After Darke

by Heather MacAllister

  “Yes, and about her illustrious teaching career.”

  “If she told you about that, then I know this is true love. I don’t think she’s ever told anyone.” Gina patted his hand—the one she still held.

  And Jaron gave her that...that smile, the one he’d given to all the women this afternoon. And all of them responded just the way her aunt Gina did, by getting a sparkle in their eyes and a flush in their cheeks.

  It was so pathetic.

  Watching Jaron charm the population of Cooper’s Corner was almost as bad as lying to her parents.

  The piano music stopped, and Beth Young, who’d been playing, headed their way. “Bonnie, I just wanted to add my best wishes to everyone else’s before you got away.”

  “It doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere for a while,” Bonnie said. “Beth, this is Jay Drake.”

  She gave him a shy smile. “I’m happy to meet you.”

  “Beth is our local librarian and tea pianist.”

  “The librarian!” Jaron took her hand. “We will be seeing more of each other.”

  “Oh, are you a reader?”

  “I’m a lapsed reader,” Jaron said. “But while I’m here kicking back for a few weeks, I intend to go on a reading orgy.” And there he went with his smile again.

  Beth laughed, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling, the whole nine yards. She was usually shy and quiet and given to playing haunting melodies on the piano. Bonnie couldn’t remember hearing her laugh like that before.

  “Oh, Bonnie. You’re in such trouble.” Shaking her head and still laughing, she returned to the piano.

  And it was like that with everyone. Jaron was charming and glib and just so not the person she knew he was.

  “So you think you’ll be here for the Christmas festival?” Grace Penrose, the Cooper’s Corner Christmas Festival coordinator stood batting her big brown eyes up at Jaron. “Because if you are, I’m going to put you to work!”

  As Jaron made some comment, Bonnie felt a small tug on her sleeve. Alison Fairchild, the local postmistress, was standing off to one side, slightly apart from everyone.

  Ducking her head so her blond hair obscured her face, she said quietly, “Congratulations, Bonnie. He seems very nice.”

  Bonnie and Alison were the same age and had gone to school together from the time they were in kindergarten, though they were not close. Alison was extremely self-conscious about her large nose, and kept to herself. Bonnie could hardly blame her; Alison had been horribly teased when they were growing up.

  “Thank you, Alison. He is nice.” When he’s being Jay. “Let me introduce you.”

  Alarm flashed in Alison’s eyes. “Oh, no!” She pulled away.

  But not fast enough. “And who’s this?” Jaron looked around Bonnie.

  Bonnie urged Alison forward, feeling for her when she lowered her head. “Jay, this is Alison Fairchild. She’s the postmistress.”

  He took her hand and bowed over it. “Greetings, Mistress Fairchild.” Straightening, he gave her one of those thousand-kilowatt smiles. “That sounds like a medieval lady of the manor.”

  Alison gave him a timid smile, which widened as he continued to talk to her, drawing her out, learning that she’d gone to school in Boston and that she was planning a trip to New York City in a few weeks. Once he discovered that, Jaron gave her the name of several less-expensive hotels and areas of the city she could stay.

  “Jay spends a lot of time in New York City,” Bonnie said. “So if you have any questions, he’s the man.”

  He was being incredibly nice to Alison, talking more to her than he had to anyone else, and Alison was blooming under the attention. Bonnie felt the stirrings of jealousy, which was completely ridiculous. She took a large bite of chocolate chip cookie.

  Once Alison relaxed, Bonnie discovered to her surprise that she was actually quite pretty, if only her nose... But that was being superficial, and Bonnie wasn’t proud to discover that she’d developed a few superficial qualities lately.

  “Jay! Bonnie!” Bonnie’s father waved at them and started pushing his way through the crowd.

  With a last adoring look at Jaron, Alison stepped away.

  “I’ve been checking up on you,” Philo said.

  The cookie that Bonnie had just swallowed landed in her stomach with a thud.

  “And what did you find?” Jaron asked.

  Bonnie clutched at him, but Jaron lazily drew her to him and moved his fingers in slow, soothing circles over her back.

  “You’re very modest.” Philo nodded to himself. “I went to your Web site.”

  Jaron blinked. Bonnie gripped the handle of her teacup so hard she was relieved when it didn’t break.

  “You didn’t tell me you were one of the owners.” Philo withdrew a couple of folded pieces of paper. “I printed off the information so I could show folks. Been bragging about you, Son.”

  Bonnie stared down at the Web site of Dynameg Computers and Software. Jaron, or rather Jay Drake, was listed as one of the three owners, with a company write-up and product list. Bonnie had to bite her lip when she saw Sorenson’s name listed as Chief Security Officer. Maureen must have called Frank Quigg immediately. Still, Bonnie was impressed that they’d cobbled together a Web site that quickly. “How did you find this?”

  “I called information in Syracuse and got the number for your company. Nobody answered, but the voice mail said to go to your Web site. So I did.”

  Quigg was incredible. While Bonnie was glad the police could move so quickly, she was a little nervous at what they’d been able to accomplish. And her father was no slouch, either.

  “I’ve got your bio right here,” he said.

