by Nora Roberts
“Who? Oh, Miss Trainor.” Throbbing thumb momentarily forgotten, B.J. gave her cook her full attention. “What happened?”
“I tossed her out, of course.” Elsie flicked flour from her abundant bosom and looked pleased.
“Oh.” Leaning back in her chair, B.J. laughed at the picture of Elsie ordering sophisticated Darla out of her kitchen. “Was she furious?”
“Fit to be tied,” Elsie returned pleasantly. B.J.’s grin widened before she could prevent it. “Going out with Howard tonight?”
“Yes.” Her answer was automatic, not even vaguely surprised that communications had delivered this information to Elsie’s ears. “To the movies, I think.”
“Don’t know why you’re wasting your time going off with him when Mr. Reynolds is around.”
“Well, it keeps Betty Jackson happy, and . . .” B.J. stopped and frowned as the complete sentence seeped through. “What does Taylor . . . Mr. Reynolds have to do with it?”
“I don’t see why you’re going out with Howard Beall when you’re in love with Taylor Reynolds.” Elsie’s statement was matter-of-factly delivered as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
“I am not in love with Taylor Reynolds,” B.J. declared, gulping down coffee and scalding both tongue and throat.
“Yes, you are,” Elsie corrected, adding cooling cream to her own cup.
“I am not.”
“Are too.”
“I am not. I am absolutely not! Just what makes you so smart?” she added nastily.
“Fifty years of living, and twenty-four of knowing you.” The reply was smug.
“La de da.” B.J. attempted to appear sublimely unconcerned.
“Be real nice if you got married and settled down right here.” Ignoring B.J.’s fit of choking, Elsie calmly sipped her coffee. “You could keep right on managing the inn.”
“Stick to chicken and dumplings, Elsie,” B.J. advised when she had recovered. “As a fortune teller, you’re a complete failure. Taylor Reynolds would no more marry me and settle here than he would marry a porcupine and live on the moon. I’m a bit too countrified and inexperienced for his taste.”
“Hmph.” Elsie sniffed again and shook her head. “Sure does a lot of looking in your direction.”
“I’m sure in the vast wisdom you’ve amassed in your famous fifty years, you know the difference between a physical attraction and the urge to marry and settle down. Even in our sheltered little town, we learn the difference between love and lust.”
“My, my, aren’t we all grown up and sassy,” Elsie observed with the mild tolerance of an adult watching a child’s tantrum. “Finish your coffee and scoot, I’ve got a prime rib that needs tending. And don’t worry that bandage off your thumb,” she ordered as B.J. swung through the door.
***
Obviously, B.J. decided as she prepared for her date that evening, I don’t project an imposing enough authority figure. She frowned again as she recalled Elsie dismissing her like a bad tempered child. A breeze wafted through her opened window, billowing the curtains and wafting in the smell of freshly mowed grass. B.J. shrugged off her black mood. I’ll simply change my image a bit.
She rooted through her closet and pulled out her birthday present from her grandmother. The blouse was pure white silk and plunged deep to cling provocatively to every curve and plane before it tapered to the narrow waist of sleek black pants. The slacks continued a loving embrace over hips and down the length of shapely legs, molding her shape with the accuracy of a second skin.
“I’m not sure I’m ready for a new image,” she muttered, turning sideways in front of her mirror. “I’m not sure Howard’s ready either.” The thought brought an irrepressible giggle as Howard’s pleasantly homely face loomed in her mind.
He had the eyes of a faithful puppy, made all the more soulful by the attempt of a moustache which hung apologetically over his top lip. The main problem, B.J. decided, concentrating on his image, is that he lacks a chin. His face seemed to melt into his neck.
But he’s a nice man, B.J. reminded herself. A nice, uncomplicated, predictable, undemanding man. Easing her feet into leather slides, she grabbed her bag and scurried from the room.
Her hopes to slip unseen outside to await Howard’s arrival were shattered by a panic-stricken Eddie.
“B.J. Hey, B.J.!” He loped across the lobby and cornered her before she could reach the door.
“Eddie, if the place isn’t burning down, hold it until tomorrow. I’m just leaving.”
“But, B.J.,” he continued, grabbing her hand and ignoring her unconscious search of the room for a tall, dark man. “Dot told Maggie that Miss Trainor is going to redecorate the inn, and that Mr. Reynolds plans to make it into a resort with saunas in every room and an illegal casino in the back.” Horrified, his hand clung to hers for reassurance, his eyes pleading behind the thickness of his glasses.
“In the first place,” B.J. began patiently, “Mr. Reynolds has no intention of running an illegal casino.”
