by Brenda Novak
“Did you say Booker’s back?” Rebecca asked.
Doyle grimaced. “Now I’ve done it.”
“When’d he get back?”
“I don’t know the exact day he rolled into town. Louise over at Finley’s Grocery saw him when he came in last Tuesday.”
“And he’s staying? For longer than a couple of weeks?”
“He told Louise he’s here to take care of Hatty now that her health is failing.” Doyle nudged Josh. “More likely he’s hoping for an inheritance.”
“He hasn’t called me,” Rebecca said, as though she wasn’t really listening.
“I’m sure he will,” her father said. “If I know him, he’ll be looking for a partner in crime. But if you talk to him, you might want to tell him that I’m having Chief Tom keep an eye on him. He won’t get away with anything this time.”
“Would you give him a break, Dad?” Rebecca said, her patience obviously slipping. “He’s been gone for…what? Twelve years? He was just a kid back then. I’m sure he’s changed by now.”
Josh couldn’t help noticing that her father’s verbal jab had included Rebecca, what with the “partner in crime” reference, but she said nothing in her own defense. Had she become so used to belittling remarks that she didn’t even bother to respond?
He didn’t want to think so. That threatened to pull him out of the “neutral zone,” and, when it came to Rebecca, he wasn’t about to abandon his central objective: to achieve peace, a sense of finality and very limited future involvement. The truce between them was already tenuous; he definitely shouldn’t overstep his bounds. She wouldn’t thank him for becoming her defender.
“If I know Booker, he hasn’t changed enough,” Doyle replied. “But I’ll let you two finish up. Good to see you, Josh. You ever get a chance, stop by City Hall and I’ll take you to lunch. And don’t forget the anniversary party.”
“Thank you,” Josh said. “I won’t.”
He and Rebecca watched her father go without saying anything. Josh had nothing to say. He didn’t like Booker, didn’t want Rebecca to connect with him any more than her father did. He didn’t like the fact that she was marrying someone who sounded so ill-suited to her—and so young. More than anything, he didn’t like the condescending way her father had just treated her. But there wasn’t a damn thing he could say or do about any of it because what happened in Rebecca’s life was none of his business.
Tossing a twenty on her vanity, he jammed his hat on his head.
“You don’t want me to finish?” she asked in surprise.
“It’s fine the way it is,” he said and walked out.
* * *
TALL, WIRY AND SLIGHTLY BOWLEGGED, with a head of thick dark hair that fell low on his brow, often shading his eyes, Booker T. Robinson hadn’t changed much. He’d grown, of course, several inches from the look of him, and he’d filled out. But judging by the tattoos on his arms, the calluses and scars on his hands, and the long jagged scar on the right side of his face, the years hadn’t been kind to him. Even the clothes he wore, a plain black T-shirt with a front pocket and tattered blue jeans, added to his tough-guy image.
He was a rebel, all right. But Rebecca liked him. Probably because he was one of the more honest people she’d met. At least he was generally honest with himself. He wasn’t a pillar of the community. He probably never would be. But he didn’t care what other people thought and he didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t. He cussed and smoked and sometimes drank to excess. He said what he wanted to say and he offered no apologies or excuses.
Rebecca had never been happier to see anyone in her life. She sank into the white wicker chair on his grandmother’s porch, put her feet up on the railing and felt at home in her own skin for the first time in months.
“I couldn’t believe it when my father said you were in town. Why haven’t you called me?” she said.
He handed her the cold beer he’d offered her when she first came to the door and carried his own to the porch swing a few feet away. Popping the cap, he took a long drink and sat down before answering. “I wasn’t so sure you’d be excited to see me. Your father was always one of those law and order types.”
“Yeah, well, he still is. If he gets the chance, he might try to run you out of town. But don’t take it personally. And don’t let anything he does reflect on me.”
He chuckled. “I see you two are still close.”
Rebecca remembered the way her father had treated her in the salon that morning compared to the way he’d treated Josh—stop by City Hall and I’ll take you to lunch—and felt her temper rise. But she didn’t want to talk about it. She’d been trying to forget Josh ever since shampooing his hair had felt like a sexual encounter.
She took a sip of her beer. “You ever marry?”
“No.”
“Kids?”
“No. You?”
“None so far. I am getting married, though. I just don’t know when.”
“That sounds promising. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Name’s Buddy. Lives in Nebraska.”
He nodded.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked.
“Nothing right now.”
This time the silence felt awkward, and Rebecca knew she’d treaded too close to something he wasn’t willing to discuss. So she backed off. “Haven’t you been going stark-raving mad out here with only your grandmother for company?”
“Not yet. I only got in last weekend, and Granny’s kept me busy fixing up the place.” He gazed out over the meadowlike yard. “It’s prettier here than I remembered.”
The Hatfield property was pretty. Set away from Dundee, back in the mountains, it consisted of several wooded acres. The house, a simple white A-frame as old and charming as the one on Little House on the Prairie, had a wraparound porch with a hint of fancy woodwork at the windows and doors. A detached garage sat off to one side, at the end of a long drive, and a stone path led through the backyard, past a root cellar and a neatly tended vegetable garden, to the back porch.
