“Why, the governor’s party tonight. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”
He tried to hide the stricken look that he was sure was plastered across his face. He had forgotten. And now he had Roxanne … This wasn’t part of his plan. But there was no way he couldn’t not go. Hell, he was supposed to go with Lila.
He turned just as Roxanne smiled sweetly. “There’s a party for Truman Silverstone tonight?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s right,” Miss Gertie gushed. “I can’t decide which dress would be better. What do you think, Roxanne?”
Malcolm dropped his head in his hands as Roxanne replied, “The blue, I think. It brings out the color in your eyes.” She added the last, but Malcolm had the suspicion that she chose the blue just to contradict him. What little of his good nature that he’d managed to keep after his last conversation with Roxanne slipped away. Damn, what a day this was turning out to be.
Miss Gertie smiled at the compliment. “That’s what my Walter always said. What are you wearing tonight, Miss Roxanne?”
Roxanne shrugged. “I haven’t been invited to the party, so … ”
This really was not part of his plan. His eyes narrowed as Roxanne kept grinning like the Cheshire cat. Either way she was a winner. If he didn’t take her to the party she would surely break into Dr. Seager’s office and “borrow” Della’s file for the evening. If he took her with him, then she would dog Truman’s heels all night trying to get a lead on her non-existent story. Damn. Double damn. And if he took Roxanne, what was he going to do with Lila?
“Malcolm.” Miss Gertie turned her gaze to him, her blue eyes chastising. “Don’t tell me you haven’t invited our guest to the White House tonight?”
“Well, I … uh … ” A hundred replies popped into his head at once. First Roxanne was not “our” guest. She wasn’t even his guest. If he had it to do over again, he would let them lock her in Lester’s basement, and then they would all be safe. Truman and Della would be safe from her meddling, and he would be safe from the embers of wanting what she had fanned to flame inside him. But as it was, she was his for the weekend and that included going with him to the party. Damn, this was seriously not part of his plan. “I already have a date for the party,” he gritted.
“It’s okay,” Roxanne said, laying a hand on his arm as if to add sincerity to her words. “Go ahead and go to your party. I’ll be fine here by myself.” She must have majored in theater at college, for she played the scene executing perfect drama with just a hint of sincerity.
“Oh, no, dear,” Miss Gertie protested. “We can’t have that. The former governor throws such lovely parties. You simply must go.” From under the dress, Pablo barked in agreement.
Malcolm resisted the urge to jerk away from Roxanne as if her fingertips held fire. He hated the way her simple touch seemed to burn right through the all-too thin cotton of his shirt. “Do you have a formal?” he managed to choke out.
“Why, yes. As a matter of fact, I do,” she replied a little too sweetly.
“You’d better go up and air it out, dear,” Miss Gertie instructed. “There’s only a few more hours before the party starts.”
“How right you are, Miss Gertie.” Roxanne beamed a smile at him again and started up the stairs.
Malcolm took two steps after her, not trusting her to actually make it to Miss Beulah’s room without a detour to Doc Seager’s office.
“Malcolm.” There it was: Miss Gertie’s chastising voice again.
He stopped, his hand on the rail. “Yes, Miss Gertie.”
Instead of following Roxanne, he was only afforded the view of her nicely rounded backside going up said stairs.
“Let the poor dear get herself ready. I’ll go up and help her. After all, I was quite a looker in my day. Miss Cotton Patch three years running. You go work on your briefs or whatever.”
The “whatever,” he thought as Miss Gertie loaded herself into the elevator and he let himself into his apartment, would be calling Lila and telling her that for the second night in a row he’d have to break their date, because he would be escorting another woman to Truman’s birthday party. And that really, really, really wasn’t part of his plan.
• • •
Lila let the phone ring a third time before she answered it. One more ring and her voicemail would have picked up, and that’s not what she wanted. She wanted Malcolm to sweat it a little, not be totally put off.
“Hi, darling.”
“Lila.” Uh-oh. He sounded stressed. “Are you home?”
“Yes. You want me to come down?”
