He had looked at her, then, and tried to smile, but the tears he refused to shed had crowded his eyes. It hurt Anna even now to think about it.
It also pained her to remember how she had gone to the jail when he was arrested for robbing the service station. He hadn’t wanted to see her, had refused to leave his cell. He only sent word that she was to go home, go away and forget about him. He hadn’t wanted anybody to stand by him, not then.
It was just as well, since no one had. Not Tom, who was nowhere to be found. Not Rip’s own father, who’d gone around town cursing and swearing Rip was no son of his. Not Anna’s mother, who declared Rip had always been a bad influence on her boy, or her father who reluctantly agreed. Even Papa Vidal had little to say on Rip’s behalf, though his testimony had been beneficial.
The elderly black man had sworn in court that he’d seen Tom Montrose driving “hell-for-leather” past Blest late on the night of the robbery. He’d hemmed and hawed on the witness stand, but finally placed the time at least an hour after Rip was arrested with the service station money in his possession. That had been enough to remove the suspicion that Rip had harmed Tom—at least for the jury, Judge Benson and even Tom’s father. Nothing, it seemed, would ever satisfy Tom’s mother on that point.
It was also Papa Vidal who put forth the idea that Rip, when caught, had been returning the money he’d stolen. That assumption, and the fact that no weapon was involved in the robbery and that there had been no injuries, had caused his sentence to be reduced and made him eligible for parole after three years.
Anna closed her eyes, trying to relax as she let the sound of the rain ease her strained nerves. Instead, she saw Rip in her mind’s eye as he had stood in court that last day. He had been sullen and insolent, with his long hair flopping into his face and his worn shirt stretched tight across shoulders that were hard-muscled from his job in the service station’s body shop. He had appeared tough, with a mutinous tilt to his head and disdain in his copper-bronze face.
Regardless, when he met Anna’s gaze across the width of the courtroom, such pain had shone in his eyes that she felt her heart would break. She had wept for days after he was sentenced, shedding endless silent tears alone in her room. That was until her mother found her crying and slapped her, accusing her of disloyalty to her family and her brother’s memory.
Those angry words had sounded strange to Anna then and still did, as if her mother had given Tom up long before anyone was certain that he wasn’t coming back. Anna refused to accept that. She couldn’t think of him as gone forever, not her brother who shared her love of books and funny movies, got a huge kick out of silly practical jokes and enjoyed the simple things like picnics and walks in the woods. Her brother and best friend who choked up while singing “The Star-Spangled Banner,” but had a picture of Confederate General Robert E. Lee on his bedroom wall. The boy who liked to watch deer play in the woods, and was so tenderhearted that he made himself sick by drinking too much the nights before he was supposed to go hunting. She missed him so much, couldn’t believe she might never see him again.
She had not managed to ask Rip the right questions about Tom the evening before, but she must. She would do it the first chance she got, perhaps at Sally Jo’s barbecue. If she could only figure out how to go about it.
The dawn broke bright, hot and extra humid due to the rain in the night. Anna went to work as usual and had been at her desk less than an hour when Rip called. He wanted her to go shopping with him when she got off. The mall an hour away stayed open until ten o’clock, he said; they would have plenty of time.
She could hardly refuse in light of their agreement. Besides, she had her own agenda.
For all the good she did the rest of the day, she might as well have left work the instant Rip hung up. She couldn’t concentrate, was jumpy or else sat staring as if in a trance. The two women who worked with her in the Clerk of Court’s office teased her unmercifully about the deeds she filed in the wrong place and land abstracts she copied in error. It was a relief when Rip finally picked her up outside the courthouse.
They rode for several minutes in silence. Anna was aware of everything about him, from how he sat to the way his hair grew over his ears. In an effort to distract herself and establish some kind of normalcy, she said, “So, what kind of shopping did you have in mind?”
“Clothes,” he answered with a glancing smile. “Plus a few other things.”
“What sort of clothes?”
“Up to you. Whatever I need.”
“Jeans?” she suggested, since it seemed necessary to narrow the selection somewhat.
“Jeans I’ve got,” he said. “My business was the kind of Silicon Valley place with a casual dress code that included just about anything except a three-piece suit.”
“You must have had suits for business meetings or dinners?” Exasperation for his lack of helpfulness was strong in her voice.
“One. Navy blue. I was in a hurry, so I took the first thing that fit. The salesman picked out a shirt and tie.”
“And you let him?”
“His taste was bound to be better than mine.” His smile was spare.
“Not necessarily,” she protested, and meant it. Rip wore jeans again today, though these were faded almost white. His shirt was white also, this one western cut with mother-of-pearl snaps. Its tapered shape, wide at the shoulders and narrowing at the waist and hips, fit his torso with absolute fidelity while its pristine brightness made his skin look like burnished bronze. His rugged body shape and angular bone structure were the kind that rocketed male models to fame and fortune; anything he cared to put on would look great. At the same time, he had a simple style of his own that would be hard to improve.
When he made no answer, she went on, “What will you be doing now that you’ve sold your company? I mean, will it affect the clothes you need?”
