by Brenda Novak
“I just want you to know you’ve always got somewhere to stay. You could even come out here to the ranch.”
“Wouldn’t Conner love that.” Rebecca retrieved the perfume from her dresser, squirted some into the air, then stepped into the shower of spray. She didn’t want to smell like a perfume factory; tonight she was aiming for subtle.
“He wouldn’t mind,” Delaney said.
“No, thanks. I’m not pathetic enough to move in with my newly married friend.”
“It’s just temporary—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.” Tomorrow. She’d figure something out tomorrow. Tonight she was going to forget all her troubles and go dancing for the first time in months. “Are you meeting me at the Honky Tonk or what?”
“You’re really going?”
“Of course.”
“Then I can’t let you go alone.”
“I’m not going alone. I’m going with Booker.”
“Exactly. I’ll be there in an hour or so.”
As soon as Rebecca hung up, the telephone rang. She eyed it with distrust. Ignoring a ringing phone went against her basic nature. She had sort of a “no run, no hide” policy; anything less smacked of cowardice. But she didn’t want to talk to Buddy or her father or one of her perfect sisters. Not right now. Tonight she was feeling good and going out.
She managed to keep herself from picking up but hurried into the kitchen to adjust the volume on the answering machine. She breathed a sigh of relief that she’d used some restraint when she heard Buddy’s voice.
“Beck? Where are you? Are you mad at me? What’s wrong? I haven’t heard from you. I thought we worked everything out, so what’s with the silent treatment? If you’re that upset about the wedding, maybe we could move it up a couple of weeks. I’ll talk to my aunt. Give me a call, okay?” Beep, click.
“A couple of weeks? Jeez, that’s nice of you, Buddy,” she grumbled and went for her coat.
When she had her purse as well, she called Booker. “I’m on my way.”
“I’ll meet you there,” he said and hung up.
* * *
“OH, MY GOD! Would you look at her?” Mary said, straining to see through the crowd. “She’s got a tattoo on her belly.”
“You’re kidding. A tattoo? Of what?” Across the table from Josh, Candace made her date, Leonard Green, move so she could see the dance floor.
“Seems to be a butterfly. She’s over there with Booker Robinson,” Mary answered. “You know he’s back in town, right? He drove past me on that motorcycle of his a few days ago.”
“You already told me,” Candace replied.
Mary watched for a few seconds in silence. “You think they’re sleeping together?”
Josh had been trying to ignore the conversation—just like he’d been trying to ignore Rebecca—ever since he’d arrived at the Honky Tonk. But he couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. “No,” he said flatly. “She’s not.”
“How do you know?” Mary asked, her tone eager.
Candace pursed her lips in obvious skepticism. “They look like they’re sleeping together to me.”
“I thought she was engaged,” Leonard said. Until that moment, Josh hadn’t realized Candace’s date was even listening. He’d been too busy craning his neck to see over the half wall that separated their table from those playing darts.
“She’s engaged, all right,” Mary said. “But I wouldn’t put anything past Rebecca. She likes guys on motorcycles, remember? Besides, her fiancé isn’t from around here, so how would he know?”
Josh felt his jaw clench as he put his beer on the table. “She isn’t sleeping with Booker. She didn’t even know he was in town until this morning, okay? Can we cut her a little slack?”
Mary frowned at the impatience in his voice. “What’s wrong with you, Josh? I thought you didn’t like her.”
“I have better things to do than spend the whole evening gossiping about Rebecca’s every move,” he said.
A pouty expression claimed Mary’s face. “Boy, are you touchy tonight.”
“I’m just tired of talking about Rebecca as though she’s the devil incarnate. She’s not all bad, you know.”
Candace arched her brows. “She’s not?”
“No. For one, she has more grit than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Mary and Candace exchanged a look. “Whatever you say, Josh,” Mary told him.
“I’m serious. Do you remember when we were in the seventh grade and Buck Miller was teasing Howie Wilcox?”
“Candace and I weren’t in junior high then.”
“I was,” Leonard said, turning back to the table as the game of darts he’d been watching broke up and the participants sauntered over to the bar. “Buck was always teasing Howie.”
“He was always picking on someone,” Josh said. “And this day we’d had to run the mile for Phys Ed. Poor Howie was so overweight he could barely walk a mile, let alone run one, and Buck was all over him about it, saying the only person he knew with more rolls was the Michelin Tire Man, crap like that.”
Leonard nodded. “I remember.”
Josh focused on Mary and Candace. “Rebecca heard what Buck was saying to Howie and decided she’d had enough. She threw down her books, marched up to Buck and told him to keep his big fat mouth shut or she was going to shut it for him.”
“She did?” Candace said. “Buck was one of the strongest kids in school.”
“He went through puberty in the sixth grade, but she didn’t care,” Josh said. “She told him he’d better quit teasing Howie or she’d make him pay.”
Mary pulled her chair closer to the table. “What’d he do?”
“Started shoving her, telling her to mind her own business before he taught her how.”
“And she…”
“Shoved him right back. Pretty soon they started swinging at each other and all the kids gathered around.”