“No! I mean, that’s not necessary. I just needed to talk to you a minute.”
“I’ve got just a minute. I’m fixing to run into town and get my dress for tonight. It’s at the cleaners, and you know how I don’t like to talk and drive at the same time.” Since when had she turned into such a Chatty Cathy? Evidently Malcolm wasn’t the only one who was stressed. She just wanted tonight to be perfect. With any luck this would be the official beginning of her life as Mrs. Malcolm Daniels.
“About tonight … ”
“I’m so excited.”
“Yeah, well, you know the client I was telling you about? I’m going to have to take her to the party tonight. It’s complicated, but she’s kind of a loose cannon, and I need to have her close in order to keep her out of any more trouble.”
“Oh.” Lila tried to stop the disappointment from creeping into her voice, but a hint of it managed to sneak in.
“You understand, don’t you?”
She recovered quickly. “Of course I do.” This wasn’t at all what she had planned, but she understood. Life with Malcolm would have its twists and turns. Tonight would be the perfect opportunity to show him how understanding and accommodating she could be. She wasn’t happy about him breaking another date with her, but she would be accommodating. Accommodating was her middle name. She would go to the party alone, and she would hold her head high.
“Thanks, Lila. You’re a peach.”
“I know,” she drawled, loving the approval she heard in his voice.
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” This just might prove to be beneficial after all. Obligation was a strong persuader. “Save me a dance?”
“You know I will. See you tonight.”
“Tonight.” Lila hung up the phone and wrapped her arms around herself in a comforting gesture. Everything was going to be all right. Her plan might have to be postponed. Just a bit. Nothing more than a slight delay.
Unless …
A germ of an idea planted itself in her brain.
Yes, that just might work.
She quickly dialed Miss Gertie’s number.
The evening might not be turning out exactly as Lila had planned, but she could improvise. Time for Plan B. If she couldn’t woo Malcolm, the very least she could do would be make him realize that the time was now.
“Miss Gertie, does your great nephew still need a date for the party tonight? I’ve suddenly found myself without an escort.”
• • •
Surely she hadn’t done it again.
Roxanne dumped her suitcase upside down on the bed and searched through the contents.
She had.
She had forgotten her shoes. Again. Her brother, Jonas, had explained that her subconscious was trying to tell her she needed to let go of painful things in her past. He was a psychiatrist, but, hey, what did he know? She had the past totally under control. As long as she didn’t have to get too close to Miss Kitty. Or have to look too closely at Della Silverstone’s ultrasound images, she was right as rain. It was really too bad the analysis didn’t help her with her real problem. She was still shoeless.
She owned sixteen pairs of black pumps ranging from one to three and a half inch heels, Italian leather to grosgrain to satin. Nine West, Ferragamo, and Marc Jacobs. Even one pair of coveted Jimmy Choos. She had them all and then some, but not one pair had manag
ed to find its way into her suitcase. She might—might—have a pair in the trunk of her car, but even if on the off chance that they were there, the garage stalls of the Gas and Stop were surely closed for the evening with Mabel locked up tight inside.
Roxanne looked to the chaise lounge where her dress lay. It wasn’t exactly a pretty dress, but it was serviceable. Sort of. It had served Roxanne through many a convention. The dress was plain in design, tea length and a little outdated, but it was the color that really lacked. The best she could figure it was two shades darker than champagne and one shade lighter than marigold. And despite its ugliness, it deserved better than combat boots. She wished for the first time since she inherited the dress from her mother, that she had something prettier to wear to the party tonight. Something sexy and alluring. Something that would make Malcolm sit up and take notice of her. Even if they could do nothing about it, a part of her wanted him to want her.
Roxanne sighed. She was being ridiculous. Malcolm—she was certain—didn’t do anything that he didn’t want to do. She knew his type: he had everything planned out in his life and wanting her—she was sure—wasn’t part of his plans.
Roxanne studied her dress and tried to figure out what to do. She supposed she’d just have to find a ride into town and buy black pumps number seventeen.
