“You sure?” He looks into my eyes like he’s trying to read tea leaves in a cup.
“Yep, been a long day, you know?”
That seems to placate him. “Nice to meet you, Roy.” He extends his hand.
“Likewise. This your tavern?”
The men shake hands, and my shoulders relax a few inches.
“In all its glory.” Bernie’s smile could brighten the darkest room. “Have a good night. Tell your aunts I said hello.”
“Will do,” I respond, ignoring Roy’s offered hand and fall in behind him.
It’s amazing how everyone gets out of his way. I need to take him Christmas shopping with me.
He opens the door and leans in as I walk by, his mouth inches from my ear, and whispers, “You shouldn’t be in a bar unescorted.”
I walk through the doorway into the dense, humid air. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is the twenty-first century,” I quip back over my shoulder. “Women have the right to vote and go to bars now.”
He slips in beside me as we walk to the back parking lot. “You’re too smart to say something so stupid.”
I stop in my tracks. “I had the situation under control. I didn’t need you to fly to my rescue. He was a gentleman.”
“A gentleman,” Roy repeats and looks up at the sky like he can’t believe what I said. “All men are wolves, Miss Aldridge.”
“Even you?”
“Me most of all.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” I continue walking and stop beside my car to fish my keys out of my pocket.
“Christ, you drive this? It should be in a museum or put out of its misery.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it.” I cut my eyes up at him. “I love this car. It has a lot of sentimental value.” It was Reggie’s car, Mae’s husband, who died a few years back. He left it to me in his will. “It’s a Buick, and I keep it regularly serviced. I don’t need you making fun of it.” Or me, I don’t add.
Again, he rests his hand on my shoulder, a balm to my jagged nerves. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I meant your car doesn’t have any of the latest safety measures.” He peeks inside and shakes his head. “You don’t even have proper seat belts.”
“I just drive around town.” I shift my weight from one hip to the next. “I appreciate…” I circle my hand in front of him like I’m cleaning a window. “…your concern and all, but it’s not necessary.”
“You bring something out in me.” He lightly cups my face.
His hand is large and warm, and instinctively I lean my head into his open palm.
“You look like an angel.” His breath is hot against my cheek. “I need to kiss you.”
Yes, I think I need that too, and turn my head, so our lips brush. I’ve never wanted to kiss a man, and I should be happy, but instead of enjoying the soft touch of his lips on mine, other memories of unwanted kisses escape from the dark place inside me.
He releases me and puts a hand on each of my arms to steady me, then backs up and widens his stance, smoothing his light-gray tie. “Are you safe to drive?”
I take in a lungful of air, hoping it will calm my muddled brain. “Don’t worry yourself about me.”
“Oh, but I do, Miss Aldridge. I do.”
There’s his sincere and concerned tone again. I’m not sure how it differs from his normal, bossy tone, but there is a distinct difference.
“Why?” I’m sure he dates models and heiresses and movie stars. What could he possibly see in me?
He cocks his head to the side. I think he’s weighing whether to answer my question. I’m tingling all over from our almost kiss. I want to try it again and lean forward. His eyebrow lifts and I know he knows what I’m thinking.
A laughing couple walking to a nearby car interrupts our moment.
He tilts his head back. “If I thought you’d let me, I’d follow you home and make sure you were safe inside with all the doors and windows locked.” He wets his lips. “Are you amenable?”
Would he laugh at my old farmhouse like he did my car? Or would he carry me up the stairs to my bedroom. I shake my head to dislodge the errant thoughts. He’s watching me with those piercing green eyes of his. I realize I want him. And at the same time I know I’ll never have him. I break eye contact. The laughing couple is now kissing in the car. Blinking back my thoughts, I give him my most I am woman, hear me roar, affronted look.
“I didn’t think so.” He opens my car door. “You still have my business card?”
I do, tucked inside the zipper pocket of my purse. “Yep.”
“Promise you’ll call me if you need anything.”
