Back in Kansas

by Debra Salonen

Bo glanced at the clock on the dash. He’d offered to buy lunch in Des Moines but Claudie had waved off the suggestion, totally engrossed in exploring her mother’s jewelry box. Every once in a while she would exclaim over some bauble with a bittersweet “I remember this!” or an amused “Major ugly!” Twice she’d held up a glittery piece and given Bo a history of its significance in her mother’s life.

  Bo was actually beginning to feel as though he knew Peggy Anders through her collection of costume jewelry.

  “Are you ready for lunch?” Bo asked.

  Claudie set aside the box’s removable tray and poked her finger into the cluttered jumble below. “Huh?” She glanced up.

  Bo made a rubbing motion on his belly. “Feed me.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Oh!” She looked around. “Sure. Stop anywhere you want.”

  Her chin dropped and she went back to her mining. “Ooh, what’s this?” she said holding up a tattered, dollar-bill sized manila envelope. “Look. It says Claudine on it.”

  Bo’s stomach rumbled but not from hunger. He noticed Claudie’s fingers were shaking as they flipped up the metal clasp.

  She held open her left hand and poured the contents into her palm. A thin gold necklace spilled between her fingers before a golden heart about the size of a fifty-cent piece landed with a hollow clink.

  “It’s beautiful,” Bo said. “It looks old.”

  “It’s lovely, but I don’t remember ever seeing my mother wear it.” She held it up to the light. “It’s engraved. M.A.R. and J.L.S.” She gave him a pensive frown. “M.A.R. Margaret Ann Robertson. My mother’s maiden name, but the other isn’t Garret.”

  “Maybe it’s your father’s,” Bo said softly.

  Claudie shrugged as if it didn’t matter. Using her nail, she had to pry open the stubborn latch. A slight peep escaped from her lips when a gossamer lock of hair fell out.

  “Your baby hair, I bet,” Bo said. “My mother has a hunk of my hair pasted in my baby book.”

  “I never had a baby book,” Claudie said in a small voice.

  Bo would have given anything to pull off the road and hug her, but after her speech at breakfast he didn’t think she’d appreciate it. She didn’t want their relationship to get any more complicated, and he’d promised her brother he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

  “Is there a picture of you?” Bo asked, craning his neck to peek.

  Claudie shook her head and held it up for him to see. A young man’s face stared back. Unsmiling. Black and white. Obviously snipped from a yearbook.

  “Wow,” he said. “Your dad. He’s handsome.”

  Claudie didn’t say anything. She hastily pressed the small golden curl back into the heart and snapped it shut. She held it a moment as if trying to decide what to do next.

  Bo was about to suggest she put it on when Claudie exclaimed, “Oh, my gosh, look at that!”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Bo saw a billboard but he couldn’t read the print. “What’d it say?”

  “This is where they filmed that movie, The Bridges of Madison County. Sara and I read the book.” She looked around as if expecting to see one materialize over the highway. When none appeared, she reassembled the jewelry box and dumped it on the back seat. Almost as an afterthought she slipped the golden locket over her head. “Bo, I wouldn’t mind seeing the bridge. Sara would really get a kick out of this. I think the sign said something about a park. Maybe it’s on the map.” She reached under the seat for the atlas.

  “You know we’re a little pressed for time….” Bo began, but her delighted squeal cut him off.

  “It’s close, Bo. Really close. Ten or fifteen miles off the highway. I’m sure we could eat there, too. Can we stop?”

  Bo couldn’t resist the glimmer of anticipation in her eyes. He followed her directions to Winterset, Iowa.

  The detour itself wasn’t long or even too far out of the way, but once she got there, Claudie didn’t seem to want to leave. Bo wasn’t sure what was going on in her head.

  “Seen enough yet?” he asked two hours later as he followed her toward the red, hundred-foot bridge that somehow seemed vaguely familiar even though he knew he’d never seen it before.

  This bridge, the Roseman Covered Bridge, was their second stop. The first had been the eighty-foot Cutler-Donahoe Bridge in Winterset’s municipal park where Bo had polished off two hot dogs and one chocolate malt while Claudie explored. Just when he thought they were done sightseeing, Claudie announced her desire to visit the bridge where Francesca, the heroine of the book, left a note for Robert Kincaid, the hero.

