by Carol Rose
Nora swallowed hard, her entire treacherous body responding to the sound of his voice. In the last two days since their passionate clinch on the porch of the Turner house, she'd constantly battled her urges, remembered the feel of his touch—and thought about what he'd said.
"I have been doing some promoting," she said.
"Ask any small business person," Bret added. "You have to get involved in the community."
The thought of facing a roomful of accusing eyes didn't sound too appealing.
"Unless you're giving up on winning the town over."His words held a hint of a taunt.
''I'm not giving up. The scandal will blow over when everyone sees that I'm no different than I was when I grew up here."
“Then this will be the perfect opportunity to prove that to them, won't it?"
"So, you're going," Eve concluded, her gaze bouncing avidly between Nora and Bret.
"With me," he said, his smile faintly challenging.
"No!" The word jumped out of Nora's mouth. ''I'm trying to avoid gossip, not ask for it."
"You can come with us, Nora," Eve offered hastily.
The VFW hall looked the same as it always had with its inadequate lighting and the scarred Linoleum floor. The band occupied the small stage area, the aged musicians looking even more withered and catatonic than the last time Nora had seen them.
Hesitating inside the doorway, she waited for Eve and Tom. True, nothing drastic had happened after her night at the Roadhouse, but she couldn't believe the gossip had completely stopped. Of course, she still hadn't been into town.
She glanced around, wondering if Bret had arrived yet. It would be nice to have another friendly face, even though this particular face had haunted her for the last week. Maybe they could dance once without arousing too much speculation. In her wildest dreams, she couldn't imagine anyone else asking her. At least, not with their wives around.
Chattering people filled the room even though it was still early. An unusually energetic buzz hovered in the air, making Nora glance around curiously. The Boys' Town Benefit had always been well-attended, but she never remembered there being quite so many people.
A few gray-haired couples had ventured onto the dance floor and were shuffling to the erratic rhythm of the Rough Riders. The majority of the crowd stood around the perimeter, watching.
"It's a pity your mother didn't want to come," Tom remarked.
"She was tired," Nora repeated her mother's excuse.
"Come on, Tom," Eve urged. "Let's get a table." Nora followed them, aware of curious glances and a strange wake of silence as they crossed the room. A certain amount of that was normal these days, but there seemed to be an expectant gleam in the eyes of one or two people who met her gaze.
Across the room, Mrs. Turner sat at a table with several other older ladies. Nora smiled in their direction, hoping that Bret wouldn't single her out with Mrs. Turner here. Maybe there had been more talk about them than she'd realized.
Eve finally found a table that suited her and the three of them sat down.
"Chapparal Day is coming up," Tom commented jovially. "I hear the Riding Club is thinking about putting a handicap on Bret Maddock to give someone else a chance at winning the big race."
"It's about time," Eve said. "He's won that race for the last seven or eight years."
"The last ten years," murmured Nora, as she looked around.
Across the room, near Mrs. Turner's table, a large knot of people stood, the din of their voices loud enough to be heard above the music. As Nora glanced around, trying to look more comfortable than she felt, she saw Richard's mother break away from the group and hurry off to tend to some detail.
Although she hadn't said as much to Eve and Bret, Mrs. Worthington had figured largely in Nora's reluctance to come tonight. For as long as Nora could remember, Richard's mother had run the Riding Club.
A high-pitched giggle rang out, drawing Nora's attention back to the group in the corner. Cissy Burton. A trickle of anxiety ran down Nora's spine like the trail of a cold finger. Talk about walking into the lion's den.
Nervously straightening the dinnerware at her place, Nora told herself to relax and try to enjoy the evening. Surely, Mrs. Worthington and Cissy, also on the Riding Club Board this year, would be too busy to harass her tonight.
Eve's gasp pulled Nora's gaze up. Turning to see what drew her friend's reaction, she felt a sudden buzzing in her ears.