“Better get back to your client.” I slide behind the wheel. “You shouldn’t leave her unescorted in a bar.” And close the door.
Chapter Four
On my birthday, an enormous arrangement of daisies was delivered to Mangler. My aunts are convinced it’s a gift from Roy, though there was no card and no call.
Days turned into weeks. I spent an embarrassing amount of time on the Internet searching for anything about Roy Blackwood. There’s surprisingly little about him personally. The business website for Titan details his military service in Special Forces. How he started his company with the help of a few investors. The services they provide range from private security to corporate security to—my eyes pause over the words—a private military. I’ve never heard of a company having a military.
It conjures up images of legions of Roman soldiers marching as far as the eye can see. Roy, of course, at the head of this vast army of men, leads them to their next client riding a large, white horse—maybe a draft horse. Did they have those in ancient Rome?
I’m thrilled when I find a couple of old images of him from the military, wearing what I guess is battle gear. If not for his eyes, I wouldn’t have recognized him with a helmet and the thick beard. He’s lined up next to two other soldiers, all holding rifles. Pistols are holstered at their hips and all manner of things are strapped to and hanging from their uniforms.
Mr. Lethal, indeed.
I don’t know why, but I bookmark the site and find myself going back to the image often, as if I study it long enough, it will explain the inner workings of Roy Blackwood. And maybe that will help me understand why I can’t put him out of my mind. Why, in quiet moments, his face rises to the surface. I remember our almost kiss and wish I’d been more brave. And always the constant question as to why he was interested in me.
In the grocery line, all the tabloids had Jason’s bruised face on their covers. According to unnamed sources, Mr. King was so immersed in the authenticity of his performance he insisted on doing his own stunts. The injuries were caused by his dedication to his craft and were not life-threatening. The sources also believe this film could be the one to win him an Oscar.
At least Jason was punished for his actions, though it’s not nearly enough.
Vincent was positively giddy when I told him about Roy. Not the Jason parts, but how I met him while delivering the costumes, and the part about going out to breakfast, and the tavern growling incident. He and my aunts insist I should call Roy to thank him for the flowers. I’ve pulled out his card, rubbing my fingers over the raised lettering like Aladdin’s lamp, but no matter how many times I try, I can’t seem to dial his number.
And the weeks slip by until September is here, and the weather won’t break, though everyone’s convinced tomorrow will be cooler.
When I’ve accepted the fact I won’t hear from the enigmatic Mr. Blackwood, a box appears on the shop counter with my name on it.
“You don’t think?” Stella eyes the box with suspicion.
I focus hard on the red polka dot wrapping paper like I can force it to disappear. “No.”
“You haven’t gotten anything, have you?” Stella takes a hesitant step toward the gaily wrapped package.
“There’s no daisy.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. “And it’s not wrapped in white paper.”
“Open it,” Mae urges, with Stella
beside her, looking like she’s ready to pounce on it. “It’s not doing us any good to stare at it like a bunch of vultures.”
Since Stella and Mae are twins, everyone assumes they have the same personality, but there are differences. Like Mae is the enforcer and Stella the strategic thinker. Or Stella loves cherry pie while Mae can’t stand the smell of it.
I approach the box like it’s a spider, a jumping spider, and do my best to get a grip on my rampant nerves. The bow unravels easily and pools on the counter. I lift the lid and find a small jewelry box nestled in a profusion of red tissue paper.
“Maybe it’s from Roy.”
In unison, they both let out a long sigh. There hasn’t been a day go by since I met Roy that they haven’t asked if I’ve heard from him.
I retrieve the small velvet box. The hinged lid opens and, inside, a pair of diamond-studded earrings twinkles back at me.
“Oh, Daisy,” Stella exclaims. “It must be from Mr. Blackwood. I told you he was sweet on you.”
“At least a carat each.” Mae’s large, almond eyes are mesmerized. “Excellent quality. Looks like a platinum setting.”
