by Carol Rose
"What? Why?"
Her friend looked down, catching her lip between her teeth.
"Because of the gossip," Nora answered her own question, her voice hard. "That's it, isn't it?"
"Yes. I'm really sorry."
"I'm such a terrible person that he thinks I'll corrupt little children just by talking to them about riding?" The thought sliced her to the quick. This was too much.
"Oh, honey. You're not terrible." Eve placed her hand over Nora's where it rested on the stall. "Stewart's just worried about his job. He's always been a real suck-up."
"Can't they see I'm not like that?" Nora could hear the hurt in her own voice as outrage flooded her. "I'm not a witch."
"I know," her friend said miserably. She glanced nervously at her wristwatch. ''I'm really sorry. I have to go. Jessica's playing at a friend's house and I'm already late picking her up. I just had to tell you about this in person."
Nora picked up the currycomb, her hand clenching on the handle.
"You're not mad at me, are you?"
Glancing up at her friend, Nora said quickly. "No, of course not. Go get Jessica. I'm okay."
Eve hesitated a moment longer. ''I'll call you."
"Good." Nora turned away, combing Chessie's mane, holding her feelings in check to keep from further upsetting Eve.
''I'm sorry," Eve said again. "Bye."
"Goodbye." A moment later the barn door opened and slammed shut with a swirl of wind and hay.
Slumping against Chessie, Nora trembled with the anger that rushed in. Never had she believed it would go this far. Kids like Jessica were the reason she wanted to teach riding. How could anyone think she'd damage school children?
Instead of dying down, the gossip just seemed to be mushrooming. She had to face the possibility that it might even affect her being able to buy the Turner property. Mrs. Turner was one of the most upstanding women in town, the daughter of a former governor, the mother of the mayor of Stoneburg.
She'd been part of the group of women at the diner that day.
What were the chances that Mrs. Turner would sell her homestead to a hussy like Nora? It just wasn't fair! Nora sobbed beneath her breath, her hands shaking so badly she gave up trying to groom Chessie. The big horse shifted, tossing her head gently as she eyed Nora.
Leaving the stall blindly, she turned to slam her hand against the rough wall.
Bret heard a thud. There was no point continuing to look for the bridle. From the moment he'd turned his attention to the conversation between Nora and Eve, he hadn't really seen the stuff on the table in the tack room.
He told himself it was rude to eavesdrop and even ruder not to let the fact be known, but he couldn't hide in here, knowing how Nora must be feeling.
Pushing open the tack room door, he stepped into the barn and saw her slumped against the wall next to the mare's stall. Even from this distance, he could see that she was crying.
So much for staying out of it.
He crossed the cement floor to where she stood. Nora stiffened at his approach, surreptitiously wiping at her cheeks.
"It's a real bitch, isn't it?" Bret made no pretense he hadn't overheard. "Here you are paying for something you never did."
That brought her head up. She studied him through narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?"
"All this gossip about you seducing Richard's boss."
Nora tilted her head. "You don't think I seduced him?"
Bret laughed softly. "No, I don't."
"Why not?" she asked bitterly. "Everyone else in town has tried me and found me guilty."
"The way I see it, not only are you too smart to play footsie with a guy on the side, you're also too honest." Bret couldn't say how, but he knew she'd never cheat on a man.
"Honest?"
He shrugged. "You just don't work that way. I could see Cissy doing something like that, but not you."
"Thanks." She straightened from the wall, her normally soft face still hard with anger.
"But the real problem," he went on, "is that you're letting people in town run over you."
"What?"
"All you need to do is show them who's boss and they'll leave you alone."
"How? By talking back when they say nasty things? I've tried that. It just stirs things up more."
"You have to convince them that you can't be kicked around."
"I can't imagine how I could do that," she said.
"See, Nora, it's not that you've supposedly done such a terrible thing. Most folks here in town have done worse or had worse done to them."
"So why are they tormenting me?" The words seemed wrenched from her.
" 'Cause you're letting them."
"What can I do about them having trashy minds?" She shoved away from the wall and paced in front of Chessie's stall.
"Well, for one thing," he said, "you can stop acting like a guilty woman."
Nora stopped. "I am not acting guilty!"
"You don't go out anywhere or do anything fun, except with Eve and her family. Other than when you're here, you hide in your mother's house. And when you meet people on the street, you march past them with hardly a smile."
"They've judged and condemned me! What am I supposed to do? Invite them over for tea?"
"Maybe not invite them for tea, but smiling at them is a good idea."
She stared at him, disbelief on her face. "You've got to be kidding. Me having a cheerful expression will make them change their minds about me?"
"Honey, you need to show them you don't care what they think about you. Show them you're not cowering in your room. You need to throw this stuff back in their faces."
"I don't have a clue about how to do that." She'd stopped pacing and he thought he saw a glimmer of interest in her eyes.
He smiled, ready to jump on the opportunity to help her out and maybe earn himself another of her kisses. "Go out with me tonight. We'll kick up our heels, drink and laugh."
Nora looked up at him, an arrested expression on her face. "Going out with you will show the town that I can't be run over?"