Mary laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. Did she come out of it okay?”
“No.” Josh took another drink of his beer. “She got her ass kicked. For Fat Howie.”
“Why?” Candace wanted to know. “Were they friends?”
“Not that I know of. Fat Howie didn’t have any friends.”
“Why didn’t she try to get away when she could see that Buck had the best of her?” Leonard asked. “All she had to do was go crying for the principal.”
“Rebecca wouldn’t give up. She just kept swinging.” Josh shook his head. “Damnedest thing I ever saw.”
“How’d it end?” Mary asked.
“The yard duty finally came and broke it up.”
“Did Buck get suspended?”
“They both did.” He sighed as he toyed with the condensation on his glass, watched a drop roll from the rim to the base. “I’ve always been ashamed of myself because of that day,” he admitted.
Mary’s brows gathered above her wide blue eyes. “Why? What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he said. “That’s just it. I stood by and let a girl defend Howie.”
“No one else jumped in,” Leonard said. “We were only twelve, just out of grade school, and pretty surprised by the whole thing.”
Josh had been more than surprised; he’d been shocked. And even though he remembered it in slow motion, it had actually happened very fast. Still, he should’ve done something. He’d felt worse when he realized that because of her reputation for being a difficult child, Rebecca was going to get into as much trouble as Buck.
Shoving away from the table, Josh left Mary and her friends and strode over to the jukebox. If he’d thought he had any chance of getting Mary to leave, he would’ve headed home at that moment. But she loved hanging out at the Honky Tonk, socializing with all her old friends, and generally insisted they stay until well after midnight. Sometimes he wondered if she realized they weren’t in high school anymore.
He stared down at the songs listed on the jukebox, forcing himself to focus on the titles in an eff
ort to block out the mental picture of how Rebecca had looked after she’d fought Buck. Blouse torn and dirty, nose bleeding and hair mussed, she’d shaken her fist at Buck as the yard duty was dragging them both away, and shouted, “You leave him alone, you hear?”
There was no one like Rebecca, he decided. No one.
He glanced over at Mary, and suddenly saw her as rather plain. She liked tailored, conservative clothes, the same kind all her friends wore. Which had suited him just fine—until this moment. Now he wanted her to get a tattoo. Probably because he knew she’d never do it. But, if not that, something to prove she could step out of line and dare to be different, to be an individual, instead of a compilation of all the traits and beliefs that were patently approved by the masses. God, he was dating someone who was completely…homogenized.
He jammed his hands in his pockets. No, that wasn’t kind or fair. He was only reacting to this day, this moment. Because of Doyle Wilson and his little truce, Rebecca Wells had been tossed back into his orbit, and he hadn’t yet adjusted. After not seeing her for months, other than brushing elbows occasionally on the street, he’d sat in her chair at the salon for half an hour this morning, her breasts at eye level, while she ran her fingers through his hair. And now, here she was at the Honky Tonk, looking like a wet dream. The tattoo was daring, and sexy because it was daring, and made him remember a year ago last summer and wish he could finally have the satisfaction of making love to Rebecca.
But it was only a competitive thing, a desire to conquer at last. That was all. He wanted to win the one woman who’d gotten away.
Mary was petite and attractive and nice and…and a good parent to Ricky—although, like tonight, her mother often took care of him. He was a lucky man to have Mary, Josh reminded himself. He knew at least a dozen other guys who’d gladly take his place.
So why couldn’t he seem to stop staring at Rebecca?
* * *
REBECCA HAD BEEN RIGHT to get out. She felt better than she had in months—freer, more light-hearted. The music pounded in her ears, tempting her to move to the rhythm. Her margarita was taking the edge off the tension that had been dragging her down. And it no longer seemed terribly important that she marry and leave town right away. Buddy seemed distant and not likely to come any closer, and Booker was the perfect companion for her mood. He danced, he talked, he laughed; he looked at life simply. Before Delaney and Conner had arrived, she’d told him about Buddy postponing their wedding and he’d given her the same answer he gave for everything. “Tell him to go to hell.”
Well, tonight Rebecca was telling the whole world to go to hell, and she was having a great time doing it.
“Let’s dance again,” she said, pulling him to his feet.
He took a quick sip of his beer before leaving it on the table with Delaney and Conner and letting her lead him onto the dance floor. She could see Josh sitting with Mary and Mary’s friend Candace, along with some guy Delaney didn’t recognize, off to the left. But his presence didn’t bother her. At least, not the way it normally did. His hair looked damn good—she was pretty proud of that. But then, what else was new? Josh always looked good.
“In case you’re interested, Josh Hill is sitting over there,” she told Booker.
“Why would I be interested?”
“It’s been a while since you’ve seen him.”
He swung her around to take a look. “Hasn’t changed much.”
“I guess that makes three of us, huh?”
He chuckled. “Who’s the chick? His wife?”
“Which one?”
“The brunette.”
“That’s Mary. Don’t you recognize her?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “She used to be captain of the cheer squad for your high school, didn’t she?”
“That’s her. She and Josh have been dating for several months.”
