Secret Admirer

by Julie

  "That's all? Jenkins told you not to move, then he told you to come out from behind the counter - and then to put your hands up?"

  She glared at him good and hard before admitting, "There was also something about how he knew I didn't mean what I said."

  "'What you said,' when?"

  With obvious reluctance, she explained, "After that anonymous love letter came out in the Gazette, I started kind of worrying that it might be from Dirk."

  Greg blinked. "You never told me that.”

  “Well, Greg. You know, I don't have to tell you everything."

  The letter had appeared a week ago Monday and the town of Red Rock was abuzz over it, over who might have written it and who it was meant for. The letter spoke of undying devotion, of a man who wanted one last chance to work things out, a chance to get past misunderstandings.

  Greg tamped down his frustration with her. If she'd been worried about Dirk, damn it, she should have told him. He prompted, "Go on."

  Annie let out a big sigh. "Oh, I don't know. It was only, with the way Dirk looks at me lately, I got this creepy feeling that he'd written that letter to me. And, if you don't mind, could you not get your jaw all knotted up like that? So I've been nice to Dirk, so I've tried to be friendly. Is that some kind of crime?"

  At that moment, Greg was too busy wanting to snap Dirk Jenkins's scrawny neck in two to answer.

  Annie continued, "He showed up here Sunday...."

  Greg could hardly believe his ears. "You invited him here?" It came out sounding like an accusation, and hell, maybe it was.

  She sent him a huffy look and flipped a swatch of that satiny hair back over her shoulder. "No, I did not invite him. He came here all on his own. I sat him down and told him right out that I was sorry if he'd gotten the wrong idea about him and me, but I'd never meant to be anything more than his friend, that I - "

  "Hold on." Greg was still back with the part about how Dirk had been right here, at Annie's place. "You let him in?"

  "No." She said the word on a rising inflection. "I talked to him out on the landing." She laid on the sarcasm. "Okay with you?"

  It was far from okay, but he managed, somehow, to nod. "Go on."

  "That's all, basically. I told him yesterday that he had to understand I wasn't ever going to get involved with him in any girl-and-guy kind of way. He left. I thought that was the end of it. I'm kind of thinking, now, though, after what happened today, well... it could be that what I said to him kind of sent him over the edge."

  Greg wanted to shake her. "Damn it, Annie. You never should have encouraged that wacko." He probably shouldn't have said that, he realized - after the words were already out.

  She scowled so hard, the soft skin around her mouth turned white. "Thank you so much for your input. And I didn't encourage him. And what does it matter, anyway, unless maybe you're getting around to blaming me for what happened?"

  He sat back. "What the hell? No way."

  "Well, you sure do sound like it."

  "I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this, that's all."

  "Yeah," she said. "Sure." She folded her arms tight under those soft breasts he wanted to touch again - but never would.

  Don't look at her breasts, a desperate voice in his mind commanded. He cleared his throat. "You're saying Dirk claimed he wrote the love letter to the Gazette?"

  "No. I said I thought he did. But he said he didn't. He said he wished he had, though. He said he wished he could - " she closed her eyes, sucked in a long breath " - sweep me up and get me away from here, off somewhere that I wouldn't be living over my parents' garage and working at the bank and... taking flower-arranging lessons over at the Posy Peddler. Dirk seemed to think my life was pretty pitiful." She looked off toward the front window and muttered, "Right at this moment, I kind of agree with him."

  What was that supposed to mean? Keep to the interview, he thought. "So that was it, then? Today, at the bank, Dirk Jenkins tried to rescue you - from your own life?"

  She turned her head his way again and gave him a tight little nod. "The holdup, followed by his taking me and the money on the run with him, was evidently his solution to the problem. I guess." She shifted on the sofa. "Are we done?"

  "Just about. I want you to be aware that you would be completely within your rights to press charges."

  She let out a scoffing sound. "Against poor Dirk? Oh, please. I just want someone to make sure he gets counseling."

  "That'll happen, I promise you."