"It'll show them that you're not gonna be controlled by the talk. We'll go to the Roadhouse, have a few beers and dance till dawn." And maybe more, if his luck held.
"I can't go to a place like that," she gasped. "People will talk even more."
Bret shook his head. "It's just a bar, not a cathouse. Stop thinking like your mother."
"I am not my mother," she said distinctly. "Not that there's anything wrong with her."
"No, of course not," he agreed, privately amused at her response. "But refusing to go to a bar just because it used to be a little rowdy--that's something your mother would do."
"I probably shouldn't be seen with you on a date anyway," Nora said. "Your reputation is far from spotless. “
"That's why I’m the perfect guy for the job," he claimed. "Going out with some goody-two-shoes guy would just look like you're desperate to reclaim your reputation. We've got to go show them that you don't care about what they're saying."
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Nora looked in the mirror and swallowed hard. She had to be out of her mind. Why did insanity surface at the worst moments?
She'd been unbalanced three months before when she'd bought the dress on a rash impulse, and she was just as crazy this afternoon when she agreed to go out with Bret. She couldn't believe that she was actually wearing the thin red slip of a dress tonight. The woman in the mirror even had a bit of a wild-eyed look.
The soft silk slid over her body with loving faithfulness, snug around her breasts, smooth over her hips, stopping daringly at mid-thigh.
She drew in a rough breath. Whatever was she thinking? And what's more, how on earth did she propose to get out of the house wearing this? Her mother would have a heart attack.
The thought stiffened her backbone. She'd promised to go out with Bret tonight and she was determined to see it through.
She couldn't wimp out. The
re were too many things to prove...to the town scandalmongers...to Principal Stewart...and to herself.
Tired of getting pushed around, Nora felt decidedly defiant.
What was more, she had something to prove to Bret. It was his fault she was wearing the red dress for the first time. She couldn't let him think he effected her so strongly that she was afraid to be in his company.
And it wasn't as if they'd be alone for the whole evening, she reminded herself. How far could things go in a crowded bar?
Nora ran a nervous hand down the skirt of the dress. Bret Maddock was too darn sure of himself.
He was right about one thing, though. She had been holding back, waiting for the storm to blow over. Darn it, she hadn't done anything wrong. Why shouldn't she go out with an attractive guy?
She turned away from the mirror, her stomach quivering.
Because this particular man seemed to tap into something inside of her that she knew better than to give into. Bret made her want to be held, made her want to lean on him.
Even when she knew she shouldn't. Self-reliance kept a woman from finding herself at the mercy of a man's deceit.
But she'd committed herself to going out tonight. With Bret, of all people. The one man who awakened desires she'd never felt before.
She could control herself, and him, tonight, surely. Would she be able to resist if Bret stormed her fortress? She had to be sure, had to reassure herself of her own strength, and so she'd accepted his challenge and upped the ante with the weight of one flimsy red silk dress.
The jangle of the doorbell jolted Nora from her thoughts. Snatching up her coat, she pulled it on and left the room.
Bret stood in the tiny front foyer, his tall, lean frame delectably encased in snug jeans with a starched shirt just visible inside his jacket.
Exchanging pleasantries with Bret, Sharon Hampton wore an uneasy smile on her face. Nora walked forward, eager to get beyond the house, outside the range of her mother's nervous disapproval and into the danger of the evening.
"Hi." Bret's smile sent shivers down her body.
"Hi," she returned, bolstering her guard against his charm.
"I hope you won't be out too late, Nora," her mother said doubtfully. "You know you need your rest.”
"I'll be fine," Nora responded, moving toward the door.
"Good night, Sharon." Bret waved as he followed her out.
The cold night air engulfed them as they went down the sidewalk to a luxury sedan that waited at the curb.
"Whew! That woman's downright worrisome," he declared as he opened the car door for Nora. "Was she so concerned when Richard came to pick you up?"
Nora slid into the car with surprise. She'd just assumed that Bret always drove a truck. This vehicle's dash gleamed with all the latest electronic wizardry, almost looking like a cockpit of an airplane.
"Mother thought she knew Richard. You, she's less sure of"
Bret got into the driver's seat and started the car. "Mother doesn't approve of me?"
Nora looked down at her hands in her lap, "She would if she thought you were looking for a wife. Mother has her own ideas about redeeming my reputation."
"I see." He backed out of the drive. "Marriage isn't a bad idea, but it's a big step to take just to save your good name."
"I agree," Nora told him. "That's part of the reason I've been hiding in my room. To avoid her matchmaking."
"Well, you don't have to worry about that tonight." Bret flashed her a grin. "We're just gonna have fun."
They drove through the dark streets in silence. His words tumbling around in her head. He couldn't have said anything to better verify her opinion of him. Nothing serious, nothing long term. Bret was more honest than Richard.
Sitting there next to Bret, she felt acutely aware of him, his powerful body, the potent way he'd kissed her.
What a lover he'd make, if a woman was interested in a fling.
As he turned onto the highway that led to the Roadhouse, pictures flashed in Nora's mind. Bret making love to her till she gasped out his name. The thought left her with a trembling sensation in her midsection.
