An Old-Fashioned Romance

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Maybe he’d just been deprived of pumpkin pie for too long. Maybe he’d just been really, really hungry, having skipped breakfast that morning. But he shook his head as he clutched and turned the key in his pickup ignition. This girl was getting under his skin—and long before the whole fiasco he’d involved himself in at Marcelli’s—long before she’d made a better pumpkin pie than his own mother. Breck McCall was dangerous to the order of the life Reese Thatcher had chosen. She made him think of hazardous things like home, his cute little nieces, his ol’ cow Honey—the last he’d raised at home before he’d left for the city and a big-city career.

  He closed his eyes, trying to block out the image of Breck in that dang pumpkin sweater his mother had knitted. Tried not to remember how she’d melted in his arms when he’d kissed her—how delicious that kiss tasted.

  Shifting into first, he peeled out of the parking lot. He’d drive around a bit. That would clear his head. Maybe he’d call his mother and ask if she thought ol’ Honey would make it through the winter. He wouldn’t tell her that he’d met a girl that made a better pumpkin pie than she did.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lunch with Patty had been unexpectedly soothing. Breck was amazed at Patty’s ability to calm her down, help her remember the good in the world.

  “Not everybody marries a jerk, Breck,” Patty told her. They’d been discussing the Allens’ situation. “Look at me and my Joe, for example. Twenty-five years of wedded bliss…and I mean it!” Yes, Breck enjoyed Patty’s company, her positive attitude toward life, her hope in humanity.

  However, when she returned from lunch and rounded the corner of the office to find Jamie Reynolds standing by her desk talking with another office girl, Breck felt her optimistic mood begin to evaporate again. One thing would sour a day faster than Michael Allen—and that was Jamie Reynolds.

  Jamie worked in filing. She was a sharp-tongued, trouble-making “hoochie”—as Barb would call her—with the reddest of red hair and the most hateful green eyes Breck had ever seen. She was quite curvaceous and liked to remind everyone of it by wearing clothes that were far too tight and revealing. In actuality, Breck was surprised that old Mr. Wilson kept her on. She often wondered what blackmail material Jamie had cached away on Mr. Wilson, for she made everyone’s life miserable. Furthermore, she was forever going on about which man at the office was pursuing her on any given day of the week. For some reason, however, she’d stayed clear of trying to link herself up with Reese through the gossip line. Breck thought this was because even a woman as ignorant as Jamie Reynolds knew no one would believe Reese Thatcher would consort with a woman like her.

  As Breck approached her desk, she thought about how completely she hated having to feign friendliness to Jamie. But Jamie was the kind of girl that would chew you up and spit you out if you rubbed her the wrong way. Still, Breck loathed dealing with her—and it was obvious she would have to.

  “Well, I’ve had it!” Jamie said in a lowered voice to the girl she had cornered. As Breck approached, she heard her add, “Someone needs to take him down a size or two, and I’m ready to do it.”

  Breck felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle, sensing something very bad was about to happen.

  “What do you mean?” Breck sighed. First of all, she couldn’t believe that Jamie was talking trash about someone while standing in her office. The girl knew Breck didn’t like to hear all her dirty laundry.

  “Your boss! That’s what I mean!” Jamie exclaimed, raising her voice a bit. The girl who Jamie had been talking to before Breck arrived rolled her eyes at Breck as she made some sad excuse to leave Breck to the wolf.

  “Mr. Thatcher?” Breck asked, a strange, nauseated sensation flooding her stomach. This was not good. Breck knew it.

  “Surely you’ve noticed how arrogant and superior he acts,” Jamie whispered. “Walking around with his nose in the air, never giving anyone the time of day. It’s time he learned people deserve more respect. I’m gonna slap him hard with sexual harassment. We’ll see how high and mighty he is then.”

  “What?” Breck exclaimed. What kind of an idiot would tell her—Reese’s assistant—about plans to accuse him? Still, she thought it might be wise to feign the ally for a moment longer. At least until she knew more about what Jamie intended to do. “Reese Thatcher is the only gentleman around here,” Breck growled.