The cluster of people had shifted and through the opening, she saw Richard standing in the midst. Richard, her former fiancé, was here. A jumble of reactions crowded in her head. He'd never come back for the annual benefit when they'd been together. Had he seen her? How would he react to her presence?
"Omigod," Eve breathed. "I didn't know he'd be here."
"What? Who?" Tom stared around, clueless.
"Richard's here!" his wife hissed, elbowing him.
"I know," Tom said, his voice aggrieved as he rubbed the arm she'd hit. "I just thought you were talking about someone else."
"Who else would I be talking about?"
"It's okay," Nora soothed, trying to avoid drawing more attention to their table. ''I'm sure he'll avoid me as much as I will him."
"Do you want to leave?" Eve asked anxiously.
Oh, boy, did she want to leave. "No," Nora said, drawing on a determination she didn't know she had. "I haven't done anything to be ashamed of."
She sure wasn't about to run scared. But try as she might to relax, the next half hour seemed to tick past slowly. Eve directed Tom to bring them plates of food and Nora picked at the meal, moving the mound of barbecue around more than eating it. She forced herself to shift in her chair so she could see the rest of the room, unwilling to hide.
People still clustered around Richard in the far corner of the room. It was strange sitting here watching him. For years, she'd accompanied Richard to party after party. He was always after a new deal, making a new connection.
Nora sat, unwillingly transfixed by the scene. Her former fiancé stood surrounded by the elite of Stoneburg, entertaining them with his stories of business conquests. Even from this distance, she could read the situation. His stance presented him as a force to be reckoned with and she knew that he practiced it.
He held center stage. It was admittedly a small stage, but she knew he'd be loving every minute of the attention. The hometown boy voted "Most Likely To Take Wall Street By Storm."
How strange to be here across the room from him, an observer to a play she'd once performed. Nora grappled with the emotions that surfaced in her anger at his betrayal, sadness at the loss of their friendship, even a twinge of amusement. He looked so much like a rooster crowing over his domain.
They had shared something, some level of attachment, but it all seemed so long ago, as if it were another woman's life. Still, she couldn't understand why he'd tried so hard to hurt her.
The dance floor grew more crowded, couples were whirling past their table.
Nora shifted in her chair, suddenly feeling stifled. She felt closed in, chained by history and circumstance. For a wild moment, she wanted to race out of the building and launch herself into the air—to fly free from this town and everyone in it.
She remembered sitting high on the windmill tower, the wind swirling around her. No wonder Bret loved to fly. He got to leave all this behind.
"Do you want anything else, Nora?" Eve's voice jerked her back to the moment. "Tom's going back to the buffet. Do you want him to bring you anything?"
"No, I'm fine." She looked down at the napkin she'd been pleating and resisted the urge to scream.
"Care to dance, ma'am?"
Nora's gaze sprang up to meet Bret's.
He stood beside the table, a sight to behold in starched jeans and a turquoise western shirt with his cowboy hat tilted back on his head.
"Awfully nice music," he said, his eyes dark with the combination of an invitation and a dare.
"Do you think you ought to?" Eve asked
nervously, her gaze darting around the room.
Nora glanced at the faces turned their way, suddenly conscious of the attention Bret's invitation had drawn.
"Remember," he said softly, "you're a businesswoman with a goal. And you haven't done anything to be ashamed of."
A fluttering filled her midsection. Everything in her longed to get up out of her seat and twirl around the dance floor in Bret's arms.
Caution locked up her brain. "I don't think I--"
"Come on, Nora Elizabeth," he urged her. "Don't be afraid."
Was he talking about the gossip or something more, something just between them? Without conscious choice, she found her hand in his, the warmth and strength of his fingers drawing her up.
Bret led her to the dance floor, a smile blazing on his face. He swung her into his arms, the heat and scent of him settling over Nora like a drug.
The music shifted to a waltz, plaintive and graceful. As they circled the room, she fell into a rhythm that seemed familiar. Lifting her eyes to Bret's face, longing swamped her. She wanted him near, the charge of his presence wrapped around her, the rocketing sizzle of being in his arms.
