this, a conspiracy?”

  “Yup.”

  Deciding to join the game, Lauric pursed her lips and looked up at Rick from under her lashes. “Now, what was the question?”

  In one swift movement he was behind her chair, his cheek close to hers, his breath a whisper in her ear. “I am crazy about you, sweet thing.”

  Goose bumps traveled across her flesh. “You are crazy. Period.”

  “Crazed with desire. Twanging like a banjo string that’s strung too tight. Pushed to the brink. Dangerous …”

  “Well, folks, time for me to call it a day,” Paula quipped, turning on her heel and heading for the door. “I’ll see you Monday, Laurie. Have fun. And laugh—”

  “Paula! Oh, Rick, look what you’ve done. She and I were just about to go out for a late lunch, and … well, that is, we were considering a late lunch, and—”

  “It’s all right, Laurie,” he said softly, brushing the backs of his fingers slowly down her cheek, “we’ll take her to lunch another day. Promise. But today we wouldn’t have time.”

  “Why not? What are we doing?” She could barely hear her own voice above the pounding of her heart.

  Carefully keeping his fingers in contact with her skin, he swung around in front of her, his lean, hard body filling the narrow space between her knees and her desk. His face was inches from hers, his dark eyes shining. “We’re going to Philadelphia for the weekend. You know, home of the Liberty Bell. I’m doing a fund-raising concert for the University of Pennsylvania tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Have a nice trip, Mr. Westin,” she croaked.

  “Uh-uh. We’re going to have a nice trip.”

  “Oh, no, we’re not! I could never do that; I mean, what would I tell Ellen? And where would I stay?”

  “With me.”

  “You are crazy! I couldn’t do that. I … I’m—”

  “—a beautiful woman. That’s what I see when I look at you, Laurie O’Neill. I see the fire in these wide eyes, the stubborn tilt of this chin, the fine strength of the delicate bones beneath your silken skin. Don’t blush, it’s the truth. It’s that gentle courage that’s got me falling in love with you.”

  “Courage! I’m the world’s biggest chicken,” she insisted, doing a terrible imitation of a cackle and flapping her elbows.

  A sure smile leaped from his lips to his dark, blazing eyes. “You’re wasting your time, woman. Come on; we’ve got to get going.”

  His hand circled her back, its warm, firm pressure lifting her from her seat.

  Laurie let herself be led almost to the door, then stopped short, her heels digging into the carpet. “Whoa … wait a minute! What … what did you say about falling in love?”

  His rich laughter curled around her heart. “You heard me. I am falling in love with you, Laurie O’Neill. And much to my surprise, I like it. I may even write a song about you.”

  “Oh, no!” She groaned, leaning back against the circle of his arm. “That’s my reward for getting mixed up with a banjo man! Rick Westin, promise me you won’t sing any song about me in front of other people.”

  “Sing it?” he repeated, his voice soft and full of tenderness. “I’d shout it from the highest hill, send it echoing to the stars.”

  He lowered his face to hers and kissed her with a fierce and yearning desire. His mouth moved across hers with bruising force, hot and sweet. And she answered, tentatively at first, and then with eager and unabashed response. She had never felt anything like this before, as if her lips were ablaze, all her swirling emotions centered there beneath the heat of his kiss. His mouth pressed hard against hers, lifted, and then pressed down again. He was tasting her, savoring the satin smoothness of her lips.

  “Rick. Oh, Rick.” She was melting in his arms. When her knees gave way, she let her weight fall forward against him, her reed-slim body cradled within the hard bow of his hips. His body drew her like gravity, and she clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, stroking the dark mane of his hair.

  His tongue slipped between her parted lips, seeking the sweet moisture of her mouth. And she felt something stir deep within her, an unknown emotion that rose in an aching curve like some primeval tide. A wave of passion swept through her, shattering the boundaries of all she had known and accepted. And her body awoke from its long sleep.

  Seven

  “Sleep! That’s what I’m talking about, Mr. Westin! Where am I going to sleep?”

  “Why don’t we wait until we check in? We can go up and see the room. I asked for two queen-sized beds, so you’ll be farther away from me there than we’ve been in the Jeep for the past four hours! Hey, we’ll practically need a phone to talk to each other—”

  “No, Rick! I mean it. No!” Her voice dropped as several hotel guests glanced up from behind their newspapers to stare at the blushing young woman standing in the middle of the lobby. “Rick, my head’s spinning. I mean, look at me—I don’t know how we even got to Philadelphia! The last thing I remember is being bundled into a Jeep and whisked away without so much as an overnight case! I think you slipped me something in that kiss!”

  “Damn right I did! Want to see it again?” He wrapped his arms around her and bent his dark head toward hers.

  Laurie buried her face against his shoulder and laughed. “Not here—and not now! I want you to please step up to that desk clerk and get me a room. A single room with a single bed. Rick … I … I just couldn’t consider any other arrangement. Good grief, I don’t even have pajamas.”

  Her wide gray eyes were filled with a silent plea for understanding; confusion and pain swam in their lambent depths, and Rick felt his heart hammer against the wall of his chest. He could never hurt her.

  “Okay, sweet thing. Let me see what I can do.”

  With his arm around her shoulder, they approached the reservat
ions clerk. “Hi, I’m Rick Westin. I have a room held for tonight.”

  “Yes, Mr. Westin,” the girl answered, checking the information on her computer terminal. “That’s room 721. The bellboy will take your luggage up.”

  “One problem. I need a second room, please. Nearby if possible.”

  The girl swung her gaze from his appealing face to Laurie’s and back again. “I’m sorry, sir, but there isn’t a room left in the hotel. Not one for miles; the town is filled with conventions and music-loving alumni over at the university—which is partially your fault!”

  “Thanks.” He flashed a rueful grin. “Right now I could use one less fan!”

  “I’m sorry.” She handed him a key, then frowned back at the screen. “Oh, no, I have to apologize again. There wasn’t a room left with two beds, but this does have a couch. I mean, if that helps …” Lifting her brows, she looked hopefully at Laurie.

  Laurie swallowed around the growing lump in her throat. “That will be fine. We’ll manage, thank you.”

  Pocketing the key, Rick followed the bellboy’s retreating back toward the elevator.

  Laurie trailed behind, her thoughts racing. What was she going to do? Alone in that hotel room with Rick, they’d end up in bed. In bed. In each other’s arms. Making love.

  And she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Not that she didn’t want to! Oh, that fierce ache was back, curling in her loins, riveting her thoughts to her desires, so that her whole body curved toward his like some trembling green leaf curving toward the sun. Oh, she wanted him. Wanted him to love her. Wanted their loving to make them one.

  But she mustn’t, mustn’t give in!

  For her, it was too soon. They hadn’t talked about any kind of a commitment, about a long-term relationship. That, above all, was the problem; Laurie O’Neill did not want to fall headlong into another commitment right now. She couldn’t, not until she had sorted out her feelings and gotten her new life in order.