Every day he lived with the awful guilt. Every day he sought diversion from his memories and the part he’d played in them.
John walked into his bedroom and looked down at the sultry girl wrapped up in his sheet. The light from the hall shined on the bed and the dark curls fanning her head. One arm rested across her stomach while the other lay out to one side.
He figured he should feel bad for usurping Virgil’s wedding night. But he didn’t. He didn’t regret what he’d done. He’d had too good a time, and if anyone found out she’d spent the night in his house, they would assume he’d had sex with her anyway. So what the hell?
She had a body made for sex, but as he’d found out, she wasn’t as experienced as her teasing had suggested. He’d had to show her how to give and receive pleasure. He’d kissed and caressed her body with his tongue, and in turn he’d taught her what to do with that pouty mouth of hers. She was sensual and naive, and he found her incredibly erotic.
John moved to the side of the bed and slid the white sheet to her waist. She looked like she’d been dropped naked into a huge dollop of whipped cream. He felt himself grow hard again and covered her with his body. Moving his hands to the sides of her breasts, he lowered his face to her cleavage and tenderly kissed her there. Here, with soft, warm flesh beneath him, he didn’t have to think of anything. All he had to do was feel pleasure. Hearing Georgeanne’s deep moan, he looked up into her face. Her slumberous green eyes stared back at him.
“Did I wake you up?” he asked.
Georgeanne watched his dimple crease his right cheek and felt her heart swell. “Wasn’t that your intention?” she asked, caring about him so much she felt it deeply in her soul, and while he hadn’t said he cared for her, she knew he must feel something. He’d risked Virgil’s anger by being with her. He’d jeopardized his career, and Georgeanne found the gamble he’d taken for her exciting and terribly romantic.
“I could control my hands and let you go back to sleep. But it won’t be easy,” he said as he moved his palm to the outside of her bare thigh.
“Do I have another option?” she asked, and ran her fingers through the short hair at his temples.
He slid upward until his face was above hers. “I could make you scream again with pleasure.”
“Hmm.” She pretended to consider her choices. “How long do I have to make up my mind?”
“Time just ran out.”
John was young and handsome, and in his arms, she felt secure and protected. He was a wonderful lover and could take care of her. And most important, she was falling madly in love with him.
He placed his lips on hers and kissed her with sweet passion, and she felt like singing that old country and western song. She was “the happiest girl in the whole U.S.A.”
She wanted to make John happy, too. Ever since her first relationship at the age of fifteen, Georgeanne had always changed like a chameleon to become whatever her current boyfriend wanted. In the past, she’d done everything from dying her hair an ungodly shade of red to bruising her body on a mechanical bull. Georgeanne had always gone out of her way to please the men in her life, and in return, they loved her for it.
John might not love her now, but he would.
Chapter Five
Georgeanne raised a hand to the ache in her chest. Her fingers grasped the white satin bow sown to her bodice, while within her breast, love and hatred collided like a wrecking ball and shattered her heart. Bound in her pink wedding dress and flimsy high-heeled mules, she fought against the stinging in the backs of eyes. But as she watched John’s red Corvette pull back out into traffic, she felt herself losing the fight. Her vision blurred, but the release of her tears brought no comfort.
Even as she watched John disappear, she couldn’t believe that he had actually dumped her on the sidewalk in front of the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. Not only had he abandoned her, but he’d left without looking back.
All around her people dressed for business, or in light summer clothes, hurried by. Taxi drivers unloaded luggage while the exhaust from the cabs choked the hot air. Skycaps joked with customers while an expressionless male voice warned that the marked area in front of the airport was for loading and unloading only. The jumbled sounds around Georgeanne matched the confused hum in her head. Last night John had behaved so unlike the indifferent man who’d awakened her this morning with a Bloody Mary in his hand. Last night he’d made love to her repeatedly, and she’d never felt closer to a man. She’d been so sure John had felt close to her, too. Surely he wouldn’t have taken such a risk unless he cared. If he’d felt nothing for her, he wouldn’t have jeopardized his career with the Chinooks. But this morning he’d behaved as if they’d spent the night watching reruns on television instead of making love. When he’d announced that he’d booked her a flight to Dallas, he’d sounded as if he were doing her a big favor. When he’d helped her into the corset and pink wedding dress, his touch had been impersonal. So unlike the hot caresses of her lover the night before. While he’d helped her dress, Georgeanne had struggled with her confused feelings. She’d struggled to find the right words to convince him to let her stay with him. She’d hinted at her willingness to do and be anything he wanted, but he’d ignored her subtle suggestions.
On the way to the airport, he’d played his music so loud that conversation had been impossible. During the hour she’d spent in his car, she’d tortured herself with questions. She’d wondered what she’d done and what had happened to change everything. Only her pride kept her from switching off the cassette player and demanding an answer. Only pride had held back her tears when he’d helped her out of his car.
“Your plane leaves in just under an hour. You have plenty of time to pick up your ticket at the counter and still make the flight,” John had informed her as he’d handed her overnight case to her.
