by Kara Lennox
He was certainly a man who appreciated good food. She idly wondered if his other senses were as highly attuned as his sense of taste. If his sense of touch, for instance, were properly aroused, would he wear that same, satisfied smile?
She made herself look away as blood rushed to her face and warmed other parts of her body, as well. Damn it, this was so wrong of her. Hadn’t she, only a few hours earlier, counseled herself to bury her lust?
But some feelings were not so easy to ignore.
Slightly embarrassed by an appetite more appropriate for a football linebacker than an art teacher, she set her nearly empty plate to the side and took a sip of her tea.
“So,” she said briskly, “how do we get this Roy guy to talk? Do we have to pay him?”
“It’s a touchy subject. If we pay him, we have to disclose that fact. And it doesn’t look good.”
“But people pay confidential informants all the time, don’t they?”
“The key word is confidential. They don’t appear in court, they don’t give depositions. They remain anonymous. Generally, they’re used to help the police develop leads. The information they provide steers investigators in the right direction, but it doesn’t become part of the evidence, per se.”
“So you’re saying, if we pay him he might provide some useful information, but then he wouldn’t be able to testify in court.”
“Right. The fact that we paid him would taint his information. If he testified to something that exonerated Eldon, it would look as if we had bribed him. Especially since his witness statement doesn’t appear in the original police file.”
“Maybe we should send Trina to talk to him. She’s pretty persuasive. Honestly, you should hear her on the phone. She can turn those tears on and off at will.”
Ford thought about it for a moment, taking another gulp of tea. “That’s not a bad idea. But I was thinking you should talk to Roy.”
“Me? Oh, yeah. I did so well with Heather.”
“We both bombed out with Heather. But you’re a beautiful woman, and Roy is a twentysomething man. He might respond to you.”
Robyn felt her face heating again. “Beautiful, my ass,” she mumbled, looking down at her worn jeans and her silly kitten T-shirt. She’d deliberately not worn much makeup today, only a bit of tinted moisturizer and clear lip gloss, because she’d been mortified at the possibility that Ford would think she was primping for him. “If you want beautiful, Trina is your woman.”
“I’ll admit Trina has a certain something. She’s glamorous. Blatant. You, on the other hand—”
“Not glamorous. No one would accuse me of that.”
“I was going to say, you have a deep down, natural beauty. Without the makeup and hair and sexy clothes, Trina would probably be quite ordinary. You, on the other hand…I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. She wasn’t beautiful. She was slim, but not very shapely. One of her mom’s boyfriends used to tease her that she had to wear her jeans real tight or they would slide right off. Her hair was straight, the color a plain, unadorned blond—not the platinum she’d sported in high school. She didn’t frighten small children, but beautiful?
Ford had an angle.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding all that contrite. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Do you ever date? Have you had a relationship since your divorce?”
“Why do you want to know?” she asked, not aggressively, but with genuine curiosity.
“I told you, I like to know who I’m working with. The more responsibility I give you, the more important it is for me to know you inside and out. So I’ll know what to expect from you. So I can predict how you’ll handle things.”
“You think I should ask this Roy character on a date?”
“No. No, of course not.” He shoved his plate aside, irritated. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Do I have to?”
He shrugged. “It’s your choice.”
“No, I haven’t had a serious relationship. When I lost Justin, I lost any capacity I had to love. That part of me died with him.”
“I’m sorry.” He sighed impatiently. “I spend a lot of time saying that to you, don’t I?”
“You don’t need to.”
“If I cause you pain, I do.”
“So, where did you say this Roy guy lives?” she asked, even though she already knew. They were in desperate need of a change of subject. “If you think I should talk to him, I will.”
“I’ve offered to fly him here from Bozeman, or go see him there, but he’s playing hard to get. I gotta work on him some more.”
“Let me know if I can help. I’d enjoy a trip to Montana. Anything to get out of this heat.” For the third day in a row, the temperature had topped a hundred degrees.
“Yeah, if I were Roy I wouldn’t want to come here, either,” Ford murmured.
Robyn made a quick decision. “I’ll go to Montana. I’m probably of more use there than here, blindly calling wig shops and getting verbally abused.”
Her decision seemed to energize Ford. “I’ll make the reservations. We can probably get on a plane by this evening.”
Robyn tried not to let her shock show on her face. “You’re going with me?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t let you face this guy alone. I’ll get the local sheriff to help out, maybe loan us an interrogation room so anything Roy says is on the record.”
Robyn could see the wisdom of that strategy. Still, when she’d volunteered to travel, she hadn’t visualized taking the trip with Ford. Out of town. Away from prying eyes. In close quarters on a plane, then at a hotel.
But if she backed out now, Ford would want to know why. She couldn’t tell him it was because she was starting not to trust herself alone with him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DESPITE HIS OPTIMISM, Ford wasn’t able to get a flight to Bozeman until the following afternoon. Though Robyn was impatient to go, she was grateful not to cancel her art class. Those kids kept her rooted in reality and reminded her that she had a purpose in life beyond freeing Eldon from prison.
