The hellion

by LaVyrle Spencer

  His eyes met hers again. "I hope so." He suddenly captured her hand and tugged her toward a large boulder. "Let's sit down." When they were seated side by side he dropped her hand, seemed to struggle for the right words, and finally lifted his gaze to hers, asking, "Rachel, have you been seeing Tommy Lee Gentry?"

  With unexpected swiftness her blood came to life and her heart started banging. "What do you mean, have I been seeing him?"

  "His car has been seen at your house."

  Frantically she searched for an answer. "Tommy Lee and I are old friends," she answered vaguely.

  "That doesn't answer my question." He swallowed and continued. "Friends or no friends, you know what kind of man he is."

  She suddenly grew incensed with people pointing their fingers at Tommy Lee when they knew so little about what drove him. "Oh? And what kind of man is he, Marshall?" Rachel surprised even herself with her brusque tone.

  He jumped off the rock, presenting his back to her while jamming his hands into his pockets. "Oh, come on, Rachel. He's got women from one end of this county to the other, and nobody would put it past him to try to move in fast on a new widow."

  Growing angrier by the moment, Rachel questioned, "Did my father put you up to this?"

  Marshall swung around to face her again. "Your father? Why, no! I heard the rumor, that's all, and I wanted an answer straight from you."

  It suddenly dawned on Rachel that this was what Marshall and his daughter had argued about, and for the first time ever she grew more angry with them for gossiping than with Tommy Lee for making himself vulnerable to their gossip. But just then Marshall came close and reached for her hand again. "Rachel, don't get angry with me. Please. That's the last thing I wanted."

  At his apologetic look she softened. "You don't have to worry about me, Marshall. I have a very level head on my shoulders."

  "Yes, I know you do. But even so…" His words trailed off and she saw how upset he was, which was terribly unlike Marshall, who was always very low key and unruffled. "Rachel, may I speak frankly with you?"

  Though something warned her she might not like what he had to say, she could only respond, "Why, of course, Marshall. What else are friends for?"

  He solemnly studied their joined hands. "I wasn't going to say anything for some months yet, but after what I heard today, I realize I can't put this off." He swallowed nervously and his eyes flicked briefly to hers, then away again. "Rachel, I know that for the last half-year or more you and Owen had no ah…" Marshall nervously cleared his throat. "No… sexual relationship. He talked to me about it because he was very depressed over it. He was… well, worried about you." She felt her face grow hot and resisted the urge to yank her hand from his. "You're normal and healthy… and at this point in your life, extremely vulnerable."

  Though her face was now fully flooded with crimson, she said pointedly, "To a man like Tommy Lee, you mean?"

  Now it was Marshall's turn to color. "Yes." He cleared his throat and swallowed again. "Rachel, at the risk of sounding calculating, I'll admit to you that I've been thinking for weeks about taking care of you since Owen died, of marrying you as soon as a decent length of time had passed."

  "Marrying me!" Rachel tried to retract her hands, but he held them firmly, meeting her brown eyes squarely at last.

  "Does it come as such a surprise, Rachel? Surely you've guessed that I began loving you long before I had the right to say so."

  "But, Marshall, I ..."

  "I know. I know. I'm not the debonair type, not the kind with flash and style like Gentry. But I love you, Rachel, and I'd be good to you."

  Oh, there was no doubt in her mind about that. But… Marshall? Marshall with his sober sensibilities, his nondescript brown hair, and wing-tip shoes? She looked at him and tried to imagine spending the rest of her life watching him putter and prune his yard on Saturdays, then on Sundays going off to visit his married children. And in between, she could listen to him and her father discuss interest rates and twenty-pay-life plans. He was gazing at her pleadingly now, and she had to think of something fast.

  "But, Marshall, Owen's been gone such a short time, and I… I…" It had always been embarrassing for Rachel to turn down even so much as a kiss. This was devastating. Marshall was gazing at her as if he wanted to gift-wrap those two rainbows and lay them at her feet!

  "I had no intention of asking you so soon," he went on nervously. "I told you that. But when I heard the rumors, I got scared."

