WAGERED WOMAN

by Christine Rimmer

  "Well, you were wrong. It did concern me."

  "How?"

  "Have you talked to Jared Jones yet?"

  "No." Sam closed the ledger; it was in fine shape anyway. "Jared's in town?"

  "He was, as of yesterday morning."

  "And?"

  "He came looking for you."

  Sam smiled, thinking of his old friend. "Jared and I go way back."

  Marty shook his head. "Mr. Fletcher, you're not getting my drift here. Jared Jones wasn't behaving like he wanted to talk over old times. In fact, he grabbed me by my shirt and lifted me off the floor and said if I knew where the hell you'd headed out to with his sister, I'd better say now, or I'd never be a father in this lifetime."

  Sam was quiet, digesting this. Then he asked, "Did you tell him?"

  "Hell no. I like this job."

  "Still got your manhood?"

  "So far, yes, sir, I do."

  "Thanks, Marty," Sam said, wincing at the thought of what might have happened if Jared Jones had appeared at the cabin in a rage. He realized he probably should have expected this. Of the three Jones boys, Jared had always seen himself as the protector of his sister's virtue. Just because Sam and Jared had always been close friends, didn't mean Jared would think Sam good enough to get near Delilah.

  "What will you do now?" Marty asked.

  Sam considered the question and couldn't immediately come up with anything too satisfying. In the old days Sam and Jared, side-by-side, had taken on ten fools in a bar in Redding over some minor insult that Sam couldn't even remember now. When the dust cleared, Sam and Jared had been the ones still standing. Sam wasn't sure who'd end up upright if the two of them went at each other. He fervently hoped he wasn't about to find out.

  Marty coughed nervously. "Er, Mr. Fletcher?"

  Sam remembered he'd been asked a question. "Look. Don't worry, Marty. Everything will be all right."

  Marty didn't consider that any kind of an answer. "But what will you do?" he demanded again.

  "If I can get him calmed down, I'll talk to him. The problem will be that Jared's not a very good listener when he's mad." This was the understatement of the year, Sam admitted to himself. He decided not to dwell on that, though. He finished on an upbeat note. "But as soon as Jared sees what's really going on, he'll settle down."

  Marty just couldn't help but ask, "And what is really going on, Mr. Fletcher?"

  "Nothing. Everything is fine."

  "Er, could you be a little more specific, Mr. Fletcher?"

  "Hell, Marty."

  "C'mon. For the guy who risked future generations of Santinos just to keep your whereabouts a secret…"

  "Hell."

  "Yeah?"

  "We're getting married."

  Marty's brown eyes grew wide. "No kidding? You and Miss Jones." He settled back in his folding chair. "Well, ain't that a kick in the pants… When's the wedding?"

  "In a few weeks, over at the Community Church."

  "Well, what do you know."

  Sam allowed himself a smile. "Yeah. It's a crazy world, isn't it?"

  Marty grinned right back, and then moved a little closer. "Mr. Fletcher?"

  "Yeah, what?"

  Marty lowered his voice, his eyes on Sam's hair. "You want to really thrill Miss Jones, you know what to do."

  Sam gave the boy a forbearing look. "What is it with you, Marty? You think just because your father's the barber you can't rest until every guy in town's got a buzz cut?"

  "Look how far you got with her once you got rid of that beard."

  "She likes my hair," Sam muttered, remembering the feel of her tender hands, massaging his scalp when she gave him that shampoo, and of the way she combed through it with her fingers when they made love. At the same time he tried to forget how she'd teased him about cutting it, saying she'd never take him seriously while he had hair longer than hers.

  Marty wore a sagacious expression. "Yeah, but if you're gonna end up having to beat up her brother, it's better if you got an ace up your sleeve. Some way to show her how much you really care. You just think about it, okay?"

  "All right, all right." Sam pushed the ledger aside. "We're finished here." He grabbed the checkbook and wrote Marty out a check. "Thanks." He tore it off and handed it over. "A little bonus. For a job well done."

  Marty's eyes grew big again as he looked at the amount. "Like I said, I like this job. And I think I better get on home. Mom's got dinner on." He got up. "See you tomorrow, then."

