"My biggest fan," Lisa said dryly, bumping his arm with her elbow.
The tightness around Olivia's mouth made it clear that she recognized his sudden contribution for what it was—her son was not only letting her know that Lisa's "little business" was doing very well indeed but that he was a firm supporter of it
"That's wonderful," Olivia said insincerely. "I must admit, I had wondered about making collectible hats." Her light laugh hinted at the utter absurdity of the idea. "I didn't even know there was anyone who would want to collect something like that, but there's no telling what odd notions people will get, is there? You only have to look at pet rocks to know that they'll collect the oddest things."
"They will, won't they?" Lisa agreed, teeth only slightly gritted. "I guess I'm just lucky that there are people who consider my hats at least as interesting as a pet rock."
Just another evening spent in the warm bosom of her family, Anne thought. The only thing that could compare to it might be tap dancing barefoot through a minefield while someone lobbed bowling balls over her head. When she was younger, she could remember watching reruns of The Brady Bunch on TV and wondering if there really were families like that. If there were families who actually talked to each other; a place where you had only to turn to your family to find the solution for every problem, large or small.
It had always been a puzzle to her that they'd known they could turn to each other. It couldn't be just a matter of birth or marriage because, if that was the case, she would have that same feeling about her own family. She couldn't remember a time when she'd felt as if she could take her problems to her family. It wasn't that they didn't love each other, she told herself, ignoring the niggling hint of question in the thought. Of course they loved each other, because that was what families did. She'd long ago grown out of the idea that real life was anything like a sitcom, but there was still that small, wistful part of her that wondered what it would be like to sit down to dinner and actually talk to each other, she thought as she pushed a piecrust crumb around the edge of her plate.
She didn't need to look at her father to know that, though he was sitting at the table, he was not really there. It was a knack he'd developed years ago—that ability to go away somewhere, to retreat from whatever was happening around him. She'd often envied him that ability, but tonight, when she glanced at him, it suddenly occurred to her that it was a lonely way to live.
And her brother... Jack had always been something of a mystery to her. When she was a child, the nearly ten-year difference in their ages had lent him an almost mystical aura in her eyes. Tall and lean, with hair the color of sunshine and deep blue eyes, she'd been dazzled by the physical perfection of him and by the fact that he'd been an adult while she was still a child. It was only when she became an adult herself that she'd begun to see the man behind the picture she'd created.
She frowned a little as Jack reached out to lift the wine bottle from the center of the table and tilt the remainder of it into his glass. On the surface, he seemed satisfied with his life, but there was a darkness in his eyes, a shadow lurking behind his smile, and she wondered at its source.
"Earth to Anne. Anybody home?" Jack's voice startled her. She looked up, suddenly aware that it wasn't the first time he'd spoken.
"Sorry." Her fork clinked against the edge of her plate as she set it down. "I guess I was somewhere else for a minute there."
"Thinking about the hunk?" Lisa asked with a teasing grin.
"No." But Lisa's question brought him instantly to mind. She'd thought of him several times during the aftemoon, wondering where he'd come from, where he was going, half wishing she were the sort of woman who could have asked those questions. Or maybe even the sort of woman who would make a man like that change his plans and stay in town, just hoping for a chance to get to know her.
Seeing the faint hint of color come up in Anne's cheeks, Lisa leaned forward, her green eyes bright with interest. "Did you talk to him?"
"Why do I have the feeling that I've missed half the conversation?" Jack complained. "Who are we talking about?"
"There was a guy at David's garage when I took Anne to pick up that junk heap she drives. Greatest butt I've seen in years."
"Should I be jealous?" Jack asked.
"Maybe just a little," Lisa said, grinning. "It really was an exceptional butt." She looked back at Anne. "Did you talk to him?"
"A little." She lifted one hand to halt the questions she could see trembling on her friend's lips. "His motorcycle broke down, and he got a ride into town. David was going to look at it. That's all I know."
"Does he look as good up close as he did at a distance?" Lisa asked irrepressibly.
"Now I'm definitely jealous," Jack said dryly. "If this guy is still around, I'll have to run him out of town immediately."
"I can't believe you're joking about this." The harsh anger in her mother's voice cut through the light conversation like a dagger slashing through fine silk. Looking at her, Anne was startled by the emotion that tightened her face. In her experience, her mother made a point to avoid strong emotion. Nothing ages a woman faster than strong emotion, Anne. It's not fashionable to say as much these days, but a lady is always restrained in her emotions.
"Joking about what?'' Anne asked, bewildered. She shot a questioning look at Jack, but, after one sharp glance at his mother, he was absorbed in watching the play of light through the parchment-colored wine in his glass.
"You actually spoke with this man?" Olivia demanded, pinning Anne to her chair with the sheer force of her anger.
"A little.'' Understanding glimmered and set a knot in her stomach. She lowered her hands to her lap, her fingers twisting together. She was suddenly sixteen again, home late from school, listening to her mother's hysterical sobs as she listed all the terrible things she'd thought might have happened to her only remaining daughter. "He was very pleasant," she offered quietly, knowing it wouldn't be enough.
"That doesn't mean anything," Olivia snapped. She shoved her plate back with a quick, impatient gesture that sent it clattering against her wine glass. The glass tipped and would have fallen if Jack's hand hadn't shot out, catching it and setting it upright again. His mother didn't even notice the small incident. "He was a stranger. He could have been anyone, done anything."
"I'm sure it was perfectly safe, Liwy." John Moore spoke for the first time since the meal began, his voice soothing. 'It was broad daylight, after all."
"And we all know how safe that makes her, don't we?" The shrill question was followed by a thick silence.