She knew he packed a trouble more potent than Richard ever could, but still she wanted him. The starched cotton of Bret's shirt felt smooth and warm where her hand rested on his shoulder. Nora heard herself sigh as they slipped through the crowd on the dance floor, their steps as easy and natural as walking.
Leaning forward, he whispered, "Is this too involved, too close? I've never been a complication before. How am I doing?"
She looked up at him, feeling a sardonic smile curving her mouth. "You've always been a complication. Always."
A sudden smile brought a twinkle to his eyes. "Thank you."
Nora looked away, conscious of a swift pang in her chest. "Richard's here."
Bret bent forward, his lips brushing hers. "Who cares?"
She closed her eyes and swayed closer to him, not caring anymore. She'd protect her heart later.
"You dance like an angel, Nora," he murmured. He drew her closer, his hand warm on her back as he bent close to her ear. ""Want me to punch Richard out for you?"
A startled laugh escaped her. "No!"
Bret sighed. "You sure know how to spoil a man's fun."
"No one spoils your fun for long," she retorted.
"Well, there are a couple of other things I'd enjoy more than popping Richard," he admitted, his eyes turning darker.
They dipped and glided, their feet light on the dusty floor as they floated past other couples. Every step matched as they drifted seamlessly around the dance floor, and even their hearts seemed to beat in rhythm. The Rough Riders Orchestra had never played so well.
Bret drew her arms up behind his neck. She knew she should protest. This was worse than dancing with him at the Roadhouse. Here, every eye in town watched them with avid speculation.
Nora rested her head on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath her temple. Dancing with Bret was her reward for staying to face her accusers. At least here she couldn't succumb to her burning need to make love to him.
By the time they'd spun around the floor a few more times, Nora had lost track of Richard and his mother. The music ended with a flourish, and the Rough Riders stopped for a break.
Nora pulled out of Bret's arms, her caution back with a vengeance. "I need to...ahh...I'm going to check my makeup." She turned and slipped away through the crowd, needing a moment to herself to make sense of the emotions churning in her. She'd been attracted to Bret for weeks, but now he seemed to be invading her heart, and the thought sent her running for cover.
In the ladies' room, Nora washed her hands, patted her face with a damp towel and retouched the faint smudge of her mascara.
Every shred of common sense told her to retreat, to put as much distance between herself and Bret as was possible. Something about him short circuited her common sense.
Nora stepped out of the ladies' room and looked around. Eve and Tom had taken to the dance floor and were jogging around the perimeter in a dance move she couldn't identify.
When a swift survey of the room didn't reveal Bret's whereabouts, Nora turned toward the refreshment table. Barbecue simmered at one end of the table, but Nora headed for the iced soft drinks. One or two others were helping themselves to the potato salad and coleslaw. Nora picked up a can of soda, then turned to head back to the table.
Richard stood facing her, no more than a foot away, an expression of contempt on his face. Nora's heart hurtled into adrenaline overload and her throat constricted. But then her backbone stiffened. This was Richard, the man she'd planned on marrying, not some frightening ogre. As hurt and angry as she was, they'd still shared something she once thought was special.
She'd since discovered things about him that she hadn't recognized before. Like too many men, he was short on loyalty and ruthless in his need for advancement. His hostility toward her baffled Nora, but she wouldn't allow herself to scurry away.
"Hello, Richard," she said, her voice level.
"You certainly didn't waste any time finding yourself a playmate," he said, a sneer marking his handsome face. "Making a spectacle of yourself with Bret Maddock. What's the matter? Did you get tired of old men like Benson?"
"Richard." Nora glanced around, grateful that the serving area was deserted. "You know I wasn't involved with your boss."
He snorted in disbelief. "I used to think I knew you, Nora. Before you showed your true colors. Now I'm realizing how wrong I was. Do you know how much trouble you caused me with Benson? His wife was there, for God's sake."