  Sam waved him out the door.

  After that, he locked up and went across the street for the mail, thinking that maybe he ought to go looking for Jared to tell the poor fool what was going on. But then, he had no doubt Jared would find him soon enough.

  He opened his mailbox and had to virtually pry the stuffed-in circulars and bills out. Next time he and Lilah left town, he'd have Melanie Swan hold his mail—or have Marty take care of it.

  Once he'd liberated his mail from the box, he spent several minutes sorting the junk and tossing it out. Then, setting everything else on the little counter that was provided in one of the corners, he went to Delilah's box. He had it open and was trying to pry her mail out, when Linda Lou Beardsly came in.

  She saw what Sam was doing and gasped, "Stop that this instant, Sam Fletcher!"

  Sam turned. Linda Lou was a tall, big-boned woman, with a long face. Sam couldn't help thinking that she looked, right then, like an outraged mule.

  Sam decided to try for lightness. "Got a problem, Mrs. Beardsly?"

  "I certainly do, Mr. Fletcher. That is Delilah Jones's box you've just broken open."

  "I know that," he replied, the soul of calm rationality. "And I haven't broken it open. She asked me to pick up her mail."

  Linda Lou heaved a massive breath. "I find that difficult to believe."

  Lord, Sam thought, she was a steel safe of a woman. It was said she was good with children, and that all the little kids she taught until they got old enough to graduate to Delilah's class adored her. But right then, Sam couldn't help thinking it was no mystery why her husband, Owen, spent so much time in The Hole in the Wall's back room.

  "Believe it," Sam suggested, his voice dripping patience. "It's true. How else would I get the combination, unless she gave it to me?"

  "I could think of ways. I know how you are."

  Sam sighed. He knew he should probably advise Linda Lou to check with Delilah and find out the truth. But Lilah had been on edge when he left her, he'd seen that well enough. She'd been nervous about their relationship, and about how people in town would take it. There was no telling what damage an outraged call from Linda Lou would do to her equilibrium right now. Old Nellie Anderson had probably given her a call already, if he knew Nellie at all.

  Linda Lou was still sticking out her chest and pinching her thin lips together. "You have already done enough, I'll have you know. It's disgusting, that's what. A man like you abducting a sweet, good person like Delilah. But then everyone's always known how much you've always hated her, that you were out to destroy her life if you ever got the chance."

  "Look. Mrs. Beardsly…"

  Mrs. Beardsly wasn't finished. "It is unforgivable what you've done to her—"

  "Mrs. Beardsly, she's fine. She's home right now, cooking a chicken for our dinner."

  "Cooking a chicken for your dinner! What kind of fool do you take me for, Sam Fletcher? Delilah Jones would never willingly cook a chicken for you."

  Sam realized he was getting nowhere. "Mrs. Beardsly, this is really none of your business."

  "None of my business!" She couldn't seem to stop repeating what he said. "I'll have you know that Delilah Jones is my dear, dear, friend. And we all know that she never would have gone away with you of her own free will, that she only went to save one of her no-good brothers from ruin."

  "Everybody seems to know just about everything around here," Sam managed to interject.

  "This is North Magdalene. It's everyone's business to know. Where
was I? Oh, yes… But now her ordeal is over. She's paid her brother's debt to you. And I want you to leave her alone."

  Sam eyed the old battle-ax, wondering what to do now. He was beginning to think that she'd go after him with tooth and claw if he actually dared to reach in Delilah's mail box and extract the contents.

  Sam felt weary suddenly. He thought of Jared, threatening his clerk to find out where he and Lilah had gone. And now this confrontation with Linda Lou. No wonder Lilah was anxious about what people would think.

  And beyond weariness, he experienced disappointment. Since he'd risen above his father's tainted image of him, he'd let himself imagine that most people were basically open-minded. He'd begun to believe that not only could people change, but that other people could learn to accept those changes—or at least that they'd take the time to ask what was going on before assuming the worst. Right now, though, looking at Linda Lou Beardsly's outraged, mulish face, he was beginning to doubt his own hard-won beliefs.

