Man in Black

by Melissa Shirley

  “I don’t need a hero.” She picked up a romance novel off the side table. “I think I’ll just stay here with my book boyfriend and read.”

  He snatched it out of her hand, checked out the front cover, frowned and handed it back. “Ha. I knew it. Real men don’t wear pants with the button flap in front.”

  “Hey, Johnny Depp wore that very style in the movie about pirates.”

  He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Oh well, if Johnny wears them. . .”

  “Exactly.”

  He pointed to the front cover. “You know that’s a sock, right?”

  She grinned and heard a mean little cackle in her mind. “He probably got them on sale at Walmart. Jealous?”

  “Hardly. I can hold my own.”

  This time she laughed. “If we blow off this meeting, I could hold it for you.” He probably had women in Boston lined up begging for that honor. Still, she patted the mattress next to her.

  He ignored her and pointed to the book. “You’re right. It is a special skill you have.”

  “Told you. I have a couple more surprises, and all you have to do is come back to bed.”

  “You really don’t want to go to this meeting, do you?” His grin caused a pitter-patter in her heart.

  “After yesterday, I couldn’t care less about kissing booths and firework sales.”

  “Come with me now, and I’ll make it up to you later.”

  “How?” Not that it mattered. If he asked her to walk through a plate-glass window, she wasn’t likely to say no.

  “I’ll protect you from the crones now, and I’ll buy a pair of the pants to wear later.”

  She snatched the novel up and opened it to a random page. “That is tempting, but I’m not going, and I don’t need you to protect me.”

  He pulled her in until her face was only a breath away from his. “Oh, come on. Let me be your Iron Man.”

  The last thing she wanted was to picture him in a steel suit, but it would be nice to uphold her obligations and have someone in her corner to fend off a couple hours of hurtful old lady ridicule. “Okay, but you’re buying the pants.”

  He grinned. “It’s a deal.”

  Ryhan walked into the meeting, her confidence waning under the stares and glares of eleven old women she once thought of as friends. She bit her lip and looked around for Jesse. He either hadn’t arrived yet or had taken cover under one of the decorated tables. She took a seat with Lucia who averted her eyes but didn’t leave.

  “You and I should talk,” Lucia said more to the air than to Ryhan.

  “Lucia, you already fired me. What more can you do?”

  The old woman lifted her chin. “I was hasty. Angry because I see such potential in you and wasting it on Rick was a horrible. . .faux pas, if you will.”

  Ryhan would have laughed, but she didn’t have the energy or the will to point out Lucia’s hypocrisy. This was a woman who pretended to be at any number of social functions so her children wouldn’t find out she dropped bundles of money at Magic Marco’s All-Male Dance Review at the edge of Rangers End. Instead she nodded. “I can go with faux pas.”

  “I thought as much.” Lucia smiled, and it almost felt as though they’d mended their slightly damaged bridge. “Now, about that boy. . .”

  “Jesse?”

  “Yes. I suppose you’re up for a bit of competition?”

  “Competition? I don’t understand.” Was Lucia staking a claim on Jesse?

  The older woman smiled her grandmotherly smile. “You will, dear.” She stood and wandered to a table to speak with Mrs. Miller and her sister, Mable, leaving Ryhan once again seated by herself.

  Ryhan shook her head. She should have stopped at the liquor store before the meeting.

  When all eleven older women turned their attention to the door, Ryhan twisted around, and her breath caught in her throat. Would he always have this effect on her—the loss of breath, the increase of her pulse?

  He scanned the small crowd and, catching her eye, smiled, taking long strides to her table. “This seat taken?”

  “Sure you wanna do that?” The bitterness in her tone left a sharp taste in her mouth, and she scraped her tongue against her teeth. “There’s mention of having me fitted for my scarlet letter.” She held up a printed sheet of paper. “It’s on the agenda.”

  He scanned it. He’d put nothing past these old biddies. After a moment, he tossed the printed notes aside. “Who wouldn’t want to sit with the prettiest girl in the room?” He leaned down, his lips caressing her cheek in a touch that warmed her entire body—some spots more than others.

