Hoping to disguise her attraction with the familiar teasing they’d often exchanged, she leaned forward and drew circles on his chest with her fingertip. “Are you saying you picked me because I played hard to get?”
He looked startled by her touch and pulled back with a nervous laugh. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just not used to you looking so—” His gaze made a hasty trip down the length of her, then darted away. “What time should I pick you up?”
“Seven, I suppose.” She frowned, wondering what her looks had to do with him pulling away. “The country club is expecting us at seven-thirty. After dinner, there’ll be live music and dancing in the ballroom.”
“Lawrence Welk, no doubt.” He glanced at his watch as if impatient to get away from her. “I can hardly wait.”
“Look, Brent.” She crossed her arms. “I realize today was uncomfortable—for both of us.”
“Actually, it wasn’t that bad.”
“It wasn’t?” She frowned.
He shook his head, chuckling. “You should have seen Mayor Davis tugging at his tie every time Janet answered a question. I’ve never seen a grown man turn that red.”
“Well, he couldn’t have been more embarrassed than I was.” She laughed, releasing the tension. “Can you believe the things she and Stacey said! I wanted to die when they offered to lick your lips and serve you in the nude.”
He laughed as well, a sensuous sound that stirred something deep inside her. “That was pretty, um … intriguing.”
Her laughter stilled as she watched him, noting little details about his eyes that the TV screen didn’t show, like the tiny lines to either side, the dark spiky lashes, and the flecks of silver within the navy-blue depths.
“What?” he asked self-consciously.
“Nothing.” She looked away. “I just … wanted to thank you for being such a good sport.”
“You’re welcome.” For a moment, he studied her in turn. Then a grin came slowly over his face. “Though I expect to be well paid.”
“You what?” She blinked at him as erotic images of the two of them together played across her mind.
“I meant with dinner.” He grinned in reproach at the conclusion she’d drawn—a conclusion he’d probably wanted her to draw, the wretch. How could a man be so exasperating and so endearing at the same time?
“That was the deal, wasn’t it?” he asked. “One night on the town with a beautiful woman, compliments of Beason’s Ferry?”
“Well, I don’t know about the beautiful woman part,” she tried not to blush and failed. “But you will be well fed.”
“I can hardly wait.” He disconcerted her by wiggling his brows.
“Would you stop?” She laughed and thumped him on the arm with her fist.
“Ugh! I’m wounded.” He staggered back with a hand clasped to the arm she’d hit.
“Just pick me up at seven.” She sighed.
“Whatever you say, Squirt.”
The single word stiffened her spine. “Yeah, well, see you then, Zartlich.”
As she turned to leave, she chided herself for getting so flustered. In spite of the sexual undertones of their exchange, she knew Brent had only been teasing. Obviously, he still thought of her as nothing more than a little sister.
—
At five minutes to seven, Laura stared at the pile of clothes strewn across the white eyelet comforter of her canopy bed. The situation was hopeless. Utterly hopeless. She had absolutely nothing to wear.
Why didn’t I buy a new dress?
Because everyone in town would have known about it and laughed behind her back. Poor Laura Beth thinks Brent Michaels will pick her. Only—he had picked her.
And now I have nothing to wear.
For the third time, she snatched up the simple black dress with the scooped neckline and three-quarter sleeves. She held it in front of her as she stood before the free-standing mirror. It looked like what it was: her funeral dress. Maybe she could snazz it up with some jewelry—and look like she was trying too hard.
Tossing the black dress onto the white wicker chair, she reached for a pink cotton shirtwaist with a lace collar. She studied her reflection, then slumped in despair. The dress looked more appropriate for an afternoon tea party than a dinner date.
She needed something sophisticated—not sweet. Something subtle—but not too subtle. Something sexy. Every woman had at least one sexy dress in her closet, didn’t she? In desperation, she turned back to the bed, hoping some slinky number in bright red would magically materialize.
“Mmm, mmm, girl, ain’t you dressed yet?”