  "Thanks. And now, Officer Flynn. You can go."

  He knew he ought to do just that. But he didn't.

  "Annie, look. I think you're going to have to face the fact that you shouldn't have - "

  She put up a hand, palm out. "Stop. I know what's coming. I can see it in your eyes and I don't want to hear it."

  He said it anyway. "You know I warned you when you started encouraging that guy. I told you he might get the wrong idea about things."

  Her face flushed an angry red. "Uh-uh. I refuse to feel guilty for paying attention to a lonely guy who could use a friend. And I'm sorry, but Dirk's unstable mental condition is just not my fault."

  "Annie, if you would only..." He realized he hadn't a clue how to go on.

  She asked too quietly, "What, Greg? If I would only what?"

  He had no answer. No answer at all.

  Annie started talking again. And what she said didn't have a damn thing to do with Dirk Jenkins or the incident at the bank. "You know, you do treat me like a kid. You pretty much always have. Until Friday night. And now - ever since Saturday - you act like Friday night was some big mistake."

  He looked away. "Annie..." He didn't know what else to say. The silence stretched out.

  Annie broke it. "You know what? Thinking I was about to get shot in the head has made a few things crystal clear to me." She paused. After a moment, she said low and intently, "I'm not talking to a man who won't even look at me." So he forced himself to face her.

  And she said, "For your information - just in case you somehow managed to forget, I'm twenty-four years old. Yeah, I live over my parents' garage, but I do pay rent. I pay my way, period. I run my own life. I do all this because I am what is known as an adult - and you, of all people, ought to realize that, considering what happened Friday night."

  Friday night, Friday night, Friday night. The damn words seemed to echo in his brain. He wished, desperately, that she'd stop talking about it. His wish was not granted. Not by a long shot.

  "Get used to it," she said. "It happened. It happened at last. You and me... in my bed together. I thought it was wonderful."

  "Annie, could we just not - "

  She shook her head and kept on talking. "I know you've always told yourself I'm like a little sister to you. You've certainly told me that often enough. I know that Hank asked you to...look out for me."

  Hank. There. She'd done it. Mentioned Hank.

  He didn't want to talk about Hank, not now. He wished he was a thousand miles away from there.

  "You have looked after me," she said. "You've always been there, whenever I needed you. But I'm not your little sister. And it's about time you accepted that." Now there was a tightness in her voice. She seemed to have trouble making herself continue. But she managed it. "If you don't want to... go any further with me, that's your choice. I'll learn to live with it. But you should see yourself. You can hardly look me in the eye. You're acting like a guilty man, and that's really dumb. There's no reason for you to feel guilty."

  So why did he feel like a belly-crawling snake?

  "How many times do I have to tell you?" She was pleading with him now, those big brown eyes begging him to understand. "I'm all grown up. I'm a woman and I know what I want. I... well, I want you, Greg. But if I can't have you, one way or another, with you or without you, I'm going to find a grown woman's love and happiness."

  He spoke around the log that seemed to have gotten itself stuck in his throat
. "You think I don't want that for you - love and happiness?"

  She made a low sound in her throat. "Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I think you'd like me better if I'd never had the bad taste to grow up."

  "That's not true."

  "Isn't it? Then why won't you admit to yourself that I'm a woman now? Why is it you've always acted so strange every time I have a date - and don't shake your head at me. Ever since my first date with Jim Ridley, when I was fifteen and a half, you've treated the guys I went out with like they were borderline child molesters or something."

  "I did not. I never did that."

  She pinned him with a burning look. "And, you know, I've always wanted to ask, but somehow I never dared. Nobody dares. Nobody ever even mentions it. They know just by looking at you that they'd better not."

  "What in hell are you babbling about now?"

  "Your Harley, Greg. Tell me, what's with your Harley, anyway?"

  He was getting damn tired of this. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

  "Oh yes you do. You know very well. That bike was your pride and joy."

  Why was she doing this? "The damn bike doesn't matter."

