Confessions: He's the Rich BoyHe's My Soldier Boy

by Lisa Jackson

  She should have learned her lesson.

  So what was she doing here hoping to catch Ben Powell’s attention? Didn’t she have enough trouble with Kevin?

  The fingers clamped around her forearm didn’t move and her skin tingled slightly. “You certainly know how to create a scene,” he said quietly.

  “Maybe I should leave.”

  With a lift of his shoulder, he let go of her arm. The warmth of his fingertips left soft impressions on her arm. “Up to you.” His silver-tinged gaze touched hers and her throat caught for a second.

  “We’ll stay...for a while,” she said, as the night closed around them and the fire cast golden shadows over the angles of his face. Someone had a portable radio, fiddled with the dial and the strong notes of “Night Moves” by Bob Seger wafted through the air.

  “Good.” Ben stuck close to her the rest of the evening, but he never touched her again and any little flame of interest in his eyes was quickly doused when he talked to her.

  She listened to music, nursed a beer, talked to some of the kids and always knew exactly where Ben was, whom he was talking to and what he was doing. It was silly really, but she couldn’t help the attraction she felt for him.

  “He’s interested,” Brenda told her when it was near midnight and the party was breaking up.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Definitely interested,” her friend maintained. “He watched you when he didn’t think you were looking.”

  “Really?” Carlie whispered just as Ben left a small group of his friends and approached the girls.

  “Need a ride?” Ben slipped his arms through a faded denim shirt. He didn’t bother with the buttons.

  “We’ve got the rowboat,” Carlie said, managing to hide her disappointment.

  “It’ll fit in the back of my truck.” His gaze touched hers for just a heartbeat. “It’s no trouble.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “We’d love a ride,” Brenda cut in as she glanced at her watch. “There’s no way we can row back to my house by curfew.”

  “But—”

  Ben wasn’t listening to any arguments. He followed them to the back of the house, waded into the thigh-deep water, dragged the rowboat to shore, then swung the small craft over his head. Lake water drizzled down his neck and the back of his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Carlie whispered to her friend.

  “You wanted to be with him, didn’t you?” When Carlie didn’t answer, Brenda gave her a nudge. “Go for it.”

  * * *

  BEN SHOVED THE rowboat into the back of his father’s truck and told himself he was an idiot. Why borrow trouble? Why take Carlie home?

  Because you can’t help yourself!

  He now understood his brother’s fascination with Carlie Surrett. Reed-slender, with thick black hair that fell to the middle of her back, high cheekbones, lips that always looked moist and eyes that sparked with a misty blue-green intelligence turned his insides to jelly. No wonder Kevin had been so hot for her. But it was over. Kevin had said so himself.

  Ben might have felt guilty taking Carlie home a couple of weeks ago, but Kevin had sworn just the other night that he was over Carlie Surrett. They’d been down at the Silver Horseshoe, the local watering hole, tossing back a few beers after Kevin’s shift at the mill.

  “She’s too much trouble, that one,” Kevin had said, signaling the waitress for another round. “So I broke up with her and I found someone else.”

  “I thought you were in love with her. She’s all you could talk about for...what...two or three weeks.”

  Kevin snorted. “We only went out a few times.” He fished into his front pocket of his jeans for change and avoided his brother’s intense stare. “’Sides, you and I know there’s no such thing as love. All a big lie. Made up by women with their stupid ideas that they get from books and movies.”

  “You believe that?” Ben had known that Kevin had turned cynical over the years after losing his chance to play basketball in college, but he hadn’t believed his older brother could be so hard-nosed and jaded. A few weeks ago, Kevin had been on cloud nine, talking about Carlie Surrett as if he intended to marry her. And now he thought love was just an illusion.

  “Look at Mom and Dad,” Kevin said, as if their parents’ ill-fated union was proof of his opinion.

