“Stop,” he growled.
“What?”
“I’m trying to behave, and you’re making it hard.” Her body shook with laughter.
He gave in to the lure of it, relinquishing his own laugh as he rolled onto his back, tucking her safely against his side.
She propped one arm on his chest and levered herself up. An incandescent smile lit her face. He couldn’t resist stroking her soft cheek. He remembered the earring he found and suspicion rushed back. “Don’t let Anna touch your face.”
She chuckled. “Kind of hard to have a facial if you don’t let someone touch your face.”
“Lipstick and stuff. Don’t let her puff anything up.”
Her chuckle subsided into a snicker. “Puff anything up.”
He traced the arch of her eyebrow. “I like your face.”
She grinned and pecked a kiss to his lips. “I like your face too.”
“Thanks.”
His fingers feathered through her hair, winding the end of one tangled tendril around his knuckle. He peered up at her. Insecurity, dark and seething, coiled in his belly. There was so much he didn’t know about her. Wetting his lips, he steeled his nerve. “So, your dad was a doctor, and you married a doctor?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Are you Doctor Freud?”
“I’m only sayin’.”
A rueful smile played at her lips. “My father was a doctor. I met a lot of doctors.”
“And married one.”
She slid her arm from his chest then rolled onto her back, leaving four full inches of space between them. He loathed every one of them almost as much as he hated the twisting, turning knot in his stomach.
Idiot. You’re an earworm, a boll weevil, a slug. “I’m sorry,” he blurted into the darkness.
She flung one arm over her eyes. “No, it’s okay. I’m just tired.”
“Lynne—”
“You said we’d get some sleep.”
“I’m an idiot.”
“Shh.”
“I thought…” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “We talked about….”
Her smile came slow and sad. She stared at the ceiling. “It’s not the same. I made a mistake, Bram. My whole life up till now was one giant mistake.”
He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arm around her. She resisted for a moment, and his breath tangled in his lungs. The air stilled. She relented, allowing him to pull her into the curve of his body.
“Except for Justin,” he amended for her. Stroking her hair, he dusted her neck with soft kisses and nipped at the lacy trim on her cotton nightgown.
“Justin is the best thing I’ve ever done.”
“He didn’t want to be a doctor?”
“His form of rebellion.”
“I’ve got six orders for chairs waiting,” he said in a conversational tone.
“You’re in demand.”
Her hair tickled his nose. He smiled and waved it away. “It’s the craziest thing. Some Hollywood producer guy came through with his wife scouting locations. She wanted one of the chairs outside the general store. Willie told her they were custom order.”
“She’s a smart girl.”
“She takes after her grandfather. If he hadn’t had the farm, he woulda been a horse thief. Who pays over two grand for a stupid chair?”
She stiffened slightly. “Lots of people.”
He raised his head, trying to peer over her shoulder in an attempt to figure out what he’d said wrong this time. That’s when it hit him. Her purse cost almost that much. His head dropped back to the pillow. He pulled her closer, holding his tongue, afraid to make another run at her. Instead, he buried his nose in her hair. Her stomach rose and fell under his hand. His thumb grazed her breast. She sighed. Her lush bottom nestled into his crotch.
Stalk borers, spider mites, beetles, and rootworms.
Her breathing grew deep and even. Her muscles grew lax and warm, and she melted into his embrace. His body stirred. Stupid worms….
Chapter Nineteen
Lynne followed her nose into the kitchen. The aromatic call of fresh-brewed coffee beckoned. A paper tent propped against the chipped sugar bowl caught her eye. Bold block letters spelled her name. She opened the scrap of notepaper and smiled.
You’re too pretty in the sunlight. Left before I was tempted to stay. I’ll call later.—B
“You’re sweet,” she whispered to its absentee author.
She filled a mug and cradled the warm ceramic between her palms. Steam tickled her nostrils. Her mouth watered. A cautious sip proved him to be a man with hidden talents.
