by Peggy Webb
Still, where are you, Bea!!!!
Cat
From: Clemmie
To: Bea, Joanna, Molly, Janet, Belinda, Catherine
Re: Scared
I know we’re all independent women who can take care of ourselves, but I’m scared. What if something awful has happened to Bea? I’d never get over it.
Clemmie
From: Belinda
To: Bea, Joanna, Molly, Janet, Clemmie, Catherine
Re: NOTHING AWFUL
Nothing awful has happened to Bea, Clemmie! Stop talking like that. You’re a Dixie Virgin, and we always keep a positive attitude. I prefer to think that Bea has found somebody as wonderful as Reeve and is too busy having a good time to email.
Say it’s so, Bea!
Belinda
From: Joanna
To: Bea, Belinda, Molly, Janet, Clemmie, Catherine
Re: LOVE
Belinda’s right! OF COURSE, Bea’s found Mr. Right! You know what they say: when the horse throws you, you get BACK IN THE SADDLE!!! That’s what I do!
Bea, you’d better be in the saddle, or I’m going to get on a plane come straight home! And I don’t care what Kirk and the nuns say!
Joanna
From: Janet
To: Joanna, Belinda, Bea, Molly, Clemmie, Catherine
Re: The saddle
Joanna, you’d better not be in the saddle. Have you forgotten Rule Four! It worked for Belinda and Molly and me, and by George, it will work for the rest of you! We are special, and don’t you forget that!
Bea, do you hear me?
Janet
From: Bea
To: Janet, Molly, Joanna, Catherine, Clemmie, Belinda
Re: Earth to the Dixie Virgins
Hello! I’m OK! I’m not in the saddle and not likely to get there considering present company. My car died and had to be left behind in this awful little town in Arkansas. Then I got rescued by the worst man in the world!!!! He’s big and brash and plays this hideous country music. I wouldn’t be caught dead in the saddle with him; I don’t care how handsome he is!!! On top of that, I got caught in a rock slide and then kidnapped by two old codgers straight from Deliverance!!!
Before everybody panics, let me tell you I kicked some serious butt! Except for a little bruise or two, I’m doing great and on my way to Alabama! Thank God!!!!
Bea
From: Molly
To: Bea, Janet, Joanna, Catherine, Clemmie, Belinda
Re: Your hero
OMG, you found a hero? Who is he?
Molly
From: Joanna
To: Bea, Molly, Catherine, Clemmie, Belinda, Janet
Re: Hot
Is he HOT? TELL ALL!!!
Joanna
From: Bea
To: Molly, Joanna, Janet, Catherine, Clemmie, Belinda
Re: My rescuer
His name is Russ Hammond, and no, he’s not hot! Well, sort of, but not the kind of hot you want to latch onto and turn into Mr. Right! Just chill! I’m dirty and hungry and bruised, besides. I have to think of me. Besides, my signal is getting low and I don’t know when I’ll get any more decent cell phone service.
Bea
Ignoring the emails the Dixie Virgins sent in quick succession, Bea made a quick call to her mother, who pretended she hadn’t been the least worried. Then she powered off her iPhone and just sat there like a lump. She really was hungry, and Russ really was hot, and she no longer had a clue what she was going to do about anything.
o0o
They had found a place to eat, one of those little frame restaurants with checked gingham curtains in the window and a hog-shaped sign in the yard, Eat Here.
They did. They ordered a meal and ate with a minimum of conversation.
“Do you want more bread?” Bea asked at one point.
“Please.”
Much later Russ said, “Would you pass the pepper?”
She handed it across the table, being careful not to make contact with his hand.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
It was a relief to leave the steamy closeness of the restaurant and climb into the rusty old truck. Even the country music was a relief, Bea decided as they rattled down the road. At least it was something. At least it was noise to cover the awkward pauses and the loaded glances and the screaming silences.
The rhythm of the tires and the plaintive crooning of the blues lulled Bea. She dozed.
Russ glanced over at her from time to time. She really wasn’t beautiful in a traditional way. Her eyes were too big and her skin was too pale and she was a little on the thin side. He guessed it must be her spirit that made him think she was the most glorious woman he’d ever met.
That scared him. He didn’t know when he’d started thinking of her in that way. He didn’t even want to know.
He was leaving her... before she left him.
It was inevitable, of course. She was a well-to-do, successful woman, accustomed to the finer things in life. And what did he have to offer? An old beat-up truck, a battered suitcase and a pair of snakeskin boots. That about summed up his worth. A woman like her wouldn’t stay with him a minute, let alone a lifetime.
He glanced out the window. The road sign said only sixteen more miles to Memphis.
It was nearly dark, but they should still be able to find a rental-car agency open. He wouldn’t take her money, of course. He’d even offer to pay for her rental car.
She’d be glad to be rid of him. It would be best all the way around—for both of them.
The miles whizzed by, faster and faster. Only twelve miles to Memphis. Then ten.
He didn’t feel right, somehow. Perhaps if he explained a little before he told her goodbye.
“It happened in Florida…”
The sound of Russ’s voice brought Bea wide awake. She jerked her head upright and glanced out the window. A road sign proclaimed eight more miles to Memphis.