"Please keep your voice down," she requested, aware of heads turning in their direction.
''I'm sure you'd like me to keep quiet," Richard declared, his tone more strident. "Although the way you were wrapped around Maddock out there on the dance floor, you might as well sell it on the street corner."
Nora gasped, shocked at the vitriol pouring out of him. "You're crazy. Why are you saying these things?"
"What's the matter, Nora? Did you think you could keep your sleazy secrets here in Stoneburg?"
"You've lost your mind," she declared angrily.
"How long have you been playing around with Bret?" snarled Richard. "Did you sneak off to let him bed you every time we visited from Dallas?"
A crowd of onlookers had gathered in a semicircle behind Richard, their faces avid and shocked. Nora looked from one face to another, hoping to find one sane individual in the bunch. How could anyone who knew her believe these things about her?
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Mrs. Turner in the crowd. The woman's face was unreadable.
"I was totally faithful to you," she cried in frustration, feeling as if her dream of owning the Turner property was slipping through her fingers as she spoke.
"Yeah," he said scornfully. "Right up to when I found my boss with his hand up your dress."
An overwhelming sense of fury hit Nora. He didn't want to hear her, didn't want to believe her. There wasn't anything for her to say, nothing she could do to change this ugly, rending moment.
More than anything else, she wanted to hit him, to slap him silly, but one tiny sliver of sanity kept her from adding violence to her already tarnished reputation.
"Does Maddock do you better than I did?" Richard asked. "Doesn't he mind sharing you with other men? Or do you do it with more than one at a time?"
"What I do is no longer any of your business," she said in a hard voice. As she faced him, her body bracing to do battle, the crowd behind Richard seemed to shift and then split.
Bret strode forward, his tall, lean figure purposeful. Nora could hardly stifle the cry in her throat. Her hand lifted toward him as he crossed to her side.
******
Chapter Six
Bret's arm circled her shoulder, his face like granite as he met Richard's glare. "If you've got something to say, why don't we take it out to the parking lot?"
''I'm not afraid of a lowlife like you!" Richard huffed.
"You're the kind of crap that gets on a man's boots when he's not careful where he steps. Why don't you come on outside and show me your morals?" taunted Bret.
Nora looked from one hostile male face to the other. How had this gotten so out of control? Richard's accusations made her furious, but she had to get out of this with some dignity.
"No, Bret." She tugged at his arm as he took a step toward Richard. "Let's just leave."
Bret stood unmoving for a moment, an expression on his face she'd never seen before. Gone was the lighthearted man who assaulted her better judgment at every opportunity. Nora could almost feel the danger emanating from him. Bret's eyes never left Richard's face. "He needs a lesson, honey."
She looked at Bret, her voice low, "Please."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." She turned quickly toward the door, struggling to hold herself together until she could get away.
Bret followed her. She heard his bootsteps behind her on the hard floor. Stopping as the door closed behind them, she shivered in the chilly night air. Now she'd never convince Mrs. Turner to sell her the land.
A furious hopelessness clogged her throat. Why was Richard doing this? Why was he deliberately trying to hurt her? Nora gulped back a sob as she stood motionless on the pavement, only dimly aware of Bret's presence behind her.
In the front row of the crowded parking lot Richard's red sports car straddled two parking spaces, as if he'd felt entitled to take the extra room.
''I've got a pocketknife if you want to do his tires," Bret offered as he stood next to her.
Nora burst into tears.
"Come on," Bret said roughly. "Let's get out of here." He urged her toward his truck, a hand at the small of her back as she continued to sob into her hands.
He opened the truck door for her, then slammed it shut and walked around to the driver's side. In moments, they were roaring out of the parking lot.
Wiping her face with trembling, angry fingers, Nora wrestled her tears to a trickle. Bret drove in silence, the night engulfing them. When she shivered, he switched on the heater, sending a swirl of warmth around her legs.