  “You’ve been warned, Tony Stark.”

  Alexandra Gilden picked that exact moment to sashay across the floor—post-makeover. Her hair, formerly a raven black, glistened with chestnut highlights. Her airbrushed makeup, which covered the imperfections left by teenage acne, created a peachy glow on a pretty, smiling face.

  Five steps into the room, Alex stumbled and the skirt of her outfit flipped over her head as her chin skittered across the floor. She recovered and rose to her full height, her chin high and her arm cocked at her side.

  “Why, Jesse.” The new Reba McIntyre southern accent fit with the hip flare and the brush of her hair along his neck. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

  “I’ll bet you didn’t,” Ryhan muttered.

  “And Ryhan, I admire your courage, the way you’re standing up in the face of all the gossip.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Why, I’d be packing my bags and booking my flight if people were talking about me the way they are about you. Is it gossip if it’s all true?” She tapped a finger against her chin. “I always wondered that.”

  Ryhan matched her former friend’s haughtiness with a bit of her own flavor of sheer bitch. “I’m pretty fearless. Did you not see the video?”

  Alex stood, that damned smile without falter. “Such a pretty girl. It’s a shame you make such poor decisions.”

  If little Miss Texas put one more hand on Jesse or moved the one already on him another inch, Ryhan might be forced to make another poor decision. Alex leaned in, brushing her exposed—translation: hanging out—mounds of cleavage against the back of Jesse’s head. “I have to go speak with my grandmother, but I’ll see you tonight.” She tousled his hair as she backed away.

  Jesse turned to Ryhan. His eyes were wide, but after a moment of recovery, a smirk inched across his lips. “What was that?”

  “I’m guessing Lucia has decided it’s time to marry off Alex. How does it feel to be the hunted?” She patted his cheek under the watchful eyes of the commission. “They couldn’t be madder if I threw you on the table and had my wicked way with you right here.”

  He shot her a wink. “I’m game if you are.” As he leaned in, a loud slap of hand against covered plastic table snapped his eyes open a second before his lips would have touched Ryhan’s.

  “We should begin,” Susan Megalos said, her tone hardened by ice.

  And so it began.

  Jesse’s ears burned as one woman after another—except Lucia, who’d remained silent—picked at or threw a veiled snipe toward Ryhan. They blamed her for poor turnout to events, for low sales numbers, for anything they could think of to sully her name. To her credit, she didn’t react with more than a tilted head, smile, or a nod. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms as his mother stood and began preaching about starting a morality program for the young people in the town.

  She looked pointedly at Ryhan and finished with, “Things in this town have gotten a bit out of hand, and we don’t want our children growing up idolizing those in Rangers End who have let their morals slip to such damning lows.”

  Jesse shoved his chair back and stalked around the table as if to shield Ryhan from his mother’s death glare. “Enough.” He pointed a finger at his mother. “Especially from you.”

  Ryhan stood. “Jesse, a morality program is a fine idea.” Her voice shook as she tugged on his arm. “Don’t mak
e this worse for me,” she begged in a whisper, clutching his biceps.

  He looked down into her eyes. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded and instead of sitting, he leaned back against the table, crossed his arms and waited for whatever these old biddies had planned next.

  Lucia Gilden rose, her back coming fully straight as she addressed only her table. “Well, wasn’t that lovely?” Ryhan sighed behind him, and he walked around to sit next to her, wrapping his fingers around her clenched hand.

  “It’s almost over, and then we can get out of here, right?”

  Ryhan swallowed hard and nodded as Lucia continued. “I think it’s time to move on to some new business. I am entertaining a proposal I received from MJM Management to purchase the town square land. As you know, the land is falling into disrepair because we cannot afford the new sod and tables needed to bring it back to its former glory.” After shooting a self-satisfied smirk at Mrs. Megalos, she held up the blue-backed proposal Jesse had mailed just before leaving Boston. “They are promising to refurbish the land after a bit of drilling.”

  Jesse’s mother looked up at Lucia, her eyes wide with alarm. “Drilling? In the town square?” She shook her head. “Drilling for what? I can’t allow that.”