The kids had all been so excited to see their finished ceramic projects, Arnie most of all. He’d gazed at the bright red vase, transfixed, then had smiled the biggest smile Robyn had ever seen.“This is so cool! It’s just so cool. When can I do another one?”
Some of the other boys made sucking noises, but Arnie ignored them. So did Robyn.
“I’m teaching a whole semester of ceramics in the fall. You can sign up for that. For the next couple of weeks, we’re working on collages.”
She showed the kids some examples of collages done by professional artists, including a few that were hanging in museums, to expand their imaginations beyond magazine pictures and construction paper. Just as she started passing out materials, someone knocked on the door.
She was surprised to see Ford standing there. “I thought we were meeting at the airport.”
“I was working on something out this direction and I finished early,” he said easily. “I thought we could ride to the airport together, save some gas and parking fees.”
“We don’t have to leave now, do we?” She looked at her watch. Had he booked an earlier flight?
“No, finish your class. I’ll, um, watch.”
The kids were quiet, listening intently. She shook her head at Ford. “Nobody in this class watches. We all participate. Right, kids?”
They razzed him a bit. She thought he would go somewhere else to kill time, but to her surprise, he agreed to make a collage. “This will do me good. I never took art in high school, remember.” He found an empty seat at one of the large tables. It happened to be next to Arnie, who pointedly moved his chair farther away.
“Okay, then. You can all start going through the bins and find some things to inspire you.” She had plastic tubs filled with all kinds of materials—paper, fabric, buttons, found objects, bits of old hardware, empty cans. “Anything can become art.
”
Robyn intended to do her own collage. She found it was often more effective to let the kids covertly watch and imitate her, rather than telling them what to do. She dived into the bins with abandon, gathering handfuls of fabric scraps, yarn and old buttons. A picture took shape in her mind, a long-legged bird, maybe a heron.
Ford and Arnie were both sifting through contents in a bin next to hers. “Hey, I was gonna use that,” Arnie said belligerently.
“My mistake,” Ford said. “Here, you can use it.”
Arnie tried to stare him down, but Ford could outstare anybody. “Nah, that’s okay, you can have it,” Arnie said. The object they were haggling over was an old light switch plate.
“Thanks,” Ford said.
The class went pretty well after that, other than one screaming fit when a girl got glue in her hair. Instead of using the cardboard provided, Arnie started a 3-D collage on an upturned coffee can. He wasn’t the best at following directions, but he showed a real flair.
Ford’s collage was a disaster, but she could see he was throwing himself into it. Even more exciting was the fact that Arnie and Ford were talking, artist to artist, comparing their masterpieces, offering comments.
“You’re hogging the glue,” Arnie said, but without any anger. “You’re using too much, that’s why it’s all goopy.”
“Oh.”
“Watch Ms. J, she just uses little drops.”
“Like this?”
“Yeah. Now you got it, man.”
Robyn bit her lip to keep from smiling too big. Now Arnie had become not just an artist, but a teacher, with Ford his willing student. Some people were just full of surprises.
“ARE YOU AFRAID OF FLYING?” Ford asked. Their DC-9 wasn’t even in the air yet, it was merely taxiing toward the runway, but Robyn had a white-knuckle grip on her armrests.
“I’ve never flown on a commercial airline before,” she admitted.“You’re kidding. What about when you were married?”
“Anytime we flew, Eldon chartered a private Lear jet. Also, we never flew at night. And I didn’t care for flying even then. But this is…I hadn’t expected it to be so claustrophobic.”
Ford placed his hand over one of hers. It was ice-cold. “You should have told me. I probably could have swung first class. Would you rather sit on the aisle?” He’d chosen the aisle for himself because his long legs didn’t fit otherwise, and he ended up with his knees in his face. But he didn’t want Robyn to be uncomfortable.
“No, I’d rather be here where I can look out the window.”
Ford felt helpless. He had no brilliant ideas for instantly curing a phobia. Flying had never bothered him.
When the plane took off, he kept his eye on Robyn. She maintained her death grip on the armrests, and once when the plane hit turbulence, she even grabbed onto his arm. Her eyes were closed, her face tense.
“It’ll smooth off once we get to a cruising altitude,” he said. “The weather is supposed to be good all the way to Montana.”
“Hope so.”
At the first opportunity, he signaled the flight attendant. “As soon as possible, can we get a couple of drinks here? A bourbon on the rocks and, um…” He had no idea what Robyn would like, but he suspected if he asked her, she would say she wanted nothing. “How about a white wine?”
The flight attendant jotted down his order. “It’ll be just a minute.”
When the Fasten Seat Belts sign went off, the drinks appeared almost immediately. Ford paid, then pulled down both his tray table and Robyn’s.
She opened her eyes and stared pointedly at the wine. “What’s this?”
“It’ll take the edge off.”
“I don’t normally drink.”
“You did in high school.”
She laughed, despite her obvious anxiety. “I did a lot of things in high school I would never do now. Once I made the decision to turn my life around, I quit the underage drinking. Never developed much of a taste for it after that, though Eldon tried to teach me to appreciate good wine.”