  “That’s an old picture.” Jaron’s voice sounded funny.

  Bonnie recognized the picture—it was his column photo, but his goatee and sunglasses had been removed and his hair was different. The rest was basically Jay Drake’s cover story.

  Bonnie and Jaron exchanged looks. It was another one of those moments of pure connection when she knew exactly what he was thinking—that it was all fake, but it seemed so real. So convincing. That was exactly as it should be, but...should it have been so easy?

  Philo turned toward the piano. “Beth! Give us a ta-da.”

  Beth abruptly stopped the nocturne she was playing and boomed an attention-getting ripple followed by a couple of loud chords.

  All conversation stopped. All eyes turned to Bonnie’s father.

  “I don’t think what I’m going to announce will be a surprise to any of you.” Good-natured laughter followed. “But I want to do this up right. Phyllis, where are you, honey?”

  Bonnie’s mother waved from the back of the room and the crowd parted so she could join her husband. He put his arm around her waist exactly the same way Jaron had his around Bonnie’s.

  “Now, as you all know, Bonnie, here, is my only baby, and it’s real hard to let go of her.”

  Bonnie felt like she was going to be sick—and this time it wasn’t from eating too many chocolate chip cookies. How was she going to get through this? How could she go about her business and look these people in the eye?

  “But I have to say that it’s easier knowing she’s chosen such a fine young man.”

  “Hear, hear!” someone called.

  “So, Phyllis and I want to wish you both all the joy and love that we’ve found.”

  Bonnie felt her eyes get hot, and her throat tightened. This was the worst moment of her life.

  Her father raised his teacup. “To Bonnie and Jay!”

  The toast was repeated by several people in the crowd, and then the rumble of conversations began again.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cooper.” Jaron held out his hand.

  Philo enclosed it with both of his. “You take care of my littl
e girl.”

  Bonnie’s mother pooh-poohed him. “Philo, the child has been taking care of herself for years.”

  “It’s symbolic, Phyllis.” He let go of Jaron. “Jay knows what I mean.”

  Jaron looked down at Bonnie. “You bet.”

  * * *

  HE WAS WRONG. Hell was not in New Jersey. Hell was in the picture-postcard town of Cooper’s Corner, Massachusetts.

  Everybody knew everybody else and everybody else’s business. Jaron was going to have to keep a diary and study his alter ego’s bio before he made an appearance each day.

  There were kids living at the B and B and kids asked questions. The twins—Maureen’s girls—didn’t look much over three. They wouldn’t be a problem, but Clint’s boy, Keegan, would be. Keegan’s hormones were starting their run toward manhood and he was watching the adults around him for clues to their world. Jaron didn’t want to be watched as he learned his new role, whatever that turned out to be. If he made any slips, Keegan would be the one to notice.

  Keegan reminded him of himself in a way. Jaron had honed his social skills by quietly observing and quietly listening, just as Keegan was doing now. People tended to ignore a young kid, and the kid always knew more than expected. You could learn a lot by being invisible.

  Jaron gazed around the inn’s gathering room, where he’d stood for the past two hours with Bonnie. He’d talked so much his throat would never be the same, and he’d drunk more tea than he’d consumed in his entire life up to this moment.

  The people of Cooper’s Corner were a curious mix. He’d made the mistake of so many from the city in expecting them to be uncomplicated, simple folk. They had a grapevine that put his carefully cultivated network of sources to shame, and once he got past the clothes—if he could ever really get past the clothes—this gathering was just like any one of thousands he’d attended from the time he was nine years old.

  He’d quickly analyzed the room—who had the power, who wanted it, who’d once had it and lost it, and who would never have it. Jaron was a student of body language. He could tell who had something to hide and who had something to tell.

  If anyone was suspicious, Bonnie would be a dead giveaway—and Jaron hoped not literally. One reason he kept touching her arm or her back was because she automatically straightened—to get away from him—when he did so. Otherwise, her shoulders hunched and her head hung down in the classic closed posture. Jaron wanted her looking confident and happy. He figured happy was out of the question, so he was shooting for confident.

  Poor Bonnie. He did sympathize with her. She’d grown up with these people and they obviously loved her. They were thrilled that she was getting married. They would drown her in sympathy when the engagement was broken. Jaron had already guessed that when the time came, he and Bonnie would break up, so they wouldn’t have to tell the entire population of Cooper’s Corner they’d been duped. Breaking up would be easy. One argument in front of Tubb’s Café ought to do it.

  He was really pouring on the charm tonight and doing it well, judging by the reactions he was getting. Maybe he should hold back some. If he became too well liked, Bonnie would look like an idiot for breaking up with him.

  But then the little postmistress waved goodbye and he waved back. He couldn’t help it. He knew her story, too. She looked different from the norm, so the norm had attacked her to keep themselves safe. Been there, done that, got revenge in his columns. Jaron had written down the names of all the kids who had made fun of his adult manners and adult clothes. He’d had to wait fifteen years to fit in with them—long enough for them to grow up and catch up with him. And now they wanted into his world. He enjoyed the irony; he was human.

  “Jay?” Bonnie spoke in an undertone.

  “Hmm?”

  “Where were you?”

