The Secrets of Rosa Lee

by Jodi Thomas

  She wrapped both arms around his neck and swayed with him, her body fluid and warm against his as she whispered the words to the song so low he felt them against his throat more than heard them.

  He would have been happy if the music had played on forever, but it ended. They separated and headed off the floor, staying close to one another as if the room were crowded. She flipped off the twinkle lights as she moved behind the bar.

  He grabbed his shoes and followed not knowing what to say and unsure if he could form words even if he tried. They walked in silence to the back door. They were so close their clothes brushed as they moved.

  “Take care,” she whispered and kissed him on the cheek. “Drop by anytime you see the lights on.”

  She patted his side and he winced with sudden pain.

  “What is it?” Worry pulled her from the slow waltz dream they’d both been floating in.

  “Nothing,” he answered. “I just fell against a pickup in the rain.” He didn’t want to worry her about the shooting earlier at the Altman house.

  She flipped on the light and tugged at his jacket and shirt. “Let me see.”

  Micah had a feeling there was no use in arguing with her, so he lifted his shirt. “It’s just bruised.” He’d tried to look at it in the mirror at home, but most of the bruising had been on his back where he couldn’t see anything.

  Randi pulled him toward the kitchen. “It’s also scraped. Didn’t you clean this up?”

  “I wiped the mud off it.” Micah didn’t know how to take the mothering. He didn’t want to admit how much it hurt and his usual remedy of ignoring pain until it went away would probably work fine.

  “Pull off your jacket and shirt.”

  He thought of arguing, but she disappeared. A few moments later, she returned with a towel and medicine kit. “I’m cleaning that scrape up and disinfecting it, even if I have to knock you senseless to do so.”

  He laughed and pulled off his jogging jacket and raised his T-shirt to his shoulders. “Nice bedside manner.”

  “Shut up and stand still.” She pulled a chair up and sat while she cleaned the scrape that ran from his side to his spine.

  “This is deeper than you think, Micah,” she said. “If it got infected, it would be a mess.”

  He didn’t tell her that pain, physical or emotional, was something he’d learned to disconnect from a long time ago. Her hands moved over his skin warming him. He tried not to think about how long it had been since a woman had touched him.

  She leaned forward, softly blowing where she’d doctored along his back. The feel of her breath moving along his skin almost buckled his knees. “I think you’ll live,” she whispered, “but I want to take another look next week.”

  “Sure, doc.” He started to pull down his shirt, but she stood, so close he could feel the heat of her.

  “I have to take care of you,” she whispered. “Friends aren’t that easy to come by.” She helped him lower his shirt.

  When they said goodbye for the second time at the back door, he turned when she leaned to kiss his cheek just as she had before. The kiss was light, friendly and on the lips.

  “Thanks,” he said as he stepped outside and she vanished into shadow. For a moment he stood in the darkness, then knelt and tied his shoes.

  She closed the door and he heard the bolt sliding across. The last thing she did each night before climbing the stairs, he remembered her saying. The light went out in the hallway. One came on upstairs. He thought he heard her singing the words to one of the songs they’d danced to.

  Micah walked home trying to hold the memory of her near for as long as possible. Somewhere between the talk, the dancing and the chili, he’d become someone she cared about.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Billy blinked away the bright sunlight. It had to be morning, he thought, Sunday morning. The only day in his week that he had free.

  He straightened and felt a warm lump beside him.

  “Lora,” he mumbled as he pushed hair away from her face. “You’d better wake up or I’m having some kind of nightmare that I’ve slept all night in the Rogers sisters’ house.”

  She didn’t look interested in the idea. She pulled the afghan she’d been using for cover over her head. “We are at the Rogers sisters’ house,” she mumbled. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Lora,” he laughed. “It’s dawn and you’ve slept with me again.”

  She poked him in the side. “Shut up. I’m trying to sleep.”

  He tugged his blanket away from where she was lying on it and stood. “I’ve got to find my clothes. You do whatever you like.”