  Linda Lou jabbered on. "But this is the pinnacle, the summit, the crowning glory of contemptibility. For you to steal her mail… I tell you, I am speechless—"

  "Good," Sam said. "Then shut up."

  "I beg your par—"

  "Shut up!"

  Linda Lou sputtered for a moment, and then actually held her tongue. Sam said, "Thank you."

  He paused before he went on, giving her a threatening stare that kept her quiet—probably in fear for what that evil Sam Fletcher might possibly do to a poor woman alone in the deserted post office on Easter Sunday afternoon. He considered telling her that he and Lilah were getting married. But he doubted there was even the smallest chance she'd believe him. The news would have to come from Lilah.

  And the mail would have to wait. He and Lilah could come here after dinner and pick it up together. He really did believe that if he tried to take it now, Linda Lou would either physically attack him, or run out the door screaming "Thief!"

  "Look, I'll leave the mail." He turned quickly, shut the little door and spun the lock. "See?"

  Linda Lou folded her arms. "Hmph."

  "Delilah will come over for it herself later."

  "You had better believe she will, Sam Fletcher."

  He edged around Linda Lou and collected his own mail, wondering grimly how he would explain this confrontation to Delilah without her getting all upset.

  He was worried, he realized, worried for the first time since she'd agreed to marry him about how all this was going to work out.

  Sam burst out of the dim post office like a prisoner busting out of jail—fast, with a lot of relief at the sight of the clear, early-evening sky. He started walking fast, too, wanting to hurry back to Lilah, even though it was still an hour before he was due at her house. He wanted to touch her and kiss her and be reassured that, even if most everyone else in town was up in arms about wild Sam Fletcher running off with the schoolmarm, what the two of them shared remained the same.

  Unfortunately, he had to pass The Hole in the Wall to get to Pine Street

  , which led to her street. And he was on foot, since he'd left his truck at home; it was a beautiful spring afternoon and he'd thought the walk would be agreeable. He hadn't stopped to consider that being on foot would leave him vulnerable to greetings—and questions—from anyone he happened to pass on the street.

  As he went by the bar, Rocky Collins was just coming out through the double doors.

  Rocky, who looked as if he'd been celebrating Easter Sunday by knocking back some serious shots of his favorite tequila, crowed at the sight of him, "Whoa, Lordy! What have we here! It's the man of the hour, or I'm a ring-tailed raccoon."

  Sam didn't much care for the greeting—and had no desire to hang around and find out exactly what it meant. He said, "Back off, Rocky," and kept on walking.

  But Rocky had never had sense enough to come in out of the rain, let alone not bother a man who didn't want to be bothered. "Hey, c'mon Sam!" he called. "I want to ask you somethin'!"

  Sam heard Rocky's lurching footsteps, dogging his own. With a muttered oath, he turned. "What do you want? Make it fast."

  Even Rocky, not famous for his brains, finally understood that it probably wouldn't be such a good idea to trifle with Sam right then. And Sam was one of the few men in town that Rocky, who always seemed to end up in a fight, never chose to mess with. Still, Rocky wanted more than anything to be the first of the guys in the bar to know the answers to the burning questions of the day.

  So he smiled his friendliest smile and asked real politely, "Well, what I'd really like to know, Sam, that is, if you don't mind my askin'—"

  "Get to it, Rocky."

  "What we're all wonderin' is—"

  "Yeah?"

  "How'd it go with the schoolmarm?"

  Sam looked at Rocky for a long time, long enough that Rocky was already backing away when he answered, "None of your damn business."

  "Well, sure, yeah, I knew that…"

  "Then why'd you ask?"

  "I dunno. Plum stupid, I suppose."

  "Get lost, Rocky."

  "Yeah. Right. I am gone." Rocky turned and hurried off up the street, as fast as his unsteady legs would carry him.

  Sam watched him go, and wondered if everyone in town had gone crazy since he and Delilah headed off for Hidden Paradise Lake. He'd left Lilah at her house less than two hours ago. In that short time, everyone he'd run into had had something to say about the two of them. If this was the kind of reaction he was getting from people, what must she have heard in the time since he'd walked out of her house?