  "That's where you're wrong. I think it does matter. A lot. And I want to know why, ever since the accident, you keep that bike under cover. You have it all shined up and ready to go. But you never ride it. You haven't in seven whole years. What's the deal with that? Where's the sense in that? A bike should be ridden. But you never ride yours. You keep it tucked away in a dark garage - I should stay tucked away forever, your 'little sister,' seventeen and untouched."

  Greg shot to his feet. "That's enough, damn it."

  She said very softly, "No. No, it's not. It's not nearly enough."

  He couldn't take any more. "I've gotta go."

  She wasn't listening. "Things are changing around here, Greg, whether you want them to or not."

  "I've gotta go," he said again - in case she hadn't heard the first time - and he turned on his heel and got the hell out of there.

  Annie waited until he shut the door behind him to get up and engage the lock. Once that was done, she went back to the couch, sank to the cushions and burst into hopeless tears.

  Chapter 3

  “Visine," Myrna advised the next day when Annie showed up for work with puffy eyes from crying all night long. "Really gets the red out." She dug around in her huge purse and produced a small plastic bottle. "Be my guest."

  Annie muttered, "Thanks. I'm okay," and went back to setting up her drawer.

  "Well, I'll tell you this," Myrna said out of the side of her mouth. "I wish he looked at me the way he looks at you."

  Annie almost smiled. "Why do I get the feeling we're not talking about Dirk?" Myrna chuckled. Annie added, "You have your moments, Myrna, you know that?"

  "You need a shoulder to cry on, sweetie?"

  Annie almost said yes. But then she reminded herself that Myrna was constitutionally incapable of keeping a confidence. "I'm okay."

  "You keep saying that."

  "And eventually, I'll start believing it."

  Myrna let out another laugh - a laugh that stopped abruptly as Ryan Fortune himself entered the bank. "Whoa," she whispered, "look who's here."

  The Fortunes were the most important family for miles around. They owned a piece of just about everything in Red Rock. Ryan Fortune lived with his third wife, Lily, at the huge family ranch, the Double Crown. In his late fifties, Ryan was still a fine-looking man, broad-shouldered and strong from years of ranch work.

  He was also the president of Red Rock Commerce Bank - and the CEO of Fortune TX, Ltd.

  He strode right up to Annie. "Annie Grant, isn't it?"

  Oh, God, she thought, what now? Had she done something wrong? Annie drew her shoulders back and pasted on a cordial smile. "Uh. Yes. Hello, Mr. Fortune. How may I help you?"

  He held out his big, sun-browned hand. She stared at it, kind of stunned for a moment - and then she realized he wanted her to take it. So she did.

  He gave her a firm shake and, as he released her fingers, a regal nod. "I wanted to personally commend you, Annie, on your quick thinking Monday when that poor kid tried to hold the place up with a water gun."

  A commendation. Annie forgot her misery over Greg for a moment and blushed in pleasure. "'Oh. Yes. I...well, thank you, Mr. Fortune."

  "Call me Ryan."

  "Okay, Mr., er. Ryan."

  "I understand you're a good worker, always pleasant, always on time. And you had the presence of mind under pressure to get your finger on that alarm and do what needed doing. Damn fine work, and that's a fact. Expect a bonus in your next paycheck."'

  She stammered out a couple more thank-yous. Ryan Fortune gave her another of those kingly nods and went off to find Aleta.

  "Those Fortunes have their moments," Myrna whispered after he was gone. Annie, still feeling the glow of being singled out for a Fortune's praise, thought so too.

  When Annie's lunch break came, Myrna handed her a business card embossed with an image of a well-manicured hand wielding a pair of golden scissors.

  "Shear Indulgence," Annie read. "That's over on Travis Avenue, right?"

  Myrna nodded. "Best salon in town, bar none. Ask for Trixie. She'll do you right. And my advice, whether you want it or not? Use that bonus you're getting to treat yourself to the works. Hair, makeup consultation, manicure, pedicure..."