  "Oh, Marshall…" she said softly, moved in spite of herself because he was so sincere and flustered.

  "I guess I took you by surprise, didn't I?" He hung his head quite boyishly while fidgeting idly with her hands. "I thought you knew all along how I felt about you. There have been times when I've felt rather disloyal to Owen because of my premature feelings for you. Times when I'd leave your house and go home alone and think about…" He lifted his eyes to hers and drew her gently to her feet. His Adam's apple lurched and his face looked pained as he took her into his arms, gazing adoringly into her face. "Oh, Rachel, I've never even kissed you."

  His warm, open lips were something of a shock, simply because they belonged to Marshall-old, reliable Marshall. His tongue parted her lips, and when it touched hers she struggled not to recoil. But kissing Marshall seemed unholy and about as exciting as kissing a brother.

  To Rachel's dismay, his hands dropped lower on her back and he pulled her flush against him, revealing the fact that he was fully aroused. Rachel's heart hammered in shock while the kiss grew more ardent and she wondered how to get out of this without hurting him more than he deserved. She wedged her hands between them and turned her face aside. "No… please."

  He was breathing laboriously when the kiss ended. Then he transferred his lips to her jaw and ran his hands more demandingly along her hips and spine. "Rachel, darling, I love you. I have for so long."

  "But I..." Why should it be so impossibly hard to come right out and say she didn't love him? Instead she softened it by saying, "No, Marshall, it's too soon."

  He was surprisingly strong as he forced her head around and held it immobile while covering her mouth with his once again. Rachel began to stiffen and was about to rear back and stop him before he went any further. But she found his protestations of love flattering. Some devilish gremlin tempted her to find out just how far he'd go, and whether her reactions would be as quick and fiery as they'd been to Tommy Lee, so she relaxed in his arms and let his tongue stroke the inside of her mouth.

  When he felt her acquiesce, his hand swept up her ribs and captured a breast, caressing it while his tongue delved between her lips with growing fervor. She waited for that magical surge of sexual reaction, but when her nipple puckered and hardened she felt mildly repulsed. Marshall's tongue felt alien within her mouth. His body seemed too long and bony. His hands only made her wish they belonged to another man. All that came were thoughts of Tommy Lee, and how his kisses and touches had set off a series of involuntary responses that had left her shaken and wanting more when he'd turned her loose. Marshall made a soft throaty sound, feeling the distended nipple through her thin summer dress. But when his hips began thrusting against her she realized she was only leading him on fruitlessly, and gently pushed him away.

  "Stop, Marshall!" His breathing was agitated and his eyes bright with desire while hers remained as calm as if she'd just awakened from a nap. He cupped her jaws and she had to force herself not to recoil.

  "Please, Rachel, I realize you're alone as much as I am, that you have needs, just as I do. If you aren't ready for marriage yet but you need a man in your life, for God's sake, don't turn to one like Gentry."

  Good heavens, he was suggesting an affair! Horrified, she stepped back and gaped at him. "I… I'm sorry, Marshall, but I… I just don't feel that way about you. We've been friends too long to become lovers."

  "I thought you needed..."

  "Well, you thought wrong." She turned away, growing angrier by the minute that he should p
oint his finger at Tommy Lee, then propose a liaison to serve his own purposes. At least Tommy Lee was no hypocrite.

  "Rachel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you."

  She turned to confront a very pink-cheeked Marshall. "Should I be honored, Marshall, that you've suggested having an affair with me right after lecturing me on the inadvisability of having one with Tommy Lee Gentry? Right after practically accusing me of having one with him! What makes you that much better than him?"

  Red to the roots of his hair now, Marshall stammered, "Rachel, I didn't mean… please don't misunderstand..."

  "Oh, I understand perfectly, and frankly, I'm rather dismayed."

  "Please, dear, do-don't let this can-come between us. We can still be friends."

  But Rachel was reasonably certain the last five minutes had put a strain on their friendship that would never ease. She was also sure that half the town already had her paired up with Tommy Lee Gentry, so why was she fighting it?