She pulled her lower lip through her teeth and worried with it for a second. Malcolm didn’t want her at the party in the first place, so Roxanne was fairly confident that he couldn’t care less whether or not she even wore shoes.
That left Miss Gertie or Miss Lila. She hadn’t met Miss Lila. So that really just left one person…
“Yoo-hoo? Roxanne? Are you decent?”
Roxanne had never been so happy to see anyone in her whole life—excluding yesterday when Malcolm walked into her jail cell.
“Come on in, Miss Gertie. I need your help.”
Roxanne looked over her shoulder just as the elderly woman, dog in lap, wheeled herself carefully through Miss Beulah’s Shrine-To-The-King.
“I should say you do,” Miss Gertie commented, eyeing the dress that lay across the lounge chair. “Is that what you’re wearing tonight?”
Roxanne nodded. “But I don’t have any shoes.”
“Oh my, this will never do.” Miss Gertie shook her head. Pablo whined in agreement.
“I know, I know. I can’t go barefoot and—” Roxanne was just about to ask Miss Gertie where she could get a ride to the nearest shoe store when the older woman interrupted.
“You can’t wear that dress.”
“I can’t?”
“You can’t,” Miss Gertie replied emphatically.
“It’s not that bad. Is it?”
Miss Gertie gently nodded. “I’m sorry, dear. I’ve had a vision about the two of you, and you’ll never get Malcolm to fall in love with you if you’re wearing … that.”
“I—I don’t have anything else.” Roxanne toyed with the idea of telling Miss Gertie that love wasn’t exactly the nature of her relationship with Malcolm, but she knew it was no use. Who could argue with one of her “visions?” Besides, Miss Gertie had more than likely heard what Malcolm had said at the funeral today. In fact, Roxanne was certain that it was all over Jefferson County that her southern counsel had practically accosted her at the gravesite. Instead of explaining, Roxanne opted for the easy out. “Is there someone who can give me a ride to town so I can buy more shoes?”
“I have a great idea,” Miss Gertie gushed. “I’ll drive you myself. Let me go get Miss Lila, and we’ll make it a girls’ afternoon. Oh, that’ll be so much fun.”
Before Roxanne could utter a word, Miss Gertie was wheeling herself across the hall toward Miss Lila’s apartment. Roxanne couldn’t protest. After all, Miss Gertie was doing her a favor. Shopping with two little old blue haired ladies couldn’t be all that bad, could it?
• • •
Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief as he hung up the phone. Truman had seemed disappointed that Malcolm wouldn’t be coming out to the White House before the party, but his guardian understood completely about the situation with Roxanne. Or at least he said he did. Malcolm wasn’t so sure about that. How could Truman understand something that Malcolm himself couldn’t fathom?
He hadn’t lied when he talked to Lila. Roxanne was a loose cannon, and he’d have to be on his toes tonight to make sure she didn’t ruin the party for everyone. Maybe he could get Deputy Dennis to loan him a pair of handcuffs. Then he could cuff Roxanne to himself, and she wouldn’t be able to leave his side the entire evening.
Quick as a flash, he had a mental image. Not of him and Roxanne standing by a punchbowl, but the two of them bound together in a carnal embrace. Whoa.
He wiped the image from his mind, but the thought was still there. He really needed to get a physical or something. The stress right now was killing him. Maybe an EKG or a CAT scan would help.
He made a mental note to call the hospital right after Roxanne’s prelim on Monday. Then he grabbed himself a glass of sweet tea and settled down into his favorite chair with Roxanne’s case file. Now he could work on the rest of his “whatevers” that Miss Gertie had mentioned.
It took two attempts before he finally got in touch with the clerk at the convenience store. Luckily the young man remembered Roxanne and was prepared to testify to the fact that she had been in the store the night Jamie Valentine had been killed. Her proof was secured. Maybe once Malcolm told her, she would stop trying to escape. Though the whole handcuff idea was still tempting. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.
