by Mae Nunn
With voices overcome by the demanding sound, conversation dwindled and heads turned. Worse still, potential customers discarded their cups and plates and headed for the entrance to investigate the source of the sound. Tara didn’t have to follow their lead to know who she’d find behind the disturbance.
Sam Kennesaw.
In the lead, Sam guided the pack of bikers past the college administration building and library, right up Main Street toward the Elliott Building. The colorful swarm, numbering close to two hundred, filled the air with a chrome-plated symphony. Decked out in their leather and denim finery, they cruised the streets of Beardsly two by two. Couples rode, men in front with wives and girlfriends behind, but women on their own bikes were in strong representation.
Sam couldn’t hold back the smile he felt from his chin to his eyebrows. Beardsly had never witnessed such a parade, and his gut wrenched with desire for the town’s approval.
The bikers’ approach was the signal for the dark shades over the first-floor windows to be rolled up, exposing the interior of the shop to daylight for the first time. The double glass doors were swept wide and the tarp above the entrance was tugged to the pavement revealing the expensive neon sign. Sam’s Cycles was open for business.
Red cones were set up at either end of the street to block all but bike traffic that streamed into the restricted area and parked at angles forming an impromptu bike show. Engines were cut, leaving the patrons of Bridges and passersby with a slight ringing in their ears. The echo was soon replaced by classic Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis broadcast from Sam’s state-of-the-art sound system.
As the tower clock struck noon, a catering truck backed a huge portable barbecue pit into the reserved space. The massive lid was raised to expose tender racks of baby back ribs, roasted chickens and mouthwatering grilled burgers. Tubs of baked beans and potato salad along with gallons of sweet iced tea covered the serving tables that flanked the pit.
Sam shook hands and accepted good-luck claps on the back as folks lined up to enjoy the hearty feast. He couldn’t resist an occasional glance up the exterior stairway. With all the excitement out front, very few signs of life remained on the second floor. Just as he’d planned.
With an oddly troubled heart, he realized his carefully executed mission was accomplished.
He made his way past the throng of well-wishers into the interior of the shop. The black-and-white checkerboard tile floor, flashy orange walls and neon-rimmed showroom windows were a classic setting for the pristine bikes, display cabinets filled with after-market parts and racks of T-shirts. At this moment he’d expected to be filled with smug pride. Instead he felt a lump of guilt the size of Dallas settling into the pit of his stomach.
“I suppose you’re pleased with yourself.” Tara stood with arms crossed just inside the door to his small office.
“Well, good afternoon, Rusty.” He let his gaze sweep over her, approving for once of the black lace that contrasted with her beautiful fair skin. “May I offer you something to eat?”
“You know very well that I have plenty of food upstairs.”
He caught the quiver in her chin as she jutted it a fraction higher to cover her distress.
“Why would I know anything about your plans? You never made any effort to discuss them with me,” he challenged.
“I left a dozen messages for you this week. I didn’t have a phone number to reach you and nobody seemed to know where you were.” Her cheeks began to color with emotion.
“I’ve been back for two days,” he insisted.
“Yes, I know, sneaking past your ‘guards’ in the alley in the morning and leaving at who knows what hour under the cover of night.” Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “You did this on purpose just to spoil my plans.”
“Kinda like you spoiled mine?”
She dropped her arms to her sides, her shoulders and chin sagging in defeat. “I should have seen this coming. I knew all along you were only doing this to get even with me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he continued the lie. “I’m in it for the chance to rebuild my life in this community and I intend to be successful. If you’re not, that’s your own fault. And if I enjoy a little payback along the way, I’ll consider it icing on the cake.”
“Well—” she turned to go “—I’ll leave you to savor your dessert.”
The thick auburn braid trailed down the row of covered buttons, her creamy skin peeking demurely through the heavy lace.
Sam closed the door behind her and flopped into his desk chair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. On his day of triumph, he should be handing out his Houston business cards, flaunting his success. Instead, he was perpetuating the simplistic persona he’d inhabited for over a month. He steepled his fingers and rested his chin against them to reevaluate his plan.
“I’ve been such a fool,” Tara insisted. She soaked up the dribble of tears, careful not to smear her mascara. She and Lacey were pressed together in Bridges’s small restroom.
“Why? Because you trusted him to do the right thing? And because you did everything possible to make amends with the folks here?” Lacey patted her friend’s back. “Honey, that’s not foolish, that’s honorable.”
“Yeah, well, honorable is a luxury I can’t afford right now. Everything I have is at stake and my customers are out in the street eating barbecue courtesy of Sam’s Cycles.”
She gave a final noisy blow and dropped her tissue into the trash. With Lacey close behind, Tara returned to the cashier’s counter.
“Look at this,” she ordered. Both heads bent over the register receipts. “We’ve barely made enough to cover the coffee grounds and the day’s revenue has already peaked,” she fumed.
“I don’t know what makes you say a thing like that,” a voice called from the doorway. “We’re not the Rockefellers but last time I checked my bank statement I could still afford a book and a cup of decaf.” Ward Carlton entered the room, a sight for sore eyes.