“He has one in Las Vegas,” Eddie whispered in confidence.
“Gambling is a prerequisite in Las Vegas, it’s not illegal.”
“But, B.J., Maggie said the lounge is going to be done in red and gold plush with nude paintings on the walls.”
“Nonsense.” She patted his hand in amusement as color rose to his cheeks. “Mr. Reynolds hasn’t decided anything yet. When he does, I’m sure it won’t run to red and gold plush, and nudes!”
“Thank you,” Taylor said at her back. B.J. jumped. “Eddie, I believe the Bodwin sisters are looking for you,” he added.
“Oh, yes, sir.” Face flaming, Eddie shot off, leaving B.J. in the very position she had sought to avoid.
“Well, well.” Taylor surveyed her, an encompassing, thoroughly male examination, lingering on the point where her blouse joined above her breasts. “I trust your date has a high boiling point.”
She started to snap that Howard had no boiling point at all, but changed her mind. “Do you really like it?” Tossing clouds of hair over her shoulder, B.J. gave Taylor the benefit of a melting, sultry smile.
“Let’s say I might find it appealing under different circumstances,” he said dryly.
Pleased to observe he was annoyed, B.J. recklessly gave his cheek a brief pat and glided to the door. “Good night, Taylor. Don’t wait up now.” Triumphant, she stepped out into the pink-clouded evening.
Howard’s reaction to her appearance caused her ego to soar yet higher. He swallowed, eyes blinking rapidly, and stammered in small, incoherent sentences the entire distance to town. Finding this a pleasant change from self-assured amusement, B.J. basked in his admiration as she watched the hazy sun sink beyond the hills through the car window.
In town, the streets were already quiet with the midweek, mid-evening hush which isolates small towns from the outside world. A few windows glowed like cats’ eyes in the dark, but most of the houses had bedded down for the night like so many contented domestic pets.
At the far end of town where the theater was, there were more signs of activity. Howard pulled into the parking lot with his usual, plodding precision. The neon sign glowed somewhat ludicrously against the quiet sky. The L in PLAZA had been retired for the past six months.
“I wonder,” B.J. mused as she alighted from Howard’s sensible Buick, “if Mr. Jarvis will ever get that sign fixed or if each of the letters will die a quiet death.” Howard’s answer was muffled by the car door slam. She was faintly surprised as he took her arm with a possessive air and led her into the theater.
An hour through the feature, B.J. decided Howard was not at all himself. He did not consume his popcorn with his usual voracity, nor did he shift throughout the film on the undeniably uncomfortable seats the Plaza offered. Rather, he sat in a glazed-eyed state that seemed almost catatonic.
“Howard.” Keeping her voice low, B.J. placed her hand on his. To her surprise he jumped as though she had pinched him. “Howard, are you all right?”
“Howard, behave yourself!” She gave an exasperated sigh and straightened in her seat.
Abruptly, Howard gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet, dragging her up the aisle and out of the theater.
“Howard, have you lost your mind?”
“I couldn’t sit in there any more,” he muttered, bundling her into his car. “It’s too crowded.”
“Crowded?” She blew an errant curl from her eyes. “Howard, there couldn’t have been more than twenty people in there. I think you should see a doctor.” She patted his shoulder then tested his brow for signs of fever. “You’re a bit warm and not at all yourself. I can get a ride back, you’d better just go home.”
“No!” There was no mistaking the vehemence of his tone.
B.J. gave Howard a long, searching stare before settling back uneasily into her seat. Though it was too dark to tell much, he appeared to be concentrating on his driving. He drove rapidly over the winding country road. Soon B.J. was able to distinguish the blinking lights of the hotel.
Suddenly, Howard pulled off the road and seized her. In the beginning, B.J. was more surprised than angry. “Stop it! Stop this, Howard! What in the world has gotten into you?”
“B.J.” His mouth searched for hers, and this time his kiss was neither fumbling nor brotherly. “You’re so beautiful.” His groping hand reached for her blouse.
“Howard Beall, I’m ashamed of you!” B.J. remonstrated, pushing Howard firmly away and sliding toward the car door. “You get home right now and take a cold shower and go to bed!”
“But, B.J.—”
“I mean it.” She wrenched open the car door and jumped out. Standing by the road, she tossed back her hair and adjusted her clothes. “I’m walking right back to the inn before you grow fangs again. Consider yourself lucky if I don’t say something to your aunt about your temporary bout of insanity.” Turning, she began the half-mile hike to the hotel.
***
Ten minutes later, shoes in hand and muttering disjointed imprecations toward the entire male sex, B.J. panted up the steep hill. The shadowy trees sighed softly in the moonlight. A lone owl hooted above her. But B.J. was in no mood for the beauties of the evening. “You be quiet,” she commanded, glaring up at the bundle of feathers.
