Authors: Deborah Smith
He smiled a little. “Uh-huh. It’s like puttin’ the past behind you. I always feel that way about new clothes.”
“Really? I didn’t make you buy things you hate?”
“Nope.” He sighed grandly, looking resigned. “It’s time to move into the next phase of my life. The
Esquire
phase.”
“
Esquire
, my foot. I don’t want an
Esquire
man.” Her voice dropped. “I want you.” Dinah began to pull him down, pushing old jogging shoes aside as she did. She felt such tenderness for him after what he’d just told her about his youth that she wanted to love the sadness out of him. “Right here, right now.”
“Here?” He gestured around them. “Near the dirty socks? Dee? Are you sure you feel okay?”
“Yes.” She began pulling up his sweater, his new sweater, a muted blue with fine gray and white stripes. He wore it over an oyster-gray shirt, the collar peaking stylishly over the sweater’s neck. He had on crisp new jeans. “I prefer your old jeans,” she whispered huskily, as he stretched out beside her. “They’re more … uhmmm …”
“Form fittin’,” he said devilishly. “I know how you like to watch my form.”
“I do like to watch you. I admit it.”
He unbuttoned her blousey plaid shirt and slid his hand inside to cup one of her breasts over the lacy bra she wore. “Dee,” he whispered. “I never thought you’d want to make love to me on top of old jogging shoes. You sure have gotten earthy.”
“I’d make love to you anywhere, big guy.”
He took her in his arms and his eyes filled with devotion. “This relationship of ours is working out just as well as I figured, ladybug. We’re definitely compatible. Like hot corn and cool butter.” He lowered his head and began kissing her neck. “I love you, butter.”
She nodded, smiling at his silly analogy but feeling strange, as if she might cry from a mixture of conflicting emotions. She still had the dismal fear that the future wouldn’t be as wonderful as the present. “I love you, corn,” she whispered.
It was an unusually cold afternoon for early December, and a white mountain fog had rolled in early, bringing with it a fine mist that just stopped short of
qualifying as rain. Dinah liked this kind of weather—“toast and tea weather,” as Rucker called it. It made everything indoors feel so cozy and warm. Even her small mayor’s office with its scarred, corkboard walls, battered desk, and humming space heater seemed cheerful. Outside, the first shades of dusk were drawing around Mount Pleasant even though the courthouse clock had only just finished striking five.
Dinah sipped a mug of coffee and bent over the neat stack of paperwork on her desk. She reached out and adjusted the jointed arm on the drafting light that was screwed to one corner of the desk, pulling the light closer to her. As she did, she heard the click of the phone intercom. Lula Belle’s voice came out.
“Rucker’s on line one.” She chortled. “He asked me why I was workin’ late instead of chasin’ men. I told him I’ve got enough trouble figurin’ out city water bills.”
Dinah laughed. “After what we went through today, I don’t think we’ll ever get them straight.” She punched a button on the phone console. “Flirting with the city clerk won’t get you anywhere, sir.”
“Oh?” Even long-distance, his deep voice sent pleasant shivers up her spine. “Who do I have to flirt with to get satisfaction?”
“The mayor.”
“You mean that beautiful brunette who has such good taste in men?”
“I’m afraid she doesn’t look beautiful today. She looks a bit soggy. She’s been outside trying to trace a lost water line.”
“Don’t y’all have a map of those things?”
“Well, you would think so, wouldn’t you? My predecessor, the honorable Mervin Flortney, lost it. Odd, but his house is on the mystery water line. Hasn’t paid a water bill in years.” Dinah adopted a Sherlock Holmes voice. “Fascinating, wouldn’t you say, Watson? Makes one wonder if the loss was intentional, eh?”
“Eh. Does a hound dog have fleas?”
“Precisely. At any rate, Lula Belle and I have just spent two hours tracking down water valves on West Pleasant Road. I’m sitting here with mascara smeared
under my eyes and an old towel on my head, wearing dirty jeans and a damp sweatshirt. One of your old ones.”
“Why, how disgustin’,” he said primly. “I’m wearin’ a dress shirt—something in a pale robin’s-egg blue, my best color—a charming, tan silk paisley tie, and exquisitely tailored tan slacks.”
“Why, how nice,” she answered drolly. “You got the chart right, for once. You certainly must look like the top turnip in the patch, Mr. Turnip Head.”