  “Exactly,” Jamie sneered. “Or so he claims. Today I caught him looking dead at my chest…and don’t tell me he wasn’t checking me out.”

  Breck frowned and shook her head as she glanced down at the plunging neckline of Jamie’s blouse—not to mention the two strategically placed, hot pink daisies glaring at her from each breast.

  “Anybody is gonna look at that shirt, Jamie.” Realizing this was exactly Jamie’s intention, she added, “But I guess that was the plan.”

  Jamie glared at Breck. “You would defend him. I should’ve expected that you were too wowed by his good looks to see through him for what he really is.”

  Breck clenched her teeth tightly for a moment, trying to find the self-control to simply walk away. However, she couldn’t. She was sick of women like Jamie—and the world seemed to have too many of them. It was time someone took one down.

  “Jamie…it is so way obvious that you’re just ticked off because Reese doesn’t give you the time of day. And believe me, you try to accuse him of anything…and I’ll make this conversation public knowledge.”

  Before Breck could even fathom what was to come, she felt the hot sting of a hard slap against her right cheek. Putting her hand quickly to her throbbing face, Breck looked back to Jamie in time to see (but not avoid) the painful slap across her other cheek. Jamie had paused just long enough between slaps to turn her chunky silver ring so that the gems were on the inside of her hand. In doing so she had assured that the second slap left a painful and now bleeding cut on Breck’s left cheekbone.

  Breck stood stunned—unable to believe the viciousness of the woman’s attack. “You’re crazy!” she exclaimed.

  “Well, you’re naive,” Jamie told her. “No…you’re plain stupid.” She turned to leave but paused, turning back to Breck. Waving an index finger at her, she whispered, “You’re an idiot if you think he’s going to ever give you the time of day. And you’re even dumber if you think Wilson won’t pay me off when I charge him.”

  Breck pressed her wound with her fingers and then looked at the blood it left on them—still awed by what had happened. She was going to say something, even though she didn’t know what, but when Dave Pullman rounded the corner, she decided to keep quiet. There was nothing she could say anyway.

  As Jamie turned to leave again, she paused as she saw Dave and heard Reese’s office door open.

  “What’s going on here?” Reese asked, perplexed. Patty appeared almost instantly, and Breck breathed a sigh of relief as she realized that Patty must’ve heard or seen something and called security.

  “Tell him what’s going on, Jamie,” Patty urged. She glared at Jamie, folding her arms across her chest in a gesture of waiting for the woman’s response.

  “What do you mean?” Jamie asked, feigning ignorance. “We were just talking.”

  Reese looked to Breck, his frown deepening as he strode to where she stood. Taking her chin none too gently in his hand, he tipped her head and looked at the bleeding cut on her cheek.

  “What’re you doing, Jamie?” he growled.

  “She’s assaulting Breck, that’s what she’s doing,” Patty said, “and planning to slap you with a sexual harassment charge too,” she added.

  Again Breck was thankful that Patty was always running to someone’s assistance. She must’ve been in the hallway just outside Reese’s office—heard the conversation prior to Jamie’s violence and called security and Reese.

  Reese nodded as he glared at Jamie, “Oh, I see,” he mumbled. “Dave,” he said, releasing Breck’s face for a moment, reaching down, taking a tissue from the box on her desk, and holding it
to her cheek.

  “Yes, sir?” Dave nodded.

  “You wanna take Miss Hellfire here to her desk, let her get only her personal items, and then escort her out of the building, please?” Reese ordered.

  “My pleasure, sir,” Dave answered.

  “You can’t fire me!” Jamie argued. “She hit me first!” she lied.

  “She hit you first?” Reese shouted, enraged by the obvious lie. Reese took Breck’s hand and placed the tissue in it as he turned toward Jamie. But Breck read the look on his face and knew if she let him continue toward the woman in his state of mind that he’d be facing an assault charge in the least.

  “Dave,” Breck said, calmly stepping between Reese and Jamie.

  “Follow me, Miss Reynolds,” Dave said, taking her arm carefully and directing her away from the scene.