I place the earrings on the counter and search for a note. In frustration, I tip the box over, and from amongst the tissue paper a card floats down like an autumn leaf, landing face-up for us to read.
Sorry, Jason.
Good God. I step back and will myself to remain calm.
“Who’s Jason?” Stella asks.
Mae’s turning the card over to see if anything’s written on the back. “And why’s he sorry?”
“It must be a mistake,” I sputter, my mind furiously spinning how to keep them from asking questions.
“It has your name on it.” Stella’s inspecting the box, looking for an indication of where the earrings were bought.
“It must be meant for another Daisy.” How lame can I be? Very, it seems.
“Don’t be daft. You’re the only Daisy in Middleburg.” Mae points out the obvious.
Finally, unable to think of anything else to do, I put everything back in the box and place it on the middle shelf behind the counter. “We’ll wait. The delivery company made a mistake. Someone will come for it.”
From their facial expressions, neither of my aunts thinks my explanation is plausible, but they have the tact, for once, not to press. When they’re busy with a customer, I grab Roy’s business card from my purse and step out on the back stoop.
Should I bother him? Will he brush me off? My mind ricochets from one doubt to another.
“Call,” I finally say. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
The phone is picked up on the first ring.
“Titan,” a man answers.
It’s not Roy, and why should it be? His business number would be printed on the card. Did I expect he wouldn’t have a receptionist answering the phones? Before I can complete all my inner dialogue and speak, the call disconnects. Did he hang up on me? Well, I didn’t say anything, but I was thinking. I was definitely going to speak. I hit redial.
“Titan.” It’s the same man.
“May I speak to Roy Blackwood, please?”
“He’s unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?”
“This is Daisy Aldridge. I’m…” What am I? Friend? Business? Charity case?
“Yes?” prompts the voice, impatient.
“Mr. Blackwood helped me with a situation in Middleburg. Can you have him call me?”
“Of course, I’ll relay the message when he calls in at 1400 hours.”
I’m puzzling out what he means.
“Is there anything else?”
“No, thank you.” I disconnect and realize I didn’t leave a number. I scowl at the phone. Before I can decide if I should call a third time, Stella yells for me.
A couple hours later my phone rings while I’m walking to Mangler with a dozen lemon cookies from the Upper Crust Bakery. One-handed, I balance the box and retrieve the phone from my back pocket. No caller ID.
“Hello,” I answer, fully expecting it to be a telemarketer. The connection is bad, not with static but what sounds like a giant wind machine.
“Daisy, are you there?”
It’s Roy. “Yes, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.” In the background, the wind noise increases.
“I’ve got a couple minutes of connection time before the flight goes dark. Are you alright?”
“Yes. It’s…Well, I got...”
“What?” He’s yelling over the noise.
“Jason sent me a present,” I yell back, causing the person beside me to scurry past.
“The stupid mother…”
I think he says more, but it’s lost in the tornado of sound.
“My aunts were there,” I continue, hoping his side of the connection is better than mine. “They’re questioning me. Please, I have to do something.” I duck onto the side street between Middleburg Bank and the post office. “I don’t know what to do. They don’t know what happened. They can’t find out.”
I’m not sure he’s heard me until his distorted voice says, “I see.” Followed by him talking in the background to someone else, I think. “Daisy…listen to me. Paul will be there to sort this out. Follow his lead.”
What does he mean? Did I hear him correctly? It’s so difficult with whatever that noise is. Before I can ask, the connection drops.
At precisely four o’clock—I know this because that’s our closing time and we’re all by the counter getting ready to lock up for the day—a man wearing a suit walks up to our shop window, stops, looks at the Mangler sign, and strolls through the door.
“Ladies,” he says. “I’m Paul from McLean Jewelry.” He places his business card and a gift bag on the counter. “There’s been an embarrassing mix-up.”
