He's So Shy

by Linda Cajio

  Richard set down the local weekly paper that had been innocently delivered to every mailbox in the county, including his, and wondered what disaster could happen next. The notion was mind-boggling, because he couldn’t think how things could get worse. Here they were feeling all nice and safe from the big, bad tabloids, and the little tiny local rag up and pulls the scoop of the year—even if they didn’t know it. Although the article simply mentioned the reporters at Pen’s house, that would probably more than damning as far as her school board was be concerned.

  Pen must be frantic, and that meant she’d be ready to drop him. He had to see her, reason with her. If she could reason. At least he had to try.

  He went to Libby’s house a few hours later under cover of night.

  Pen practically yanked him off his feet and through the kitchen doorway, demanding, “What are you doing here?”

  “Is that any way to greet a sister soul-mate?” he complained. Lolita rubbed her way against his calves, meowing happily. At least someone was glad to see him. He handed over the package he’d thought to bring, saying, “Here’s the dress back. It’s ripped under both arms. I think it was a size too small.”

  Tears were already welling in Pen’s eyes, and he knew his lame joke had been in poor taste. He could only guess that she probably hated him for all the trouble he’d caused her. He stood frozen for a moment, not knowing what to do, this whole situation being beyond his ken. But she looked as if she needed to be held, and every instinct in his body was crying out for him to hold her. So he took a chance and stepped forward and put his arms around her.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, grateful that she didn’t push him away. She didn’t wrap her arms around him, but her fingers clutched his shirtfront. He rubbed her back, the gesture strictly a comforting one, although his veins caught a little swirl of heat.

  She sniffed back more unshed tears. She didn’t cry, not Pen. “Oh, hell, Richard. It’s not your fault. And it’s not mine.”

  “They can’t do anything, Pen. You’ve conducted yourself with more moral concern for the kids than half that damn school board probably does.” He set his jaw. “If there are repercussions, I’ll come and testify.”

  “Oh, brother, that’ll be a three-ring circus.”

  Libby’s acid comment landed with its usual bang. Richard turned to face her, but didn’t let go of Pen. He’d be damned before he’d do that anymore.

  “You’re here, Richard, screwing up again, after I told you not to,” Libby went on.

  “I needed to see Pen.”

  “And I needed to see him,” Pen said stoutly, straightening out of his embrace. “It’s okay, Libby.”

  Libby eyed them both for a long moment. “You are out the door by one, mister, and no argument. I don’t have that many dresses to lend to you.” She took the package from Pen and pulled out her dress. “Geez, I must be built like a linebacker if Richard could get into this one.”

  “I split the sleeves,” Richard said helpfully.

  “That makes me feel a whole lot better.” Libby waved her hands. “Shoo! Upstairs before I change my mind. And, remember, out by one!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Richard took Pen’s hand and raced with her up the stairs.

  “I should hate you,” Pen said when she closed her bedroom door behind them.

  He turned to face her, his heart thudding. “Do you?”

  “No.” It was a whisper, but it was enough. She smiled. “What a mess.”

  He took her back in his arms again. This time she came more willingly, wrapping her arms around his waist. Relief rolled over him, far more than he’d expected, telling him that not only had he needed her comfort and forgiveness more than he’d thought, but that he’d been more worried than he’d realized that he wouldn’t get it.

  “Don’t apologize,” she said.

  “I wasn’t going to.” But he smiled, knowing he probably would have been apologetic in tone, if nothing else. She was getting to know him so well.

  She started to laugh. “All this time I’ve been in hibernation over those stupid tabloids and the bomb’s been in my own backyard.”

  “Brutus’s actually,” Richard said.

  “True.” She sighed. “I wish I didn’t like my job as much as I do. It’ll be hard to get another one as good.”

  “Bull.” He grinned as she looked up at him in surprise. “Come to L.A., and they’ll hire someone with your credentials in a second. And nobody will care if you’re the current hottest item in the tabloids.”

