First Impressions: A Contemporary Retelling of Pride and Prejudice

by Debra White Smith

  “So, are you going to sign up for the play?”

  “Remember, I just came to watch you make a fool of yourself,” Dave said in a flat tone that brooked no argument.

  “Yep—and because your aunt would have killed you if you didn’t show.”

  “Gotta keep my main lady happy,” Dave acquiesced. “But it only goes so far.”

  “I hear she wants you to play Darcy.”

  “Who’s Darcy?” Dave asked.

  Eddi rolled her eyes. “He just happens to be one of the most famous heroes of all classic literature,” she mouthed.

  “You slay me, man,” Calvin said through a chortle. “Darcy is the hero of Pride and Prejudice—uh, you know, the play your aunt’s putting together. I’m sure Mrs. DeBloom thinks you’re hopeless.”

  “Pretty much—and proud of it,” he affirmed. “Last thing I need is more culture. I’ve had my fill of it.”

  “Ah, come on,” Calvin urged. “You need to be in this play. The exposure will do you good. I promise, when you enter that first scene as Darcy, every single woman in the audience will want your autograph after opening night.”

  “Oh, brother,” Eddi murmured.

  “That’s the last thing I need right now,” Dave retorted.

  “Ah, yes, I remember. You’re the guy with all the ladies chasing you.”

  “I’ve learned it’s smart to lie low in this town, that’s all I’m saying. These local women must not get out much. They act like I must be dying to get married next weekend. To put it bluntly, I haven’t seen one around here who’s caught my eye enough to let her put a matrimonial noose around my neck.”

  “Whoa, now!” Calvin’s foot found its loafer. “What about the new lady lawyer? What’s her name . . . Eddi, Eddi Boswick. That woman is class personified.”

  Warmth rushed over Eddi as she anticipated Dave’s response. She sat back down, forgot all about her sister Jenny, and negated every scrap of common sense. Her sole concern became whether or not the attractive rancher found her worth pursuing.

  If he does, she thought with a sly grin, maybe I won’t be so hard to catch. Eddi scooted back in her chair.

  “So, aren’t you going to say anything?” Calvin prodded.

  “I hadn’t planned on it,” Dave retorted.

  A cautious precognition suggested Eddi should stop eavesdropping. She rubbed her fingertips along the buttons on her linen jacket. A daredevil streak challenged her to ignore caution just this once.

  What has caution gotten me so far? she asked. An empty townhouse with a dog pound refugee and two resentful felines to keep me warm at night. She crossed her legs and gazed past the honeysuckle-laden trellis to a woodpecker that was determined to pound his beak into the oak at the porch’s corner. All the while she pined for any signal of interest from the renegade rancher.

  “Oh, so we’re not commenting on the lawyer?” Calvin teased. “Why not?”

  Dave remained silent. Eddi looked down and pulled at the top of a piece of broccoli.

  “What’s the matter?” Calvin blurted. “Are you afraid of her?”

  A caustic laugh bounced around the porch. “Yeah, right,” Dave retorted.

  “Or maybe you’re worried she’s too smart for you! Ha!” Calvin laughed. “That’s a good one.”

  Eddi snapped her attention from the broccoli to the porch’s corner. Calvin slid his chair back and his legs disappeared.

  “Oh, shut up,” Dave groused. “If you must know, Eddi Boswick would have to be way more classy to keep my attention for long. In the first place, she’s too short.”

  Eddi’s mouth fell open. Short! she thought. I’m nearly five foot nine!

  Calvin snorted. “She’s as tall as I am.”

  “You’re too short, too,” Dave shot back.

  “It’s a good thing, ’cause I’m not going out with you!”

  “And she’s too prissy for my taste,” Dave added as if his friend had never cracked the joke.

  Prissy! Eddi’s warmth from Calvin’s praise escalated into heat. Her curiosity ignited in ire. Her rebel interest in Dave plummeted to a crashing death.

  “Yep, too prissy,” Dave added more firmly. “And—and since she’s a lawyer . . . you know the type . . . she probably runs off at the mouth day and night and likes to pick fights wherever she can find them.”

  Eddi clenched her fists in her lap. The corners of her mouth turned down. Her eyes narrowed.