  “Thinking. Thinking that this party is like a hundred others I’ve been to.”

  “You’re very good at small talk.”

  “Of course I am—it’s a survival skill in my business.”

  She nodded, then leaned closer. “What’s going to happen about your column?”

  He bent his head until his mouth was next to her ear. Anyone watching would assume it was a loving moment between the two. “Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie. We’re still undercover.”

  “Oh.” Jerking back, she looked around, guilt personified.

  “Relax. Angela will print reruns. I have a couple of emergency columns in the can, but as of Sunday, she starts a ‘best of’ series.”

  “Did you tell her—”

  “No. I said I had some personal business.”

  Bonnie scanned the room. “How long do you think this will go on?”

  “Nobody seems to be leaving.”

  “Not today—I mean everything.”

  Jaron shook his head. “As long as it has to, I guess.” He touched her shoulder. “Incoming at three o’clock.”

  “Hello again.” Lori Tubb sidled up to them. “Tell me, Jay, where are you staying?”

  “Here at Twin Oaks.”

  “Really? Maureen told me she was completely booked.”

  “Bonnie’s renovating the attic,” he began, then realized the trap. He didn’t care what anyone thought of their sleeping arrangements, but he knew Bonnie would.

  This was one difference between the people here and in New York. No one there would give it a thought, but this woman was just hoping to find a juicy bit of what in the boonies counted for scandal at Bonnie’s expense.

  “Yes.” Bonnie picked up the conversation. “I can’t wait to get started. And I’m happy that business is so good for Maureen. I know there have been times when she’s been tempted to rent out the sleeper sofa in her suite. I’m glad she didn’t.”

  Not a lie, but not the truth, either. It would do for now, but come Monday morning, he was going to have a man-to-man with this Seth guy.

  Either that, or sleep in the hall.

  * * *

  HOURS LATER, Bonnie not only felt like scum, she felt like confused scum.

  Was everyone she’d known her whole life so easily fooled? Weren’t they worried that she was rushing into a relationship? And her parents... True, Cokie’s vouching for Jaron had helped, but why hadn’t they pulled her aside and asked parental-type questions like, “Are you nuts? How long have you known this man?”

  Or were they just desperate to see her married? Had they given up hope? Had she secretly been a town project? It sure put all those blind dates in a different light.

  And why did everyone act ecstatically happy? The implication was that Bonnie couldn’t possibly be happy without a man, and she didn’t like that one little bit.

  And Jaron. She sighed. He’d been a huge hit. She should feel relieved, if not glad. Instead, well, if she had to put a name to it, she’d have to admit she was jealous. But of what?

  She lay in her attic bed, completely enclosed by walls on two sides and sheets on two others, and listened to Jaron’s breathing. It wasn’t the slow heavy sound of someone who was asleep. “Jaron?”

  She’d given up on getting an answer when she heard a gruff, “Yeah?”

  That wasn’t an I-want-to-talk response. That was an I-want-to-sleep response. Bonnie didn’t care. “It went okay this afternoon, huh?”

  Another long silence. “Seemed to.”

  “Everyone liked you.”

  “Surprised?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good night, Bonnie.”

  She hadn’t meant it to sound that way. “Wait—”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

  “Is there any possibility of sex?”

  Where was a good scathing remark when she needed one? All she managed was a scathing squeak.

  “I
thought not. Go to sleep.”

  “Why do you keep doing that?”

  “Because you’re such an easy target.”

  “Well, quit it, okay?”

  “That goes both ways.”

  “But it’s going more your way than mine. Anything I did was in self-defense.”

  “That’s a very convenient attitude. It must make it easy for you to sleep at night. Why don’t you?”

  “Fine!” Bonnie flounced over onto her side, her back away from him. She wished the sheets were twelve feet thick.

  She heard him exhale.

  “I can hear you over there,” he said.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “No, but you’re breathing in quivering indignation. I’ll probably regret this, but what did you want to talk to me about?”

  Bonnie thought about telling him to forget it, but she didn’t. “You were nice to Alison.”

  “I was nice to everybody.”

  “But you were especially nice to her.”

  “I’m not used to being nice. Maybe I got it wrong—

  which one was she?”

  “The one with the...” Bonnie trailed off.

  “Big nose. Yeah. It doesn’t take a genius to see that she’s self-conscious about it and that she probably took a lot of grief for it when she was growing up.”

  “We were in school together. They called her Uglychild instead of Fairchild.”

  “And probably worse. I know how it can be.”

  Something in his voice caught at her. “How do you know?”

  “I knew I’d regret this.”

  Bonnie wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “What happened to you?”

  “Save your sympathy—unless it involves something very specifically physical.”

  “A kick in the groin?”

  He chuckled. “You’re not going to be as much fun anymore, are you?”

  “It sounds like fun to me. Quit stalling or you will never sleep tonight.”

  Bonnie half expected him to fling back the curtains and tell her off, but he didn’t.

  “I had a great childhood, but I didn’t have a typical one. You’ve met my mother. Imagine her the way she is now, but as the single mother of a seven-year-old, one who up to that time relied on nannies for the day-to-day details of child care.”