by Mae Nunn
“Okay, so maybe I did,” Lacey admitted her guilt. “It won’t kill you to spend ten minutes outside of your comfort zone. Then if you end up back in that stuffy job in New York you’ll at least have one exciting thing to tell your grandchildren.”
She nudged her friend and twisted her face in a pleading expressing. “Pleeease?” Lacey cajoled.
Tara threw up her hands in surrender. “Oh, all right. But if I fall off those boots and break my leg, you have to promise to peel that leather off and get me back into my business suit before the ambulance gets here.”
From the back of the darkened auditorium, Sam enjoyed the parade of local beauties as they sashayed across the stage in the latest designer finery. Husbands cheered as wives who hadn’t shown more than their ankles in years, strutted the makeshift catwalk in trendy dresses, silk stockings and fancy heels.
Lacey had chosen a tasteful array of fashions with a few surprising numbers thrown in to keep the applause flowing. The cheers and whistles emboldened the models who were otherwise quiet school-teachers and shy grocery clerks. Feeling as beautiful as they looked, the women posed and twirled and blew kisses to the enthusiastic audience.
Cued by Lacey, Sam slipped out the side exit where his borrowed truck and trailer were parked. He let down the tailgate without a sound and backed the high-performance classic down to the pavement.
Lacey rapped on the dressing-room door. “Three minutes. Break a leg.”
“Very funny,” Tara muttered as she stuffed her feet into the clunky heeled boots. “How in the world do the kids wear these things without doing permanent damage to their arches?” She’d avoided the mirror until now, but couldn’t resist one glimpse at the finished product. She stepped before the full-length reflection and gasped at the daring stranger who stared back.
The kid-leather jacket was fringed across the shoulders and down the length of the sleeves. It snapped perfectly around her waist, quite unlike her suit jackets. The matching leather pants felt unfamiliarly snug.
“Exactly what I needed. Something to accentuate the body part I’ve been trying to hide since the day I got here.”
The door handle rattled and Tara jumped away from the mirror.
“Let’s have a look,” Lacey insisted from the other side of the door.
Tara yanked the worn handle and swung the door wide. “I’m going to kill you!”
“Tara Jean Elliott, you look amazing.” Her smile incredulous, Lacey circled her friend slowly. “This turned out even better than I planned.”
“Ah ha! Just as I thought. You did this on purpose.”
“It’s for your own good. And so is this.” Lacey slid the elastic band off the long braid and shook it free. “Check it out.” She marched her friend to the mirror, fluffed the cascade of auburn waves and stepped aside.
Tara shook her head to free the remaining curls and, in a bold move, flipped a long strand in front of her shoulder. Even she had to admit the woman in the mirror had gobs of appeal.
The track of contemporary jazz that had served as the background music for the show suddenly segued to a loud rock song.
“Come on,” Lacey yelled above the sound track. “That’s your cue.” She grabbed Tara by the hand, dragged her to the middle of the stage and then abandoned her in the darkness. Through a crack in the heavy curtains Tara could see the crowd clapping in response to the driving beat.
The loud song was soon overcome by a thunderous roar from the opposite side of the stage as a motorcycle revved to life. Like a silent-screen heroine tied to the railroad tracks, Tara squeezed her eyes shut against the oncoming force she was helpless to stop. The curtains parted with a whoosh of air, her eyes flew wide and the audience cheered its approval.
She was transfixed, rooted to the wood floor, afraid to acknowledge the black monster growling in the wings. The rider revved the engine to a fever pitch, popped the clutch and, to Tara’s horror, executed a perfect wheelie across the stage before her.
The crowd leapt to its feet, singing, clapping and yelling for more. Though the rider’s face was hidden from view there was no doubt as to his identity. There was also no doubt Sam Kennesaw was smiling like the Cheshire Cat behind the dark visor. Tara mentally added a second name to her short homicide list.