“I haven’t said anything yet,” a deep voice answered.
On the verge of screaming, B.J. found a hand over her mouth. Struggling to escape, she found a hard arm gripping her around the waist. “What the—?”
“Out for a stroll?” Taylor inquired mildly, releasing her. “It does seem an odd place to take a walk,” he commented.
“Very funny.” She managed two outraged steps before he caught her wrist.
“What’s the matter? Your friend run out of gas?”
“Listen, I don’t need this right now.” Realizing she had dropped her shoes in her fright, B.J. searched the ground. “I’ve just walked a hundred miles after wrestling with a crazy man.”
“Did he hurt you?” The grip on her wrist increased, as Taylor examined her more closely.
“Of course not.” Tossing back her hair, B.J. let out a sigh of exasperation. “Howard wouldn’t hurt a fly. I don’t know what came over him. He’s never acted like that before.”
“Are you really that artless, or am I watching the second feature?” At her baffled expression, Taylor took her shoulders and administered a brief shake. “Grow up, B.J.! Look at yourself, the poor guy didn’t have a chance.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She shrugged out of his hold. “Howard’s known me forever. He’s never behaved like this before. He’s just been reading too many romances or something. Good grief, I used to go skinny dipping with him when I was ten years old.”
“Has anyone bothered to point out that you’re no longer ten years old?”
Something in his voice made her raise her eyes to his.
“Stand still, B.J.” He spoke in quiet command, and she felt her knees tremble. “I feel like a mountain lion stalking a house kitten.”
For a moment, they stood apart, the stars glimmering above their heads, the moon a pale white guardian. Somewhere, a nightbird called to its mate, a plaintive sound. It echoed into silence as she melted in his arms.
She rose on her toes to offer him the gift of her mouth, her sigh of surrender merging with the wind’s murmur. Her breasts crushed against his chest as his hands molded her hips closer. For this moment, she was his. Her heart sought no past or future but only the warmth and knowledge of now—the eternity of the present. She moaned with pleasure as his mouth sought the curve of her neck. Her fingers tangled with his dark hair as his mouth met hers again and she opened her lips to his kiss.
Locked together, they were oblivious to the sounds of night; the sigh of wind, the mellow call of an owl and the chirp of crickets. With a harsh suddenness, the inn door opened, pooling them in artificial light.
“Oh, Taylor, I’ve been waiting for you.”
B.J. pulled away in humiliation as Darla leaned against the doorway, draped in a flowing black negligee. Her ivory skin gleamed against the lace. Her smooth, raven hair fell loose and full down her back.
“What for?” Taylor’s question was abrupt.
Darla pouted and moved lace clad shoulders. “Taylor, darling, don’t be a bear.”
Devastated that he should have used her so blatantly while he had another woman waiting, B.J. stooped to retrieve her shoes.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Taylor captured her wrist and aborted her quick escape.
“To my room,” B.J. informed him with her last vestige of calm. “It appears you have a previous engagement.”
“Just a minute.”
“Please, let me go. I’ve done my quota of wrestling for one evening.”
His fingers tightened on her flesh. “I’m tempted to wring your neck.” Taylor tossed her wrist away as though the small contact was abhorrent.
Turning on bare heels, B.J. rushed up the steps and past a sweetly smiling Darla.
Chapter 9
B.J. moved her files to her room. There, she determined, she could work in peace without Taylor’s disturbing presence. She immersed herself in paperwork and tried to block all else from her mind. The gray, drizzling rain which hissed at her windows set the stage for her mood. Thick, low hanging clouds allowed no breath of sun. Still, her eyes were drawn to the misty curtain, her mind floating with the clear rivulets which ran down the glass. Shaking her head to bring herself to order, B.J. concentrated on her linen supply.
Her door swung open, and she turned from the slant top desk. With sinking heart, she watched Taylor enter.
“Hiding out?”
It was apparent from the set of his mouth that his mood had not mellowed since her departure the previous evening.
“No.” The lifting of her chin was instinctive. “It’s simply more convenient for me to work out of my room while you need the office.”
“I see.” He towered menacingly over her desk, making her feel small and insignificant. “Darla tells me you two had quite a session yesterday in the lounge.”
B.J.’s mouth opened in surprise. She could not believe Darla would have disclosed her own behavior so readily.
“I warned you, B.J., that as long as Darla is a guest at the inn, you’re to treat her with the same courtesy you show all other guests.”
B.J. was astonished. “I’m sorry, Taylor, perhaps I’m dim. Would you mind