  Ben scowled and picked at the label of his bottle. His parents, Donna and George Powell, after fighting for years had separated and were now divorced. The battles had started long ago and had always been about money—the kind of money the Monroes and Fitzpatricks had and the rest of the town didn’t. For as long as Ben could remember, his family had been one of the many “have-nots” and this point only became crushingly clear when his father had lost all the family’s savings on some lamebrained investment scheme concocted by H. G. Monroe, owner of the sawmill for which George and Kevin worked, and one rich, mean son of a bitch.

  “So who’s the girl?” he asked his brother rather than think about the past. “The one who’s replaced Carlie Surrett?”

  Kevin’s lips turned down. “No one replaced Carlie,” he said defensively as a buxom waitress, wearing a skirt that barely covered her rear, left two more bottles on the glossy mahogany bar. In one swift motion, she emptied the ashtray and quickly picked up the crumpled bills Kevin cast in her direction. “Keep the change,” he said with a smile that invited trouble.

  “Thanks, sugar.”

  “No problem.”

  The waitress moved through the smoke to a table in the corner. Kevin took a long swallow from his bottle. As if they’d never been interrupted, he said, “I’m seein’ a girl named Tracy. Tracy Niday from Coleville. Ever hear of her?”

  Ben shook his head and Kevin seemed relieved.

  “Is she nice?”

  “Nice? Humph. I’m not lookin’ for nice.” Kevin’s eyes darkened a shade. “But she’s...simple. Doesn’t have big dreams of goin’ to New York, becoming a model or some such bull. She’s just happy that I take her out and show her a good time.”

  “And Carlie wasn’t?”

  “No way. No how.” Kevin scowled and reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt for his pack of cigarettes. “Carlie has big plans—thinks she’s gonna be some hot-damn model or somethin’. Didn’t want to be tied down to Gold Creek and...oh, hell, she was a load of trouble. I’m better off without her.” He lit up and shot a plume of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “If you ask me, she was all screwed up over that Roy Fitzpatrick murder. Her and that friend of hers—Rachelle Tremont—are both more trouble than they’re worth.”

  And that had been the end of the conversation about Kevin’s love life. Ben hadn’t believed that his brother was truly over Carlie and so he’d questioned her when he’d first found her climbing out of the boat at the dock. But her story had been close enough to Kevin’s to convince Ben that they weren’t seeing each other anymore.

  He watched as she wiped her hands on the front of her shorts. “Hop in,” he said, opening the driver’s side of the pickup and wondering why he felt a twinge of relief knowing that Kevin wasn’t interested in Carlie any longer. He and Kevin had never dated the same girls—there seemed to be an unwritten law between them when it came to going out and heretofore maintaining their silent code hadn’t been a problem. Kevin was a few years older than Ben, and no conflicts had arisen. Until Carlie. Until now.

  Carlie was the youngest girl Kevin had ever taken out, and, without a doubt, the most gorgeous. He noticed the shape of her buttocks and the nip of her waist as she slid onto the old seat of the truck. He didn’t question that she could become a successful model and he didn’t blame her for wanting to taste more of the world than Gold Creek, California, had to offer.

  He wanted to get out of town himself.

  He rammed the truck into gear. “Where to?” he asked the girls.

  “My place,” Brenda said quickly. “It’s a little ways from the o
ld church camp.”

  “Just point me in the right direction.” Ben shoved the Ford into first and the truck bounced along the rutted lane. Near a dilapidated mailbox, he turned south on the county road that rimmed the lake. Carlie reached for the radio, but Ben shook his head. “Hasn’t worked for a few months now,” he said, his fingers brushing her bare leg as he shifted into third. His fingers skimmed her thigh and he felt a tightening in his gut.

  Carlie felt the touch of his fingers, and her skin tingled. She pretended to stare out the dusty windshield, but she watched him from the corner of her eye. He squinted slightly as he drove and the planes of his face seemed more rugged in the dark cab. He was dark and sexy and dangerous.

  The porch light was burning at Brenda’s old farmhouse. Ben unloaded the rowboat, and, following Brenda’s instructions, propped the boat against the side of a concrete-block shed. “Thanks for the ride,” Brenda sang out as she ran up the cement walk. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Carlie!” She dashed up the steps and disappeared into the house as Ben climbed behind the wheel.