  “Oil, I presume.” Lucia brushed a gloved hand over her forehead. “I haven’t spoken with anyone to iron out the details, but my surveyor said this town is sitting on a gold mine of oil reserves.”

  “I don’t think I can approve such a sale, Lucia.”

  Lucia’s wry smile pointed at Jesse’s mother. “Well, I don’t know that this is a town matter. The land is mine, leased to you. At the end of this month, the lease expires, and it’s my option to reconsider.” This woman had done her homework.

  “You’ll need permits for drilling inside the city limits.” Jesse’s mother did the diva head-bob.

  Lucia laughed, the sound tinny and missing the joy factor. “Oh, we all know that if they hand over enough money, you’ll sign away whatever they ask.”

  Jesse watched his mother’s scowl. She didn’t like being talked down to by anyone, much less so by Lucia Gilden—a nemesis from days of old. His mother clamped her mouth shut, drumming her fingers against the table. A cold blast of animosity turned the room to frigid.

  Lucia smiled down at her granddaughter, whispered something, and then said, “Meeting adjourned?” She raised her eyebrows at his mother.

  “Yes. Meeting adjourned,” his mother agreed with more than a little bite to her tone that escaped through clenched teeth.

  Jesse took Ryhan’s elbow and led her past the decorating committee, who’d witnessed the entire meeting. Mrs. Miller called out to Ryhan, who cringed and squeezed Jesse’s hand before turning.

  “Yes?”

  “I was so hoping you could stay and help finish the decorations. One of us needs to be here, and we all have dress and hair appointments. Would you be so kind?”

  If the smile she pasted on her lips resembled anything close to a real one, Jesse would have eaten his shoe. “Sure.”

  He shook his head. “When you’re as naturally beautiful as Ryhan, you don’t need hair and makeup appointments.” He gathered her hands in his. “You could wear a garbage bag, and you’d still look better than anyone else.”

  She half sighed, half moaned. “You really are my superhero.”

  He leaned in. “We can work out our roleplay later.” He winked, his body coming to life at the images his words conjured.

  Lucia joined their group and slid her arm through his. “Escort an old lady home?”

  His eyes searched Ryhan’s for any sign she couldn’t hide behind her fake grin. “You be okay?”

  “I’m great. You go ahead. I’m sure there are balloons to be blown up or gallons of helium to be inhaled.”

  “I’m gonna hate to miss that.” His jeans grew even tighter as he imagined all the things he wanted those lips to do.

  “Duty calls.” She turned to flounce off. His eyes focused on the sway of her hips as his heart lurched painfully in his chest. He was in trouble. Big trouble.

  For eight blocks, he listened to Lucia Gilden sing the praises of her granddaughter. Alex taught Bible study. Alex loved adventure. Alex had been known to feed stray kittens, take in broken baby birds, fly to the moon without the benefit of shuttle or wings. He couldn’t have cared less. Alexandra Gilden could have been a Victoria’s Secret model, and he wouldn’t have given one fat shit about her. His thoughts ran more toward a petite blond with a great smile, a 1960s starlet body, and a sense of humor that challenged his wit. Alex, or any other woman he’d met, would never be able to compete with that.

  “Did you hear me, dear?”

  He shook his head, his excuse for ignoring her praises of Alex diatribe locked and loaded. “I’m so sorry. I’m just nervous about tonight. What if no one bids on me?” He wrinkled his nose as though it concerned him.

  She patted his arm. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Alexandra is prepared to spend her entire trust fund to win your date. She’s gone all out for this, even an extra trip to the drugstore.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “For, you know. . .protection.”

  His stomach clenched at the irony. This woman was practically promising a one-nighter, yet she’d all but openly ridiculed Ryhan for her behavior during a committed relationship. He bit back the confrontational words and said, “Good to know.”

  “Now, about my granddaughter.” She continued rambling Alex’s finer attributes, and he continued to tune her out, merely nodding at intervals he felt appropriate. Finally. . .finally, he reached to open the iron gate into her massive yard. “I can make my way inside. You go get handsome for tonight. Give my Alex something wonderful to bid on.”