The front wheel of the bike dropped to the ground, Sam expertly swung around and roared to a stop at Tara’s side. She grabbed the gloved hand he extended, threw her leg over the bike, wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed hard enough to make his eyeballs pop.
Deaf from the roar of the bike, the music and the crowd, she held tight as they made a turn around the circumference of the stage with a daring run out onto the ramp that encircled the orchestra pit. Once more at center stage, she slid off the leather seat, strode through the three models’ marks executing a turn at each, brazenly fluffing her hair and winking at the crowd.
She had no intention of getting back on the bike, but Sam seemed to have other plans. She ignored his outstretched hand, and he responded with a low menacing growl of the engine. She dusted off her hands with a gesture of being finished with the foolishness and the engine roared louder.
Determined to have the last laugh, she grabbed the handlebars, imitated Sam’s infamous salute and led bike and rider out of sight.
“That was quite a show.” Offstage, Sam ran his fingers through his hair, wishing he could do the same to Tara’s unruly mane. She was stunning in the biker ensemble, but then he’d known she would be when he’d had Claire send it from the Houston office.
“Did you have anything to do with this?” Tara demanded.
He gave her a cheeky smile and she rolled her eyes heavenward. “Forget I asked.”
“You guys were awesome!” Lacey squealed as she threw her arms around the pair for a group hug. “We couldn’t have done a better job if we’d choreographed what you two ad-libbed. You’re lucky I didn’t make you go back for an encore.”
“And you’re lucky I didn’t faint from fear.” Tara tried to sound angry but the mirth dancing in her friend’s eyes was contagious. “Okay.” She smiled. “I’ll admit it. You two set me up to do something I’d never have agreed to on my own.”
“And?” Lacey cajoled.
“And…I enjoyed it. It was great fun.”
“There’s a lot more where that came from, so let’s get over to the auction. The highest bidders will be announced at nine o’clock with the party starting right afterward.”
“Give me a minute to change,” Tara said as she turned toward the dressing room.
“Or you could keep that on,” Sam encouraged.
“Not on your life.”
“He’s right you know,” Lacey agreed. “There’s no point in hiding that great figure under a tunic any longer. The whole town knows there’s a streak of daredevil in you as wide as the Gulf of Mexico.”
Tara glanced down at the sleek, soft leather and remembered the woman in the mirror. It was nice to play “dress-up” but she was more bookworm than biker chick these days and there was no shame in that.
“Maybe some other time,” she said wistfully.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Sam answered with a wink.
Pleased with the clean lines of the white cotton slacks and powder-blue silk shirt she’d stashed in her duffel, Tara slipped into open-toed pumps and secured her hair in a knot with two lacquered chopsticks.
The crowd made its way back to the gym for the results of the silent auction. One final time, the locals and visitors made the rounds of the dozens of donated items, fingers crossed for the winning bid. Wade Latimer surveyed the tally sheets, his eyes bulging behind his lenses. If the look on his practiced poker face could be trusted then they’d far exceeded their expectations with the auction.
“Who won dinner at Sycamore House?” Tara pressed in for a peek. Latimer pulled the results to his chest with a pointed “Ahem” and raised eyebrows.
“You can wait like everybody else, young lady.”
“Sinc
e I haven’t been called a ‘young lady’ in years I’ll take that as a compliment, grab a frozen drink and do as you suggest.”
Positioned in the doorway that drew a slight breeze from the overhead fan, she sipped a fruit smoothie, savoring the cool treat. “Mmm,” she murmured to herself as the sweet icy drink slid up the straw.
“Hey, beautiful,” Sam whispered into her ear.
She angled her head to see into his smoky eyes.
“You seem to be just about everywhere I turn today,” she mused. “Any chance that’s intentional?”
“Could be,” he admitted.
“May I interest you in an official date?”
His eyes widened at the suggestion, the smoke deepening to slate. “What did you have in mind?” he asked.
