“Okay—you win. I’m not one to stick around where I’m not wanted, and if you’re in a mess, I guess it’s for you to decide what to do about it. Now if you don’t mind, all this yammering’s wasting gas. I’ll grab my suitcase and be gone.”
He couldn’t hide his astonishment.
She grinned at him. “None of your three options is palatable to me. Besides, you’re absolutely right. I don’t need to know what you’re up to. I need to get home, get back to my animals and my work and prove to my brothers that you could have saved yourself a whole lot of trouble if you’d stolen one of their cars instead of mine. You will get Julian’s Rover back to him?”
“Promise.”
“Don’t try to substitute another. He’s just gotten this one broken in.”
“I understand the Stiles’ attachment to their vehicles.”
She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth. It was all he could do to stop himself from hauling her back inside to his brass bed. Their bed. He couldn’t believe she was going.
“Take care of yourself, Beth.” This was it, he thought. She was going. Maybe she really didn’t care about him. “Drive carefully.”
“Yeah. If you need me...” She sighed, and he could see her struggling with herself. Then she blundered on. “If you need me, you know where to find me. No matter how impossible we are together, I’d never turn you away.”
She fetched her own suitcase, and Harlan watched and waved as she backed the old Bel Air onto the dirt road. She looked every bit the wild girl who’d had no idea, so long ago, how a simple car could stir up the Rockwood world. Her Chevy ran, got decent mileage, and she could do her own tune-ups. That it was ugly as sin, old even then, and was perceived, when she continued to hang onto it alter “becoming a Rockwood” as an affront, had been completely beyond her. It had been that adherence to her own values, that absolute sense of what she was about, right or wrong, that had both appealed to him and exasperated him. After a year he’d had enough of her damned car, too. Without even a glance back, she popped the Bel Air into second and roared off.
For a moment Harlan didn’t move. He tried to tell himself it was for the best, that his feelings of alone-ness and defeat would pass. At leas t he was no longer torn between pushing her away and pulling her toward him. She was gone, for another nine years, perhaps even forever.
He swallowed hard, felt tears spring to his eyes, and willed it not to be so. For a while, yes. Not forever. He had made a promise to himself, hadn’t he?
He clenched his fists at his sides. ‘‘She didn’t look back. Not even a glance.” Not even after what had happened last night in the shower. True, he had gone to her, but she could have thrown ¿ bar of soap at him or told him to march. She hadn’t. She had wanted him as much as he had wanted her.
She could have blown him a kiss, waved, or even stuck out her tongue. Something.
“Oh, hell.”
He kicked the sandy driveway and felt a stab of pain in his abdomen for his effort. Whatever Beth was up to, she wasn’t going quietly back to Vermont. He momentarily considered following her in the Land-Rover, deciding it would only prompt her to come up with another plan. Better to go back about his business, with extreme caution.
Right now he needed coffee and a chance to clear his head.
He finished his breakfast, scraped the slimy tomatoes into the compost, and after his third cup of coffee was thinking straight again.
He had to forget the stupid elation he’d felt at the prospect that Beth hadn’t come after him just for that damned bomb of hers. Common sense—common decency—told him this wasn’t the time to egg Beth Stiles on, nor the time to confront his feelings about her or force her to face up to her feelings about him. What held true Friday morning in Vermont, when he’d left her sleeping amidst her quilts and critters, held true now.
He couldn’t put her in the same danger he’d put himself.
First things first, he told himself. First, his predicament with the gentlemen who wanted him silent and acquiescent. Then Beth.
He knew that wouldn’t fit into her view of the world at all. She wasn’t someone who took too well to being compartmentalized or put on hold.
“Too bad, Beth. No way will I be responsible for anything happening to you.”
Unfortunately, the chances that Beth had gone merrily on her way were somewhere between slim and none. It wasn’t her style to butt out—so it was just as well he’d anticipated as much, sometime before dawn, and had taken appropriate measures to stall her.
HOT AND CURSING, Beth pulled the limping Chevy onto the side of the deserted country road and slammed the door when she leaped out. Even for Coffee County, it was a boiling morning. Her shirt stuck to her back. She’d kicked off her shoes and driven barefoot. Her plan had been to double back, avoiding the main roads, and spy on her ex-husband. Her right rear tire, however, had gone flat, probably picking up one of the sharp stones in the road.
She squatted to have a look.
“That snake!”
A stone wasn’t at fault. A key had been wedged under her tire, so that when she drove off, it would cause a puncture.
Sabotage, plain and simple.
Well, at least she knew how to change a tire. It wouldn’t be a pleasant job in the stifling heat, but she’d get it done. Warning herself that fury would only make her hotter, she gritted her teeth and opened the trunk.
Her spare tire was gone.
Fifteen minutes ago she had had her doubts about what she was doing. She had considered the possibility that she had turned Harlan’s mess into an obsession, had entertained the idea of being sensible and heading home. Why keep sticking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted?
That had been fifteen minutes ago, before her tire blew, before she’d found the key, before she’d discovered she had no spare tire.
Now she had no doubts.
She snatched an old Boston Red Sox cap from her trunk, banged the trunk shut and put the cap upon her sweaty curls. She didn’t want to collapse from heat exhaustion, in case Harlan Rockwood had informed all of Coffee County to leave her in a ditch for the snakes if they happened upon her.
Pacing herself, she started walking toward town.
Harlan dumped his leather overnight case onto the floor in front of the Land-Rover’s passenger seat. Beth had left him with about an eighth of a tank of gas. Keeping an eye out for her notorious car, he rumbled into town. He didn’t see the Bel Air, but that was all right. He knew she was out there. The woman was implacable.
