“You sure you don’t want any help?”
Becky shook her head and finished her sandwich in one bite. “There’s not really a lot you can do, but thanks.”
“See you tomorrow then.” Trixie left, and the silence that followed her was a blessing.
Hours later Becky pushed herself away from her desk and stretched her arms above her head with a yawn. The pieces were edited and she had chosen some of the more articulate letters for print in the magazine. That most of them were negative was not her problem.
“Runaround Sue” had proven surprisingly easy to write. Now, at nine o’clock at night, her day was officially over.
She switched off her computer and reveled in the quiet. During the day, the office was a hive of voices and telephones and keyboards clacking. The silence that enveloped her was a relief. A chance to let her busy mind slow down and empty out.
Tomorrow would bring another set of last-minute disasters and changes and juggling finances, but for now her day was over.
She glanced out the window of her office at the setting sun and stifled a moment of frustration. During the short days of winter she looked forward to the longer daylight hours of summer. But now that they’d come, she spent most of them inside. She’d also had only a few hours last week to work on her latest book but all she had to show for it was two more pages of drivel. She was never going to get it done if Rick kept piling on the work.
Yawning, she snagged her sweater off the back of her chair and threaded her arms through the sleeves. She had dressed up today—her favorite pink shirt and denim skirt—for one of her meetings. She had also vaguely hoped that Rick could see that she didn’t always wear jeans and T-shirts. But he had been gone all day.
The click of the back door opening was like a shot scattering panic through her body.
Footsteps down the hallway, easy, measured, sent her heart thumping against her ribs. Who was here this time of the night? What did they want?
“Is that you, Becky?”
Relief made Becky sag against her chair.
“Yes, it is, Rick. Come on in.”
The door opened and Rick stood framed by the doorway, his eyes flicking over her office, as if making sure. “I thought you had a meeting tonight?”
“I skipped it to work on this. What are you doing out?”
“My Jeep broke down a few blocks from here.” Rick stepped into her office, pulled his tie off and tucked it into his pocket. He ran his hands through his neatly combed hair and completed his transformation from stiff businessman to Rick. “My cell phone died so I thought I’d call from the office.”
“There’s no garage open this time of night. But I could give you a ride home if you want.”
Rick shrugged. “No need to go out of your way.”
“I truly don’t mind.” She flashed him a faint smile, then got up from behind the desk.
“There’s no rush. You can finish up.”
Becky glanced back at the papers on her desk, feeling a flicker of shock. Her “Runaround Sue” column lay on top of the pile. “I’m pretty much done here,” she said, shuffling the papers to hide the evidence. “It’s too late to be thinking anyway.”
Ten minutes later Becky pulled up in front of an apartment block in a newer part of town and sighed lightly as she put her car in Park.
“I remember when all this was wide-open fields.” Becky stacked her hands on the steering wheel and rested her chin on them. “That’s the trouble with time. It moves and changes things.”
“You’d sooner things stay the same?”
Becky gave a light shrug. “I’m sentimental. I’ll admit it.” She turned to Rick, who was sitting slightly askew in his seat watching her. The streetlights above put his face in intriguing shadows, creating a soft intimacy. “Bad habit.”
“It can cause a lot of disappointment.” He tilted his head to one side, his slow smile shifting his expression. “But you seem like a person who can rise above it.”
“I try. I don’t always succeed. I’m only human.”
“And now you’ve got me to deal with.”
“It’s been an interesting ride, I’ll say,” she said carefully.
Rick’s smile grew. “Diplomatic of you. But speaking of ride, I need to finalize plans for the trail ride. I’ve got the information in my apartment. Do you have a few moments to come up?”
Fifteen minutes ago Becky had been bone weary, wanting nothing more than home, a hot bath and a cup of hot chocolate. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t feel that tired anymore.
“Sure.” She turned off the engine and slipped out the door into the cool night air, following Rick up the walk and into the building.
Rick unlocked the door of his apartment and let her in.
“The apartment came furnished, so I can’t take any credit or blame for how it looks,” he said as he stood aside to let her in.
“It looks fine,” Becky said, taking in the minimal furniture, the complete lack of any personal touches. It was just like his office. No photographs, no paintings, posters or anything that expressed who he was.
Sort of like his Day-Timer.
Becky couldn’t help but think of her own room and her hotchpotch decorating style. Fans and kites and plants and bowls and cloths hung on walls or were scattered wherever she saw a bare spot that needed a little cheering up. And pictures—family members, friends, fellow workers, people from church, her youth group—all tacked in glorious disarray on a huge bulletin board.
Rick pulled a folder out of a desk drawer and laid it on the table. “I’ve got all the information right here. Dates of departure and arrival. Also, a general idea of what Triple Bar J is looking for in terms of coverage.”
“Wow. A file folder for a trail ride.” She quashed a smile at her own flippant comment. “Do you have a spreadsheet to go with it?”
“Okay, enough about my personal management style. It works for me.” Rick gave her a crooked grin and she felt a moment of accord. “So, will you be able to go?”
“Not sure yet. Things aren’t looking really great.”
“Try. I’d like you to come.” He held her gaze, his expression softening.