  “I don’t want to go home,” she mumbled, sounding like a five-year-old. “I never want to go home.”

  “I understand,” he answered as he moved through the kitchen. “I’ve felt that way all my life.”

  When Billy got back from the laundry room on the sisters’ back porch, Lora was sitting upright, but didn’t look happy about it. “You all right, babe?” He grinned. She still pouted.

  “I’m not your babe,” she corrected.

  He snapped his jeans and pulled on his shirt. “For a woman who loves to cuddle, you sure do wake up cross. I think bears come out of hibernation in friendlier moods.”

  “I wasn’t cuddling. I was freezing and you were warm.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ve got a headache and this conversation isn’t helping.”

  “Suit yourself, Whitman. You think you could get your butt off the couch long enough to drive me back to my car?”

  She reached for her shoes. “I guess. I’ll never get warm if you leave.”

  “Don’t do me any favors. I can walk.”

  “Now who’s testy?” She tried to shove her foot into the shoe and stand at the same time and tumbled back into the mass of pillows.

  Billy laughed and offered a hand. “All right. I’ll go easy on you. I guess morning isn’t really your time.”

  “You got that right.” She accepted his help. “But then, lately, neither is afternoon, evening, or night. I’ve got an emotional disability. I keep getting up on the wrong side of the bed.” She looked behind her. “Or couch.”

  “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee if you can manage to get that hair of yours under control.”

  She flung it over her shoulder and looked for her other shoe. “We’d better hurry or Ada May will cook us breakfast.”

  Suddenly, it was a game. They giggled their way through finding clothes and dressing, then tiptoed out of the house like two kids. Lora pitched Billy the keys to her Audi and they were off.

  She tried to comb her hair while he drove, but the effort was pretty much hopeless. They headed out to the only places open on Sunday mornings, the truck stops on the interstate. Billy found one that had a breakfast buffet and they stuffed themselves with courses of fruit, pancakes, sausage, hash browns and grits. When they finished, the stack of plates looked like a family had eaten in the booth.

  Billy offered to refill their coffee cups while Lora leaned back. Her headache had been replaced by a stomachache, but she wouldn’t have missed the fun of pigging out. After last night’s dinner at the sisters’ she deserved a real meal and Ada May made even truck stop food look good.

  A shadow crossed between her and the light. “Lora?”

  She looked up into the face of a shocked Talon Graham. He hadn’t changed, the oilman dressed as a cowboy. Perfect ironed shirt, hat shoved back on his perfect hair. A smile that never moved to his perfect blue eyes. Only this morning, he didn’t have whiskey on his breath and his hands were in his pockets, not on her.

  “Is that you?” He cocked his head to one side as if not believing what he was seeing. “I thought I saw your Audi in the parking lot, so I stopped. You haven’t returned any of my calls.”

  She didn’t bother to glance down at the wrinkled jogging suit. “It’s me. And I haven’t been home much to take calls. Glad to see you made it back from Wichita Falls. You were pretty far under the table when I
left.”

  “I woke up yesterday morning in my car with you nowhere in sight.” He raised an eyebrow. “How’d you get home? You know I would have taken you if you’d insisted. I’d just had a rough day Friday and wanted to get lost in the bottle for a few hours.”

  While she thought about answering, Billy appeared. He wasn’t as tall as Talon and his clothes were stained and wrinkled, but Lora decided he was about a thousand times better to look up at than the cowboy. Billy Hatcher had never let her down.

  He handed her a coffee and slid into the seat across from her. His gray eyes watched the stranger closely over his coffee mug, but he seemed calm, almost totally relaxed, as if he’d spent years learning not to show emotion.

  For a moment, both men waited, staring at her. “Talon Graham, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Billy Hatcher.”

  Talon didn’t look as if he believed her but, to his credit, he offered his hand. Neither bothered to say they were happy to meet the other. Lora didn’t offer Talon a seat.