  “You’re the current hottest item, Richard. I’m just a by-product.”

  She drew in a deep breath. He could feel her breasts pressing into his chest, overturning his feelings of comfort. Desire blazed in him. He shuddered with restraint. He’d issued his invitation lightly, unconsciously really, but he knew it had been a testing of the waters. Suddenly he realized he didn’t want to hear what she had to say.

  Instead of drawing away, she tightened her arms around him and said, “I … I don’t know if you meant the invitation seriously, but I don’t think I can go to Los Angeles, Richard. My home is here.”

  “I see.” He did see … and he envied her. He’d been happy halfway up the mountainside in his trailer, his inner self content. The mindset on the East Coast was different from that of the West, and he was more comfortable with it. In fact, his time here had only emphasized that his vagabond life was unsatisfying in too many ways. He needed and wanted home, hearth … and Pen. “It was just a suggestion. But there are things we can do here to help you. I know someone I can talk to. And I won’t make things worse. I promise.”

  “I don’t know …” She stepped out of the embrace, then sighed. “Dammit! Where’s my spine? I’m tired of being cooped up here like I’m Hester Prynne with a big scarlet letter on my chest! Since the cat’s half out of the bag, I’m damned if I’m hibernating any longer.”

  He grinned at her new spunk, but only said, “What about those tabloids? They’ll be all over you.”

  “Let ’em,” Pen snapped, folding her arms across her chest. “I’ll borrow Brutus for a few weeks. I’m taking back my life, Richard. I’m damned anyway now, so I might as well. Besides, I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”

  “Is there any room for me?” he asked, his stomach tightening with fear that she might give him a negative answer.

  She hesitated, and he knew immediately that she wanted to say no. She closed her eyes, shuddered, then opened them, saying, “Yes, for as long as you want to be there. I know I shouldn’t, but … I want you. I care about you, Richard.”

  He drew her to him. “I won’t hurt you, Pen. I promise.”

  She turned her head to look at him, her lips already moving to say something. He kissed her into silence, not wanting to hear any words.

  The kiss turned heated, then desperate as they both tried to express with their bodies what was in their hearts. Words meant nothing against the longing and the need that could only be answered by the other.

  This, Richard knew beyond any doubt, was what turned the ugly duckling into the graceful swan.

  Somehow, despite all their obstacles, he would make it all work.

  He was gone by one in the morning, true to his word—and with Libby pounding on the door to remind him. After a quick look outside, Richard went down the front steps, the quiet, deserted street giving him confidence. He whistled as he got into his Bronco, parked around the corner. Tomorrow he’d talk with Libby and the producers. A donation of film equipment to the school might smooth Pen’s way later, especially if certain provisos were included.

  He could feel all the future hurts hedging in, but the most important thing was that she wanted him now and in the immediate future. If she was ready to bull her way through this, then so was he, dammit.

  He was coming out of the gate running.

  Someone had been lucky with his camera. Very lucky.

  Pen stared at the tabloid headlines as she stood in the supermarket checkout line. A pictu
re of Richard, hazy but identifiable, covered three columns on the front page along with the headline: SEXY NEW STAR’S SHOCKING LOVE REVEALED. SHE’S HIS DIRECTOR!

  Pen grabbed the paper and flipped through the pages until she found the article.

  Despite recent rumors, things are more than hunky-dory on the set of the Richard Creighton movie. How could it not be when his new love is the film’s director, Libby Marsh? Pictured coming out of her house after a late night tête-à-tête, Creighton refused to comment. The studio expects big things from this picture—and they’re sure to get it now! Will Richard and Libby team up for wedding bells? Keep reading.

  Several more pictures of Richard leaving Libby’s house accompanied the text, which went on with background from Richard’s and Libby’s love lives. There wasn’t much in Richard’s case, a notion that oddly pleased Pen. She had no idea how they got a picture of Richard leaving Libby’s. It boggled the mind how they got such information and were able to publish so quickly. The tabloid must have dropped everything to get it in after little more than three days.