“Probably not that much.” He tipped his head in consideration. “I’ll be working at home once I get a permanent place and have it wired for a computer. I have a few ideas I intend to develop.”
“I thought you sold your operation for enough to put you among the idle rich?”
“A man has to do something to keep busy.”
“Then jeans ought to see you through just fine. I don’t see why you need me.” She crossed her arms over her chest as she stared straight ahead.
“I’ve got a barbecue to attend tomorrow night, if you recall, and a civic club luncheon the day after. That means I need a few things more upscale, okay. What I buy is entirely in your hands, since you know what it will take for me to fit in. Afterward, I thought we might go look at paint and wallpaper.”
The last suggestion was meant to steer the conversation away from the subject of his clothes and his expectations. Anna was just as happy to allow it “Paint and wallpaper for Blest? But you’re months away from needing them.”
“Months, huh?” His lashes shielded his eyes.
“At least.”
“What if I told you I intend to fix up one of the outbuildings for a place to live, something that can be turned into a guest house later?”
She studied him a moment before she said, “I’d say you think big these days.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing that I can see. It’s just—surprising.”
His smile faded and his lips set in a grim line. “Considering where I came from, you mean?”
“I didn’t mean that at all,” she said sharply. “Or at least, I only meant surprising for someone from Montrose, not for, well…”
“Shanty trash from across the river.” The words were icy.
“You said it, I didn’t.”
“To save you the search for a substitute. I’d rather you just came out with it.”
“And I’d rather you turned around and drove me home if you’re going to be so prickly,” she declared, incensed. “I can’t test every word before I say it, Rip. I’m not responsible for where you came from or what happened
to you, or what you’ve done or not done since you left here. And I refuse to feel guilty because—” She stopped, turning sharply from him and clamping her lips together. After a moment she said in ragged distress, “I’m sorry.”
A strained silence fell. Then he reached out to put his hand over her clenched fists in her lap. “Don’t apologize,” he said in low tones. “It’s my fault. I guess I am touchy. And you have no reason to feel guilty. You’ve never done a thing to me that I didn’t ask for—though I often wished you would.”
She swung her head, holding his dark gaze a long moment. His expression was shaded with wry humor, but it was also bold and open. He meant exactly what he said and didn’t care if she knew it.
“Rip…” she began uncertainly.
“Forget it,” he said, withdrawing his hand, putting it back on the steering wheel. “Let’s start again, all right? What kind of wallpaper would you say I need for the building that used to be the schoolhouse?”
She considered the question as best she was able while she waited for the shivery pleasure of his touch to fade from her skin. At last, she said, “Something with an educational theme, maybe. Books? World globes? No, wait. I think I saw a border with Greek scholars and scrolls in sepia tones. It was at the best decorator’s showroom in town, though. The shop will be closed by the time we can get to it.”
“No problem,” he answered. “I made an appointment at a decorator’s that may be the place you have in mind, since it came highly recommended. The guy specializes in restorations, and sells antiques and reproduction furniture. He agreed to have take-out food delivered so we can eat while we look. The choice was Italian or Chinese. I told him both because I didn’t know what you would like.”
“Both. Either,” she said a shade incoherently as she struggled to hide her amazement. She was really going to have to stop underestimating John “Rip” Peterson. Before she found herself in real trouble.
6
Rip thought Anna enjoyed making him over once she got into it. He certainly got a charge out of letting her. It was a great boost for his ego, hearing her point out his good points to the guy at the men’s shop. Having her step up to smooth a lapel down his chest or check the fit of a pair of pants at the waist gave him a blast, too, more of one than was strictly comfortable. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice, which made him wonder about the man she had married.
Of course, standing there dressed in whatever she had handed him, while she looked him over like a prize bull, was uncomfortable in other ways. He figured he’d asked for it, though, so he endured it as best he could. To distract himself, he wondered exactly what she was seeing and feeling. And just what it would take to make her appraisal a bit less impersonal.
The insane impulse to stop hiking back and forth to the dressing room and change right there in front of her occupied him for several minutes. He even unbuttoned one of the shirts to the waist and left it open while he worked on the French cuffs. She noticed, too, because he caught her staring. But her vulnerable expression and the wash of color across her cheekbones were a lot harder on him than acting like a male model. He didn’t try that again.
The lady had taste. He had known that, of course, had been counting on it. Not that his own was as bad as he’d made out. Anna’s choice and his were so often the same he stopped placing mental bets on what she’d decide because it was no longer a challenge. They left the store with more clothes than he’d ever owned in his life, but now his wardrobe was set up for whatever might come along.
At the decorator shop, the owner had called in reinforcements in the form of a sleek blond assistant. It felt a bit like two against one to Rip, since the guy was gay, the assistant single and available, and both were not only predatory in a caressing, ultra-agreeable fashion, but seemed to consider him along for the ride. He was about ready to call the evening a washout, until he noticed that Anna didn’t especially like the way the blonde kept touching him with her red talons.