Flattening the folded paper on the table, she traced the lines of his letters with her fingertip, absorbing the indentations he’d made on the page. Her cell rang, jolting her from a pleasant daydream involving the old claw-foot tub, a soft loofah, and a hard man. She snagged her purse from the back of the chair and dove for the phone.
Her cheeks flushed as she fumbled for the button. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.
“Good morning, darling.”
The butterflies in her stomach retreated into tight cocoons. She exhaled her disappointment. “Hello, Mother.”
Elizabeth Hillman’s tinkling laugh masked edges as sharp as shattered glass. “Is something wrong?”
“What? Oh, no.” Lynne drew a steadying breath. “How are you?”
“Apparently I’m better than you. Have you been getting enough sleep?”
Lynne stared at the steam rising from her mug, wondering how her mother always managed to hit a bulls-eye from hundreds of miles away. Do I do that to Justin? Does he dread my calls? “I’m fine,” she said at last and glanced at the clock on the stove.
“You’re up early.”
“I had my sunrise yoga class this morning.”
“Ahh.” She stole another sip from her mug. “That’s nice.”
“Well?” The leading tone in her mother’s voice clashed with the alarm bells ringing in her head.
“Well what?”
“Have you had any offers on the place?”
“I’ve only been here a little over a week.”
“No offers? Prime farmland and no offers?”
Her mother sounded appalled, which made Lynne all the more wary. “I’ve only had the back porch fixed. I still need to find someone to paint the house.”
“Paint? Why should you paint it?”
“Curb appeal.”
The moment the words tripped from her lips, she felt foolish. The gritty cackle echoing through the phone didn’t help matters any.
“Curb appeal? Since when does Route Seven have curbs?”
“I mean, I’m not even sure what price to list….”
Elizabeth’s sharp intake of breath marked Lynne’s second mistake. Wait—third. Answering the phone was her first. The hole she was digging for herself was getting deeper with each inane excuse she made. Grasping at straws, she went on the offensive. “Why do you care, Mother?”
“What do you mean, why do I care? Of course I care. It’s my family’s land.”
The shiver dancing up Lynne’s spine reminded her she actually owned a backbone as well as the farm. “It’s my land,” she said in a low voice.
“Only because your aunt was a stubborn, mule-headed fool.”
And the twang comes out. All those years of diction lessons, gone with the wind. Sitting back in her chair, she marveled at her mother’s innate ability to spin any situation to her advantage. A teeny-tiny geyser of anger spurted inside of her. “What do you want, Mother? You don’t need money. Why would you care what I do with this farm?”
“It’s my birthright. I was the first born.”
“But you didn’t want it,” she said through clenched teeth. “You never wanted it. From the time I was a little girl, all you ever said was you couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”
“Your aunt loved that they passed the farm to her. She loved to lord it over me.”
“Lord it over you? They read the wi
ll, and you never spoke to her again.”
“She never spoke to me.”
“You’re the one who left in a snit. You’re the one who said you never wanted to speak to her again.”
“She was so stubborn, so proud,” Elizabeth grumbled. “She wouldn’t even consider selling the place. Selfish, that’s what she was.”
“She died alone.”
“Everyone dies alone, Carolynne Ann.”
“Oh my God.” Coffee sloshed from her mug as she pushed back from the table. She lurched from the chair and began to pace the room. The ruffled hem of her nightie tangled around her knees. Her stomach clenched in knots. “Mother—”
“It’s true. Look at us. Richard left you. Your father left me—”
“Daddy died.”
“Yes! He died. I begged and begged him to retire, and the minute I get him to agree, he up and drops dead on me.”
“And you were up and gone before he was even cold in his grave.” Lynne came to an abrupt stop. “What are you always running from, Mother?”
Elizabeth drew a ragged breath. “You should talk,” she hissed in a low, dangerous voice. “I understand Richard’s little chippie is pregnant. I also heard you made a fool of yourself at the club.”
“Goodbye, Mother.”