“He’ll be sorry if he marries her.”
“Why?”
“I used to sit on the front row of the bleachers while the cheerleaders were practicing, so I could make a big deal about looking under Mary’s skirt when her stunt partner tossed her into the—”
“If this is supposed to impress me, you can save your breath,” Rebecca interrupted. “I already know you’re a pervert.”
“I wasn’t getting any kind of thrill out of it,” he said. “I just liked messing with her. Every few minutes, she’d march over to the fence and rattle off a lecture about school spirit and respect and how I’d never amount to anything.”
“What would you do?”
“Shrug and say, ‘You want me and you know it.”’
“Really?”
“That drove her nuts.”
“I’ll bet. So she’s probably thrilled to see you’re back in town, hmm?”
“I don’t care if she is. She can go to—”
“I know. She can go to hell. It’s a rather simplistic motto, but effective,” she said.
He turned and bent her over his arm in a dramatic dip. “Now you’re catching on, babe. What they think can only bother you if you let it.”
Rebecca certainly liked Booker’s philosophy. She just wasn’t sure he was the best person to emulate. Fortunately Delaney’s presence seemed to check her wilder tendencies. To Delaney, Booker was the big bad wolf. She wasn’t about to let Rebecca become his first little pig. Which was why she wouldn’t leave, even though she was exhausted and Conner was bored stiff.
“So if Josh is dating Mary, why does he keep looking over here?” Booker asked.
“What?” Rebecca replied.
“I want to know why Josh keeps staring at you.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t realize he was.”
“Anything ever happen between you two?”
“A lot’s happened between us.”
“I mean, did you ever get together, hook up?”
“No,” she lied, thinking a year ago last summer was such a small exception it wasn’t worth mentioning.
“Well, he wants you, babe. He wants you bad.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes and started laughing. “No, he doesn’t. He hates me. I used to put gum in his hair.”
“I’m just telling you what I see. You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to.”
Booker had to be wrong. He was confusing all the bad blood between her and Josh with something else. Or Josh wasn’t staring at her at all. More likely he was staring at Booker. Except for Rebecca, no one was particularly happy about his return.
“How do you like Conner?” she asked, catching sight of Delaney’s husband quietly conferring with her over at the table. He was probably begging her to give up her vigil and go home and, in a way, Rebecca wished she would. Having Delaney there grounded her, and she appreciated that. It was the whole reason she’d taken the precaution of inviting her. But Rebecca had discovered that she didn’t want to be grounded at this particular moment. Not when she was telling the whole world to go to hell.
“He’s okay, I guess,” Booker said. “Delaney’s still hot. Too bad she’s married.”
“Sometimes I think so, too,” Rebecca admitted. “I’m happy for her, but I miss having someone to live with. And now that my lease is up, I’m going to have to move into a new house alone, if I can find one. There aren’t a lot of rentals in Dundee.”
“Don’t move into a house alone,” he said. “Come out to Granny’s and live with us.”
Rebecca pulled back to see his face. “What? I can’t do that.”
“Why not? There’s plenty of room and Granny would love it because she’d have another pair of hands she could put to work.”
“Doing what?”
“Weeding the garden, washing her old Buick, making a meal or two.”
“I wouldn’t mind helping,” Rebecca said. “I think it’d be fun to be around people again. It’s been me and my phone for the past five months.”
“I’ll talk to Granny and give you a call.”
“Great.” Rebecca smiled at finding a pos
sible solution. The Hatfield place seemed like the perfect stopgap. Maybe her luck had changed.
Or maybe—she looked up at Booker—maybe she was selling her soul to the devil for a roof over her head.
CHAPTER SIX
TODAY WAS A DAY for change; Rebecca could feel it. Booker had called to tell her Granny Hatfield had no problem with her moving in, so she had a new place to live. Provided she performed a short list of chores each day, Hatty wasn’t even going to charge her rent. Her current landlord had agreed to let her out of her lease so she could move right away—actually, he’d practically wept in relief that his son, daughter-in-law and grandkids would now be able to have their own place. And Rebecca had gone the entire day yesterday without a cigarette. Surely she was making great strides toward solving the problems in her life.
Now she just needed to pack and borrow a truck. Booker had offered to help using Hatty’s Buick, but if they had only the Buick and her Firebird, they’d make a dozen trips, at least, and still have no way of getting her furniture into storage.
Rebecca was contemplating whose truck to borrow when the phone rang. She thought it was probably Buddy, but instead of hesitating, she snatched up the receiver because she no longer felt any need to avoid his calls. She could be positive and cheerful because she was feeling positive and cheerful. No man would be afraid to marry her if he talked to her right now. “Hello?” she said brightly.
“Becky?”
A little of Rebecca’s exuberance faded. It was her sister. “Hi, Greta.”
“Mom wanted me to call and see if you can come to dinner today.”
“Why doesn’t she ever invite me herself?”
“It’s nothing personal, Beck. I just phoned her to share a great soufflé recipe, and she mentioned that it’d be nice to get the whole family together this afternoon to finish making plans for your wedding. I told her I’d follow up on it.”