  They found it without a problem, but the bridge itself didn’t seem all that romantic to Bo. However, he decided it was worth the stop to see Claudie strolling toward the weathered red structure, its yawning mouth welcoming her in an oddly benevolent way. In hiking boots, snug jeans and a turquoise sweater, she looked every bit the country girl, fresh and vibrant—and very appealing.

  “Will you take my picture?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

  He held up the small disposable camera.

  “This place is wonderful. Just like in the book. Did you read—” she stopped midsentence, realizing her mistake.

  He snickered. “Even if I read, I wouldn’t have picked up that one.”

  “The Unturned Gentlemen read it,” she told him, naming Sara’s reading group of which Bo was a fairly recent member.

  Bo gaped. “You’re kidding. The guys actually read that?”

  Her serious nod was negated by a playful grin that gave her away and he came close to scooping her up in his arms and kissing the daylights out of her.

  “No, but Ren did,” she said, leaning over the white railing to study the autumn grasses below. “He and Sara got in a big argument over it one night. Don’t you remember?”

  How can I be expected to remember anything when she looks so damn cute?

  “Bo?” Frowning, she waited for his answer.

  He tried to focus. “Yeah, I kinda remember. Ren called it sappy mush, and Sara thought it was tragically romantic, right?”

  She tilted her face upward, squinting into the rafters as if checking for ghosts. “Pretty much.”

  A thought hit him a moment later. “It seems to me you backed Ren.” She turned away, but Bo caught her telltale blush. “In fact, you said they were fools who deserved to die alone because they weren’t brave enough to fight for what they had.”

  She started to step away into the dim interior, but Bo stopped her with a hand to her elbow. “Didn’t you?”

  She frowned. “Maybe. Something like that.”

  Bo waited for her to meet his gaze. “Why are we here, Claudie?”

  Claudie sighed. “I don’t know…Sara liked the book and I thought…” She didn’t finish.

  He looked at the locket hanging so innocently between her breasts. “Maybe it has to do with your mom,” he suggested.

  Claudie fingered the locket. “It wasn’t the same. My mom and dad were young. The people in the book were adults. And Robert Kincaid didn’t commit suicide.”

  Bo shrugged. “Living the rest of your life without the woman you love sounds like suicide to me.”

  She looked momentarily stricken then pivoted and stomped away beneath the famed canopy. “That is such bull, Bo Lester,” she yelled. Her voice echoed in an eerie way.

  “How am I supposed to know?” he muttered, walking in the other direction. “I didn’t even read the book.” Of course, a part of him knew neither of them was talking about a book, but he wasn’t ready to consider what his life might look like if he couldn’t convince her to return his love.

  She didn’t join him at the car for a good twenty minutes. Bo would have been worried if this were anywhere but peaceful, idyllic Iowa. He looked up when he heard her coming. Her walk was slow and lazy but the way she had her arms wrapped around her middle suggested she was cold.

  “Too bad we lost our sun,” he said, conversationally. “I hope that doesn’t mean we’re
going to get hit with a snowstorm.”

  She looked skyward. “God, I hope not. I already lost a day to snow. I guess we’d better get going, huh?”

  Bo opened the passenger door for her. “The lady at the hot dog stand said there are five more bridges.”

  She shook her head. “No thanks. This is just about all the romance I can handle,” she said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

  “I wouldn’t beat myself up about it if I were you. I figured out the real reason you wanted to come here.”

  She looked up, her chin tilted in a questioning look.

  “To put off the inevitable.”

  Her color rose. “You mean…”

  Bo squatted beside the door. He placed her camera in her lap then reached out to touch her chin. She trembled but didn’t pull back. “Claudie, let’s just drop this stuff about us for the time being. It was stupid of me to bring it up. I told you how I feel and I meant it, but this isn’t the right time to get into it. You came all this way to do something important, and you don’t need anything else to worry about. Okay?”