A tight fist of panic seized her stomach. Fright pushed her beyond pride, and she opened her mouth to plead with him to take her back to the beach house, where she felt safe. His next words stopped her. “In that dress, you’re sure to get at least two marriage proposals before you reach Dallas. I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, God knows I’ve messed up mine, but maybe you should put a little more thought into your next fiancй.”
She loved him so much she ached, and he didn’t care if she married another man. The night they’d shared hadn’t meant anything to him.
“It’s been great knowing you, Georgie,” he’d said, then turned away.
“John!” His name burst from her lips, past her pride.
He’d turned, and the look on her face must have revealed everything she felt inside. He’d sighed with resignation. “I never wanted to hurt you, but I told you from the beginning, I wouldn’t risk my position with the Chinooks for you.” He’d paused, then added, “It’s nothing personal.” Then he’d walked away, down the sidewalk, and out of her life.
Georgeanne’s hand began to ache, and she looked down at the overnight case she held in her tight grasp. Her knuckles were white and she loosened her grip.
The thick exhaust fumes made her nauseous, and she finally turned and walked into the airport. She had to get out of here. She had to go away, but she didn’t know where to go. She felt all of her circuits overloading and tried to push everything from her mind. She found the Delta ticket counter, and no, she told the agent, she didn’t have any luggage to check. With her ticket in one hand and her overnight case in the other, she turned away.
She walked past gift shops, restaurants, and flight-information boards. Misery surrounded her, pressing down like a thick black fog. She kept her gaze lowered, positive her heartache showed on her face, certain if people looked at her too closely, they would see the truth.
They would see that there wasn’t one person alive who gave a damn about Georgeanne Howard. Not in this state or any other. She’d deserted her only friend, Sissy, and if Georgeanne died, there wasn’t one person who would care, not truly. Oh, her aunt Lolly would act as i
f she cared. She’d make her green funeral Jell-O and cry as if she weren’t secretly relieved that she wouldn’t have to feel responsible for Georgeanne anymore. Briefly Georgeanne wondered if her mother would grieve, but she knew the answer before she finished the thought. No. Billy Jean would never grieve for the child she’d never wanted.
She entered the Delta boarding room just as her fragile control slipped. Taking a seat facing a bank of windows, she moved aside a copy of the Seattle Times and set her overnight case on the vinyl seat beside her. She looked out onto the runway and an image of her mother’s face rose before her, reminding her of the one and only time she’d met Billy Jean.
It had been the day of her grandmother’s burial, and she’d looked up from the casket into the face of an elegant-looking woman with stylish brown hair and green eyes. She wouldn’t have known who the woman was if Lolly hadn’t told her. In an instant the grief of her grandmother’s death mixed with apprehension, joy, hope, and a myriad of conflicting emotions. For all of Georgeanne’s life she’d anticipated the moment she would finally meet her mother.
Growing up, she’d been told that Billy Jean was young and that she just didn’t want children yet. As a result, Georgeanne had dreamed of the day her mother would change her mind.
But by the time Georgeanne had reached adolescence, she’d given up on dreams of reunions. She’d discovered that Billy Jean Howard was now Jean Obershaw, wife of Alabama representative Leon Obershaw, and the mother of their two small children. The day she’d learned of her mother’s other family was the day she’d had to face a cruel reality. Grandmother had lied to her. Billy Jean did want children. She just didn’t want her.
At her grandmother’s funeral, when Georgeanne had finally laid eyes on Billy Jean, she’d expected to feel nothing. She was surprised to find that buried deep in her heart, she still harbored the fantasy of a loving mother. She’d held on to the dream that her mother could fill the empty place inside her. Georgeanne’s hands had shaken and her knees quaked as she’d introduced herself to the woman who’d abandoned her shortly after giving birth. She’d held her breath… waiting… wanting. But Billy Jean had hardly looked at her when she’d said, “I know who you are.” Then she’d turned and walked.to the back of the church. After the service she’d disappeared, presumably back to her husband and children. Back to her life.
The announcement of an arriving Delta flight drew Georgeanne’s attention from the past. Other passengers were beginning to fill up the boarding room, and she grabbed her overnight case and set it on her lap. An older woman with tight white curls and a polyester smock made her way toward the now empty chair. Out of habit, Georgeanne automatically reached for the Seattle Times newspaper and moved it out of the woman’s way. She set it on top of her suitcase and looked back out the windows at a passing tow tractor and baggage trailer. Normally she would have smiled at the woman and perhaps engaged her in pleasant chitchat. But she didn’t feel like being pleasant. She thought of her life and her attraction to people who couldn’t return her love.
She’d fallen in love with John Kowalsky in less than a day. Her feelings for him had happened so fast she could hardly believe it herself. Yet she knew it was true. She thought of his blue eyes and the dimple denting his right cheek whenever he smiled. She thought of his strong arms around her, making her feel safe. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his hands on her behind, lifting her onto the china hutch as if she weighed nothing. No other man she’d ever known, not even old boyfriends she’d thought she loved, had ever made her feel the way John had.
You should have warned me that you’re perfect, he’d said, making her feel like the reigning Queen of the San Antonio Fiesta. No man had ever made her feel so desirable. No man had left her feeling so wretched inside.