  “You haven’t seen the last of me, Reese Thatcher!” Jamie shouted as everyone in the office began poking their heads out of office and cubicle spaces to see what all the commotion was about.

  “You got that right!” Reese hollered after her. “You seem to have forgotten there’s a security camera watching this space. We’ll see who gets charged with what.”

  Patty took hold of Reese’s arm. “Settle down, Reese. Settle down,” she soothed. “She’ll get hers.”

  Reese sighed heavily, trying to gain control of his temper. Then he turned his attention to Breck once more.

  “Let me see,” he said, pulling her hand away from the cut. He took her chin in his hand again and inspected the injury more closely. Then he turned her face to look at the other cheek. “Look at the welt she left here!” he growled. “Patty, have Dave get that security tape copied, please,” he said to Patty, although still looking at Breck’s face. “Breck,” he said then, releasing his hold on her face, “can I see you in my office?” It was a command under the guise of a polite question, and Breck’s heart began to hammer with anxiety. Would he be angry with her as well? Would Dave be escorting her from the building in the next few minutes?

  Reese opened the door to his office and stood aside, motioning for Breck to enter first. Closing the door behind them, he said, “I am so sorry, Breck.”

  His apology was not only unnecessary but unexpected as well.

  “Pardon me?” Breck said, uncertain whether she had heard him correctly.

  “You shouldn’t have to come to work and worry about whether or not you’re going to end up in the hospital by the end of the day,” he explained, taking her chin in his hand again. He studied the wound on her cheek, and Breck knew he must’ve tugged at it a bit because a sharp pain stung her there for a moment. “Yep,” he muttered, releasing her chin. “You need a stitch or two.”

  “Really?” Breck gasped, going to the nearby wall mirror. As she studied the small but deep cut on her cheek, she felt tears welling up in her eyes. Suddenly, what had just happened with Jamie—the thoughts of poor Mrs. Allen—all the ugliness of the day—washed over her like a hot, horrible rain.

  “Why are people so awful?” she cried, burying her face in her hands for a moment, unable to stop her tears. Her heart actually hurt because of the cruelty in her day, and she felt like she wanted to curl up and hide away from the world. She was angry too and looked up at Reese as everything she was feeling began spilling from her lips.

  “Mrs. Allen is a good, kind, beautiful woman! How can her husband be such a creep? And that cute little baby. How can he not appreciate what he has…or rather had?” she corrected.

  “I don’t know,” Reese mumbled, shrugging his shoulders.

  But Breck’s mind and mouth were bent on venting. “And Jamie,” she continued. “She’s just ticked off because you won’t give her the time of day. So she decides to slap you with a sexual harassment suit?” Breck frowned and shook her head, still unable to believe what had just happened outside Reese’s office. “I mean…you’re the least harassing man I’ve ever met in my life! Did she really think she could make that stick? Well, in today’s world…she probably could’ve! And to sink so low as to wear something so tacky as that stupid blouse with two big pink daisies smack on her…on her…bosoms!” By this time Breck was pacing back and forth in front of Reese as she rambled. He just watched her go back and forth, back and forth, like a spectator at a tennis match, as she raved on.

  “I mean, who wouldn’t look at her chest? I did! I mean, what happened to decency? Do you know what I mean?” she asked him. “Where are all the good guys? All the good girls, for that matter? And slapping me like that…at work!” She paused, waving an angry index finger at Reese and adding, “You know, I’d be justified in slapping her with an assault charge or two.” Then she shook her head—felt her shoulders sagging defeatedly. “But then…would I be any better than her? And where would it get me? In debt to some attorney.” Breck sighed heavily and rubbed at her temples for a moment. “What a rotten day,” she muttered as she felt any remaining energy drain from her being.

  “And it’s only going to get worse, I’m afraid,” Reese said, taking his keys from his worn-out jeans pocket, “’cause you do need a couple of stitches. Let’s go.”

  Breck wiped the tears from her cheeks, but more still came as Reese nodded toward his office door.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you to the Urgent Care down the road.”