Malcolm made a note in the margin of her file, then turned the page, wondering where the picture of her came from. He stared at her dark curly hair, twinkling blue eyes, and mischievous, yet sexy grin. He blinked, and the picture disappeared. Great. Now he was imagining things. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, and now he was starting to see her face where it wasn’t. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. What was it about the Yankee reporter that had him twisted into knots? He had asked himself the same question about her over and over ever since he’d met her, and he still had no answer.
He had tried to blame it on the stress of the upcoming campaign and the odd, almost distant way that Truman had been acting lately, but he knew they were just excuses. Malcolm wanted her. Plain and simple.
Well, not really so simple. Take away the fact that he was her attorney, that she would be leaving in just two days, that he would never see her again, and that he was practically engaged, and it was still a bad idea to get intimately involved with Roxanne Ackerman. As much as he would love to take her to bed and get her out of his system, he knew that it was the wrong move to make.
He had never been one to engage in casual sex. No matter how tempting. In his profession, that was just asking for trouble. He’d learned at an early age to keep his pants zipped and when that proved impossible, be discreet. A smile touched at the corners of his mouth as he turned another page of the file. He was fairly certain that discreet wasn’t in Roxanne’s vocabulary. That left only one option. But it was okay, because he could keep his pants zipped. He could. No doubt about it.
• • •
Shocked, stunned, flabbergasted. Any one of them would have worked to describe how Roxanne felt when she met “Miss” Lila face to face. She had expected Lila McCreedy to be Miss Gertie without a wheelchair, an eccentric yet lovable, blue-rinsed little old lady who clipped coupons and played bingo at the Methodist church on Tuesday nights. She never expected her to be an underwear model with high breasts, a flat tummy, and a sense of style that wouldn’t quit. Roxanne felt like a handmaiden, a bag lady, and both of Cinderella’s ugly stepsisters all rolled into one.
There was just something strange about the fact that the so-hot young woman lived in the apartment just upstairs from Malcolm. Roxanne’s finely honed reporter instincts told her that there was more than rent going on between the two. Not that she could blame Malcolm. Lila was, well … hot. And
not that she could blame Lila. Malcolm oozed sex appeal and security—a lethal combination to any estrogen-based life form. Not that Roxanne had any right to feel the twinge of jealousy at the thought of the two of them together.
She pushed herself out of the backseat of Miss Gertie’s handicap-equipped van, thankful to finally be in town. She had stared at the back of the perfect blond head all the way into Jefferson County wondering if the day had any more curveballs to throw her way. The model had been sugary sweet with a beauty queen smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She didn’t trust Roxanne, but that was okay with her. The feeling was mutual.
The trio had opted not to take Lila’s—there was no way Roxanne was going to refer to her as “Miss”—convertible because the young blonde didn’t want to wind-blow her already-fixed-for-the-party hair.
Trying not to show her displeasure at the unexpected turn of events, Roxanne went around to the back of the van to get out Miss Gertie’s wheelchair. In a few short minutes, Miss Gertie and Pablo were settled into their chair, and the trio plus dog started down Main Street.
The town was small enough that once they parked, they simply walked to all of the stores they needed to visit. The rain had stopped, and the sun played hide-and-seek behind the quickly disappearing clouds. The humidity was close to unbearable, but Lila and Miss Gertie seemed not to notice. When in Rome, Malcolm had said, so Roxanne visualized herself in the arctic and trotted along behind them.
Main Street Jefferson County reminded her of Michigan Avenue—but only just a little. There was no Barneys, no Neiman Marcus, no big town anonymity. As they walked down the street people waved, asked about their plans for the evening, and in general were just friendly and caring. Even the nicest shopping areas in Chicago didn’t have the homey laid back feeling of the quaint little town.
It seemed she had been doing that a lot lately, comparing the two places. There was no way she could call Chicago a town, and she certainly couldn’t refer to Jefferson County as a city. After all, it only had one stoplight which blinked yellow in one direction and red in the other. But this morning over breakfast, this afternoon as they shopped … she couldn’t help but examine these two different lives and weigh them against the other.
Southern Hospitality (Hot Southern Nights) Page 13