Her eyes began to sting again and her vision blurred. Lately she’d made some pretty poor choices in her life. At the top of the list was her decision to marry a man old enough to be her grandfather. A close second was running from her wedding like a coward. But falling in love with John hadn’t been a choice. It had just happened.
A single tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped at it. She had to get over John now. She had to get on with her life.
What life? She had no home and no job waiting for her. She had no real family to speak of, and her only friend probably hated her now. All of her clothes were at Virgil’s, and there was no doubt in her mind that he despised her. The man she loved didn’t love her in return. He’d dumped her on the curb without looking back.
She had nothing and no one but herself.
“Attention,” a female voice announced, “passengers holding rickets for Delta flight 624, Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport, will begin boarding in fifteen minutes.”
Georgeanne looked at the ticket in her hand. Fifteen minutes, she thought. Fifteen minutes before she boarded an airplane that would take her back to nothing. No one would be there to greet her. She had no one. No one to take care of her. No one to tell her what to do.
No one but herself. Only Georgeanne.
Panic grabbed ahold of her stomach, and she lowered her gaze to the Seattle Times on the overnight case in her lap. She could feel an emotional overload just below the surface. In order to avoid a complete shutdown, she concentrated on the newsprint. Her lips moved as she slowly read the want ads.
The sign above Heron Catering hung awkwardly to the right. Thursday night’s storm had knocked it around until one of the chains had snapped. Now the great majestic bird painted on the sign looked as if it were about to take a nosedive onto the sidewalk. The rhododendrons planted on each side of the door had survived the heavy winds, but the hanging red geraniums were pretty much history.
Inside the small building, everything was in perfect order. The office in the front of the converted store had a desk and a round table. A large picture of two people with matching clothing and identical faces hung on the wall. Each held an opposite end of a dollar bill. In the kitchen an industrial slicer, grinder, and stainless steel pots and pans shined. A selection of menu samples sat on a tray in one of the refrigerators, while the owner’s doubler-decker air-flow oven dominated the opposite corner.
The owner herself stood in the bathroom with a blue rubber band clamped between her lips. A fluorescent light flickered and buzzed and cast a grayish tint over Mae Heron’s face. Her brown eyes studied her reflection in the mirror above the sink as she brushed her blond hair into a ponytail high on the back of her head.
Mae was the epitome of an Ivory Soap girl. She didn’t have any use for fruity skin cleansers or toners or fancy creams. She hated the feel of makeup on her face. Sometimes she wore a little mascara, but because she had little practice, she wasn’t any good at applying it, not like Ray had been. Ray had always been so good at dress-up.
Mae turned to look at herself from the side and raised a hand to smooth a lump of hair at her crown. She might have taken the ponytail out and started over if the bell above the front door hadn’t signaled the arrival of the customer Mae had been expecting. Mrs. Candace Sullivan was a frequent client of Heron’s, and she’d called Mae to cater her parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. Candace was the wife of a respected cardiologist. She was wealthy and Mae’s last hope to keep her and Ray’s dream alive.
She looked down to make sure her blue polo shirt was tucked neatly into her khaki shorts and took a deep breath. She wasn’t very good at this part of the business. Kissing ass and schmoozing customers had been Ray’s forte. She was the accountant. The bookkeeper. She wasn’t good with people. She’d spent the previous night and much of today crunching numbers until her eyes felt gritty, but no matter how many creative ways she’d figured it, if the catering business she and Ray had opened three years ago didn’t receive a generous cash flow soon, then she’d have to close the doors. She needed Mrs. Sullivan; she needed her money.
Mae reached for the manila job envelope on the sink and headed out of the bathroom. She walked through the kitchen, but sto
pped short in the doorway to the front office. The young woman standing in the room bore not the slightest resemblance to Mrs. Sullivan. In fact, she looked like an escapee from the Playboy Mansion. She was everything Mae was not: tall, busty, with thick dark hair and nice tanned skin. All Mae had to do was think of the sun and she burned a nice shade of lobster red. “Ahh… can I help you?”
“I’m here to apply for the job,” she answered with an obvious southern drawl. “The chef’s assistant job.”
Mae glanced at the newspaper the woman held in one hand, then let her gaze travel up the pink satin dress with the big white bow. Her brother Ray would have loved that dress. He would have wanted to wear it. “Have you ever worked for a caterer before?”
“No. But I’m a good cook.”
From the looks of her, Mae sincerely doubted the woman could boil water. But she knew better than anyone not to judge a person by the color of his or her party dress. She’d spent most of her life defending her twin brother against cruel people who judged him harshly, including members of her own family.
“I’m Mae Heron,” she said.
“It’s a pleasure, Ms. Heron.” The other woman set the newspaper on a table by the door, then walked toward Mae and shook her hand. “My name is Georgeanne Howard.”
“Well, Georgeanne, I’ll get you an application,” she said as she moved behind her desk. If she got the Sullivan job, she would need a chef’s assistant, but she really doubted she would hire this woman. Not only did she prefer to hire experienced cooks, but she questioned the judgment of someone who would wear a provocative dress to apply for a job in a kitchen.
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