Laura glanced up in “Clarice. Thank goodness you could come on such short notice.”
The elderly maid came over to straighten the clothes on the bed. “What you cleanin’ your closet for at a time like this?”
“Never mind that.” She waved the woman away “I’ll pick all this up later. Right now I’d rather you see about dinner. Daddy’s been grousing for the past hour.”
Snatching up a navy-blue suit, Laura turned back to the mirror. She’d always thought the suit a bit conservative, even for her, but men frequently complimented her when she wore it.
“If I know Dr. Morgan,” Clarice said, “he ain’t grousing ‘cause his stomach’s empty. He’s grousing ‘cause his baby’s going out with a man. A real man.”
“Clarice.” Laura blushed. “I’ve been on dates before.”
The woman gave a rude snort, which Laura ignored. Clarice liked to think she was too valuable a maid to be fired. And she was—though certainly not for her house-cleaning abilities. She’d been coming in twice a week to clean for as long as Laura could remember. Laura had come to consider the older woman a friend. A surrogate mother. She could never fire her, even if Clarice had grown too old to do much more than dust. Clarice had grandchildren to support and a bad back. Besides, Laura didn’t really mind taking over the heavier housework without reducing the woman’s pay.
The rumble of a motor sounded beyond the open window. Startled, Laura dashed over to peer outside to find a yellow Porsche pulling into the drive.
“Oh, no,” she breathed as she clutched the sheer curtains to her breast. “He’s early.”
“More like you’s late.”
Laura glanced at the thin gold watch on her wrist. “You’re right. Clarice.” She sent a desperate look to the maid. “Would you do me a favor, please, and run downstairs to get the door before my father does?”
“If you say, though I sure hopes you gonna wear something other than that fer your date.” The woman cast a meaningful eye at the ivory-satin-and-lace garter belt that held up Laura’s stockings.
Laura blushed. Her preference for sexy underwear was only a small rebellion and one she preferred to keep from her father. If he had any idea what she wore under her proper outerwear, he’d think she’d inherited her mother’s wild streak. “The door, Clarice. Please?”
“I’m going, I’m going,” the woman grumbled. “But if I was you, I’d wear the blue suit.”
“You don’t think it looks too churchy?” Laura asked, frowning at the outfit.
“With that short skirt?” Clarice cackled, a twinkle in her eyes. “Fine pair of legs like yours is just begging to be showed off. ‘Sides, never hurts to advertise the merchandise, if you know what I mean.”
“Clarice!” Laura started to scold, but the woman had already headed down the hall. She glanced at the navy-blue suit. Was that why men liked the outfit? Because it showed off her legs?
The thought of displaying her legs to Brent made her heart hammer so hard, she almost rejected wearing the suit. Almost stopping in the circular drive, Brent cut the engine on the German sports car. The silence seemed startling after the rumbling Purr, as if nothing so crass as noise would dare disturb the sweeping lawns of the Morgan house. For a moment, he stared up at the century-and-a-half-year-old structure, with its red brick and white columns.
A smile tugged at his lips. Who’d have imagined that Brent
Zartlich would ever be welcome at this imposing front door? To take Dr. Morgan’s daughter out on a date, no less.
Climbing out of the Porsche, he tossed the corsage box into the air and caught it neatly. The garish mum, which had arrived at his room that afternoon, made him think of all the things he’d avoided to save his pride: homecoming dates, prom night. Tonight would make up for all of it. And he couldn’t think of anyone better to share his triumph with than Laura.
Bounding up the steps, he rang the bell, which sat above a historical marker and between two plaques proclaiming the occupants Sons and Daughters of The Republic. A series of chiming notes drifted through the solid cypress door.
No sound followed. Glancing down he dusted a speck of lint off his pearl-gray Yves Saint Laurent suit. The chirping of birds and the scurrying of squirrels drew his attention to the lawn. He frowned in disapproval. Whoever had taken over his old job as lawn boy wasn’t keeping the boxwood properly trimmed or the mulch turned under the azaleas.