This is the man Roy had said would come. I’m slightly dazed as I listen to him explain, in a logical manner, how a delivery to a Daisy in Middletown, Virginia, got mixed up with my delivery. And how unlikely that two Daisys would have deliveries on the same day. My aunts are eating him up with their eyes. He’s in his mid-to-late twenties, with sandy-blond hair, blue eyes, and a nice suit. He’s much smaller than Roy, which means he’s an average-sized male, but even dressed in a suit, you can tell he works out.
“I apologize for the horrible mistake. This is your gift.” He winks at my aunts and retrieves from the bag a green leather box embossed with a golden crown. “If you would, open it to ensure there isn’t another unfortunate event.”
I open the lid to find a gold Rolex watch with diamonds sparkling around the dial.
“Yes, there, much better.” He’s smiling. I’m stunned. “And here’s your card.” Paul pulls it from his suit jacket and holds it out for me.
Daisy, time moves much too slowly away from you. Roy
Paul rubs his hands together. “Now, I need to retrieve the package we sent in error?”
Stella hands it over before I even look up. She knows a profitable trade when she sees one.
“Again.” He bows slightly, holding his tie in place. “I deeply apologize for the misunderstanding.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, not taking my eyes off the gorgeous watch as the bell above the door jingles.
“Seems Roy has fallen under your spell.” Mae lifts the watch, tests the weight. “It’s real.”
“Did you doubt it?” Stella scoffs.
They’re both waiting for me to say something. “I don’t know why Roy sent it.” I snatch the watch back from Mae, place it back in its box, close the lid, and put it in the bag. “I’m giving it back to him. It’s way too expensive.”
From the look in their eyes, I know they don’t believe a word I’m saying. In unison, they grab their handbags to leave.
“Whatever you say, dear,” Stella calls as the back screen door slams behind them.
I run my fingers over the green leather. I’m in awe that Roy sent me a watch, a beautiful watch with diamonds. I want to open the box and stare at it, maybe
slip it on my wrist. A tiny voice inside me whispers, Roy is a good man I don’t need to fear, in any sense.
He was forced into it, says a much louder voice. True, I suppose. I gather my things to leave.
Driving home, with my gift snug against my leg, I struggle to keep my mind occupied and not left to its own devices. My once-dormant compulsion has hounded me since the earrings arrived. Who am I trying to kid? It’s been nipping at my heels since the incident with Jason.
My scars tingle. Yes, we’re here, wanting more.
I twist my hands on the steering wheel. “Go away,” I shout and focus on where I’ll run this evening.
I’ll set a fast pace up the hills and follow the animal trail through the woods and maybe cross over into the property to the east and run to the pond. That should work off the tension given it’s a good five, maybe seven, miles of rough terrain.
I park the old Buick in front of my home, afraid to open the door. It’s silly, I know, but I’m a jittery mess and expect Jason will spring at any moment from behind a tree like a demented Jack in the Box.
“Jesus,” I yelp when my phone rings. Please let it be Roy.
It’s not. “Vincent?”
“Love,” his voice is wispy and cigarette-tinged. “The Argentinians are back, and I’m in desperate need of a run.”
He’s referring to the polo players here for the season. Vincent’s family hosts some of the matches and sponsors a team.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“You little minx.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
I can tell he’s rolling his eyes. “Meet me on my porch at six.”
“Slipping into my spandex now. Ciao.”
Vincent…spandex…can’t wait. At least he won’t be mistaken for a deer and shot. With two hours to burn, I grab Roy’s gift and sprint inside, go directly upstairs, and change into running shorts and a tank top. Knowing Vincent will soon be here makes me less anxious. I’m still in the danger zone, though, and know idle hands will seek out Reggie’s blade, and I can’t allow that to happen.
My home, a farmhouse built in the 1920s, isn’t large, but it’s neat and clean and mine. The front porch extends the full width of the house and wraps around to one side where there is a door into the kitchen. An oak staircase divides the house, with the living room on the left and the kitchen on the right. An addition was put on the back in the fifties, adding a mudroom/laundry room and a half bath. Upstairs are three bedrooms, two baths, and a sleeping porch.
Secrets In Our Scars Page 4