  12

  Ryhan checked her reflection in the door glass before reaching a hand to the cold metal handle. The form fitting dress Lana had designed for her hung a bit looser than it had the week before, she supposed from all the extra walking since her car broke. Lana and Mark huddled close together like lusty teenagers on a date, until she strolled over and planted a hand on Mark’s shoulder.

  “Hey beautiful,” he said, rising to kiss her cheek, then held her chair as she sat.

  She smoothed the dress under her, and smiled over at Lana.

  “Ryhan, I knew that color would be perfect with your skin.” Lana had selected the fabric—bright orange that faded to a soft coral where it pooled at her feet—designed the dress, and adorned it with beads and pearls across the bodice. The faux diamond-studded straps dug into Ryhan’s skin, but the price of beauty earned her more than a few appreciative glances to go with a balanced number of hate-filled glares.

  Lana’s eyes scanned the room. “You certainly do make an impression,” she said softly then finished with an, “Oh my.”

  Ryhan followed her gaze and sucked in a breath at the utterly gorgeous sight in front of her. “Wow.” The man could fill out a tuxedo. So far, she’d seen him in a leather jacket, jeans, a button-down, not to mention a toga and a Speedo. And now, a three-piece tuxedo that had her drooling on the crisp white table cloth. He didn’t have a bad look.

  The glow from the hundreds of candles lighting the room danced across his body, casting shadows where none were needed. Ryhan’s heart rate sped up and pounded lust through her veins. She said a quick prayer that he would break free from the herd of fawning bachelorettes looking for love and join her. She beamed at her foster mother when he made his way across the floor.

  His whisper against her curled hair heated her ear and everywhere below it. “You look beautiful.”

  She turned and smiled. “Better than if I wore a garbage bag?”

  “Let’s just say I like the dress.” He straightened and extended a hand to Mark. Unable to hear around her heartbeat in her ears, she sat grinning like a fool as he chit-chatted with all the people at their table before taking his hand in hers. “Save me a dance or two?”

  Every word she knew flew out of her head when his lips graz
ed her knuckles, and she simply nodded. When she turned, Lana widened her eyes and giggled, clutching Ryhan’s hands in her own. “He likes you.”

  “I like him too.” She didn’t delve deep to investigate her need to modify her statement. Instead, she shrugged, accepting it for its truth quotient.

  Before any further discussion could take place, the drummer tapped his cymbals and the room fell silent. The emcee, a radio DJ from Los Angeles who’d shared a foster home with Ryhan in her younger years and came as a personal favor to her, deepened his voice as he welcomed the entire town to the hundred-and-first Rangers End Bachelor Auction. “This time-honored tradition,” he read from cue cards held up by the winner of the history essay contest at the high school, “has helped finance the Rangers End annual fair, provide new uniforms for the Rangers End traveling soccer team, and helped purchase that beautiful gazebo in the town square. Give yourselves a round of applause for making this the best year yet.”

  He droned on for another few minutes as Ryhan snagged a waiter and asked for a glass of sparkling water. Her mouth had gone bone dry with the thought of other women bidding on Jesse.

  The orchestra’s soft music hit its crescendo then faded once again. “Our first gentleman up for bid hails from Rangers End. In his high school glory days, this all-star quarterback led the Rangers End Cougars to one state championship and set a still unbeaten record for the most completed passes in a single season.” The emcee chuckled. “Look out Peyton Manning.” He read down the card a bit. “Oh, no I guess Manning’s job is safe because these days, you can find Mr. Le Fountaine proudly selling high-quality preowned vehicles at Meyer’s on Main. His turn-ons include fishing with his lady and test-drives. Give a nice warm round of applause to Jean-Pierre Le Fountaine.”

  Jean-Pierre hopped on the stage, slipped his jacket off and swung it around his head, taking out a cluster of balloons and a mic stand. An amplifier wailed, and Ryhan and every other person in the room covered their ears until he righted the microphone. He then put a hand to his lips, blowing kisses to the crowd.