  “Hey, lady, are you reading or buying?”

  Pen smacked the pages shut and dropped the offensive rag onto her groceries. “Buying.”

  The checker ran the bar code across the LED display. “Yeah, everybody is, with them making that film just up the road.”

  Pen couldn’t get out of the store fast enough. She sat in the cars. Richard and Libby! Blared all across the nation’s newsstands! Pen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and settled for doing both.

  She made it home in record time. Not a single reporter graced her sidewalk. In fact, the street was deserted. It had been like this when she’d come home from Libby’s. Now she knew why. Word must have gotten out immediately, and she’d been dropped like a hot potato in favor of the real news.

  She felt half disappointed, then reminded herself not to be stupid.

  Inside, Lolita greeted her enthusiastically. After setting down the groceries, Pen patted her cat absently, the blinking answering machine catching her eye. She counted the flashes, the total indicating how many calls she’d received.

  Thirteen. Pen swallowed back a lump of anxiety. She didn’t want to know, then hated herself for reaching out and gingerly pressing the Messages button.

  The first call was from a neighbor, who was chuckling about having thought it was she who was involved with Richard, not her cousin Libby. The second call was the same. And the third. Right down the line, each call resembled the last with amused, apologetic friends, neighbors, and coworkers who wanted her to know the laugh was on them. Even the call from one of the school board members, amused and overly apologetic, didn’t make her feel better.

  “Ha, ha,” she snapped when the calls were done. “Guess what you don’t know.”

  She smacked the Erase button, then wondered what she was so angry about. Wasn’t this what she wanted? Her normal life back? She ought to be grateful for the mistake. Now she could put things in order. Still, Libby! Who in her right mind would believe Richard was hot for Libby?

  And he better not be.

  “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, slamming groceries away.

  She had meant to break off with Richard, after seeing that love scene in his old movie. But when the little weekly paper had come out with its bomb, he had come to her, concerned and worried. And when she had looked into his eyes, she had seen the underlying fear of being rejected by her, being hurt. She hadn’t been able to do it. Not for herself or for him. She wasn’t ready to cut out her heart yet. She might never be.

  But she couldn’t live with seeing him in love scenes with other women. It took a more mature person than she was. She’d known from the beginning that she would be with him only for as long as the filming lasted in Blairstown. Now it was written in stone.

  She brushed at the tears suddenly welling in her eyes. The phone rang. Another neighbor in the throes of amusement, she thought, picking it up.

  “Yes, it’s hysterical that everyone thought it was me,” she said, without waiting for the voice. “Yes, my cousin has the hots for Richard Creighton, and, no, I don’t have any juicy stories about them.”

  “I take it you’ve seen the latest tabloid,” Richard said.

  “No, I’m living on a mountaintop in Tibet,” she replied, not able to keep the sarcasm from her voice. Determined to control herself, she said more calmly, “Yes, I’ve seen it.”

  “The whole thing is ludicrous,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  “Richard …”

  “Pen, please. I can’t come to you.”

  She hadn’t seen him since she’d come home, one restriction that was still on, for both their sakes. She closed her eyes, feeling the pull toward the inevitable well of doom.

  “Pen.”

  “Yes. I’ll come.”

  She put the receiver down, and a moment later it rang again. Sighing, she picked it up.

  It was Libby. Laughing. “So how about this? I’m Richard’s new love life. Is this a riot or what? All these clowns are camped on my doorstep now. I can’t even go outside without umpteen microphones being shoved in my face! Naturally, I’m getting off great sound bites about the film. I’ll have to thank my neighbor across the street. We found out he was the culprit with the camera who shot Richard that night. The producers weren’t that thrilled at first, though. They were afraid it would ruin my control on the set, but they love the publicity now. Mary Jane’s been a real bitch, though—”

  “Libby,” Pen said in warning.

  The line went quiet. Finally her cousin said, “I guess you’re not thrilled with this, either.”