“Okay.”
“Do you want a cup of coffee or something like that? Believe it or not, I actually have stuff like that in my house. Cookies, too.”
Her first instinct was to say no, she didn’t really have time. But the very bareness of his kitchen, the starkness of the rest of the apartment made her relent. She doubted he had much of a social life apart from work.
“That’d be nice. If you have tea, I’d love a cup. I’m not much of a coffee drinker.”
“Tea, it is. Flavored, herbal or regular?”
“Wow. A choice.” She laughed. “Surprise me.”
“I’ll try.” As he got up, Rick flashed her another grin and Becky felt another flicker of response.
A few moments later he brought out a tray holding a pot of tea, two mugs and a plate of cookies. He cleared a space among the papers and set it down.
“Very domesticated,” Becky said, taking the cup he handed her. “I confess I wouldn’t have been surprised if you brought out instant coffee in tin cans.”
“A habit I picked up. Grandpa was a tea connoisseur.” Rick set the plate of cookies in front of her. “The boarding school I went to served tea at night. British roots I suspect. When I traveled I found the tea to be more dependable than the coffee.”
“Did you like boarding school?”
“Not particularly, but I never knew different. When Mom died, boarding school was the best alternative for Grandpa Colson.” That his words were delivered without any emotion tugged at the motherly part of Becky’s heart. She pictured a lost little boy of seven, heading off to a strange place, all alone.
“Did your grandfather miss you when you left?”
Rick’s laugh was without humor. “I think he waved me off each Monday with a huge sigh of relief.”
“I understand Grandpa Colso
n once made my own grandmother’s heart go pit-a-pat. Do you have any pictures of him?”
“No. He wasn’t big on photos.”
“Must be genetic.” Becky glanced around his bare apartment walls. “I kind of thought a photographer would at least have some pictures on the wall.”
“Most of my stuff is in boxes. I never stayed in one place long enough to hang things up.”
He stated the information casually, but Becky sensed a touch of melancholy in his voice. Or maybe her own sentimental nature imagined it.
“So not even a photo album?”
“I have one I’ve compiled of trips I’ve made.”
“Can I see it?”
Rick held her gaze as if trying to see past her question. Then with a light shrug, he pushed himself back from the table, got up and walked over to a box that sat beside his couch.
“If it’s too much trouble…” Becky suddenly felt as if she were snooping.
“No. It’s right here.” Rick crouched down and flipped through the box’s contents and pulled out a small worn album. He brushed the cover before he handed it to her.
Becky opened it up to a picture of an older man sketching a giggling young girl and her solemn older brother. “Where is this?”
“Paris. Montmartre. A bit cliché, but it was my first trip.” Rick stayed beside her, his one hand leaning on the table beside the book as Becky turned the pages. His suit coat hung open and his closeness created a curious mixture of discomfort and allure.
“That next one is Mathematician’s Square close to Sorbonne.”
“No Eiffel Tower?” Becky teased, hoping to find a balance to her seesawing emotions.
“I was trying already then to establish myself as an individual,” Rick said with a light laugh. He pulled a chair close and sat down beside her, and allure, for the moment, won.
The pictures changed in composition as she went. From traditional camera angles and European settings, Rick had moved to more far-flung locations, experimenting with light and color as he went. A few striking shots taken in Africa were in black and white, others in sepia tones. Children and families featured in many of the shots.
“I knew you traveled a lot. I never realized how much.” As Becky turned the pages, she felt as if she was transported to other, exotic worlds.
“Have you ever traveled?”
Becky shook her head as she turned the page to a picture of a crowded, narrow street. “I’ve never had the opportunity.”
“You don’t have opportunities, you take them.”
Which sounded suspiciously like his comment about finding time to write. “Maybe someday. I have to confess, though, it seems like a waste of money.”
“Traveling isn’t something selfish. It can have a purpose.”
Becky glanced sidelong at him intrigued by his comment, but he was looking at the album. “And what was your purpose?”
Rick shrugged, glancing up at her. “My articles.” He got up and walked around to where he was sitting before, and Becky wondered if she had scared him away. “I made good money doing them. Showing people like you, who don’t like to travel, what the world is like.”
“I didn’t say I don’t like to travel.” As she closed the album, she noticed a picture tucked away at the back.
It was of a woman holding a young boy on her lap, both of them laughing up at the camera. Becky stopped and looked at it more closely. “Is this you?”
“And my mother.”
“Did your dad take it?”
Rick shook his head, toying with his mug. “She always told me a friend took them. I didn’t know my father.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Becky said softly.
Rick sent a curious smile her way. “You don’t have to pity me. There are many people in this world who haven’t had a third of what I’ve had.”
“Not pity, but I feel bad that you have so few relationships in your life.”
A veil dropped over Rick’s expression. “I believe you mean that.”
Becky couldn’t look away and found she didn’t want to. As their eyes held, she could almost feel a softening in him. “I do. People shouldn’t be alone.”
Rick blinked, then a peculiar look drifted over his face. “I’m not alone now.” His voice had grown quiet, deeper, and he leaned a little closer, his index finger lightly caressing her hand.
