They came to a stream that eventually widened into a long, broad pond. Trees, bushes, and vines grew wild at its edges, as if the forest had grudgingly stopped where the water began, only because it didn't want to drown in its depths.
"This is incredible," Anne uttered, almost breathless in her awe as they walked out over the water on a small, rickety old dock. "Except for this thing," she looked down with a great deal of trepidation at the planking under her feet, "it doesn't look as if man has ever stepped foot here."
"Pretty, isn't it?" Buck was clever at understating the obvious.
"It's incredible," she repeated, her voice a whisper. She had this strange notion that she was standing on the edge of God's summer, resort.
"Tomorrow mornin', if it's nice, I’ll take you fishin'. You'll love it," he said, grinning at her. "Well stand barefoot on the riverbank and wiggle our toes in the mud. There's no other feelin’ like it—'cept maybe catchin' something."
"Sounds delightful." Somehow, spending Sunday morning in church had more appeal to Anne than it ever had before. When the land began to tilt upward, Anne knew she was now hiking for sure. They went higher and higher into the isolated woods until she came to a halt on a small plateau that overlooked a green, wooded valley below.
"I don't suppose there's an escalator around anywhere," she questioned as she stood looking up at the huge jagged rocks and cliffs above her, trying to catch her breath at the same time. Higher still, the clouds grew darker and more threatening.
"Tired?"
Again the understatement, Anne thought. "Just a trifle. This isn't exactly my idea of a walk, Buck. This is more like mountain climbing, trail blazing, wilderness forging."
"Annie!" he cried in mock dismay. "I'm disappointed. I grew up on stories about how tough and unrelenting Yankee women were. Don't tell me I got the only weak one in the bunch."
"Cute." She grimaced at him and then motioned for him to lead the way. She was as patriotic as the next woman, after all—and she never had been able to resist a dare.
The climb wasn't as bad as Anne had anticipated. They didn't actually go over the rocks; they went around them or between them, staying well away from the edges of the mountain. They finally stopped their journey on a small grassy knoll covered with knee-high grass and sprinkled with goldenrod and bluebells.
It was a glorious setting. Very romantic. But as Anne walked over to look at the vista below, she had a sneaking suspicion that he had handpicked it for a more specific reason that had nothing to do with romance.
The town of Webster lay sprawled against the hillsides and along the valley floor. There were a thousand or more houses, apartment buildings, and businesses. At its center, between the river and the railroad tracks that ran from east to west, sat Webster Textiles, white smoke swelling up from its chimneys.
Without words, Buck was again trying to make his point, to explain his resistance to the directive to shut the mill down. The mill was the backbone of Webster; Kentucky. Located in a plush green valley between the Appalachians and the Cumberland plateau, the people for miles around had made their living for over a hundred years weaving threads into fabric. Only in the past seventy years had they included the printing and treating of the material, drawing more and more people out of the mountains and into Webster and the smaller towns nearby as employment increased.
He wanted her to know that Webster, indeed the entire valley, faced mass unemployment, which would eventually strangle the economy, drive the population away, and leave it looking like a ghost of its present existence.
"Doesn't look like much from up here, does it?" he asked, coming to stand beside her. She looked up at him but didn't speak, only waited for him to finish what he'd gone to so much trouble to say. "It's old. The mill's old. The buildin's and houses are old. Even most of the people are old, because the younger ones are leavin' as fast as they can for bigger, newer cities. When the mill closes, everyone under sixty will have to leave too, so they can make a livin' someplace else. And when the people who stay die off, this place won't exist anymore."
He was painting a gruesome picture in a lifeless tone of voice. But she knew better than to believe he was giving in to the company's way of thinking. She could see the devotion he had for the land in his eyes. In the straightness of his shoulders she saw the pride he had in his people. And there was no missing the stubborn set of his jaw when he looked down at her and began to speak again.
"But from up here you can't realty see the town, Annie. It's not the buildin's or the mill that make Webster a town, it's the people who live there. They have roots here, deeper than most of the trees. The people who stay here have chosen to stay because they love it. Their families are here. They have hopes and dreams and memories here. Who they are is part of this place, and no one has the right just to wipe it off the face of the earth, like it never existed. Like they don't exist."
There was no denying the strength of his feelings on this subject. Not only did he have more to say about this than he did about anything else they'd talked about, but she could feel how emotional his attachment was and how much he wanted her to understand. Her frustration escalated.
"Dammit, Buck. What do you want from me? Do you think I'm enjoying this? Do you think this is the way I get my kicks? You're dead wrong, if you do. The decision wasn't and isn't mine. Closing the mill is just my job. It doesn't have anything to do with the way I feel."
"How do you feel?"
"I told you. I think it stinks."
'Then why won't you help us?"
"Help you do what? Invest every penny, every drop of blood you have left into that damn mill, only to lose it in the end anyway?"
"How do you know that'll happen? Why can't we make it work?" His gaze was so intense, so confused, so frantic.