“You can’t hide out forever, darlin’. There’s nothing there for you, just like there was nothing for me.”
Her thumb jammed the End button. Her fingers curled around the phone. She stared at the ridiculous rooster-printed placemats on the table and cocked her arm.
Someone knocked on the front door. She whirled, glaring at the clock on the stove.
I haven’t even had my damn coffee yet. She closed her eyes, her arm falling limp at her side. The knock came again. More second-hand coffee? The thought made her eyes pop open wide. She rushed to the front door and wrestled with the ancient deadbolt.
“God, I’m glad you came back…” The words died on her tongue. She stared into the preternaturally bright green of Anna Albertson’s eyes. “Oh, it’s you.”
A blush sizzled across her skin as the woman gave her a slow once-over. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said in a saccharine sweet tone. “I didn’t realize you slept so late. I guess I’m used to the ways of farm folk.”
Her perky laugh grated on Lynne’s last nerve—the one her mother left bloodied but miraculously still alive. She glanced at the worn-sheer cotton of her nightgown and forced a smile, smoothing one hand over her hair.
“I’m sorry. I don’t usually sleep this late, but I haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”
Catty? Yes, but damn it felt good. She stepped back, a gracious smile glued on her face. “Please, come in. Coffee’s on in the kitchen. I’ll only take a second to change.”
Anna’s smile was as false as her eyelashes. She placed a large black sample case on the worn sofa. “Take your time, honey. I know how hard it can be for a girl to make herself presentable. We’re not as young as we used to be,” she called, clip-clopping through to the kitchen.
Gritting her teeth, Lynne stomped her way to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and washed her face. Terrycloth rasped against her skin. She lowered the towel slowly, peering at her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror.
The tiny lines carved into her skin taunted her. Her hands closed into fists. She wound the towel around them, fighting the urge to reach for her own make-up bag.
“He likes my face,” she whispered.
A smug little smile toyed with the corners of her mouth. She reached for a tube of moisturizer and squeezed a generous dollop onto her fingertips. Her skin gulped the rich cream. She stroked her throat, tracing the same path Bram’s fingers had followed mere hours before, massaging lotion into the beard-roughened patches of skin.
The nightgown slipped from her shoulder. A small pinkish-purple mark glowed in the hollow of her collarbone. Her smile blossomed as she reached for a tube of concealer.
“Oopsie,” she murmured to her reflection. The smile grew wide when she turned from the sink, jerking the nightgown back into place. “Boys will be boys.”
****
Five minutes later, she strolled into the kitchen to find Anna had set up camp. The coffee splatter had been wiped from the table and her mug was topped off. A golden-brown coffeecake drizzled with translucent icing sat in the center of the table surrounded by tubes, bottles, and pots in all shapes and sizes.
“Wow.”
“We have quite an extensive line.” Anna patted the back of a chair. “You sit right here, and I’ll take care of every little thing.”
Escape seemed impossible. The lure of coffee proved too strong to resist. The coffeecake clinched the other woman’s victory. She dropped into the seat. “Oh, well…uh, thank you.”
“Now, this is our Rejuvaderm line.”
Picking a bottle, she displayed the label. Lynne tried to make her eyes focus on the tiny lettering. It was a no-go. She glanced up and nodded. The thing could say “Pure Cyanide” for all she knew, but she’d be damned if she went groping for her readers.
“We use only the finest botanicals. At Bella Signora we believe only natural products can enhance our natural beauty. What we want to do is create a kind of barrier between you and all those nasty free-radicals floatin’ around.”
She carried on with her spiel. Lynne’s gaze flickered to her captor’s heavily made-up face, and, convinced no oxygen molecule could bust through a barrier that thick, she did her best to smother a skeptical smirk.