  He realized he was nervous. Nervous as a kid about going back to her. And scared. He had pushed her, he knew it, forced a commitment from her before she was really ready to give it.

  Because he'd been afraid of precisely this: that they'd get home and everyone would start in on them, and she wouldn't be able to take it. She'd tell him she just wasn't cut out to be the wife of wild Sam Fletcher. She'd break it off with him.

  But she was a woman whose word a man could trust. A promise that she'd marry him would be a binding thing to her. He'd been certain it would be enough to keep her with him, until the talk died down, until she was as sure as he was that what they had at the lake could be theirs for a lifetime—if they'd only reach out together and claim it.

  But now … now, damn it, he just didn't know. He'd expected there to be talk. But not what this was beginning to look like. Hell, he'd hazard a guess that everyone in town was in on this.

  And he wondered if a mere promise, and a hesitantly granted one at that, was going to hold up against the wagging tongues and the sly, knowing winks, against Jared's misguided protectiveness and Linda Lou Beardsly's upright outrage.

  He didn't know.

  God—if there was a God—help him. He just didn't know.

  He wanted to run to her.

  But he also needed to be sure she would still know, when she saw him, that she'd made the right choice with him.

  He wanted to give her something, a talisman, a proof of his regard.

  So he turned and went back to his store. He dropped off his mail there and picked out a ring, a diamond solitaire that he thought might please her. He put the velvet case in his pocket and let himself out again, and then he stood by the door for a time, knowing that jewelry just wasn't enough.

  Not for her, not for Lilah, who was fire and laughter, beauty and strength. There had to be something more he could give her, so that she'd know without another doubt that her promise had been wise.

  And then he knew what he would do.

  He took the few steps to the store next to his, Santino's BB&V, and he pounded on the door.

  He kept on pounding until Julio appeared, with a napkin stuck in his collar and a half-full glass of red wine in his hand. "What's this?" Julio demanded. "A man can't enjoy his Easter dinner in peace around here?"

  Maria, his wife, peered over his shoulder. "Come in, come in, Sam. Join us upstairs for our Easter feast."
<
br />   "No, thanks. I, well, Delilah's cooking dinner for me."

  Both Maria and Julio grinned at each other the way married couples do when something they've discussed is confirmed. Then Maria asked, "Well then, what is it? What can we do for you?"

  Sam shrugged. "Well, I was hoping for a haircut. But I didn't stop to think that Easter Sunday at dinnertime is probably not the right time to visit the barber."

  Maria and Julio looked at each other again. And then both of them laughed, sounds of pure delight. "I'll send Marty down with another glass of wine for you," Maria said to her husband. "And one for you, too, Sam."

  Sam gave them one more chance to back out. "You're sure you don't mind…?" He hoped they wouldn't take it. He wanted that haircut.

  He needn't have worried. Julio was so tickled at the idea of giving a good cut to one of North Magdalene's staunchest longhairs, that he couldn't have cared less right then if his food was stone cold when he finally returned to it.

  "Let's go, Sam." Julio turned and led Sam to the back room.

  Sam sat in the chair and Julio set to work. They were interrupted once, when Marty brought them the wine and gave Sam a high sign that signified his enthusiastic approval. After that, Julio went about his work with calm concentration. When he was done, and the long, shining swatches of hair lay all around Sam's chair, he turned Sam to the big mirror.

  Sam grunted. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought. From the front, it didn't look much different than when he'd pulled it back in a ponytail.

  Julio gave him the hand mirror so he could see the back. Sam laughed.

  "Something wrong?" Julio, who took pride in his work, looked apprehensive.

  "Hell, no," Sam replied. "I was just thinking that, after twenty years of fighting it, I now look respectable both coming … and going."

  "I think it looks fine," said Julio.

  "I do, too. And thanks."

  Julio removed the big apron and brushed off Sam's nape. "That's it then," he announced.

  Sam thanked him again and paid him enough to make up for interrupting his dinner. Then he went out the front door and headed for Lilah's with the ring making a reassuring bulge in his pocket and his head feeling lighter than it had in a long, long time.