“Mean politician.”
They both chuckled. “So how’s Dallas?” she asked. “Are you ready to give your speech?”
“Dallas is great! You ain’t gonna believe the suite these cattlemen got for me. It’s at this old grand hotel named The Adolphus. It’s got antiques in it. I don’t know whether to sit on the bed or take a picture of it. This is the suite Jimmy Carter stays in when he comes to Dallas on business. How about that?”
“You’re a VIP,” she said, smiling. “Give me your room number.”
“It’s a suite,” he protested with mock rebuke. “A suite, not a room.” He relayed the number, and she wrote it down. “I’ll give you a call tonight, ladybug, after we get through. I gotta run ’cause the Gannon boys want to buy me a couple of drinks before dinner.”
“The Gannons? As in Gannon International?”
“Just a few of my associates,” he sighed with great nonchalance. “You know how it is for us slick-dressed people. A beer with the jet-setters, prime rib with the cattlemen’s association, a speech that knocks them on their horns a-laughin’ …”
“A wildly inflated self-assessment,” she replied tartly. “Call me later, you handsome hound. I love you.”
His voice became soft and serious. “I love you too. And tell Jethro that Daddy says hello.”
“He’ll be so thrilled. Since his expression never changes, I won’t be able to tell that he’s thrilled, but I’ll assume that he is.”
Rucker was still laughing when he said good-bye. Dinah hung up the phone and sat without moving for
a while, thinking about him and smiling. She was so lost in daydreams that at first she didn’t hear the new voices in the hall outside her office. When she realized that Lula Belle was arguing with someone loudly—and loudly was loud, with Lula Belle—Dinah leapt up and hurried toward the door.
“You get out of here!” she heard Lula Belle screech. “All right, then,
all right
! I’m callin’ the police!”
A sudden sinking sensation, part fear, part foreboding, grabbed at Dinah’s stomach. As she reached her door a man blocked her way. Dinah halted, her heart freezing, her hands rising involuntarily to her throat as if to protect it. Pale, predatory eyes gleamed down at her. Todd Norins held out a hand with well-manicured nails.
“It’s certainly nice to see you again, Dinah. After all these years.” He almost smiled.
It had been a good night, a good speech, and a good time, Rucker thought contentedly as he leaned against the beveled glass of the private penthouse elevator. In recent years, success had lived up to all its promises, and he was a happy beneficiary. Rucker puffed a cloud of fragrant smoke from a long cigar. He enjoyed smoking a good cigar sometimes, and this one was magnificent.
Humming an old Tammy Wynette song, he straightened as the elevator reached his floor. The door slid back with the graceful whoosh of fine machinery, and Rucker stepped into a small lobby decorated in Queen Anne antiques, the fabrics flowery, the ambience elegant and old-world. Rudolph Valentino had once stayed in this hotel. And John Wayne. Can’t picture the Duke among all this frippery, Rucker thought sternly. Fumbling with his hotel key, he climbed a winding, private staircase that led up one story to the landing of his exclusive suite.
The sight of Dinah seated on the floor, her back against the suite’s door jamb, brought him to an astonished stop. She uncurled her long legs and got up slowly, her movements awkward and weary.
“Dee!” he called, and covered the last few steps in one leap. He threw the cigar into an ash stand by the door and grabbed her shoulders. Rucker stared down at her, fear and concern twisting his stomach. She looked like she’d been through hell. “What is it, hon? What are you doin’ here?”
Her voice was hollow and cold. “The game’s over. Drop the southern comfort act, Rucker. I know what you really want from me now.”
Shock left him speechless for once in his life. He blankly noted that her glorious dark hair, usually so perfect, now hung in limp, disheveled strands, as if she’d spent hours running her hands through it. She wore her leather coat over the floppy gray sweatshirt and dirty jeans. Her feet were covered by mud-stained tennis shoes, and a small leather purse dangled from the angry fist her right hand made. That fist drew his attention.
“Punch me or explain what’s wrong,” he ordered desperately. Her face was what upset him most. It was swollen from crying, and now her eyes glittered with new tears. New tears, exhaustion, and bitterness, as she gazed up at him mutely. Bitterness he couldn’t comprehend.
“I wanted to believe in you so badly,” she said in a dull voice. “Don’t you have any shame?”