“A little wine might ease your nerves, so you don’t spend the whole flight miserable. I can order something besides wine, if you prefer.”
She looked at him, indecisive at first. “I’ll take the wine, thanks,” she finally said. She opened the tiny bottle and poured it into her plastic cup, then took a couple of healthy swallows. “Hmm. Not quite as good as the wine Eldon used to buy, but better than the screw-top sangria I drank in high school.”
Ford reclined his seat the entire two inches that were allowed, then tasted his own drink. Not the best bourbon in the world, either.
“Did you drink in high school?” Robyn asked. “I remember seeing you at some of those wild bashes at Randy Baker’s house.”
“Not during football season,” Ford said. “Other times, yeah, a little. Seems like liquor was everywhere back then. We all had fake IDs, or we raided the parents’ liquor cabinets.”
“Yeah, I didn’t have to look far to find it.”
Ford grimaced. He’d forgotten that Robyn’s mother had been an alcoholic. He probably should have asked her before just plunking wine down in front of her. But she drank it, and when he asked her if she wanted another, she nodded.
“It’s helping a little, I think.”
“So, you were right about Arnie,” he said, trying to distract her.
She looked at him quizzically. “How so?”
“He’s got talent. Even I could see it. I thought he was just sucking up to you or manipulating you somehow. I was convinced a kid like him couldn’t possibly be interested in art.”
“A kid like him?” she asked, challenge in her voice.
“Yeah, you know. Juvenile delinquent. Gangbanger. Always in trouble. It was interesting, watching how absorbed he was in creating, how seriously he— What?” Her expression had thunder written all over it.
“It’s the labels. Juvenile delinquent, gangbanger. Do you have any idea how harmful those labels are? Once a kid earns something like that, it’s impossible for him to shake it off. Even if he wants to change. Even if he changes—”
“Robyn, whoa.”
“Sorry, but that is one of my hot buttons.”
“It’s human nature to judge people by their past behaviors. If someone’s an ax murderer, you still don’t want to go out in the woods alone with them, even if they haven’t killed for a couple years.”
“So you’re saying people can’t change.”
“I’m saying change is hard.”
“Damn straight it is,” she murmured. “You have no idea—the peer pressure, the lack of role models, the temptations. It’s hell being a confused kid without everyone throwing labels at you.”
She was referring to herself now. What labels had she been given in high school? Druggie. Slacker. Thief. Maybe even slut. Those labels were the very thing that made her forbidden fruit. Part of her allure, but labels nonetheless.
Ford tried again. “I was about to say, if you’d given me the chance, that Arnie busted those stereotypes wide open. He proved you were right about him, and I was wrong. You’re making a positive change in his life, and you should be proud.”
“We’ll see if it sticks,” Robyn said, but he could tell she was still not sure of him. “I’d like to find some way to keep him involved after the class ends. Sometimes the kids really respond, you know, but then they walk out of the class and never pick up a pencil or paintbrush again. Arnie wants his own pottery wheel, but they’re so expensive. If I could buy him one, I would.”
He could understand her identifying with the kid. Once she’d discovered her love for creating art, she must have been frustrated that she couldn’t afford the art supplies she’d most likely wanted.
But frustrated enough to steal them? He was beginning to have serious doubts about what he and his fellow high-and-mighty tribunal members had done to Robyn.
“You really wanted to do that mural.” He hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud until she looked at h
im quizzically.
“What?”
“Arnie’s situation made me think of yours. And the mural you designed. And how excited you must have been to win the competition.”
“I was,” she said, warily.
“Excited enough not to blow your chances by stealing a few dollars’ worth of paints.”
She raised one eyebrow. “So now you’re thinking it through.”
He sighed. “Maybe I owe you an apology.”
“Maybe?”
“Just to set the record straight, it was your own art teacher who accused you. She was very passionate in her belief that you were the culprit.”
“Yeah, Ms. Tanner was big on passion, short on facts.”
“I can see that now.”
“But you couldn’t then? You were an honors student. Were you really that blind? Or were you paying me back because I rejected you?”
“That is not the case. I truly believed you were guilty. Ms. Tanner was an authority figure, and she was persuasive. It wasn’t just me. All three of us voted guilty.”
How had his apology turned her against him?
“I made the wrong decision,” he said quietly. “But it was the best I could do at the time. I’m apologizing for it now. What more can I do?”
She gave him a little half smile. “That’s all anyone can ask…that you do your best at any given time. I accept your apology, Ford.”
He was relieved about that, at least. But he couldn’t help feeling that he’d somehow lost an argument; Robyn had been talking about more than just an isolated incident in high school.
BY THE TIME THEY TOUCHED DOWN in Bozeman, Robyn wasn’t exactly relaxed, but she didn’t look like she was about to face the gallows, either. They hadn’t checked luggage, so they walked directly outside the small airport and hailed a cab.
“This cool night air feels divine,” Robyn said, lifting her hair off her neck. “Nice place to have a summer house.”Ford watched her, blatantly enjoying the view of her tossing her head back, inhaling the rarified Montana summer night breeze. She was such a gorgeous creature, and she had no idea what she did to him.