  “I bet she even wears combat boots to bed!” Dave complained.

  “Combat boots!” she hissed. Eddi stood and stepped toward the men.

  A gust of humid wind whipped around the porch and swept her plastic fork across the wicker table. Mrs. DeBloom’s empty garbage can crashed into the street and rolled to the hill’s precipice. Eddi’s concern for the weather postponed her spontaneous urge to defend herself.

  She glanced skyward. A mile away, curling patches of clouds jabbed at each other, and the pink hue phased into gray-green. The neighbor’s basset hound started a mournful howl an acre away.

  “So I guess you’re waiting on one of those long-legged city women who stands six feet tall and looks like she stepped off the pages of Comsopolitan magazine.” Calvin’s latest claim diverted Eddi back to the insufferable conversation around the corner.

  Eddi inspected her slender legs that protruded from the tailored city shorts just above her knees. A pair of high-heeled sandals wrapped her narrow feet. She thought the outfit was classy, even if the high and mighty Dave Davidson did not.

  Okay, so these legs aren’t going to get me on the cover of Cosmopolitan, she had to admit. But they were good enough for a regional championship in cross country . . . and third place in state.

  “I’m not so picky that I want a supermodel sort,” Dave remarked after a pause. “But the ladies are going to have to get better than London’s selection before I think of settling down. If I ever do decide to spend my time with a lady, she’s going to have to like me for who I am, not what I own. And she’ll have to be interested in more than keeping up with her friends’ weddings or who’s going to be football sweetheart this year.”

  “Why don’t you just marry your Aunt Maddy, then?” Calvin asked. “She seems really broad-minded, and I think she’d love you if you were broke and starving.”

  Eddi chuckled. I like you, Calvin Barclay, she thought.

  “Oh, get outta here, will ya?” Dave barked. “Give it a rest. What’s gotten into you, anyway? You’re starting to sound like Aunt Maddy. She’s always trying to get me married off—but she’s determined it should be to an aristocratic sort who will understand my ‘position’ in life.” His voice took on a falsetto mockery then turned to a low growl. “Namely, her best friend’s daughter.”

  “I really wish you’d give the attorney a chance. I bet she’d give you a run for your money on anything you want to discuss, and turn your cowboy brain inside out before you knew what hit ya.”

  How about an internship with a leading barrister in the real London, buddy? Eddi placed a hand on her hip. Or six weeks in the Amazon jungle helping a Bible translator? I bet there’s nothing in your cow pastures that can match that! She sat back down and decided not to waste her time confronting Dave Davidson. He wasn’t worth the energy.

  “If you’re so impressed with the attorney, Calvin, why don’t you ask her out,” Dave challenged, “and leave me in peace?”

  Eddi’s eyes rounded. She scrutinized a puddle of water on the porch’s slick, gray surface. She and Calvin had shared several pleasant conversations around town, but she never considered him more than a friend. Interestingly enough, Eddi suspected Calvin sensed the lack of chemistry, as well. She had even wondered if her sister Jenny might like to meet him, but Jenny had been seeing Hal Gomez for months now.

  “Ah, I don’t know,” Calvin hedged. “I don’t think I’m her type.”

  “Oh, and you think I am? Please, don’t flatter me!” Dave added with a sarcastic twist. “Besides all that, why don’t you try o
ut for the part of Darby?”

  “That’s Darcy,” Calvin said, his words thick with laughter.

  “Whatever,” Dave drawled.

  “Really, if you don’t think you’re going to try out, I believe I will.”

  “Be my guest,” Dave agreed. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and the lawyer will play the leading lady.”

  “One day, you’re going to regret this attitude,” Calvin prophesied. “Mark my word, before the summer’s over, I predict you’ll be on your knees begging her—”

  Dave’s scornful jeer hurled Eddi into action. Enough is enough! she thought. Even though I’m not going to confront the jerk, I don’t have to sit here and listen to this a minute longer! She snatched up her plate and bottled water, stood, and cast a final glance toward the approaching storm.