  “Now where?” he asked, glancing in her direction and noting that she’d moved to the far side of the cab, as if she didn’t want to chance touching him.

  “I live in town. The Lakeview Apartments on Cedar Street—one block off Pine.”

  “I’ve been there.” He slashed her a smile that was white in the darkness and caused her heart to flip.

  “Then you know there’s no lake and no view.” She relaxed against the worn cushions and rolled down the window. Fresh air blew into the cab, ruffling her hair and caressing her cheeks.

  A train was passing on the old railroad trestle that spanned the highway into town as the lights of Gold Creek came into view. They passed the Dari-Maid and turned at the corner of Pine and Main by the Rexall Drugstore, the store where her mother had worked for as long as Carlie could remember.

  Though she was nervous just being alone with him, she hoped he didn’t notice. Her palms were sweaty, her throat dry and her heart knocked loudly as the night seemed to close around them.

  He took the corner a little too fast and the truck’s tires squealed as he pulled into the parking lot near her parents’ apartment complex. Built in the thirties, the Lakeview was comprised of three six-plex town houses. On the exterior, the bottom floors were faced in brick while the upper story was white clapboard. Black shutters adorned paned windows and though the apartments weren’t very big, they still held a certain charm that her mother loved. “Just like home,” Thelma, who had been raised in Brooklyn, New York, had told her daughter on more than one occasion. “You can’t find quality building like this anymore.”

  As the pickup idled, Carlie reached for the door handle.

  “You don’t have to go in,” he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

  Her fingers froze in midair. “It’s late.”

  “Not that late.” He turned off the ignition and the ensuing silence was suddenly deafening. She could hear her own heartbeat and the hum of the security lamps that shed a blue light over the pockmarked asphalt of the parking lot.

  “I’ve got to work in the morning.”

  “So do I.”

  She turned to face him and barely dared breathe. Lounging against the driver’s side door, Ben was openly staring at her and his eyebrows were drawn together as if he were trying to piece together some complicated, mystical puzzle. He fingered his keys. Silence was thick in the truck. She swallowed hard.

  He reached across the cab, lifted a lock of her long black hair and let it drop again. “Why did you show up at the cabin tonight?”

  “I told you—”

  “I know what you said, but I was wondering if there was another reason.”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure that it’s over between you and my brother?”

  Her heart was beating so loudly, she was embarrassed. “It never really got started, Ben. It just didn’t work,” she said honestly.

  “Why?”

  “I liked Kevin...I still do, but he wanted to get more serious than I did....” Before she realized what he was doing, his fingers slid beneath her hair, found the back of her neck and drew her face to his.

  “So what are you? Just a party girl?” he asked, his breath fanning her lips.

  Oh, God, she could hardly breathe.

  “No, but—”

  His lips found hers in a kiss that was hot and wet and promised so much more. His mouth moved easily and Carlie couldn’t help the little groan of pleasure that escaped her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that kissing him was asking for more trouble than she could ever hope to handle, but she couldn’t stop herself and she didn’t protest as his arms surrounded her, pulling her close against him. His chest was rock hard and bare where his shirt didn’t quite close and his mouth moved easily over hers.

  She felt as if she were melting inside when he finally let go of her.

  Her heart was thundering as he slid back to his side of the truck and ran an unsteady hand through his hair. “Damn!” His breathing was loud and he cast her a glance that could cut through metal. “You—”

  “I what?” she asked, bristling a little. After all, he’d kissed her. Not the other way around.

  “You’re...well, you’re just not what I expected. Son of a—”

  “Gun?” She tried to break the tension building in the cab.

  “Close enough.” His fingers still shook a little as he placed them over the steering wheel. So he had been as affected as she. That little bit of knowledge helped because she was surprised at her own reaction. She’d kissed her share of boys during high school and some of the kisses had been pleasant, but she’d never felt so downright shaken to her toes.

  “I’d better get going.” He reached for the keys still dangling in the ignition.