  She nodded. “But—”

  Her reply was so Claudie he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned in and kissed her. Just a soft, sweet peck. At least, that was what he intended. And he’d have managed to keep it platonic if she hadn’t let out a small cry and put her arms around his neck.

  He sensed her need even if he didn’t understand it. He tried to give her what she wanted without taking anything for himself but the sweetness of her taste, the softness of her lips and the low moan trapped in her throat made him deepen the kiss. His fingers toyed with a lock of hair at the nape of her neck. “Maybe this place is more romantic than I realized,” he whispered. “But,” he sighed. “We’d better hit the road or we’ll never find the B-and-B Matt booked.” Matt had called while Claudie was on the bridge. The Apple Blossom Inn was just off Main Street in Otter Creek, Kansas. Three of the inn’s five rooms belonged to them for as long as needed.

  He could hear Claudie’s chortle as he dashed around the car and hopped in the driver’s seat. “What’s so funny about that?”

  “You’ve obviously never seen Otter Creek. You couldn’t get lost if you tried. Believe me, I know. I tried.”

  He started the car and backed around. They weren’t far from the highway. With any luck they’d catch up with Matt in time for dinner. As much as he enjoyed spending time with Claudie, he was looking forward to having another person around to run interference.

  Maybe that was how he’d been able to sublimate his feelings for her all these months, Bo thought. The two of them had almost never been alone. Between Brady and his parents and the girls at One Wish House, Bo and Claudie had nonstop chaperons. Maybe, deep down, he told himself, that was why he’d insisted Matt join him on this trip. So much for Mr. Altruism, he thought dryly.

  CLAUDIE HATED to wake Bo, but her purse was on the floor behind his seat and she needed money for the toll. Taking her foot off the accelerator, she leaned to the right, reaching behind the seat. The movement brought her practically face-to-face with him.

  He moved—a catlike, lazy stretch that made her smile. She’d once awakened him accidentally on his houseboat when they’d been baby-sitting Brady. She’d inched close enough to study his face—something she’d never dared do if he were awake. Even asleep, she felt as though he might know what she was doing, how she felt about him.

  “Hi,” Bo said, yawning. “I fell asleep, huh?”

  “Twenty miles ago,” she told him, moving back to her side of the car. “Can you reach behind the seat and grab my purse? We need change for the toll.”

  His brow shot up. “We’re crossing the river?”

  “We will eventually. This is a toll road.”

  He sat up. “You gotta pay to drive on it?”

  She nodded.

  “How much?”

  “I don’t know. Just get some money out, will you?”

  The tollbooth was designed for speed. She paid the fee and off they went. “That wasn’t so bad.”

  “Totally un-American,” he grouched.

  She chuckled. “Like you don’t pay taxes.”

  “I pay my share and half of everybody else’s, which is why I don’t think I should have to pay to drive on my own roads.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not in California anymore. This is Kansas.” Saying the word aloud hit her in a way she wasn’t expecting. A rush of memories took her breath away.

  Bo sat up suddenly and leaned close. “Claudie. Are you okay? What’s the matter, love?”

  She hauled in a ragged breath, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. “I’m fine. Just a little reality check.”

  Bo pointed to the side of the road. “Pull over. I’ll drive the rest of the way.”

  Claudie started to protest. She knew the way, she was the one who should drive, but her arguments never made it to her lips. Stifling a groan, she eased the car to the shoulder. Bo was out and around to her door before she could change her mind.

  “This is silly,” she said, climbing out.

  He pulled her into a quick hug that set her heart racing. “No. It’s what I’m here for. Now, you concentrate on telling me where to go—isn’t that what you dream of?”

  His grin was too infectious to resist. She smiled back then dashed around to the passenger side. She knew at that moment just how glad she was to have him with her. Maybe she’d survive this after all.

  AT THE SOUND of a soft knock, Matt looked up from Bo’s laptop. “Your other folks just got here, Mr. Ross. I seen the car lights,” Mrs. Green said.

  The fifty-something owner of the Apple Blossom Inn was a dynamo who’d been running Otter Creek’s lone bed-and-breakfast single-handedly since her husband’s stroke. Mr. Green, a docile figure with a distant look, followed her around like a puppy.