  "Myrna, are you telling me I need a makeover?"

  "Honey, take it from an expert. Nothing lifts a girl's spirits like a little pampering and a few new grooming products. When I'm down, I get a do-over. Perks me up every time."

  Greg went on duty at noon that day. He left his house at eleven-thirty through the kitchen door to the attached garage, and found himself pausing on his way out, one foot on the step, one on the concrete floor.

  The Harley crouched in the shadows, a low, muscular shape beneath a gray tarp. His killer 1990 Fat Boy. He'd spent every cent he owned to buy that machine, used, way back when.

  And then kept on spending as he customized it himself.

  Hank had had a bike, too, also used. Extremely used. A '51 Indian Chief. Every free minute they had, it would be the two of them, out in the Grants' big garage, ragging on each other as they rebuilt those machines. Hank said he'd never own anything but his Chief and Greg swore the only real bike was a Harley.

  "Best damn time of my life..."

  Greg winced as he realized he'd said the words aloud to the empty garage. Things were getting pretty bad when a man started talking to the walls.

  He stared at the gray shape in the corner. Annie was right. It was a hell of a machine and deserved to be ridden.

  Not by him, though. Even after all these years, the memory of what had happened still ate at him, just kind of gnawed away at his insides. Straddling the Fat Boy, kicking her over, and roaring off down the street... The very thought of that made his stomach churn and his heart pound as if it was about to explode. Not going to go there. Uh-uh. No, thanks.

  Maybe he should sell her....

  Something deep inside him rebelled at the thought. But maybe whatever that something was would just have to get over it. She was worth at least thirty thousand. A man could almost buy a new pickup for that. But even as he told himself what he could do with the money, he knew he'd never sell that bike.

  Some things you keep, no matter that you'll never use them, no matter that they could net you a nice chunk of change. No matter that every time you saw them, even covered by a tarp, you got a tightness in your chest and a gut-deep ache for a best friend who was gone and never coming back.

  Greg pulled the kitchen door closed and pushed the button on the wall beside it. The garage door rattled up, letting in the bright sun and the muggy noontime heat.

  He climbed in his old pickup and pulled out into the sunshine, trying not to think of Annie, trying not to wonder if she was ever going to speak to him again.

&nbs
p; At first, Annie really didn't plan to take Myrna's suggestion. But then, that night, as she lay in bed, feeling lonely and kind of lost, suffering from the cramps she always got the first day of her period, she remembered what she'd said to Greg when he walked out on her Monday.

  Things are changing around here, Greg. Whether you want them to or not.

  A different hairstyle and a manicure couldn't exactly be considered a major change. But a girl had to start somewhere.

  When she got to the bank the next day, she requested some extra time at lunch. Aleta gave it to her, so she called the number on the card and asked for Trixie.

  "Perfect timing," said Trixie as Annie settled into the styling chair. "I had two o'clock free and I just got a couple of cancellations. We've got hours."

  Annie laughed at that and caught Trixie's eye in the mirror. "I need that much work, huh?"

  "Are you kidding me? You're a cutie."

  Annie scrunched up her nose and watched the freckles there kind of fold in on themselves. "Maybe that's my problem. Too cute, not enough sex appeal."

  "Sounds like man trouble."

  "Please don't ask."

  Trixie suddenly looked dead serious. "Honey, I gotta be honest with you. Myrna kind of filled me in." Surprise, surprise. "And I'd already heard about that, er, little incident at the bank the other day."

  Annie heaved a sigh. "Yeah, everybody in town's probably heard about Dirk and his squirt gun by now."

  "I just hope that Dirk Jenkins gets himself a good shrink."

  Annie forced a smile. "The word I got was that Dirk will have all the counseling he needs."

  "That's what I like to hear. There's talk he might eventually be released into the custody of his sister. She lives down in Laredo."

  "Well, good," Annie said, for lack of anything bei Trixie braced her fists on her generous hips. "All right, then. Let's get down to it. Makeup, manicure, pedicure...”