  Breck shook her head. “You don’t have to take me,” she told him. After all, she didn’t want to inconvenience him and add to his rotten day. “I can take myself.”

  “You’ll be sitting there for at least two hours,” he reminded her. “Urgent Care is just another term for Non-Urgent Care. But…it’ll be faster than the emergency room.” He grinned at her and opened his office door, gesturing for her to leave first. “You’ll need something to do while you’re waiting. You can talk to me.”

  Even with everything she’d gone through—the pain on her cheeks, the disappointment in humanity in her heart—she felt butterflies rise in her stomach, excited by the prospect of a couple of hours spent with Reese outside the office.

  “Are you okay?” Patty asked as Breck reached under her desk to retrieve her purse.

  “I’m fine,” Breck lied.

  “Patty…will you let Mr. Wilson know what’s gone on, please? Will you tell him I’m running Breck down for stitches and that I’ll get with him about this mess when I get back?” Reese asked.

  “I sure will,” Patty said, winking at Breck.

  Breck was delighted when Reese then took hold of her arm and began walking with her out of the office. “Come on then, Miss McCall. Let’s get you patched up.”

  Breck wiped a final tear from her cheek, knowing, however, that more would follow. It had been a terrible day, and even though she was in the company of her dreamy Reese Thatcher for now, she knew that anxiety would wash over her later.

  ❦

  “Climb on in,” Reese said as he opened the door to just about the most beaten-up old blue pickup Breck had ever seen. Breck smiled at him as she stepped up into the passenger’s side of the truck. Given his attire that day and his mode of transportation, he looked as if he could’ve just stepped out of her uncle’s barn on the old McCall ranch.

  As Reese shut her in and walked around the pickup to get in himself, Breck took a quick look around inside. Now this was a real man’s truck, she noted. Gum wrappers littered the faded dashboard; there was a long crack in the windshield running vertically down in front of her. The gearshift was so old and so well used that the gear numbers were completely worn off. There was a distinct aroma in it as well—a combination of Speed Stick, mint gum, and soil. Not the expected vehicle choice of a man who made far beyond six figures annually.

  “Buckle up,” he said, grinning as he hopped into the truck and turned the ignition.

  Breck smiled as she buckled the vintage seat belt, lap belt only, across her tummy and cinched it tight. She thought she might burst into beams of joy as he pulled the old cap from his back pocket, slapped it onto his head facing backward,
and pulled a stick of gum from the pack lodged in the ashtray.

  How cute! Breck thought as she watched him toss the empty wrapper onto the dashboard. He kept the gum in the old ashtray and threw the wrappers around everywhere.

  “Gum?” he asked when he caught her staring at him with a smile.

  “Sure,” she said, taking a piece from the tray.

  As she began folding the wrapper, intending to put it in her purse, he said, “Just throw it up here.” He tapped on the dashboard with one hand. “I’ll get it later.”

  The local country music station playing on the radio and the way the old truck rode reminded Breck of her grandfather McCall’s truck—heavy and tossing its passengers around like popcorn in a kettle.

  Breck couldn’t help smiling as she looked over at Reese, driving his old truck, chomping on his gum, and looking like a farm kid let loose in the city. He just kept getting better and better, and her heart felt heavy for a moment at knowing how slim her chances really were of winning him. Still, he had dressed up like her Highwayman. And he had kissed her pretty darn passionately. Breck studied him for a moment as he drummed on the steering wheel, matching the rhythm of the song currently playing on the radio.

  “I know, I know,” Reese said, smiling at her when he caught her staring at him. “Don’t feel bad. Chicks always dig this pickup.”

  Breck giggled. “Chicks? Dig?” she teased.

  “Yeah,” he chuckled. “I think there’s a song along those lines, isn’t there?”

  “Yeah,” Breck agreed.

  ❦

  Ten minutes later, Breck was sitting next to Reese, waiting her turn to be seen by an on-call doctor at the Urgent Care. Reese sat reading a pamphlet on hearing loss, and Breck looked around the waiting room trying to feign indifference to his presence.