"Harriman won't let you," she shouted at him in a sudden fit of hopelessness. Why couldn't he have accepted her word for it? Why couldn't he have accepted the closing as inevitable and let it go at that? She knew as well as she knew her name that Buck wouldn't give up without a fight. Maybe now that he knew what he was up against, he wouldn't keep trying to run himself into the ground with it. "The competition is bad enough already, with foreign trade and other companies, without adding you to the list. He can't afford to keep you open, and he can't afford to let you go it alone. Either way, he'd be cutting his own throat."
Buck seemed to consider her statement. His gaze was on her face, but she couldn't tell if he was really looking at her or if he was seeing something else. Suddenly he frowned.
"How big a threat could we ever be to him?" he asked. "The market's not all that small. We don't want to make millions. We just want to make a livin'."
Anne turned away. She'd said too much already. She had her own means of making a living to consider.
"Annie." With gentle hands, he guided her back around to face him. "Try to understand. If we don't try to keep the mill open, well lose everything. Not only our jobs and our homes and everything that goes with them, but we’ll lose our pride and self-respect as well. If it doesn't work, if we fall on our face, at least we’ll have the satisfaction of knowin' that we tried. It's the tryin' that counts. Can't you see that?"
She saw it and she understood. It could have been her own father saying the exact same thing. That didn't mean that it would be any easier to watch. She began to see another reason for his dragging her into the dingle bushes to tell her all of this. She could see how much it was costing him to talk about his pride and his self-respect. They obviously weren't topics normally open for discussion. But clearly he'd been willing to make the sacrifice, if it would help her to understand.
"I can't stop you, Buck. Send in a bid for the mill if you want to," she said, defeated. At least he knew the name of the game he was playing now. "I hope you get it, and I hope it works out for you. But I want something else to be perfectly clear between us."
"What?"
"Don't ask me for any help. I can't give it to you. I have my own job, m
y own pride and self-respect to take care of here. And until I get word to the contrary, I'm going ahead with all the things I have to do to close the mill down."
"Sounds fair to me," he said, nodding his agreement. Then a slow grin spread across his face, and his eyes twinkled happily. "Now that we have a professional understandin', there's one other thing I brought you up here to discuss."
It was apparent that he didn't want to talk about the mill anymore, but he still looked as if he meant business.
"This isn't going to make me mad or get me into more trouble, is it?" she asked playfully, eager to have all their serious talking over with.
"I hope not."
"Okay. What else did you want to talk about?" It was getting cold, and she hoped that Buck would say what he had to before the storm struck and they got hit by lightning. How would she explain that to Calvin? How was she going to explain any of this to Calvin?
She looked up at Buck and patiently waited for him to begin. His smile had diminished by half, and there was an uncertainty about him, an uncharacteristic shyness that had her spellbound before it got the better of her curiosity.
"What is it?" she asked again, her tone coaxing.
For a very long moment he just stared at her. He was asking her questions, but she couldn't hear them and didn't know how to answer. She wanted to look away and break his penetrating gaze, but something in him compelled her not to. Silence wrapped itself around them.
At long last he shifted his weight uncomfortably, and in one fluid motion he took off his hat and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, saying, "Maybe this isn't such a good time."
"A good time for what?"
"Nothin', forget it. Let's just go."
"No, Buck. You were going to say something. What was it? I want to know."
"Annie, it's not important. Let's go before the storm hits," he said.
"Is there a stream or something up here? I'm thirsty," she said, stalling for time, hoping he'd change his mind and tell her whatever it was that was making him so uncomfortable.
"No. You'll have to wait till we get back to the house." Again he reached out a hand for her.
"Then just let me sit a while longer. I'm beat."
"For cryin' out loud, Annie." He grabbed at her this time, and catching her by the arm, brought her to her feet in front of him. "If you're thirsty and tired, let's go. You can drink all you want and take a nap when we get back."
"I don't want to go. I want to hear what you were going to say," she said, refusing to budge.
Frowning at her in frustration and exasperation, he seemed to be debating what to do. Then he suddenly snatched her up into his arms and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was hard, hungry, and full of pent-up emotion.
The suddenness wore off rapidly. She felt his tongue slide across her lips, tasting, testing, demanding entrance. Readily she opened herself to him and, with great ardor, set about her own explorations, discovering thrills and sensations never before charted in her senses.
A thought about the size of a gnat buzzed her consciousness and was no less pesky in telling her that getting too involved with Buck was a bad idea. But her body didn't give it time to settle on her brain. It smacked it dead as she leaned into Buck's strong arms, wanting him to devour her. Her breasts grew hard and tight against his chest, her senses whirled, and still she squeezed closer to him.
He pulled away slowly, gauging her reaction, seeing her through eyes he didn't seem accustomed to using. His right hand came up to touch her face, palm flat against her cheek, his thumb stroking. His disquiet was gone, leaving only his longing and wonderment for her to see. He lowered his head once more.
Tiny sipping kisses on her forehead and cheekbones, along her jaw and down her neck, set a zillion quivering tingles zinging through her body. Her eyes closed, and her knees grew weak as her head lolled to one side, exposing more of her flesh to his gentle kisses.