Closing her eyes, she submitted to the gentle stroking of fingertips as Anna slathered product from hairline to jaw. The tube gasped again, and before she could open her eyes, Anna began to pat the lotion onto her throat. Lynne stole a hasty sip of her coffee and nodded along as if she cared about the ingredients she recited. The low cadence of the woman’s patter lulled her. No wonder she’s so good. People must buy this stuff in their sleep.
Closing her eyes again, she allowed herself to float along on the flow of words. Layer after layer of sweet-scented creams were applied. She imagined Anna slapping each product on with a trowel each morning. Bram’s words echoed through her brain and she sent him a taunt via telepathy. She’s touching my face, she’s touching my face.
“I’m so happy for you and Bram.”
Her eyes popped open. “Huh?”
“You and Bram. It’s good to see him smiling again.”
Lynne eyed Anna warily, but the other woman’s smile actually seemed sincere. “Oh. Yes, he does have a nice smile,” she answered, trying to remain noncommittal.
Anna dabbed foundation along her jawline, blending with a tiny sponge. “I’ll admit I’d hoped his smile would be pointed my way.” Lynne’s jaw tightened, and Anna’s smile flashed again. “Relax, honey, it never has been.”
“No, I’m, uh…ticklish.” Lynne closed her eyes for a moment, hoping the foundation’s coverage was good enough to mask the color heating her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “He’s a very nice man.”
A laugh bubbled from Anna. “Nice? I suppose. I can think of lots of words to describe Bram Hatchett, but nice wouldn’t have been in the top ten.”
“He is nice.”
“Yes, Bram is nice,” she quickly conceded. “I’m just sayin’ I’d think of other words.”
A giant powder brush homed on her face. Lynne closed her eyes in self-defense. “Other words?”
“Oh, you know. Strong, silent, tall, dark, and handsome. Determined. Stubborn.”
The last word succeeded in drawing a laugh from Lynne. “You got that right.”
“I’ve never met a man more single-minded.”
Lynne stiffened, recalling Bram’s description of Anna. Single-minded. The woman’s tinkling laugh grated on her ears. “How so?”
“I’m using a cream-based blush. Gives your complexion the healthy glow we lose sometime after twenty-five.”
Lynne grunted an acknowledgement and peered up at her. She wouldn’t be distracted.
&
nbsp; Anna shook her head as she applied the blush with light, circular strokes. “He and Susan hit it off in the third grade,” she said in a voice laden with import. “Thank goodness Susan never expressed any interest in another boy—I don’t know what Bram would have done.”
“Some people fall in love young.”
“Some people never look any further than the tip of their nose until the bull bumps them with his ring,” she murmured, rifling through her case.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you know, they never grew up. Or, he didn’t. Susan tried, but I don’t think Bram was much interested in expanding his horizons.”
She waved a hand and Lynne obliged by closing her eyes. The butterfly strokes of a brush coated her eyelids with powder. A shiver shuddered through her insides, covering everything vital in a sheer film of ice.
“Because he didn’t want to leave here?”
“Oh, he left here. They both did. Bram won a scholarship to the university in Russellville. Susan went with him. She came back with him too—like he wanted.”
She didn’t need her glasses to read between the lines. “She didn’t want to come back?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Anna brushed a sweep of shadow along the crease of her eyelid. “I suppose she was happy enough…for a while.”
The moment she was certain she wouldn’t risk a scratched cornea, Lynne opened her eyes. “He loved her very much.”
“Sure he did,” she answered breezily. Wielding a sharpened pencil, Anna leaned in. “Close.”
“I don’t wear eyeliner.”
“What? Why ever not?” she asked, clearly perplexed by the notion.
She shrugged. “Never could get the hang of it.”
“Just takes a little practice.”
“If I haven’t mastered the art form in the last thirty years, I doubt I will now.”
Perfectly arched eyebrows rose. “Well, that’s an interesting philosophy.”
“A simple fact, not a way of life.”
“And you don’t believe people can change?”
“I think change is possible if it’s important. I’ve never given the ability to apply eyeliner much credit. A swipe of mascara, and I should be good to go.”
Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set Page 45