“Dee? What the hell is the matter? What happened? Why’d you fly to Dallas?” He tried to take her in his arms, but her hands came up and braced against his dark blue jacket. She held him away, and he gazed down at her in utter bewilderment, frowning.
“We have to talk,” she said, and her icy tone cut through him. “I don’t want your sympathy. I want explanations.”
“What
is
it?” he demanded, his fear making him so reckless that he shook her slightly. “Damn it, Dee, tell me!”
“Let go of me!” She shoved him fiercely, and he was so amazed that he released her arms. She stepped back, her chest moving harshly as she took quick, short breaths. “Stop pretending to be innocent! I hate this act of yours!”
“
Dee
?” he said again, stunned. She was a stranger, a violent stranger blind with fury. “What the—”
“What did Todd Norins promise you?” Her voice was cutting. “A plug on his show for your books or your column? That he’d help you get some spectacular job in broadcasting? That he’d share the credit when he
broke my story? What, Rucker? What would make me worth all the trouble you went through? Seduction
and
courtship. I must be one hell of a good story to you!”
The sound of Norins’s name had startled him, and now he looked down at her in new silence as a terrible sense of understanding crept over him. “Oh, no,” he groaned.
“He showed up at my office today. He brought his
cameraman
along.” Her voice was full of sarcasm. “We had an impromptu
interview
. It consisted mainly of Norins asking me
questions
and me telling him to
get out
. The tape will be aired in all its glory on
USA Personal
next week.” She paused, her eyes glinting even brighter. “He said you told him where to find me.” Her voice broke as tears streamed down her cheeks. “You told … told him everything … you knew about me. Why, damn it? What was the payoff for you! That’s all I want to know! What was the payoff!”
Shaking his head, he took a step toward her, his hands out in supplication. “Dee, it wasn’t like that, I swear. I never tried to hurt you. I was looking for information. I called Norins because he’d done that article years ago—”
“Looking for information that would flesh out your own story?” Her voice rose. “After you told me that you’d leave my past alone until I was ready to discuss it!”
Anger invaded Rucker’s emotions. “Damn it! Why can’t you trust me!” He felt bad enough without being accused of motives he’d never had. “I called Norins after we spent the night together that first time,” he told her grimly. “I was trying to find out what you were hiding so I could break down all those damned barriers you put up.”
“You told him where to find me!” she yelled, her hands gripping his lapels suddenly. She jerked at them. “How
could
you! I don’t believe your explanations! I want the truth!” Her cheeks were flushed a bright red, contrasting markedly with the pallor of her face.
“Stop it,” he ordered. “You’re just about hysterical.
Damn it, I’m innocent! I didn’t have any ulterior motives.”
“You didn’t have any ulterior motives,” she repeated sardonically. “Thank you. That’s grand. Everything I’ve worked to build is—” she dipped her head and fought to continue speaking, “is ruined. But you’re innocent. Wonderful.” She let go of him and backed away. “A great story, Rucker.”
He’d had enough. Rucker stepped past her and unlocked the door to the suite. He slung it open and grabbed her by the wrist. “Get in here,” he told her. “I won’t have everybody who walks into the lobby below us listenin’ to this garbage. I’m gonna put you into bed and order you a double shot of bourbon. Then I’m gonna talk some sense into you and get some explanations.”
“And make everything better?” she asked tautly. “Don’t try to cajole me with your down-home domestic charms. Nothing is going to get better—”
“Nothin’ is goin’ to get better until you explain about Norins!” He stepped into the suite, pulled her in behind him, and slammed the door shut. “Talk!”
“I don’t owe you any answers.” She tugged her hand away furiously.
He looked as if he might explode with anger and frustration. “I
love
you, despite what you think, Dee. You owe me.”
The sound of those words,
I love you
, crumbled her defenses. She hurried across an elegantly appointed living room to a huge skylight that filled one slanted wall. She stood there framed by the glittering panorama of Dallas at night, her face buried in her hands, her back to him. Rucker thought he’d die if he didn’t at least try to touch her.
He walked up behind her without a word and slid both arms around her waist, then hugged her tightly and rested his cheek against her disheveled hair. She was pure resistance, tense and trembling.
“Tell it all,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Please. Whatever the hell it is, or was, that hurts you so much, tell me right now.”
“Let go of me. I don’t want you to hold me. I trusted you, and you destroyed that trust.”