  “Thank you,” Matt said. “I’ll be right there.”

  At his inquiry about a local library, the friendly innkeeper had offered him the use of the desk in the study as well as a phone line for his modem. From that spot Matt had been able to amass most of what Bo wanted to know.

  He saved his files and exited the program.

  Strolling to the foyer, he braced himself for his first glimpse of the infamous Claudie St. James. Matt didn’t consider himself a prude, but he couldn’t quite fathom how his cousin could be in love with a woman with her kind of past. He’d formulated a mental image of her—and, frankly, it wasn’t too flattering.

  Matt opened the door and walked outside. The brisk night air was an eye-opener—as was the woman gracefully stepping from the passenger side of the small station wagon. Petite, young and vulnerable were Matt’s first impressions.

  “Yo, Cuz, we finally made it,” Bo called, hauling himself out of the car. Matt thought the joviality in his voice sounded a bit forced.

  “’Bout time. Mrs. Green was going to rent your room to someone else,” Matt teased.

  “Room?” Claudie questioned, her eyes saucerlike in the light from the porch.

  Matt heard a tremor in that single word that spoke multitudes.

  Bo hurried around the car and stood at her side without touching her. “Rooms,” he said, looking to Matt to confirm.

  Claudie’s apprehension was further broadcast in the look she gave Matt. He walked down the steps, stopping at the gravel driveway. “Your room is on the top floor, Claudie,” he said, pointing over his shoulder.

  The turn-of-the-century home featured a third story built into the roofline. Three dormer windows were backlit in a soft amber glow; lace curtains added an old-world charm. “Mrs. Green says it’s the nicest room in the house in winter.”

  Claudie stared upward. “Two old maids owned this house when I lived here. My brothers said they kept the dried-up remains of their folks in that room.”

  Bo hooted. “Bet that’s not a rumor the owners want circulated.”

  Matt couldn’t quite get over the fragility he sensed in her. He was expecting brash and brazen, not sa
d and reserved. “Your room is called the Golden Delicious suite. Bo’s in Jonathan, and I’m in Winesap.”

  Her face—pretty, but certainly not provocative—screwed up as if certain he were pulling her leg.

  “No, seriously,” he said. “Mine’s Winesap. My other option was the Pink Lady. The Fuji was already rented.”

  She smiled, and for the first time met his gaze. Oh, Matt silently acknowledged. He glanced at his cousin who grinned as if reading Matt’s mind.

  “Claudie, you’ve just met Matthew Ross, my cousin. Matt, Claudie,” Bo said. He didn’t give them time to shake hands. “Help me with these bags, Cuz. I need food. Claudie refused to stop for dinner. She said we’d wasted too much time at the bridges.” He opened the rear passenger door and withdrew a large white box, which he handed to Claudie.

  Matt followed him to the rear of the wagon. “What bridges?”

  “Don’t ask,” Bo and Claudie replied simultaneously.

  Naturally, Matt couldn’t wait to pry the story out of Bo.

  Bo passed Matt the smaller of the suitcases and a small, lumpy backpack. “The place looks great. You did good, Cuz,” Bo said, clapping a hand to his shoulder.

  “The only other choice was a motel by the highway. This looked more like what you wanted,” Matt said, trying to watch Claudie without appearing to. She stopped at the foot of the steps to take a deep breath. The wraparound porch was outfitted with a big swing and half a dozen wicker chairs. Light from the divided windows spilled out in a warm, inviting way.

  When he noticed her shiver, he said, “We better get you inside to warm up. I picked up some take-out chicken in Topeka, so you won’t have to go out again.”

  “Awesome,” Bo said, following a few steps behind.

  Matt slipped the strap of the backpack over his left shoulder to free up his right hand for the banister. The small weakness embarrassed him so he covered it by telling Claudie, “I’ll show you to your room.”

  From the step ahead, she looked back, her expression droll. “It’s up, right? I should be able to find it.”

  Matt blushed.

  “Let him do it, Claudie,” Bo scolded playfully. “His mother was a stickler for manners. Mine wasn’t that picky.”