“What happened in Florida?” She yawned and rubbed her eyes, then turned to face him.
“LaBelle, Florida.” He didn’t glance her way. His profile was set and still, and his eyes looked as if they were focused on something she couldn’t see. “I had a citrus grove down there. In the early spring it smelled so sweet...” He stared out the window, silent now.
She waited. A light rain began to fall. Russ turned on the wipers, and their blades began a soft swishing rhythm against the windows.
He was silent a long time, and then suddenly he started talking again.
“I loved everything about that state. The sky was so blue it sometimes hurt your eyes to look at it, and the sunshine—always the sunshine—so warm you didn’t have to wear clothes.” He laughed, but it was not a sound of mirth. “I had a private lake. We loved to cavort naked. Just the two of us...
“I thought it would last forever,” he added after a brief pause. “Wasn’t that crazy, to think something could last forever?”
He turned then and looked at her. Even in the waning light, Bea could see the question in his eyes, as if he wanted her to argue with him, to say, “Of course, it wasn’t crazy. Things do last forever.”
But she wouldn’t tell him lies. She knew nothing lasted forever. Not Taylor and not a string of men who had pledged more than friendship.
She was more than curious about this man who was her rescuer, her knight in python boots and a ramshackle pickup truck.
“What didn’t last forever, Russ?”
“My marriage.”
“Your marriage?” Bea squeezed the handle of her purse. “You have a wife?”
“Had. Past tense. Lurlene two-timed me with the B-Quick Man.” He laughed and became almost jocular. Telling Bea about Lurlene had released something inside him, unlocked some secret door that he hadn’t even known he’d kept locked. “It was no love match from the beginning. More like a marriage of convenience. But we both said the vows and meant them... till death do us part. I guess she should have said, ‘till the B-Quick Man do us
part.’“
Relieved, and guilty because she was feeling that way, Bea reached across the seat and squeezed his arm.
“I’m sorry, Russ. That must have hurt.”
“No. It just taught me what I knew all along. I’m a rambling man and always will be. There’s no use thinking any other way. I guess I’d have left her sooner or later.”
He turned but couldn’t see Bea’s face in the dark, couldn’t tell how she was taking his deliberate lie.
God in Heaven, he prayed silently, if you can hear me up there, forgive me for what I am about to do.
“Most men do,” Bea agreed. Then she slumped down in her seat and stared out the window. “They all leave sooner or later.”
She sounded so forlorn, Russ felt the urge to pull her across the seat and tuck her under his arm and rub her tense shoulders and sing a silly song just to bring a smile to her face. That was ridiculous, of course. She wasn’t his worry.
Anyhow, they’d be in Memphis as soon as they crossed the bridge.
Chapter Seven
Up ahead, the truck lights illuminated the Arkansas-Memphis Bridge.
Russ and Bea both looked straight ahead, as if the bridge had a major significance for them, as if crossing the river would mean more than moving from one state to the next, from Arkansas to Tennessee, as if it would mean they had left something of themselves behind and couldn’t bear to think what they would do without it.
The rhythm of the windshield wipers and the singsong of the tires on wet pavement lulled them both into thinking they might drive forever, the bridge might not end in Memphis but go on into eternity, with the two of them sitting side by side looking out the window.
On the radio Hank Williams, Jr. was wailing another lonesome song about the heartbreak of being left behind. For the first time in her life, Bea found some appeal in country music. It spoke directly to the way she was feeling.
They rode in silence until they came to the bridge.
Russ couldn’t put off telling her any longer. He turned the radio down and eased up on the accelerator so the bridge would last longer.
“Bea?”
Something about the question in his voice made her head snap back. He was usually telling, not asking.
“Yes?” She turned to see his face, but it was in profile, the nose straight and chiseled and the beard glowing in the city lights that had suddenly sprung out of the darkness.
He opened his mouth to say, I’m going to leave you in Memphis, let you drive home in a rental car, and I’ll be on my way. But before the first word was out of his mouth, he came upon an ancient car, sideways in his lane, the red taillights winking into the night.
“What the...” He rammed on his brakes, then fought to keep his truck from skidding on the wet pavement.
The cars behind him merely pulled into the passing lane and went on their way, the drivers turning their faces straight ahead, not wanting to get involved.
“What in the world’s going on?” Bea asked, straining forward to see.
“It looks like they’ve skidded halfway off the bridge.”
Russ put on his emergency blinkers and pulled as far out of the lane as he could.
“Wait right here, Bea. I’ll see what’s happening.”
His hand was on the door handle before she spoke.
“Russ...” She reached over and caught hold of his sleeve. “Be careful.”
“Thanks, Bea.”
He climbed out of the truck, feeling good, as if somebody had just informed him he’d won an award of some kind. He walked toward the car, peering through the darkness to see who was inside. Two gray heads were pressed close together in the front seat, and a big yellow cat stared at him from the back window.
Russ walked around the red taillights and approached the front of the car. Its right wheel was hanging off the bridge, giving the whole vehicle a precarious tilt. The front fender was crumpled where it had slammed into the guard rail.