"Well, here we are." He pulled into the gravel parking lot that surrounded a huddle of shabby buildings. A garish neon sign flashed on a pole overhead.
Nora gripped her small purse, suddenly wondering why she trusted Bret enough to come tonight.
"Ready, honey?"
She jerked back to consciousness, realizing that Bret was holding her door open.
"This is it. Your declaration of independence."
Nora climbed out of the car and turned toward the building with a sense of defiance. Bret was right about one thing-she was darned tired of sitting at home.
The smell of cigarette smoke engulfed them when Bret opened the door, his hand at the small of Nora's back.
She took a few steps forward, waiting as Bret took her hand. The noise and smoke of the place pounded against Nora's senses. Everywhere she looked, people in western wear crowded at tables that surrounded a scarred dance floor.
Bret threaded his way through the crowd to an empty table. A band was playing country music with a sexy, swaying beat and the twang of a guitar. She sat in a chair Bret held out for her.
Inside, the dilapidated building wore shadows. Men in cowboy hats and women in tight jeans moved on the dance floor. Light sparkled off the raised platform on which the band played.
On one side, an open arch revealed a pool room. A woman leaned over the first table, a pool cue in her hand, her breasts threatened to spill out of her tight sweater. Glancing around surreptitiously, Nora’s fears were confirmed.
The place was a meat market. In the dead of winter, at least three nymphets on the dance floor were wearing cutoff shorts brief enough to threaten imminent exposure. Another woman sported a western shirt with deep fringe and strategic cut-outs.
“Let me take your coat, Nora.”
Startled she glanced up to see Bret standing by her chair.
The moment of truth.
Slowly, she stood, her fingers struggling with the belt on her coat. What had she been thinking when she wore this dress?
Knowing she didn’t have a choice, Nora opened her coat and let it fall off her shoulders. As she did another thought hit her. What if Bret didn’t even notice the dress?
Glancing over her shoulder at him, that fear evaporated.
Bret stood looking at her, a stunned expression on his face.
“You…ah…really got into the spirit of this.” He seemed to tear his eyes from her silk-clad body, fastening them on her face. “If anything will show the gossips that you aren’t afraid of them, it’s that dress.”
Nora abruptly sat down again, resisting the urge to huddle in her chair. Bret tossed her coat into a chair along with his and sat next to her.
“Can I take your order?” A denim-clad and booted waitress appeared beside them.
Bret looked at Nora, his eyebrows raised.
“Anything.” It didn’t matter since she couldn’t swallow.
“Two beers,” he told the girl with a smile.
When she’d disappeared through the crowd, Bret leaned forward and picked up Nora’s hand from the table. His fingers felt strong and calloused against hers.
“So tell me again why this is a good idea,” she challenged, her stress bypassing years of ingrained politeness.
His thumb caressed the back of her hand, sending warmth over her skin with the speed of light. He leaned closer, pitching his voice so she could just hear it over the music. “You’re here to show them you’re not letting them run your life.”
A shiver of awareness rippled through her at his closeness. “Right. Like I’ve done such a good job of it so far.”
Bret laughed, throwing back his head. “Honey you won’t get any complaints from me.”
“It’s just the dress,” she said dismissively, beginning to enjoy the conversation. Sitting here at the table with Bret so close, it seemed as if they were alone t
ogether in the crowd.
“Nope.” He shook his head, a gleam in his eyes. “A dress only showcases the woman, and I’ve never seen one do it so well.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, wishing her drink had arrived. Even the nasty taste of beer would be better than this dryness in her mouth.
This was why she'd worn the dress. She wanted Bret to look at her like that, had wanted him to for weeks. It was amazing how having her wish come true could be both exhilarating and frightening at the same time.
Bret stood up. "Let's dance."
Never had the red dress seemed so brief. Nora felt like she was wearing neon. They reached the edge of the dance floor too soon. Unfortunately, it was not crowded enough for them to lose themselves there.
"I haven't done much country and western dancing," she confessed as he pulled her to him.
"No problem," Bret said, taking her into his arms. For some reason, being wrapped in his embrace felt different, more intimate than when she'd danced with all those businessmen Richard had entertained.
Nora inhaled his scent and told herself to relax.
The steps seemed simple enough. She'd always been a good dancer, but she just couldn't lose herself to the music as they circled the dance floor. With Bret's hand warm on her back, the print of his palm seemed to burn through the thin material, hot against her skin.
Staring over his shoulder in a daze, she felt his every movement, the rub of his fingers against the silk of her dress, and wondered if she'd ever feel Bret's hands on her bare body.
Bret wondered if he'd lost his mind. Never had red silk packed such a punch. When he'd suggested this date to Nora, he'd anticipated enjoying her company, even harbored a faint, dishonorable hope that she'd fall into his arms, maybe his bed. But he'd never expected her to show up looking this fabulous.
He could feel the tension in her body, even though she moved in spontaneous response to the music.
She'd surprised him when she'd agreed to go out with him tonight, but despite her reservations about this course of action, the woman had taken him at his word and thrown herself into the endeavor. He just hoped he didn't end up drooling all over her.