  “Well,” he finally said. “I guess I’ll see you later, Lora. Maybe we can try dinner again sometime?”

  Billy watched her. She knew all she had to say was one word and he’d clobber Talon Graham. She’d told Billy all the details of the date, so Billy knew what a slug the guy was. But, she didn’t want to make a scene any more than she wanted Talon to think there would be any possibility of a second date.

  She slid her hand across the table and laced her fingers with Billy’s. After the initial shock, he played along. “I don’t think there will be another date, Talon. I’m seeing someone.”

  The oilman looked confused. He obviously hadn’t considered Billy in the game, not with Lora Whitman. “Isn’t he a little young for you, Lora?”

  “You’re four years older than me, why can’t I be four years older than him?” She winked at Billy. “Maybe I like robbing the cradle.”

  Talon nodded once. “I see. Well, have a good day.” He walked away.

  Billy pulled his hand away. “I wouldn’t mind punching that guy a few times, but I’m not into fighting old men.”

  “Who, Talon?” She laughed. “You just beat him without raising a hand and he knows it. If you’re wise, stay away for a while, I’d hate to see my new boyfriend hurt.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “After a close look at your body last night, I’ve no doubt of that, but knowing Talon, I’d guess he wouldn’t face you alone. He’s more the type to get someone else to do his fighting for him.”

  Billy frowned. “Are you trying to tell me that being your new boyfriend comes with a downside?”

  She laughed. “Of course it does. I just told Talon we’re dating. It’ll be all over town by noon. Billy Hatcher and Lora Whitman.” She winked at him again. “And you haven’t met the downside until you meet my mother.”

  “There goes my reputation,” Billy mumbled as he sipped his coffee. “And stop winking at me. You’re giving me the creeps being so nice.”

  “You want to break up?”

  “No, I’m too used to sleeping with you now.” He grinned. “Any chance I can call you babe?”

  “No.”

  “How about the odds of getting lucky?”

  “None.”

  “Damn, Whitman, being your steady sounds like great fun.”

  They paid out and headed toward the parking lot. “You get to drive my car. Dating me is not all bad.”

  He walked beside her, their strides matching easily. “I usually get a little more out of a relationship than car keys,” he complained. “But, it’s a start.”

  She swung back to slug him, when she caught sight of Talon sitting in his Cadillac watching.

  “All right, one kiss.” She swung her arms around him and pressed her lips hard against his, then stepped away and slipped into the passenger side of her car.

  She watched Talon slam his car into Reverse as Billy climbed behind the wheel of her Audi. He rubbed his mouth. “Where’d you learn to kiss, prison?”

  Before she could explain, he leaned over and pressed her against the seat with a kiss that took her breath away.

  When he settled back in his seat, he said, “The next time you kiss me just to piss another guy off, try to remember how.”

  She tried to tell if he was angry about her show for Talon. She couldn’t tell, but one thing she knew. Anger hadn’t kissed her, passion had.

  When he turned in at the Altman house, he left the car running as he climbed out. Lora opened her door and walked to the other side. “Still friends?” she asked, knowing that she’d used him back in the truck stop.

  He winked. “Always, Whitman, always.”

  Then, before she could answer, he was gone. Jumping over the railing of the porch and vanishing into the back of the house. She smiled. He was too young for her and she had a feeling that if they’d been the same age he would be too much of a man for her to handle.

  “Friends,” she said as she drove away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The First United Methodist Church of Clifton Creek had their monthly covered-dish luncheon after the eleven o’clock service. Micah loved the time. Everyone who stayed ate together, then the kids played in the basement while the younger couples visited and the older members played dominoes. The blending of generations always made him feel grounded.

  By two in the afternoon, one of the ladies’ groups had set up a quilting corner and guitar lessons were running nonstop in one corner of the activity hall. Micah suspected their popularity was due to the teacher who’d made a name for himself in clubs as far away as Dallas. In the summers, families moved out on the lawn behind the church and cranked up ice-cream freezers, but in the fall lots of coffee and an endless supply of desserts seemed to help pass the afternoon in what Reverend Milburn called country fellowship.