Against her will, Anne's eyes went to the neat arrangement of framed photos on a low side table. There were several pictures, but the largest was of a pretty blonde with golden hair and deep blue eyes. The photo showed a girl on the brink of womanhood, her eyes sparkling with anticipation for the life that lay ahead of her. A life that had ended barely a month after the picture was taken.
"Well, nothing happened," John said after a moment.
"Not yet, but how do we know this man didn't follow her home? He could be waiting for her even now."
"I'm sure he's not." Anne kept her voice calm.
"He could hardly have followed me without a means of transportation, and since he didn't even know my name, it's not likely he could find out where I live, is it?"
The flat, disinterested tone had the desired effect. The hectic color that had tinted Olivia's cheeks began to recede, and she slowly relaxed the grip she'd taken on the edge of the table.
"I suppose not." She pressed her fingertips to the base of her throat, visibly gathering the threads of her usual control. "But I don't like the idea of you going back to that empty cottage," she said fretfully. "I've never understood why you insisted on moving out. It's not as if there isn't more than enough room in this house."
"I need a place of my own," Anne said, feeling the knot in her stomach tighten. They'd had this argument three years ago when she'd decided to move out. She wasn't going to have it again.
"I know, I know—you needed your privacy," Olivia said bitterly. "I never have understood why you felt you had to move out just for that. You could have stayed here and had all the privacy you wanted."
Anne swallowed an hysterical little bubble of laughter, aware that her mother actually believed what she was saying.
"It's not like I moved very far," she said, bypassing the issue of whether or not she should have moved at all. "The cottage is only a couple of hundred yards away."
"Far enough. You can't even see it from the house."
Which was the only reason I agreed to move in there, Anne thought. Despite her assurance about respecting her privacy, her mother wouldn't have thought twice about keeping tabs on any comings and goings at the cottage. Not that there was anything to keep track of Anne admitted silently and with some regret
When Anne didn't volunteer to pack her things and move back into the family home, Olivia's mouth compressed with irritation. She would have liked to pursue the issue but knew she wouldn't get anywhere with it, just as she hadn't gotten anywhere three years ago. It had been a shock to find her usually malleable daughter suddenly digging in her heels, insisting that it was time she had a place of her own. She'd had to content herself with the knowledge that at least she'd persuaded Anne to move into the ridiculous Victorian confection of a cottage at the bottom of the driveway, rather than getting a place somewhere in town. There was no point in rehashing the subject, particularly not with
Lisa sitting there, listening to every word. You didn't air family troubles in front of an outsider and, if she had her way, that was exactly what Lisa was going to stay.
"I still can't believe you talked to a stranger like that," she said fretfully. "As if you were just anyone.''
As if there had ever been a time, in the last fifteen years, when I've been allowed to forget that Brooke Moore was my sister, Anne thought bitterly. As if she'd ever been able to be "just anyone".
"He was just someone passing through," was all she said. "I'm sure he's halfway to Chicago or New York or wherever he was originally headed by now."
"Not New York," Jack said suddenly. "Not unless he had a rocket-powered motorcycle."
"Could have been nuclear," Lisa said, gamely picking up on his transparent bid to lighten the atmosphere. "I bet you can download plans for a nuclear-powered motorcycle off the Internet."
"And probably pick up everything you need to make it at the local hardware store."
"This is hardly a joking matter," Olivia said stiffly, but the moment of crisis had passed and they all knew it.
Just another warm evening spent in the bosom of her family, Anne thought wryly. She stood up and began gathering the dessert plates. All this because she'd exchanged a few words with a man she would never see again. And wasn't it ridiculous to feel regret at the thought? He would probably have turned out to be a dead bore. Any man who was that good-looking probably had an ego the size of Kansas. Still, she allowed herself a wistful moment to wonder where he was now.
At that particular moment, Neill was unpacking his duffle bag under the watchful eyes of Claudette Colbert and Bela Lugosi. They stared down at him from their respective posters—Colbert looking sultry and dangerous as Cleopatra, and Lugosi looking like an orthodontist's dream come true as Dracula. It was, he thought, an interesting combination with which to decorate a motel room. But then, even on short acquaintance, he could tell that his temporary landlady was an interesting woman.
When it became clear that nothing but an act of God was going to get the motorcycle back on the road that night, David Freeman had reconmiended The Blue Dahlia Motel.
"My great-aunt Dorothy owns it. It's nothing fancy, but it's clean, and the rates aren't bad." He pulled a grease-stained rag out of his back pocket, found a reasonably clean comer and began wiping the grease off his fingers. It was late, and he was getting ready to close the station for the day. "Truth is, there isn't a whole lot of choice in a town this size. Gert Billings rents out the second bedroom in her house from time to time, but she's looking for something a little more long-term than you're likely to be. 'Sides, you're a little on the young side."
"For what?" Neill asked, startled.
"For Gert. She's been on the lookout for a husband since Willie died a couple years back."
"Willie was her husband?''
"Actually, he was her brother." Neill's eyebrows rose, and David laughed. " Willie was a terrific handyman. He could fix damned near anything, and he worked cheap—room, board and a color TV and he was a happy man. Gert's tight-fisted, and that old place of hers needs a lot of work. She figures a husband would be cheap labor, but she hasn't found any takers yet"
"Well, tempting as the idea of free room and board is, I think I can resist Gert's charms."
"Don't forget the color TV."
"That does make it harder to turn down, but I think I'll just head over to your great-aunt's motel." Neill bent to pick up the duffle he'd untied from the back of the Indian. He gave David a cautious look as he straightened. "Your aunt isn't looking for a husband, is she?"