“My dad said you’ve come to look after Hatty,” Rebecca said. “Does that mean you’re staying for a while?”
He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit one, then offered one to her.
She almost grabbed it. She wanted to. But Josh didn’t chew or smoke. In the bad habits department, as in all others, she didn’t compare favorably to him, and she hated that.
“Figured it was the least I could do for all the years she’s spent trying to reclaim my soul from the devil,” Booker said. He set the cigarettes on the arm of the swing—within easy reach—when she refused them. “Fortunately, she’s a lot better off than she let me believe. I think it was all a ruse to get me out here. But now that I’m here—” he shrugged “—I think I’ll stick around. For a while, anyway.”
“So did she ever manage to reform you? Are you a better man?” Rebecca shifted farther away so the smell of his smoking wouldn’t tempt her beyond her endurance.
“I don’t think I’ve changed a whole hell of a lot. But then, I’m getting the impression that neither have you.”
“Even you?” she cried. “What does a girl have to do?”
He laughed outright. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been trying to change. I’ve been trying for years, but no one’s even noticed, except maybe Delaney. If anything goes wrong, I still get the blame. When Josh Hill knocked over the food table at my sister’s wedding, did anyone say, ‘That Josh Hill, you just can’t invite him anywhere.’ N-o-o-o. You know what they said? They said they should’ve expected something like that with me around. All I want is to live my life without the extra baggage, you know? I mean, I’m thirty-one years old. How long is it going to take for people to forget my past sins? Will I ever live them down?”
“Why would you want to?” he asked.
He wasn’t getting it. Of course he wouldn’t. He was Booker Robinson, and to him a bad reputation was a mighty
fine thing to have. He’d worked hard to establish his own.
“Forget it,” she grumbled. “You don’t understand.”
“Yes, I do.”
“What?” She leaned forward. “What do you understand?”
“That they’re getting the best of you.”
“Who?”
“The critics.”
“They’re not critics. They’re my friends, my family.”
He tipped his bottle at her. “That doesn’t mean they’re not critics, babe. Why don’t you tell them to go to hell?”
“Oh, great solution,” she said. “Thanks.”
He finished his cigarette, dropped it on the porch floor and ground it out. “You are what you are. You can’t apologize for that.”
They fell silent while they drank their beer and watched the sun set.
“What ever happened to Delaney?” he asked when it was almost dark, his body a mere shadow in the swing. “She still around?”
“She’s pregnant.”
“Married?”
Rebecca folded her arms and leaned back. “Yeah. She married Clive’s grandson, Conner Armstrong.”
“Who’s Clive?”
“He’s the old guy who owned the Running Y Ranch. Conner owns it now. He’s in the process of building a big resort and golf course.”
“No shit. Delaney’s rich, then?” he asked.
“Not yet, but if everything goes the way it should, she will be. So will Josh and Mike Hill. From what Delaney has told me, they’ve invested quite a bundle in the project.”
“Josh again, huh? This name seems to come up quite often with you.”
“Not really. You just caught me on a bad day.”
“From what I remember, he was a pretty decent football player. He ever go pro?”
“No. He played for the University of Utah for a few years. But once he got his degree he returned home. His brother was already out of school and wanted to partner up, buy some land and start a breeding business.”
“And that’s what they did?”
“That’s what they did.”
“What kind of degree did Josh get?”
“I think they both majored in animal husbandry.”
Booker hooked an arm over the swing and scowled. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s the degree most everyone around here gets,” Rebecca said. “Not that I know a whole lot about it. I went to massage school, realized I couldn’t make a living doing massage, at least in these parts, then went to beauty school. I’ve never seen the inside of a university.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Did you know Josh very well?” she asked.
“No.” Rebecca couldn’t see for sure, but she thought Booker was frowning. His voice, when he spoke, confirmed it. “I’ve never much liked him, though,” he said.
Rebecca laughed. “Neither have I. So what are you doing later? Want to head over to the Honky Tonk?”
CHAPTER FIVE
“WHY WOULD I WANT to see Booker Robinson?” Delaney asked.
Rebecca propped the telephone against her shoulder and turned sideways to contemplate her reflection in the mirror behind her bedroom door. She wanted to look good tonight; she needed to look good. After the past few days, it was time for an emotional comeback.
“Because he’s an old friend.”
“He’s not an old friend of mine.”
Rebecca rotated to the back, checking her behind. Did her butt look big in these jeans? Maybe she should go for the tight black slacks, the ones that rode low on her hips and showed the tattoo she’d gotten to mark her thirtieth birthday. Though she had no romantic designs on Booker, he was just the type of man to appreciate a purple butterfly near her navel. “He’s been gone twelve years. He might have changed,” she said.
“You saw him today. Has he?”
She peeled off the jeans and wiggled into the black slacks. “No. Not a bit.”
“So why are you hanging out with him?” Delaney asked with a chuckle.
Because Buddy had just postponed the wedding again, her own parents didn’t want her to come to their anniversary party, and Josh…Well, Josh was partly to blame as well. She just couldn’t figure out why. “Beats the hell out of sitting home, doesn’t it?”