Tara hurried to hug her new friend, determined not to burst into fresh tears.
“Where’s Walter?” she asked, looking past Ward for his twin.
“Oh, he’ll be on up in a minute. He’s downstairs with our womenfolk. They couldn’t resist takin’ a gander at those fancy bikes. Walter thinks he might like to have him one.”
Ward strolled toward the saloon bar turned coffee counter. “Didn’t I tell you this old piece was perfect for this spot?” He slid a gnarled hand across the polished surface. “She cleaned up real well.” He turned and winked at Tara
“With a lot of help from me,” she countered.
“Well, God helps those that help themselves, so I’d say you’re due for a little interest on your investment.” He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Don’t you worry, little girl. You’re gonna be just fine.”
She dropped her gaze to the floor and cleared her throat.
“So,” he spoke to the young lady behind the counter. “What does an old man have to do to get a fancy cup of coffee around here?”
“Make mine a double shot. And we’ll take some of that quiche before it’s all gone.” Walter and two ladies crossed the floor to join them.
“Excellent suggestion,” Lacey answered from the buffet table, as she readied a plate for each of the newcomers.
Ward made introductions as the quartet returned from their break and launched into a lively Irish jig. The twins’ silver-haired wives, clutching their plates and designer bags, began to circle the room admiring the unique furnishings and wide variety of books and collectibles.
Tara was refilling a pastry tray when the door opened to admit a dozen women outfitted in boots, tight jeans and T-shirts and a wild assortment of leather accessories. The primly dressed Carlton wives turned to stare at the group as they drifted into the room.
“Welcome to Bridges. May I serve you ladies some fresh fruit?” Tara was quick to offer.
“Oh, would you? I’d love something besides barbecue and
potato salad for a change,” one admitted. “Don’t Texans know there’s life apart from beef and spuds?”
“Please, help yourselves,” Lacey encouraged.
The women swarmed the buffet table in response, cooing their approval of the meal.
And as they ate, they shopped.
As night fell, a country and western band in the gazebo on the square struck up a rousing Texas two-step. Tiny white lights tucked among the branches twinkled by the thousands as couples gathered around to listen to them play. Spirits in the small town were higher than they’d been in years, thanks to one man.
Sam Kennesaw.
He admired the neon sign above his door. Sam’s Cycles was scripted in his very own handwriting. It wasn’t how he’d intended to make his mark on Beardsly, but it was as rewarding as his name above a classroom doorway any day.
At that moment he made a decision. He was going to stay. For a little while longer, anyway.
He glanced at his watch, knowing his chance to atone was ticking away. Bridges would close any minute and Tara would slip out the handicapped entrance to her car on the side street. He took the wide staircase two steps at a time, his heavy boots announcing his arrival.
“Come on in and browse. We’ll be closing soon but there’s still cappuccino if you’re interested,” Tara called from her crouched position behind the bar.
“I’m interested, but not in coffee,” he drawled. “I’ve got something to say.”
Her head popped into view, azure eyes wide with surprise over the identity of her late visitor. Then the eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“If you’ve come to gloat, don’t bother.” She rounded the counter, drying her hands on a white cotton apron. “We managed to rally despite your best efforts to spoil my grand opening.”
“Is that so?” he asked.
“And, believe it or not, some of my best clients turned out to be your biker friends.”
“Hmm,” he fingered a large sold tag on the Victorian desk. “No wonder my sales were low today. The women had the checkbooks in their purses and they were up here all afternoon.”
Tara stood at his elbow, took the tag from his hand and flipped it to reveal the price.
“Three bills? You got three grand on a twenty-five-dollar investment?” He whistled his approval. “I’m impressed, Rusty.”
“Are you?” She seemed reluctant to believe his compliment, keeping her eyes fixed on the paper tag.
“Absolutely. In fact,” he glanced around with a nod of approval, “I’m impressed with your whole place. You’ve done quite a job of assessing what would sell and pulling your plan together in a hurry.”
“Well, thanks.” Her eyes were still downcast. “Is that what you came to say?”
“No, I came to say I’m proud of you.” He drew his index finger in a soft line beneath her chin so she’d meet his gaze. It wasn’t the apology she’d expected, but it would have to do. “You’ve taken this mission your grandmother gave us very seriously and I’m gonna do everything I can to keep up my end of the bargain.”
She stared at him, the look in her eyes saying she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing.
She extended her right hand. “Would you care to shake so we can call it a day?”
He took her hand, warm and soft and small in his own.
The urge to spend more time with her was strong and the party atmosphere outside offered just the excuse he needed.
“I have a better idea. Do you remember the day I taught you to pitch horseshoes?”
She arched an eyebrow, suspicious of the sudden change of subject. “Of course, but I haven’t held a horseshoe in years and I’m out of practice.”
“You were a natural.” He squeezed her hand as emotions he didn’t yet want to acknowledge squeezed his heart. “Come on, Rusty. Let’s go show these folks how to toss a ringer.”
Chapter Ten
“If I didn’t know better I’d swear the two of you were an item,” Lacey chided.