"Annie." She heard his whisper in the wind and gradually forced her eyes to open. The desire in his eyes should have frightened her. It was consuming and possessive, as if he wanted to own her soul. But all she felt was the immense tenderness with which he regarded her.
They stood gasping and staring at each other, wondering if they should simply enjoy the moment or take it one step further, into a realm they had yet to discover together.
Buck came around first, looking up at the menacing sky and then back down at Anne with that tickling grin on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. "Are you happy now?" he asked, teasing.
"Very. But I'd still like to know what you were going to say."
Buck laughed and shook his head. "Weren't you listenin' to anythin' I just told you? I’ve been thinkin' about that kiss since the last time I had you this close and all to myself. Sometimes it's just easier to show somebody what you're thinkin' instead of tryin' to explain it."
"A man of action, huh?" she said, smiling her pleasure at his words and pushing away the caution that warned her not to invest anything in this man that she couldn't afford to lose. "Should I warn Harriman about you?"
He released her as he considered the question. With her hand firmly clasped in his, he began to walk back in the direction from which they had just come. "Nah. Let's let him find that out on his own. It was more of a warnin' for you, anyway."
"For me? My, that sounds ominous." She tried to sound duly impressed and keep a straight face.
"Believe it," he said, turning to help her down to a small path between two huge boulders. He didn't remove his hands from her waist once she was on firm ground. Instead, he pulled her close again and laid a promissory kiss on her lips. He smiled and tweaked her nose as he said, "I got plans for you, sugar." Then he turned and led the way back down the path.
Oh, be still my heart, she mumbled to herself, watching his posterior as he moved. No wonder the guys in the office never let her have any of the fun jobs.
Six
"You wanna meet Bry at the Steel Wheel, or would you rather go home?" Buck asked as they finished their coffee in a small homey restaurant in town. It was the end of a lovely spring day, and their mood was mellow and light.
The skies had remained dark and threatening throughout the afternoon, and when finally the storm broke, Buck set logs ablaze in the fireplace. While thunder and lightning boomed and flashed outside, they had curled up in front of the fire to share stories, secrets, and dreams.
Anne couldn't remember ever being so relaxed or open with anyone of such short acquaintance before. She had long-time female friends who didn't know some of the things she found it so easy to tell Buck about. He was a good listener for someone who appeared to be so full of himself.
He sat close to her, watching her face as she spoke. Somehow, he always seemed to be touching her. It didn't appear to be something conscious on his part, nor was it anything that generated uneasiness or annoyance in her. She would simply look down and see his fingers entwined in hers or feel them on her neck and arm or against her thigh. Oddly enough, she took comfort from it. She liked this closeness between them, this warmth. And always there was an underlying energy, a force between them that was strong and powerful but not urgent in its need to show its strength.
It did occur to her that perhaps Buck wasn't the person she should be telling her whole life story to. He was an enemy of sorts, after all. But it seemed the easiest and most natural thing in the world for her to while away their time together from the rest of the world. When they were alone, one on one, there was no mill, no barrier of difference between their hometowns and backgrounds. They were simply Anne and Buck. She felt as if she'd known him forever. She trusted him, and she didn't give a tinker's damn about anything but the moments they were sharing.
The rains had subsided to a drizzle when they decided they were hungry. Anne had offered to cook to repay him for his hospitality. Readily, he'd agreed and promised her the best piece of apple pie in three states for dessert. She'd merely laughed when he'd informed her that they'd have to go int
o Webster to get it.
"How do you know that Bryce is at the Steel Wheel?" she asked, licking the last crumb of the best apple pie she'd ever tasted off her fork.
"He called."
"When?"
"After we got back from our walk this mornin'." Anne laid her fork on her plate and then looked at him. She sensed he wasn't telling her something. From the guarded look on his face, she guessed what it was.
"What happened at McKee's last night?"
"Not much," he said with a too-casual shrug. When she made it clear that she didn't believe him, he told the rest of the story. "A couple of bricks went through the windows of the room you were supposed to be staying in. Jimmy heard 'em pull in but didn't get there in time to stop them. He saw them though and plans to send them the repair bill—after he pads it a little for all the grief they caused."
"Was it Roy Shanks?"
He shook his head. Anne couldn't tell if he didn't know if it was Shanks or if he didn't want to tell her. On a more cheerful note, he asked, "How about it? What do you say to meetin' Bry for a beer at the Steel Wheel?"
"Oh. Well, I don't know. Is it a good idea for you to be seen with me? I don't want you getting caught in the cross fire if someone decides to take a couple of potshots at me."
He grinned and shook his head. "Bryce has spent most of the afternoon puttin' bugs in all the right ears. He got the message around."
"What message?"
"That you've reconsidered your position."
"But I haven't," she said emphatically, worried that he'd misunderstood her that morning.
"But you're not goin' to stand, in our way either. All folks want is a chance, Annie. You've given 'em that, at least."
In the end they agreed to go to the Steel Wheel.
Lovin' a Good Ol' Boy Page 8