While Anna was preoccupied, he took control. Before the others realized what was happening, he had chosen the earth tones he preferred for his bedroom, and pushed through Anna’s suggestion of a French monotone assemblage in taupe for the sitting room. Then he shoved the wallpaper and drapery books out of the way to get to the food that had been ordered.
Later, with half a fortune cookie still in his hand, he left the others discussing techniques for restoring floors while he moved on to the furniture showroom in the back. The others followed soon after.
“What do you think about this for a bed?” he called to Anna, in part because he wanted to know, but also to entice her away from an antique mahogany monster that would take four men to move and required curtains on the sides.
“It’s Empire style, a fine reproduction piece,” the blond assistant said in authoritative tones as she cut Anna off by sauntering over to wrap her hands around his arm. She tipped her head, giving him a sly glance. “Very Napoleonic and masculine, though the time line is earlier than we’ve been discussing for your house.”
“It’s going in a guest cottage,” Rip replied curtly. “We’ll pretend Great-grandma moved the thing out of her bedroom to make way for something more grand.” He held out his hand to Anna in appeal. “Honey? Will it work?”
“Perfectly, darling,” she drawled, moving in close enough to take his other arm. “Only you’ve got a real one like it in the attic at Blest.”
He untangled himself from the blonde to give Anna his full attention. If his relief at the rescue showed, he didn’t care. “Really? Then maybe we should see what else might be up there before going any further.”
“Good idea,” she said in dry agreement.
He could have kissed her. And needed to desperately as he felt the brush of her hip and thigh against his leg, caught the jasmine scent of her perfume.
He didn’t get the chance. For one thing, it was late by the time they got back to Montrose, too late to do anything except take her straight home. For another, Anna seemed wary and on edge, sitting as far as possible from him and jumping from the car the minute it came to a halt. He unfolded his long frame and got out, walking around to see her to the door.
“About tomorrow,” he began as they stopped on the front porch.
“If you’ve had second thoughts, I certainly understand.”
He paused, startled. “Do you now?”
“It’s bound to be uncomfortable for you—facing old friends.”
“Your old friends. They were never more than acquaintances of mine.”
“All the more reason to wait a bit before plunging into the social swing.”
“I don’t want to wait. In fact, the sooner the better. I’d like to get out as much as possible.”
The glance she gave him was unhappy before she looked away. “You can’t expect to take up every minute of my time.”
“We had an agreement,” he reminded her, his voice even.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded, her eyes flashing in the dim light. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“I think I made that clear enough. But if you need a reminder…”
“No,” she said hastily.
“You’ve decided you don’t want to be seen with me, after all?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“It isn’t ridiculous! You’d be surprised how many women have discovered that being with me in public is one thing, but seeing me privately is something else again. Or vice versa.”
“I’m not other women! I just—don’t want you to get hurt.”
She had said something similar before. The idea that she might really be concerned made his heart swell until it crowded his chest. “Don’t worry, I’m tougher than I look.”
The glance she gave him was scathing. “Then you must be positively armor-plated.”
“Practically. Look, what is this? Is it about what was going on tonight at the decorator’s?”
Her chin came up. “If you think I’m jealous because that woman was ru
bbing all over you like a cat in heat, you can think again.”
“What I thought,” he said, keeping his face straight to hide his triumph, “is that you might have objected to being called ‘honey.’”
“Oh. Well, I knew you didn’t mean it.”
Didn’t he, now? “I also thought,” he continued while he was ahead, “that you might come over Saturday morning and help me find Napoleon’s bed.”
“Napoleonic era bed,” she corrected him while staring distractedly over his shoulder. “He never slept in it.”
“Well, I intend to. If I can find it.” He waited for her response.
“I don’t see what good having me there is going to serve, since nobody will be around to see us.”
“You’re supposed to be helping me restore Blest, and my bedroom is where I aim to start. Clear?”
“Saturday morning, then, all right,” she agreed without enthusiasm.
“Good. About tomorrow night, what time shall I pick you up?”
“The barbecue starts at seven, but you don’t have to do that. I can—”
“I want to do it. Be ready at a quarter till.” He made it an order. He was pushing, but it was important she realize he meant business.
The look she gave him should have singed his five o’clock shadow. He didn’t mind, since he recognized it as a signal of defeat. When she turned on her heel and went into the house, he let her go without protest. He stayed where he was until he saw a light come on, then turned back toward his car. As he walked, he stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled softly to himself.
“You used to be quite a ball player in the old days, Rip. It’s a shame you never got the chance to go professional. You might have made a success at it, earned some real money.”
Anna looked around as Kingsly “King” Beecroft spoke. The words he’d used were innocent enough—even complimentary taken by themselves—but his smile was superior and his tone patronizing. King, who’s name had been shortened in grammar school, was top man at a local cotton-seed mill, a position that gave him considerable standing in town. A former jock and football All-American from an old Montrose family, he was self-satisfied to the point of arrogance.
Southern Gentlemen: John Rip PetersonBilly Ray Wainwright Page 6