  She had been so focused on the conversation she failed to realize the wind had stopped blowing and an eerie silence permeated the countryside—a silence broken only by the basset hound’s worried whines. The thunderhead, once safely in the distance, now bore down upon the outskirts of London like a blackish-green omen of doom.

  The curtain of rain in the peach orchard oscillated as a snake-like tail, white as cotton, dipped from the sky, stirred up a cloud of debris, and hurled peach trees into the air.

  Eddi dropped her plate and water bottle. A gurgled exclamation parted her lips as the funnel zipped back into the clouds.

  A hard-line wind swooshed into the deathly silence with a gust that whipped at Eddi’s French braid and shoved her linen jacket away from her body. The snaky tail dipped to earth again. A trainlike roar testified to the beast’s evil intent as it tore a jagged path toward the mansion.

  Two

  Dave shared a wide-eyed stare with Calvin. He looked back toward the peach orchard to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Sure enough, the white-tailed monster dropped into the orchard and cut a zigzag trail toward the house.

  A hot wave sent a flash of perspiration across Dave’s forehead. He sprang up and stepped forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Eddi Boswick standing on the porch’s west wing—her face ashen, her eyes wide.

  Whirling on Calvin, Dave said, “Get inside and tell Aunt Maddy and the others to get into the storm cellar.”

  Calvin knocked over the wicker chair as he scrambled toward the back door.

  With each second the wind’s velocity increased. What once seemed a distant train’s rhythm now crashed against Dave’s ears like the roar of a demonic dragon. By the time he took another glance at the funnel, the beast had skipped within three hundred yards of the city limit sign. The snowy tornado ripped leaves off trees and bushes and crushed them into its unforgiving vortex.

  Dave pivoted toward Eddi. She covered her mouth with her hand and backed against the house. “Tornado!” As she turned for the French doors, her hoarse bellow was barely discernible.

  Again Dave observed the tornado and debated the best route of escape. The devil snaked across the landscape, dipping and weaving like a cobra ready to strike.

  Dave hurled himself toward Eddi and glanced at the cyclone every other second. The beast sucked up the roof of a storage building on the edge of the orchard. A klatch of birds struggled to escape the maelstrom only to disappear into the pale interior. Dave’s gut twisted with a nauseous quake.

  By the time he got to Eddi, she was clawing at the doorknob. Her contorted face accompanied her screaming “Tornado!” as a warning to the mansion’s occupants. But her shrieks were lost in the gyrating monster’s hiss and boom.

  Dave grabbed her arm and screamed “No!” into her ear. “Calvin’s already warning them. There’s a storm cellar on the east side of the house. We’ve got to get in it!”

  “Mrs. DeBloom!” Eddi shrieked and tried to force the door open. But the vacuumous spiral insisted the door remain closed.

  Dave cupped his hands around her ear and screamed, “Calvin has warned them!” He cast a final glance toward the serpent, which was a mere hundred yards away. Grinding his teeth, he decided this was no place or time for an argument.

  He grabbed her arm and pulled, leaving Eddi no choice but to follow. The wind became less chaotic and more directive. The relentless suction urged Dave to release his will to the inevitable, to allow the tornado to gobble him and Eddi as it had the birds. The warrior within refused that option. Dave ducked his head and marched toward the back porch. His grip on Eddi tightened, and a primeval force urged him to wrap his arm around her. She didn’t resist, but rather clung to his side and joined him in trudging toward the steps. They inched past overturned furniture as the wind-driven rain blurred their path.

  Out of nowhere a mammoth limb crashed onto the porch. Its wiry arms shoved the pair against the wall. Clutching Eddi, Dave’s knees hit the floor. He covered his eyes with his free arm and tumbled onto the porch’s gritty surface. Pain, like shards of glass, pierced his knees and elbows and chin. Eddi toppled beside him. Her French braid slapped him in the mouth. The taste of hairspray mingled with the feel of grit between his teeth. The funnel’s suction yanked them from the limb’s grasp and tugged them toward the storm like a seductive lover. As they slipped toward the demon’s clutches, a planter filled with shredded elephant ears banged into them.