The door cracked open, and a wizened face peeked around the panel, a face as gnarled and dark as the old oak trees that shaded the lawn. “’Bout time you got here.”
“Clarice!” He laughed in surprise. “What in the world are you doing still working here?”
“I’d like to know that myself.” Her grin showed a mouthful of teeth too white to be real. “You’d think these folks could learn to take care of themselves after all these years.”
Brent stepped into the foyer and had the oddest sensation of stepping through an invisible wall. He’d never been through the front door of this house. He soaked in the feel of the entryway, with its gleaming antiques, its wood-plank floors, and the stairway that curved gracefully upward to the second floor.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm.” Clarice shook her head at him. “They sure must be feeding you right in that city of yours.”
“Good enough.” He glanced surreptitiously at the carved rococo mirror over the Chippendale entry table. He would never have thought to mix those two styles, but somehow the blend created an air of inherited wealth. He’d have to keep it in mind for his own house in Houston.
“Who’s there?” a deep voice demanded from beyond the formal parlor. Brent peered into the softly lit room, where evening sunlight filtered through lace curtains to glow against a Queen Anne coffee table laden with porcelain knickknacks.
“It’s Mr. Brent to pick up Miss Laura Beth for their date,” Clarice shouted back, then lowered her voice. “As if he didn’t have the sense to figure that out for himself.”
The smile that started to form on Brent’s face stiffened when Dr. Walter Morgan appeared in the doorway at the far side of the parlor.
“So it is.” The doctor’s angular face registered no readable emotion as he assessed Brent’s attire. “Well, you certainly have come a long way since the days when you used to mow my lawn.”
Keeping his own expression bland, Brent adopted his news announcer’s voice. “Good evening, Dr. Morgan. I hope you’re well.”
“Passing fair.” The man came forward with the aid of a cane to stand before Brent. His tall frame refused to bend despite the arthritis evident in his hands. Thin white hair had been scraped straight back, emphasizing sharp cheekbones and cool gray eyes. “If it weren’t for seeing you on the news, I’d never have recognized you … coming through my front door.”
Brent ignored the reminder that he would never have been extended the privilege of using the front door instead of the back if he weren’t a news anchor. “Word in town has it you sold your medical practice to join the ranks of the retired. I hope you’re enjoying retirement.”
Dr. Morgan glanced toward the maid. “Clarice, inform my daughter her … “date” has arrived.”
“Yes, sir.” Clarice climbed her way up the stairs, and neither man spoke until her footsteps faded.
“I understand you put on quite a show today in town,” the doctor said.
“Just giving the audience their money’s worth,” Brent answered evenly.
”From what I hear, Janet made the usual fool of herself. Stacey, however, is normally a sensible girl. If the bank hadn’t insisted she participate out of some misguided sense of civic duty, I’m sure she’d have avoided the whole nonsense.”
“No doubt.” Brent resisted the urge to glance at his watch. “But then, it was all for your daughter’s favorite cause.”
“Which is the only reason Laura Beth participated.” A hard gleam came into Dr. Morgan’s eyes. “But then, everyone knows she’s always had a soft spot for charity cases. No doubt she wanted to spare the fund-raising committee the embarrassment of an empty chair on that stage when no one else could be persuaded to participate.”
Brent kept his expression completely blank, while inside every muscle in his gut tightened. No matter how far he’d come, no matter what he accomplished, to some people he would always be the bastard kid raised on the edge of town.
“I do hope,” the doctor said, “as you take Laura Beth out this evening, you’ll remember this is a small community. I would hate to see my daughter’s name linked to any unsavory gossip as a result of her charity work.”
“I’ll try to bear that in mind,” Brent said with a forced smile. “But then, we poor folk do have trouble remembering how to behave when we’re out among polite society.”
“Hey, Brent!” Laura’s voice rang out from the second-floor landing as clear and cheerful as the chimes on the doorbell. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Relief washed over him. Everything would be fine now. He would get away from town and spend a nice relaxing evening with a friend. And that’s all he and Laura were, friends.