“You free Thursday night?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Perfect.” She smiled with smug satisfaction. “My Bible study group meets at Bridges at eight. We’ll be expecting you.”
“Excuse me,” the striking blonde apologized. She smiled at Tara and Sam, then edged through the doorway and drifted into the crowded room. Tara was alert to the immediate change in Sam. His smile vanished, he straightened and distanced himself a step as his gaze continued to follow the blonde.
She was a stunning woman. Tall and willowy with sleek ivory hair. Just the type that made Tara feel like a fireplug by comparison.
“Somebody you know?”
“She seemed familiar, but most beauty queens do after a while.” Nice recovery, but Tara wasn’t fooled for a moment.
“How do you know she’s a beauty queen?”
“Just a guess.” He craned his neck to see what was happening at the awards table. Tara mirrored the tilt of his head and noted Wade Latimer was mounting the steps to the raised platform. “I need to keep my eye on the bike,” Sam made an excuse.
“Sure, I’m happy to stand here alone,” she said to herself. He’d already left.
“So this is where you’ve been keeping yourself, Sam.” Claire Savage was careful to keep her voice down and maintain her distance. At least he had that to be grateful for. She admired the soon-to-be-awarded bike while she surreptitiously quizzed him. “When I noticed an anniversary bike was being donated to this shindig by a local dealer I thought I’d better come check out our east Texas competition. What a surprise to find out you’re the Sam behind Sam’s Cycles.”
“Knock it off, Claire,” Sam hissed. “Nothing surprises you. You wouldn’t drive two hundred and twenty-five miles without doing your homework first. So what did you hope to accomplish by showing up in Beardsly?”
“I might ask you the same thing? You’ve been hiding out here for almost three months and it looks like you’re settling in.”
“I am not,” he insisted. “I’m taking care of some temporary business and then I’ll be back in Houston.”
“All evidence points to the contrary, Sam. I visited your showroom before I made it to the fund-raiser. I hear from the local folks that you’re living in an apartment near the campus and they think you’re fitting right back in to the community again. One of them even told me they were so proud that you were finally getting your act together and making something of yourself.” She hid a smile behind her manicured hand.
Sam hung his head, embarrassed. Claire might find his small-town ruse amusing, but Tara would see no humor in the circumstances. His short-term plan for revenge had become a grand scheme to win back everything he’d lost nine years ago.
And now that he had it all within his grasp, he knew it could slip away like a wave on the sand. A cold chill slithered through his nervous system. It was something he couldn’t identify.
Yes, he could. It was fear.
Claire dropped to one knee behind the bike to examine the chrome wheels, her face hidden from prying eyes. “Whatever’s going on with you, Sam, I encourage you to study and pray about it. It’s obvious you’re at a crossroads in your life and you won’t find peace in your decision unless God’s word is part of the process.”
What was it with the women in his life forever trying to drag God into everything? But Sam had to admit that his recent visits to Mount Zion Church had been driven by his need for answers.
Claire stood, all five feet ten inches of her, and once again heads turned.
“Can I see you to your car before it gets any later?”
“I can take a hint.” She smiled her former Miss Texas best. “Don’t bother. When you drive a ’67 pink Mustang into a small town, people naturally find a place for you to park and then stand around keeping an eye on it for you. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“It was nice meeting you, Sam.” Claire held out her hand. Sam clasped her palm and cupped her hand between his, glad for her friendship.
“The pleasure was all mine.”
The auctioneer’s gavel banged to signal that the winning bid on the Cottonwood Estate package was final. For an offer of $175 the winner was entitled to a steak dinner on the back patio of the famous plantation house and a night in the master suite.
“The Sycamore House is our final dinner prize of the night. It was a last-minute entry and, believe it or not, has earned the single biggest payoff with only one bid,” Latimer teased the crowd to stir up attention. He’d been masterful at creating a buzz over each prize to keep the folks excited and make the winners feel special. “Seems this guy wants to sample Tara Elliott’s cooking something awful. Let’s hope the dinner isn’t something awful.” Laughter at the bad pun rippled across the room.