  Today, Micah had begged out of a domino game in favor of digging through the old church files while he had the time. If Rosa Lee Altman had ever attended church, there was a good chance she’d come here. The Baptist church hadn’t been founded until after World War II, so most folks, Methodist or not, must have attended here during the early years.

  Unfortunately, the records weren’t in great order. Every ten years or so the files were cleaned out upstairs, stuffed together in boxes and placed in a closet that also held extra folding chairs. Every time Micah tried a new box, he had to move chairs.

  After half an hour of work, he hadn’t even managed to find a single record of Rosa Lee Altman ever setting foot in the church. Maybe, if her mother had died when Rosa Lee was born, her father might have been too heartbroken to register her birth in the church record. Micah checked the next twenty years. Nothing.

  Nancy, the church secretary, poked her head in. “Would you like a dessert, Reverend Parker? We’re about to close down the kitchen.”

  He didn’t bother to ask how she’d found him. The woman had radar for knowing where everyone in the church was at any one moment. “No thanks.” He smiled. “Could I ask a favor of you when you have time?”

  “Sure,” she answered, enjoying being inside the circle for once.

  “Would you see if you can find any listing of Rosa Lee Altman in our records? I hate to ask, it may take hours.”

  “I’ll have hospitality start on it first thing Monday morning. If it’s here, we’ll find it before your next committee meeting with the professor.”

  Micah frowned, then realized, of course Nancy would know of his next meeting. It was on his calendar. He wondered if her habit had always irritated him, or if the fact that he now had a midnight friend made him aware folks might be watching. He told himself he didn’t care. He’d visit Randi even if the whole town knew about their breakfasts.

  The hospitality committee Nancy had volunteered was a group of older ladies who prepared meals for funerals and set up for weddings. They met every Monday morning to plan. Micah figured a lady had to be sweet for at least fifty years to get on hospitality. He’d never heard o
ne of them say a cross word. Not even when the oven had gone out and the usual funeral brisket hadn’t gotten cooked, or when the bakery had forgotten to make a groom cake and it hadn’t been discovered until two hours before a wedding. Hospitality had simply gone to work and done the best they could.

  “Thanks, Nancy,” he said, dusting off his hands and feeling grateful she’d agreed to take over the task.

  “Anytime.” She smiled.

  Micah knew Nancy wanted to be friends, not just coworkers. She’d invited him over for dinner with her and her husband a dozen times over the years. But he’d never gone. He told himself a single minister had to be careful against rumors, but it was more than that. He just didn’t have much to say to Nancy and even less to say to her husband, who worked at the grain elevator and lived with a wad of tobacco in his mouth all waking hours except while he was in church. Micah suspected he reached for a pinch during the final prayer.

  When she closed the door, he stacked a few boxes back in place and then sat down in one of the chairs. He’d lost sleep three nights this week visiting Randi and probably more time thinking about her. How could he have so much to say to a bar owner and nothing to say to the nice lady who worked in his office, or the older minister who loved his church more than Micah ever would? How could they be strangers and Randi be his friend?

  He knew he could talk to Randi about anything, and he didn’t really know her at all. Maybe it was the way she treated him. Maybe it was her quick wit and even quicker temper. Or maybe it was the way she let him dance with her, heart-to-heart without asking questions as to why he came around.

  Micah closed his eyes. He wished she were here now. He wanted to talk to someone about why, in all the years he’d been with Amy, he’d never told her his childhood dream. Yet he’d told Randi.

  He’d acted as though the dream had passed, but sometimes at night when he couldn’t sleep he remembered. Once in a while when he’d be driving past a ranch, the dream returned to slam against his reality. He’d pull over and watch the horses run. He wasn’t a cowboy. He couldn’t even ride all that well, but part of the little boy in him had never outgrown the dream of horses.