“That sounds an awful lot like a pickup line, Rick,” Becky said, hoping she sounded more nonchalant than she felt. In spite of her brief annoyance at his convenient sidestep into insincere patter, she couldn’t stop a responding frisson of attraction at his touch.
Rick slipped his fingers inside the palm of her hand as he shrugged. “It probably is.”
“So why did you use it? Was I getting too close?”
“Did you take psychology as well as journalism?” he asked, still holding her hand, his eyes concentrating on her fingers.
“No. I think I know you and your kind.”
“Ah, a woman of the world in spite of her Christian upbringing.” He smiled, but Becky could sense it was forced.
“Christian doesn’t mean naive,” she said sharply. “I have had a few boyfriends.”
“Past tense I notice.”
Becky pulled her hand out of his, retreating to the distance she shouldn’t have crossed. “I thought I came up here to get some information from you.”
“And all you got so far was a cup of tea and confessions.”
Rick’s comment reminded her that she had stepped out of the boundaries of their relationship as well as he had. He looked at her again, but this time his expression was serious. “I can give it to you on Monday,” was all he said.
He wanted her to leave and suddenly she didn’t want to go. “I’m here now. I may as well get it.”
With a light shrug of resignation, Rick opened the file and pulled out a couple of pieces of paper. He slipped them across the table to her, but didn’t meet her eyes. “Even though we’re only going two days, the people at Triple Bar J wanted to make things as easy as possible for us, so they gave me some background information.” He pulled out another single sheet of paper. “This is what we’ll be doing and a list of personal items you need to take if you come. They’ll be packing it in on horses so they have a maximum weight you’re allowed.”
Becky glanced over the list. “I hope I can find the time to go.”
“I hope so, too.”
His quiet response was far more sincere than his previous one, which made Becky look up at him, faint surprise drifting through her.
Rick didn’t look away immediately, and once again Becky felt the same arc of awareness she had felt the first time she met him.
Please, Lord, I can’t be attracted to him. He’s not the man for me.
But at the same time she didn’t want to look away.
“So, what’re you guys tryin’ to prove?” Helen didn’t quite slam Becky’s breakfast on the table, but if the silverware hadn’t been lying on a napkin, it would have rattled.
“‘Guys’? ‘Prove’?” As if Becky didn’t know what made Helen glare down at her, her penciled-in eyebrows yanked down over her dark eyes in a sharp V.
Most likely the same thing that had made the usual coffee shop conversation die down the moment Becky stepped into Terra’s Café.
“Makin’ us sound like we don’t know how to run a business.” Helen leaned on the table, bringing her angry face closer to Becky’s. “That Gavin. Acts like he’s the big shot around town. Like his own business is running so peachy keen. Which it ain’t.”
Becky glanced around the coffee shop. Cor DeWindt and Father Sam, regulars at the café, were avidly watching the exchange, other patrons were looking intently at their food. But Becky knew the rest were listening just as hard.
She had Rick to thank for putting her in this tricky situation. “It’s a column we’re trying out for now. If it doesn’t work, well, then it doesn’t work.”
“Well, let me tell you, hon. It do
esn’t work.” Helen pushed herself away from the table. “Though Terra and I sure had to laugh at that ‘Runaround Sue’ piece.”
“And what did you think of the rest of the magazine?”
Helen waggled her hand as if balancing the pros and cons. “It looks nice. Lots of ads though. I liked the cowboy article in the ‘People and Places’ part. Sometimes those pieces could be kind of smarmy. But this one I liked.”
Smarmy. Becky squirmed at the word. She had written most of those pieces in the past. That this one, the one that Helen liked the best, had been done with Rick’s help, galled a little.
“If you’re taking opinions I think you gotta lose that Gavin guy,” Cor DeWindt, sitting at the next table piped in. He adjusted his suspenders, looking wise. “He’s trouble.”
“Thanks, Cor. I’ll make note of it.” At least the “trouble” comment balanced out the “smarmy” comment. So far, she and Rick were even.
Helen tapped her index finger twice on Becky’s table as if underscoring Cor’s words. “Enjoy your breakfast,” was all she said.
As if that was going to happen.
Becky had ducked into Terra’s Café early this morning with her laptopand the faint hope that she could get a bit of work done on her book. But the atmosphere in the coffee shop was hardly conducive to the writing she’d hoped to do. She pushed it aside, and made short work of her toast and tea.
She had to get out of here before Terra or anyone else who worked here buttonholed her to complain.
Chapter 7
“Any positive letters from the column in the bunch?” Rick leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. The early-morning sun gilded his hair and enhanced the smooth cast of his features. In spite of her momentary pique with him over her confrontation with Helen, Becky couldn’t stop the faint lift of her heart.
Okay, he was good-looking and she was a normal woman. A lonely, normal woman. Get on with what you came here for.
“Gavin’s sister sent a very encouraging email,” Becky continued, willing to concede only this small point.
Trixie had sorted through the mail and stacked all the letters responding to Gavin’s article. Compared to the amount of mail the magazine usually generated, this was a glut.
A Place in Her Heart Page 8