  “No kidding. My ice cream is melting while I’ve been on the phone,” Pen said, eyeing her still-packed groceries.

  “So put the damn ice cream away. It’s fattening anyway.”

  “Gee, thanks.” But she moved toward her freezer, stretching out the cord on the wall phone in the process.

  “Pen, I’m sorry this happened.” Her cousin’s voice was suddenly small and unsure, a miracle for Libby.

  Pen sighed. “I know. Why do I feel like I’m caught up in a Marx Brothers movie without a script.” She realized it was fairly early in the afternoon. “Where are you calling from? The set? Are you on a portable?” Her stomach tightened. “Didn’t you tell me to stay off those things because people can listen in?”

  “I’m home.” Libby chuckled. “Barely got through the mob outside, which’ll serve that neighbor right. The street’s jam-packed. Mary Jane threw a fit and walked off the set, so filming had to be suspended.”

  “Oh, Good Lord!” Pen exclaimed. No wonder Richard wanted to see her.

  “I’m letting her stew for a while before I go over and smooth her ruffled feathers—not that buzzards have that many.”

  Pen laughed.

  “Richard’s upset,” Libby went on. “He needs you, Pen.”

  “He called.” Pen closed her eyes. “I’m going to talk to him.”

  “Good. Pen, he’s changed since he’s been with you. It’s been like watching a butterfly emerge. He’s been good with the crew and patient with delays and problems. People really like him. And his performance is fabulous. But now he’s withdrawing again. I’m worried about him. You need to come back on the set.”

  “You’re only worried you won’t get a good performance out of him now,” Pen countered.

  “Yes, his performance is being affected, but I’m his friend first. I was a tormentor once. I know what he went through as a kid. I’m truly worried for him personally. I’m not a complete monster, you know.”

  She tried another excuse. “But you said the tension was good for actors.”

  “Yes, but it’s gotten ugly lately. You’re so good for him, Pen. You need to be there.” Her voice lightened. “I can hire you as a consultant.”

  “Nepotism,” Pen told her.

  “Hell, this is Hollywood. Nobody cares. Consider coming to the set.”

  “I told you, I’m not go
ing to be ammunition for Mary Jane.”

  “You might be a cannon bomb that goes off in her face.” Libby chuckled. “Consider that.”

  Later, as Pen drove to Richard’s, she felt herself wavering on the subject of attending the shooting. Granted, the problem of her love life being revealed was gone, but she knew the real danger now was with the female costar. One meeting had told her that. No way would she put herself and Richard through what Mary Jane might do. The woman was to be avoided like the plague. Richard might need someone he could trust on the set, but he didn’t need the complications her presence might entail. No, it was better this way.

  No one had yet discovered his new home—clearly a very well kept secret still, so Pen turned down the dirt road. She had a feeling that even if a mass of reporters were present, they’d think she was a messenger between him and Libby.

  Ironic.

  Richard came out even before she stopped the car. She no sooner emerged from the vehicle than he had her in his arms, his mouth hot and desperate on hers in a devastating kiss.

  “Richard,” she murmured, breathless when he finally lifted his head.

  “Damn, but I can’t stand this,” he muttered, burying his face in the curve of her neck. “I’ve missed you. I want us to be together. Again.”

  She wondered, for all his physical charisma and power, if the little hurt, lonely boy still didn’t dwell close to the surface at times. A part of him was hurting; she could feel it.

  She laughed, shakily. “I wonder what the tabloids would do with this picture?”

  Richard chuckled. “Probably suppress it. Libby’s a better story.” He pulled away and looked at her. “Are you upset about this Libby thing?”

  She rolled her eyes. “What a notion. But I think I’m grateful for it. She gets me off the hook, and she’s eating this up. How are you? Are they bombarding you? I see they haven’t found this place yet.”

  Richard snorted. “Saint Peter couldn’t find this place. They aren’t bugging me any more than they used to at the set. Which is to say nearly constantly. But I’m used to it. Pen, you know who I care about. You.”

  She grinned. “I know.”