“Not when you’re seven months pregnant.”
“Come on, Laney. You haven’t been anywhere with me in ages. Bring Conner to the Honky Tonk and have a soda. You can still be in bed by midnight.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said, but her words slurred at the end as if she was yawning. “How’d it go with Josh this morning?”
“Fine.”
“That’s a pretty mellow reaction. Are you on some type of sedative?”
“You know I don’t do drugs.”
“Then he must not have shown.”
“He came, I cut his hair, my father stopped by to make me feel like crap, and that was it.”
“And?”
Rebecca sucked in her stomach and reconsidered her reflection. Better. “What more do you want to hear?”
“I want to hear about this supposed truce. Is it real?”
“Who knows? If you ask me, the only thing that’s changed is Josh’s haircut.”
Covering the phone, Delaney spoke to someone in the background, probably her husband. When she came back on, she said, “Well, you won’t even remember Josh Hill in a few weeks. You and Buddy will be getting married and moving on to bigger and better things.”
“Um, not exactly…Just a sec.” Rebecca held the phone away from her ear long enough to pull a tight-fitting sweater over her head. It was black, too, with three-quarter-length sleeves, and hit her midriff in just the right place to make the most of her low-riding pants. Not bad, she thought. “Actually I won’t be getting married in a few weeks,” she said, returning to the conversation.
“What?”
“Buddy wants his great-aunt to attend.”
“Did you say great-aunt?”
“I did. And she can’t come until January.” She turned her attention to her hair. She liked the blond highlights she’d put in it much better than her natural dishwater color or the fluorescent auburn it had been a few months ago. But she’d had Katie give her a pretty short cut, which didn’t leave her a lot of styling options. Grabbing a bottle of mousse from her dresser, she settled for putting some life into it.
“But you were going to celebrate your birthday in Cancun while you were on your honeymoon.”
“Guess I’ll be doing something else for my birthday.”
“Are you okay with waiting?” Delaney asked.
“I’m excited to think that now I might be here when you have your baby, but other than that, I’m not happy about it.” Rebecca wandered into the bathroom, leaned close to the mirror above the vanity and started applying mascara to her lashes. “But I can’t make him marry me on my birthday, you know?”
“You could give him an ultimatum,” Delaney pointed out.
“Believe me, I’ve thought about that.”
“And?”
“He might tell me to take a hike. Then I’d have to spend the rest of my life living right here in Dundee.”
“That’s not necessarily true. You could meet someone else. Or strike out on your own in a big city somewhere. If Buddy’s not as committed as he should be, maybe it’d be better to find out now.”
“No, thanks. I think I’d rather go out with Booker.”
“Why? That’s only avoiding the issue.”
“So I’m avoiding it. I need to get out of the house. I’ve been spending all my weekends sitting on the couch, talking to Buddy on the phone. Or at the computer, communicating through e-mail and instant messaging. I can’t face another four months of this.”
There was a slight hesitation. “You’d never allow yourself to get involved with Booker, though, would you?”
“No way. I’m still engaged. Besides, it wouldn’t be right to sleep with someone just because your father would hate it.�
�� Rebecca dug through her cosmetics case and came up with some jewelry. Holding a pearl earring to one ear and a large silver hoop to the other, she tried to decide which one looked best. “Anyway, Booker and I are just friends. It was you he always liked, remember?”
“He tried to corrupt me. That doesn’t necessarily mean he liked me.”
The hoops. Much sexier. “Come on,” Rebecca said. “He wouldn’t corrupt just anybody.” She abandoned the bathroom in favor of digging through the shoes in her closet. “You think I should wear flats or something with a heel?”
“How tall is Booker?”
“About my height.”
“Perfect. Wear the dominatrix boots with the six-inch heels. That’ll let him know who’s in control.”
Rebecca came up with a pair of flats. “I don’t think he’d be intimidated by the dominatrix look. I think he’d probably like it. But I’d rather not feel like the Jolly Green Giant tonight.”
“Your height’s never bothered you before.”
“It doesn’t bother me now. I’m creating a different look.”
“If you’re not getting married until January, what are you going to do about the house?” Delaney asked. “Isn’t your lease up soon?”
“Yeah. I’ll have to call Mr. Williams and see if he’ll give me an extension.”
“I don’t think he will, Beck. His son and daughter-in-law and their two little monsters have been living with him for the past couple of weeks. I think he’s promised them the house when you move.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. I heard him say something to Lisa down at the bank about how happy he was going to be to have his space back once Peter and Carla move out.”
“That means I’ll have to find another place,” Rebecca said, sinking down on the bed.
“I’m sure Aunt Millie would let you move in with her and Uncle Ralph for a few months,” Delaney said.
Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph had adopted and raised Delaney. They were good folk, the best, but Rebecca had no illusions that she could live peaceably in the same house with them. She already had to visit Aunt Millie once a week to do her hair, which nearly caused her to have a claustrophobia attack inside the first ten minutes—usually when Aunt Millie told her she was too thin for the hundredth time. “Are you trying to cheer me up, or what? You know Aunt Millie would snoop through my things and try to hold me to a curfew.”