Or so he thought until she rounded the first newel post and the air left his lungs. There at eye level were a pair of incredibly long, shapely legs. He tried not to gape as she skipped down the stairs in a blend of youth and grace. In contrast to the exposed legs, the rest of her looked prim and proper. The lapelless navy jacket floated nearly to the hem of the short navy skirt. A cameo pin fastened the white silk blouse at the throat. She’d swept her hair into a perfect French twist.
“My goodness,” she said, taking in his suit. “Don’t we look nice.”
Brent felt an absurd flush of pride. Over the years, he’d learned to view his appearance with detached objectivity, as nothing more than an asset to his trade. Yet in that moment, with Laura smiling up at him, he felt as if she’d complimented him.
Then her eyes lit on the corsage, and laughter slipped past the hand she pressed to her lips. “Oh, dear.” She made a valiant effort to regain a straight face. “Janet’s corsage.”
He glanced down at the enormous white mum and devoutly wished he’d tossed it in the trash. He should have known Janet had arranged for it in the expectation that she would be his date. The thing was as big as a high school spirit corsage, minus only the ribbons cowbells, and glitter. “If you’d rather not wear it, you certainly won’t hurt my feelings.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She smiled up at him while her father looked on with a scowl. “I never received a single mum when I was in school. I’m not about to pass up the chance to wear one now. Besides, pea green is such a delightful color on Janet, don’t you think?”
He grunted as he went to pin the corsage to her jacket—and discovered her blouse wasn’t as prim as he’d thought. He could see the lacy pattern of her bra through the fine silk. He jerked as the pin jabbed his finger.
“Oh, and Dad?” Laura said over her shoulder. “Clarice will have dinner ready any minute. I’d appreciate it very much if you’d let her go home as soon as she’s finished cooking.”
“I don’t see why you couldn’t have cooked dinner and left it on the table,” her father complained. “That woman burns everything.”
“I’m sure she can handle heating up leftovers and tossing a salad,” Laura said as she checked the corsage.
Dr. Morgan gave a snort that conveyed his doubts about Clarice’s abilities in the kitchen. Then his gaze
dropped to his daughter’s feet, and his brows snapped together. “You’ll ruin your ankles in those high heels.”
“Dad.” Laura’s eyes narrowed with warning. “I’ll likely be in late, so don’t wait up.”
“I’ll expect you to wake me when you do get in,” he said gruffly.
“Good night, Dad.” She kissed his cheek.
Brent offered his arm, more than relieved to make their escape. To his irritation, the good doctor stood at the doorway and watched as he helped Laura into his car. Out of pure frustration, anger, or maybe just for the sheer hell of it, when he climbed into the driver’s seat, he threw the car into gear and laid ten feet of rubber down the circular drive.
Chapter 5
“What did he say?” Laura kept her eyes straight ahead, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“Who?”
“My father.” She shot Brent a look for his obtuseness. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing,” Brent insisted as he turned onto the main road out of town.
She propped her elbow on the window ledge. “I knew I should have been waiting downstairs when you arrived.” Brent didn’t say a word. She glanced over and saw the tension in his face. “I’m sorry. Really, I—” She broke off at the sound of his chuckle. “What’s so funny?”
“You.” He turned toward her, and his eyes filled with fondness. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“I have, too,” she insisted, then frowned. “In what way haven’t I changed?”
“You’re still flying to the aid of the underdog. Only, Laura?” He grinned. “I’m not the underdog anymore.”
“Oh, well, no, of course not.” She wondered if she’d offended him. He seemed so self-assured, but currents flowed beneath the confident facade, little glimpses of insecurity that reminded her of the boy he’d once been.
“I’d much rather talk about you, though,” he said. “What the heck has Little Laura Beth been up to all these years?”
“Nothing.” Her mouth twisted in a derisive smirk. “Absolutely nothing.”
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