Russ leaned down and tapped on the window. The two old people on the front seat stared staunchly ahead. He tapped again, louder this time. Except for a slight shiver, the old couple seemed not have heard him.
Cupping his hand around his mouth, he yelled at the window, “I’m Russ Hammond, and I’m going to help you.”
Still no response. He thought about carefully opening the front door and getting the people out, but he didn’t want anything to scare them.
He tried to talk to them once more.
“Don’t be afraid. If you’ll come out of the car, I’ll pull it back onto the bridge.”
The old man slowly turned his head. He studied Russ for a long while, and then, seeming to find him satisfactory, leaned over and cranked down the window.
“Mama won’t leave the cat,” he said.
“We’ll get the cat out, too. Just let me help you from the car.”
The two old people bent their heads together once more, whispering. The old man then turned back to Russ. “Mama says no.”
With that, he put his arm around his companion and stared out the front window. Russ didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t leave them there and hope someone else would come along to pull them back onto the bridge. And he couldn’t seem to make them understand what needed to be done.
He leaned into the window and spoke earnestly to them.
“Wait right here,” he said, as if he expected them to go somewhere. There didn’t seem much chance of that. In fact, he doubted that anything less than an act of God would move them out of that car.
He sprinted back to the truck and climbed in beside Bea.
“What’s happening out there?”
“You’re not going to believe this. That car is poised to tilt into the river, and the two old folks in it refuse to budge. The old man says Mama won’t leave her cat.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“It’s worth a try.”
Bea and Russ went back to the front of the car, and Bea leaned into the window. “Hi. I’m Beatrice Adams.”
The old man slowly swiveled his head like a turtle peeping out of its shell. His scrawny neck was grooved and furrowed with age, and his eyes were watery and red-rimmed. Bea smiled at him.
“Good evening, Miss Bea.” He nodded formally, as if he were greeting her at the Governor’s Ball. “I’m Macon Grimes and this is my wife, Ophie.” He patted his wife’s wrinkled hand. “Say hello to Miss Adams, Ophie.”
Ophie smiled shyly, then ducked her head and whispered, “Hello.”
“It’s her cat, you see,” Macon explained. “Miss Roosevelt back there is about to have kittens, and we don’t want to upset her by leaving the car.”
“Oh, the poor little kittens,” Miss Ophie said.
“I certainly understand, and I want to help the kittens, too.” Bea reached back until she felt Russ’s arm, then she caught hold. “Will you excuse us, Mr. Grimes? I’m going to talk to Mr. Hammond about your problem and see what we can do.”
“Certainly, my dear.” Macon and Ophie leaned their heads together and began to whisper.
Bea held on to Russ’s arm all the way back to the truck. Somehow, holding on to him was both comforting and reassuring, as if he were a great shield between her and anything that might bring her harm. She supposed that being alone with him in the mountains must have caused a strange kind of bonding.
He helped her into the truck, and squeezed her hand while they talked. He might not have been aware of what he was doing, but that was all right with Bea. Just having him there, touching her, made all the difference.
“I think I can talk them into coming out,” Bea said.
“How?”
“I’ll make a nest for the cat using one of your blankets, and then I’ll get into the car and—”
“No!”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I will not let you get into a car that’s hanging over the Mississippi River.”
She jutted out her stubborn chin. “You won’t let me?”
&nb
sp; “You’re damned right I won’t.”
“You were going to help them. Why can’t I? And why didn’t you just call a tow truck?”
She scooted away from him, and they sat on opposite sides of the truck glaring at each other.
No fury burned brighter than that of a man whose passions had been too-long denied. He wanted her, Russ admitted that to himself. Right now. Sitting on a bridge in the rain and in the dark, he wanted Bea Adams. He was furious with himself...and with her. Dammit, why couldn’t life be simple? Why couldn’t he have driven across the bridge without stopping and left Bea at a rental-car agency? Then he would be rid of her. He wouldn’t have to worry any more about her broken car and her sore toe and her bad dreams and her kidnapping and now, for Pete’s sake, about her fool notion of getting into a car that was about to topple off the bridge.
“Dammit all, Bea....” Russ ran his hand through his hair. “If I weren’t around to take care of you, there’s no telling what would happen.”
“I managed quite nicely for twenty-six years without you.”
“I don’t know how.”
There was no way he could leave Bea now, not until he got her safely to Florence—which could be sometime around Christmas at the rate they were going.
“Grab one of my blankets out of my duffle bag and follow me,” he said as he climbed down from the truck. Then, looking over his shoulder at her, he added, “And don’t argue.”
“Why would I possibly waste my breath? Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall.”
Russ didn’t hear her; he had already gone back to the lopsided vehicle. Sighing, Bea did as she was told.
By all that was right and proper, she should hate Russ Hammond. He’d done nothing for the last few days except order her around—nothing except hauling her car into Pearcy, getting soaking wet retrieving her suitcases, shielding her from bad dreams and rescuing her from kidnappers.
With her hands in his duffle bag, she grew still. Most men would have abandoned her rather than go to all that trouble. But not Russ. He’d stuck by her. Cheerfully, most of the time. She had never known such men existed—except her brother, of course, and Sam didn’t count.