  The ride home seemed endless. The few attempts at conversation dwindled into a silence that became more and more uncomfortable as the minutes passed. Sometimes Rachel sensed Marshall's eyes on her, but she found it difficult to confront them now.

  When he pulled up in her driveway she quickly said, "Thank you for the ride, Marshall," then jumped out before he could turn off the engine. She leaned down to look at him through the open window. "I've changed my mind about Wednesday night. All things considered, I think it's best if you find someone else to be your fourth at bridge."

  "Rachel, wait!"

  But she was already heading for the house at a half-run.

  Inside, she leaned back against the door and breathed a sigh of relief, waiting for her stomach to stop quivering. How acutely embarrassing. And, in a way, how sad. Dear friends were treasures not to be valued lightly, but how could she ever face Marshall again?

  She wandered through the quiet house, pausing in the kitchen to stare out at the pool, recalling Tommy Lee sitting at the table, confessing that he'd never stopped caring, while she gave him no encouragement whatsoever. She meditated on Callie Mae's caustic assessment of the direction her life was taking. Was she really cold, merciless? She didn't want to be. She wanted warmth in her life just like any woman. But in Marshall's arms she'd felt nothing. Only with Tommy Lee did she come alive. Even when she was angry with him she felt exhilarated. And wasn't she the one who had so recently admitted to herself that what she'd wanted in her life was occasional tumult? Like being overturned in a swimming pool by a crazy fool who waded in in a dress suit? Then having him send her a blow dryer with a note implying that any woman worth her salt should fix her own hair? And why hadn't he told her the earrings were for Beth?

  Rachel glanced at the phone and her heart accelerated at the very thought of hearing his voice. She recalled her father's stern order that she not see Tommy Lee again and asked herself if the reason she wanted to was simply to demonstrate her own headstrong independence. But it was something more, something deeper, a compulsion that simply could not be denied any longer.

  She picked up the receiver with a trembling hand, wondering while she listened to the electronic beeps and rings if he might possibly have another woman with him, and how to open this conversation, which had her heart pounding even before it began.

  He answered in an uninterested grunt, "Yeah, Gentry here."

  The breath seemed to catch in her throat; then she closed her eyes and replied quietly, "Hollis here."

  "Rachel?" The way he said it made her imagine him slowly rolling his back away from a chair in disbelief.

  "Yes."

  A long silence passed before he said again, "Rachel…?..." More softly this time, as if his world had suddenly come aright.

  It took great effort to keep her voice steady. "I've received three curious gifts in the past several weeks. You wouldn't know anything about them, would you?"

  "Me? Nuh-uh." But in spite of his levity there was an unmistakable quaver in his voice.

  She smiled, picturing his dark teasing eyes. "None of the cards were signed."

  "What kind of guy would send a card without signing it?"

  She heard the snick of the lighter, then the soft rush of breath as he exhaled, and she pictured him stretching across a sofa or bed to reach for an ashtray.

  "That's what I'd like to find out."

  "So, what'd he send you?"

  "A blow dryer, a dozen roses, and a sack of beer cans." But suddenly she dropped the game and her voice turned gentle as she held the receiver in both hands. "Thank you for the roses, Tommy Lee. They were lovely." She sensed once more how pleasantly shocked he was by her phone call and how careful he was being about what he said. She herself felt shaken as she tried to think of a proper comment regarding the beer cans, but being unsure if their cryptic message meant what she thought it did, she safely avoided the subject.

  "Listen, Rachel, I acted like a damned idiot, tipping you over in the pool that way and carrying on like a Neanderthal. It'd be my own damn fault if you really meant it when you said you wanted to kill me."

  "I do," she replied wistfully, suddenly feeling like crying. Then she added softly, "Sometimes."

  Neither of them spoke for several electrified seconds, and she wondered again what his bedroom looked like, and if that's where he was, and if he'd been asleep when she called.

  "You invited me to dinner on Friday night, but you didn't say which Friday. Am I too late to accept the invitation?"

  His voice sounded forced and slightly breathless.

  "Oh, Lord, do you mean it, Rachel?"