“Then it’s lucky for me you do know better,” Tara reminded her matchmaking friend. “Sam was only being polite. He came up to congratulate me on my opening day and as long as we were on our way out the door, we played a few rounds of horseshoes.”
Lacey scrunched her brow and rolled her eyes heavenward in a display of disbelief. “Tara, you know people are talking.”
Tara agreed there was reason this morning for tongues to wag. Sam had looked rugged in his denim shirt, jeans and boots. Women spent shameful amounts of money trying to achieve the luxurious hair he swept off his forehead with an air of nonchalance. Sam was gorgeous and he knew it.
He was sending Tara mixed signals on purpose, trying to lower her guard so he could twist the knife some more. And with each tenderness the devastation afterward was worse. She should end it today and never let him get close to her again. But the plain truth was she didn’t want to.
She decided to turn the tables and take advantage of every private moment she could steal with Sam. Anything was better than nothing at all.
Her grandmother had been right. It had taken very little for the feelings to flood Tara’s parched soul.
She still loved him. There, the admission was made and it stung like a fresh paper cut.
“They’ll find something else to talk about by lunchtime.” With a wave of her hand Tara hoped to dismiss the assertion that she and Sam were interesting fodder for the town gossip mill.
“You may be right,” Lacey agreed. “After seeing staff cuts at the college on the front page of the Herald this morning, folks will have something else to worry about.”
With endowments and donations no longer sufficient to support the rising payroll and equipment costs, the downsizing of the faculty loomed as a budget-reduction measure. Making matters worse, a tuition increase had been a threat for years and there was little doubt it was coming next. With the town’s economy already in a slump, job losses at the school and higher fees for the students would drive more people than ever out of Beardsly.
“You reminded me of something important.” Tara thumped her palm against her forehead. “Miss Frieda called from the campus bookstore this morning to say there’s a meeting tonight in the Mount Zion fellowship hall to discuss the impact of the layoffs on the town.”
“Lacey’s Closet closes before Bridges so I’ll get there first and save us a seat up front.”
“That would be great.”
“Well,” Lacey fished her keys from her oversize shoulder bag, “I’ve gotta get going. My place ran on autopilot yesterday so I have a lot of catching up to do.”
The two hugged, exchanging comforting pats on the back.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help for the past few weeks, especially yesterday. I’d never have managed everything without you,” Tara whispered.
Lacey gave her head a negative shake. “It would have taken you a little longer, but you’d have figured it all out on your own. But that’s what friends are for, Rusty.”
“Still…”
“Hush,” Lacey insisted. “All you have to do is open your heart to this town again and the folks will all be there for you.”
“As usual, you’re right,” Tara agreed. “And tonight it’s my turn to be there for them. See you at seven o’clock.”
“And wear those capri pants,” Lacey shouted on her way out the door.
Left alone with a list of chores and her thoughts, Tara considered the timing of this economic crisis and the vulnerability of her business. Diversification beyond the original plan was a must. A new business with high-end products would never survive unless clients could be lured from larger cities. She settled on the ladder-back chair behind the register to scribble ideas on a notepad.
Sam may have intended his display of biker friends as a distraction, but Tara had turned it to her advantage by making sales and capturing some valuable information. She flipped open the guest register and reviewed the names and addresses supplied by the shoppers.
> Houston, Dallas, Austin, Tyler and more. The guest book confirmed that the opening-day visitors were from all over the eastern part of the state. Tara would have a special-event mailer designed, printed and at the post office by close of business.
Her mailing list would grow with each customer referral. She penciled notes on hosting a variety of book clubs and study groups. She’d invite her circle of New York associates to visit the quaint Texas town as guest speakers. Entertaining lectures on everything from publishing to public auctions would become synonymous with Bridges.
She’d tout the unique atmosphere and hospitality of her shop for hosting private events. The occasional crank of a bike from downstairs could present a problem, but after Sam’s gruff compliment the night before, he might be more inclined to cooperate.
“Sam.” Tara whispered the name as she relaxed her shoulders against the back of the chair.
Sam was even more vulnerable than she was. At least she had an avenue to pay off her business debt if worst came to worst, but Sam appeared to be doing everything on credit.
And questionable credit at that.
“I won’t be able to stay in school if tuition goes up,” the young man complained during his daily stop by Sam’s Cycles. “My folks can hardly afford to send me as it is.”
“Have you considered giving up that new gas-guzzling truck of yours to cut back on expenses, Alan?” Sam spoke up from his position on the floor where he was adding a chrome cover to a used sports model.
“No.” The kid shoved fisted hands into his baggy jeans pockets. “I couldn’t live without my truck.”
“That’s hogwash, and you know it. There are used cars in the paper every day that would cut your payments and save you lots of money on gas and insurance.” Sam fixed the kid with a practiced stare. “The more stuff you have, the more stuff you need. Try life with a little less of it and you’ll find it’s a lot easier.”
Alan chewed the toothpick that protruded from his lips and seemed to chew as well on the downsizing concept. “You know my folks will want to drug-test me when I volunteer to get rid of the truck.”