  “You want to come in...for a soda, or some coffee or something?” Lord, that sounded so immature. They’d just been at a beer bash and shared a kiss that was as deep as the night and she was offering him coffee like a middle-aged woman in a commercial on television.

  Hesitating, he glanced in her direction, appeared to wrestle with a silent decision, then pocketed his keys. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Probably not.” Relieved, she laughed and climbed out of the truck.

  Now what? she wondered as she waited for him to round the fender and walk to the front door. Her fingers fumbled a little as she pushed the key into the lock and turned softly. The door opened silently and her cat, in a streak of gray, bolted inside.

  “Get locked out, did you, Shadow?” Carlie said, thankful for the distraction. “That’s what happens when you don’t come in when you’re called.” With the cat at her heels, Carlie walked quickly and quietly down the hall to the kitchen where she snapped on the light. Shadow sprang to the counter and perched on the windowsill.

  “You’ve got a friend,” Ben observed.

  “Most of the time, but she’s a little fickle.”

  “Like you?” he asked and she felt heat flood up her neck. Of course he’d think she was as flighty as the stupid cat. There was no telling what Kevin had told his brother.

  “I’m a lot of things,” she said, opening the refrigerator door and pulling out a carton of milk. She sniffed the edge to be sure the contents weren’t sour, then poured some into a saucer and placed the dish in the corner by the back door. “But definitely not fickle.” The cat hopped off the sill, trotted over to the saucer, wrinkled her nose, then began to lap greedily.

  “No?” Ben twisted a kitchen chair around and straddled the back.

  “We’ve got cola, or lemonade or I can make coffee.”

  “The soda’s fine.”

  She poured two glasses, rattled ice out of a tray and plopped a couple of cubes into each glass. “I just want to know that we’re not together because of Kevin,” Ben suddenly tossed out.

  “What? That’s crazy!” She nearly dropped the glasses. Was he serious?


  “Some girls would date a guy’s brother to get back at him.”

  “I don’t want to get back at anyone!”

  “And some would try and make him jealous.”

  “Do you really believe that?” she asked, dumbfounded.

  His eyes turned sober. “I don’t want to.”

  “Good, because I’m tired of talking about your brother, okay? I told you that I was never really serious about him. Either you believe me or you don’t.”

  “I just want things straight.”

  “Me, too.”

  He stared at her a long minute, then took the glass from her outstretched hand and lifted it a bit. “Cheers.”

  “Here’s mud in your eye.”

  “Better than a foot in the mouth, I guess.” He smiled then, a long slow smile that touched a corner of her heart, before he placed the glass to his lips.

  Carlie’s heart did a stupid little somersault and she knew that she’d misjudged her reaction to him. She’d hoped that after meeting him, her fascination for him would fade, but instead, the more she was with him, the more intrigued she was and try as she might, she couldn’t forget that single, long kiss.

  “I heard you plan to leave town,” he said. She guessed his information had come from Kevin. “That you’ve got big plans to model. L.A. or New York. Right?”

  She felt heat flood her face. “It’s a dream,” she admitted. “I worked on the school paper, taking pictures. And so after I graduated, I took a job in Coleville at a studio, just doing grunt work—filing, typing, developing negatives—that sort of thing. And then the owner of the studio—his name is Rory—asked me to pose for him. So I did.”

  Clouds gathered in his eyes. “So the rest is history?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Hardly.”

  “No contract with the Ford Agency?”

  “Not yet.” She relaxed a little. He was teasing her and the twinkle in his hazel eyes wasn’t malicious—just interested.

  “I don’t blame you for wanting to get out,” he admitted, then drained his drink.

  “You don’t?” She didn’t believe him. Kevin had acted as if Gold Creek was the end-all and be-all. She’d suspected that he hadn’t always believed it, but that once he’d lost his basketball scholarship and his dreams in the process, he’d forced himself to settle for a job in the mill and now was rationalizing...or pouring himself into a bottle. Though she’d never voiced her opinion, she thought Kevin spent too many nights on the third stool of the Silver Horseshoe Saloon holding up the bar and watching sports on television. He’d even given up on city-league basketball with friends. She expected his brother to feel the same.