  "If you still want me to come."

  "Want you to come!" He laughed ruefully. "God, it's all I've thought about for weeks and weeks. This Friday?"

  Something in the question sounded tentative. "Oh, are… are you busy?"

  "No… no!" She relaxed her shoulders, not realizing how much she'd tightened up at the thought that he might have other plans. "And this time we will be chaperoned. That's a guarantee."

  She wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or not.

  "Your daughter?" she asked.

  "No."

  "But that was Beth with you at church, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, things went sour between her and her mother, so she's living with me now."

  Rachel's heart felt a surge of joy for him, but he went on quickly, "We'll talk more about it when I see you. Now, about Friday night..."

  "But if it's not Beth who'll be chaperoning us, who is it?"

  He chuckled and replied indignantly, "A dragon named Georgine. I hired her to keep house for me. But I've been tempted at least three times a day to tell her to ride her broom back to where she came from."

  "You hired a housekeeper?" Rachel's mouth fell open in surprise.

  "That's right. Isn't that what you told me to do? One who could cook me low-calorie meals?"

  "But I…" She felt chagrined at having been so outspoken, then having her criticism acted upon so spontaneously. "Tommy Lee, I'm sorry too, for the things I said to you that day in the pool. I called you some terrible names and..."

  "But you were right!" he interrupted. "There've been a lot of changes around here. You'll be surprised when you see them. And Georgine will be cooking for us Friday night."

  She thought about his trimmer profile when she'd seen him at church, and about the message in the beer cans, and felt her heart lift with hope.

  "What time shall I come out?"

  "Rachel, I…" She heard him pull in a deep breath and sensed a boyish hesitation that seemed totally out of character for a man with a reputation like his. "Listen, I'd like to pick you up at your house, all proper this time." He chuckled nervously, then added, "I promise I won't dunk you or manhandle you or do anything that's not thoroughly polite. I'd be there at six-thirty."

  She remembered the other time she'd opened the door to find him on her step, and what a shock it had been. What a thrilling shock. But to get dressed and wait for him as she had years ago… Rac
hel closed her eyes for a second and felt a thrill of girlish anticipation at the thought.

  "All right. Six-thirty."

  "Six-thirty," he repeated.

  Then a full ten seconds passed while neither of them said anything more.

  Finally Rachel put in a wistful "Well…"

  He cleared his throat and repeated in a more businesslike voice, "Six-thirty."

  She laughed nervously and reiterated for the fourth time, "Six-thirty. Well, good-bye, then."

  "Bye, Rachel."

  When Rachel hung up the phone her face lit with an ear-to-ear smile; then she clasped her hands on top of her head and spun in a circle.

  When Tommy Lee hung up the phone he sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his shaky knees, covering his face with both hands. He sat for a long time with his pulse racing, listening to his breath beat against his palms. My God, she said yes! Incredible! She really said yes! Then Tommy Lee frowned at the floor.

  No kissing, no touching, no cussing, Gentry, you hear? Show her you can be the gentleman she deserves.

  He fell back, arms thrown wide, eyes closed, imagining. After ten minutes of pure bliss, he leapt to the floor and did thirty push-ups in record time-and all with a smile on his face.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It was a golden August evening with scarcely a wisp of breeze stirring. The week seemed to have crawled by with slothlike slowness while Rachel agonized over what to wear, what to say, how to act. Just like that first date with Tommy Lee after he'd kissed her in the break of the boxwoods years ago.

  It was strange to feel girlish at her age when she thought she'd given up giddiness years ago. But she actually had butterflies in her stomach, doubts about whether the gold earrings might have been better than the silver, and misgivings about the dress she'd chosen.

  But it was too late to change now. The white Cadillac was already pulling up beneath the magnolia, and she drew back from the window, feeling pulses beating through her body in the places they had no business beating, as she watched Tommy Lee slowly get out of the car, then pause to look up at the house a moment before finally slamming the door. He buttoned his suit jacket, glanced down at his stomach, then unbuttoned the jacket and slipped a hand down his carefully knotted tie like a schoolboy at his first recital.