  Dave instinctively covered Eddi and took the brunt of the clay pot that pummeled the small of his back. He winced and bit the end of his tongue, tasting blood. When the darts of pain subsided, Dave realized Eddi was sobbing. Her body’s quivering vibrated against his chest. Dave responded with trembling of his own. He buried his face in her floral-scented hair, closed his eyes, and released a heavenward plea for a miracle.

  The air hurled tiny debris bullets into Dave’s skin like cactus thorns. As the roar became a defeaning death call, Dave dared to open his eyes but a centimeter. Less than seventy-five yards away, the funnel twisted and waved on the hillside as if debating what to destroy next. For several seconds, the ghastly specter appeared to remain in one spot. Then, as if yielding to the beckoning of a thousand demons, it veered north and headed down the hill, toward the town square. The crash and thunder of uprooting trees and smashed buildings mingled with the roar.

  As the noise subsided, Eddi nudged Dave’s chest. Coughing against the thick air, he raised enough for her to peer at the receding storm. Near the town square, the tornado ripped at houses and businesses and hurtled toward the old Lone Star Theater. The theater’s roof exploded as if it were flimsy straw. The next target in the twister’s path was the county courthouse, a hundred-year-old remnant of the past.

  “Oh no,” Dave groaned.

  “Oh no, not the town square,” Eddi rasped. “My office is there.”

  Like a capricious adolescent, the funnel rose to the sky as quickly as it had dropped. When the white vortex disappeared, Dave relaxed and sank back to the floor. He stared straight up at the porch’s fractured ceiling. The sound of dripping rain punctuated the silence—a silence that screamed of a contest with death.

  Soon, Dave realized his arms were still wrapped around Eddi. She opened her eyes again. The two stared at each other while a deceptively gentle breeze rustled the invasive branch’s leaves. A stray raindrop plopped onto the end of Eddi’s nose. With a wobbly smile, Dave whisked aside the moisture and trailed his finger to the puddle of tears beneath her eyes, the color of a gray kitten’s down. For just an instant, admiration, gratitude, and a hint of fire sharpened her gaze.

  Dave marveled that any attraction Eddi felt for him was most likely genuine. He had spent too many years with women throwing themselves at him because of what he owned, not because they really cared for him. Now, nobody in London knew the extent of his possessions, his legal name, or that the name he’d assumed was his childhood nickname. Therefore, her response could only be linked to her appreciation of him as a man—period.

  When he left Dallas three years ago, Dave had purposefully chosen a tiny, secluded town in which to settle. He’d checked into a hotel and roamed the streets and stores for
a month before deciding London, Texas, population 6,352, was a safe place for him and his Aunt Maddy to move to. No one had recognized him. No one—not even Calvin Barclay. Most of the residents could trace their roots back three or four generations—families who were born and raised in London and didn’t travel or read enough to discover Dave’s identity.

  When Eddi Boswick moved in from Houston, Dave cringed the first few times she looked him square in the eyes. Finally, he understood she possessed no idea who he really was, despite the fact that she arrived from the “outside world.”

  Now with her in his arms, Dave tried to deny what he wouldn’t have ever admitted to Calvin Barclay. She wasn’t the only one experiencing the fire. Dave had had his eye on Eddi Boswick for months. The first Sunday she sashayed down the church aisle dressed in a stylish red dress, Dave had no idea what songs were sung or what the sermon was about. In a church with four hundred attendees, he had easily escaped before someone introduced them. He’d spent the last six months “escaping.”

  Truth was, Calvin was right. The woman scared his boots off. For the first time in years, Dave was beginning to think he might have met up with a lady who had the character to look past his money and appreciate him for who he was. Instead of being elated by the possibility, Dave was terrified. He’d been on his own thirty-five years. The prospect of matrimony brought images of his parents’ marriage—of lost harmony and bitter battles.

  His gaze slid to Eddi’s lips, and he figured he’d better put some space between them before he did something rash.

  Eddi stirred in his arms and wiped strings of wet hair from her cheeks. “Would you mind letting go of me?” she growled. Her lips protruded in a stubborn line he’d seen on a few barracudas.

  “Uh, sure,” Dave mumbled. He released her and missed her warmth the second she rolled away. An impish urge prompted his next suggestion. “The tornado might come back, you know,” Dave uttered before he considered the implications.