From the moment Sycamore House was mentioned Tara’s skin suffused with heat. No deep breathing could hold the rush of color from her face and there was no way to escape and pray until her pulse slowed.
“For a bid of one thousand dollars…” Latimer paused for dramatic effect, “the prize goes to Sam Kennesaw!”
As Sam made his way through the crowd to accept the hastily prepared gift certificate, Tara felt the color drain from her face faster than it had rushed there. Sam didn’t have the money for such a foolish gesture. She’d have burned him dinner for free if he’d asked.
He seemed bent on giving away what little money and possessions he had, to prove they meant nothing to him. But Tara suspected there was more to Sam than met the eye. She saw the way he appreciated the fine things in her grandmother’s home. She’d seen it all her life. He longed for the treasures he would never have. His Spartan life was a cover and the cover was wearing thin.
“Can I help it if I’d like to have one meal in that house that doesn’t take place in the kitchen?” Sam asked as they strolled together toward the outdoor grandstand.
His downcast eyes prevented her from guessing the true meaning behind his question. Was he making light of the exorbitant price that he couldn’t afford or was he telling her he’d always felt inferior in her home? Either explanation was an issue that had to be resolved if there was any chance for their relationship to progress.
The long days of managing Bridges, planning the fund-raiser and then lying awake trying to figure out Sam’s motives were exhausting. With her leave from The Heritage coming to an end it was time to “fish or cut bait” as Ward Carlton would say. She couldn’t straddle the fence any longer.
Sam had one more week to show his true colors and then she’d decide her future based on facts and not emotions. She trusted God for the strength and peace to face the outcome.
“We could have flown to New York and ordered the finest dinner they have to offer and not spent a thousand dollars,” she admonished. “Sam, what were you thinking? You’re trying to get a new business off the ground and you can’t afford to donate profits that don’t exist. At least that’s the way it is for me so I presume you’re in the same boat.”
“You don’t need to worry about my finances,” he tried to reassure her.
“I can’t help it. My grandmother’s crazy scheme got you into this and I’ll feel partly responsible if you fail and end up worse off than before.”
>
“You don’t have to be afraid I’m going to fail. I have friends—”
“Your friends are exactly why I’m scared,” Tara interrupted. She lowered her voice as they approached an area congested with revelers who waited for the live music to begin. “If they decide to ‘call in their markers,’ or however those people put it, you could be in big trouble. Sam, I’m terribly concerned about you,” she poured out her fears.
“Have I told you you’re beautiful when you’re in a dither?”
The country band kicked off the night’s entertainment with a lively duel between fiddle and banjo. Sam captured Tara’s hand and pulled her to his side. The twinkle in his eyes implied he had little care at the moment for financial worries. The soft kiss he pressed to the top of her head confirmed it.
Chapter Fourteen
“I spoke to Dad,” Ethan said the next morning over breakfast. “We can wait another week for your decision but you’ll have to be back in the office in ten days if you’re going to stay with the firm. The fall schedule is locked in and we’ll need you to work the estate sales.”
The gray-haired woman who was Ethan’s assistant passed him some local honey for his toast as he sweetened the deal. “The commissions on those sales will be huge. You’d have no problem affording a manager to run your little country store and you’d have this home for getaways.”
Tara tried to focus on the serious nature of their conversation, but she couldn’t stop the flashbacks to the night before. The happy spark in Sam’s eyes, the gleam of white teeth when he smiled, the feel of his hand holding hers possessively.
She wasn’t misreading him. He cared. She was certain of it. But she also understood that time and circumstances had him guarding his heart from her.
“Tara?” Ethan tapped his butter knife on the edge of the Wedgwood plate. “Are you listening to me?”
“I’m sorry.” She returned full attention to her guest. “I’m worn out from yesterday, as I’m sure you must be.”