He stopped at the general store and filled his gas tank, not surprised to discover that Danny had heard Harlan’s “wife” was in town. “Ain’t seen her hereabouts in a while,” Danny said.
“She hasn’t changed,” was the only response Harlan could come up with.
He used the pay phone at the back of the store to call Julian Stiles, explaining about Beth and the flat tire she had no doubt encountered.
“You don’t think she’ll just fix the tire and come straight home?” Julian asked.
“Not a chance.”
There was a pause at Julian’s end of the line. “Har-Ian, I don’t want to interfere, but maybe keeping all of us in the dark isn’t such a good idea.”
Harlan sighed grimly. ‘The way I see it, I don’t have a choice. I’ll get your Rover back to you as soon as I can. You can collect your sister whenever you want.”
Julian grunted. “Think I’ll let her cool down first.”
“Probably not a bad idea.” Harlan could just imagine the names she’d called him when she’d discovered her spare tire was missing. “Don’t worry. She won’t get out of Coffee County.”
Hanging up, Harlan made another call, this one to New York City.
“Thought you chickened out,” Saul Rabinowitz of the Manhattan Chronicle said.
“No.”
“What gives, then? We had a date for Tuesday afternoon and you were a no-show. I know you rich folks have your priorities, but I don’t pla
y games.”
“I know you don’t. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’d like to reschedule, if you’re still willing.”
Harlan knew Saul’s hesitation was pure theatrics—an attempt at punishment. He was too sharp a reporter, too scrupulous, too competitive to let martyrdom ruin a potential story.
“When?” Saul asked.
“Today’s Sunday.... I’ll need a day or two to regroup.”
“You’ve had more than day or two. Meet me tonight, eight o’clock, same place.”
The Upper West Side of Manhattan. “Can’t.”
“Rockwood, I don’t let anyone jerk me around.”
“I’m a thousand miles away.”
“So? You can afford to hire a private jet if you need to. Be here, or the deal’s off.”
“What deal? I’m not getting anything out of this.” Aside from a few cracked ribs and an outraged ex-wife.
“The hell you aren’t. You’re getting my time.”
Harlan reminded himself that he didn’t have to like Saul Rabinowitz, although he had a feeling he would, if they ever managed to meet. He appreciated people who didn’t beat around the bush.
“Let me ask you this,” Harlan said, abandoning the subject of rescheduling for the moment. “Has anyone come to see you about me?”
Saul answered without hesitation. ‘‘No. I’ve kept my promise to keep mum about our meeting. Don’t want to look like a damned fool, if you turn out to be a paranoid jerk, you know—which I don’t mind telling you is looking more and more like the case,”
“I understand.”
“Yeah. Either you’re a paranoid rich boy or something really is up. Someone tried to scare you off our meeting, huh?”
“No one knows I’m meeting with you.”
“They know you’re rat-finking to someone.”
Rat-finking wasn’t the word Harlan would have chosen but he let it slide. “I’m in a delicate position.”
“How bad they hurt you?”
“No broken bones or stitches.”
“Ouch, ouch.” Saul was obviously delighted. “I take it you want me to come to you?”
“Yes.” Harlan already had his plan worked out. “The Parthenon, noon on Tuesday.”
“I’ve got to go to Greece?”
“Nashville,” Harlan said. “Centennial Park, near Vanderbilt University. The Parthenon’s a museum. We’ll do this on my turf.”
“So if anybody fries, it’ll be me. Thanks a lot.”
“You game?”
“Yeah, why not. I think I read about this Parthenon in the fifth grade. I’ll find you. I blend into a crowd a hell of a lot better than you do.”
“You don’t know what I look like.”
“Make a bet? A rich boy doesn’t call me out of the blue and arrange a powwow and I don’t check him out. I probably know more about you than you do yourself. You just be at this Parthenon. I’ll find you.”
Saul hung up, and Harlan reluctantly replaced the receiver. Skullduggery wasn’t his thing. It would have been easy to resume his normal schedule and forever remain a no-show, a source of irritation in Saul Rabinowitz’s life. Never mind that his bruised ribs were a partial reward for his refusal to name the reporter whom he’d intended to meet. What he was doing wasn’t simply a matter of revenge. It was primarily a question of honor—something his ex-wife no doubt would find quaintly Old South.
As if he wasn’t sweating enough, when he turned from the telephone he almost knocked her over. There she was, standing squarely, breathing rapidly, arms crossed over her chest, her hair matted to her forehead and temples. Her clothes were drenched with perspiration.
He gave her a guiltless grin. “Thought you were long gone.”
‘Thought I was stuck out in the woods with snakes and bears is what you thought.”
She was clearly in a foul mood. “What did you do, try to spy on me?”
The flash in her blue eyes told him that was exactly what she’d done. “You sabotaged my car.”
“You have proof?”
“A BMW key in my tire’s all the proof I need.”
“A BMW key? I must have lost it on the driveway. I wondered what happened to it.”
“I’ll bet. You knew I’d never make it out of the county. You planned it that way.”
“Discretion is the better part of valor. Would you like a soda?”
“I’ll be fine, no thanks to you.”
She would, too. He’d assumed he’d be on his way long before she could catch up with him. If he’d remembered her obsession with fitness, he might have postponed his phone calls.
“Who were you talking to on the phone?” she demanded.
‘‘Your brother Julian. He’s agreed to lend me his Rover for a few days.”
“You tell him you stranded me in Coffee County?”
Beth took his silence for confirmation. “Well, you can call him back and tell him I’m not stranded anymore. I’m going with you.”
“No, Beth,” Harlan said, “you’re not.”
“Give it up, Harlan. I am.”
“I thought you’d agreed to go“
Not even the slightest twinge of guilt registered on her hot, beautiful face. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, Rockwood.”
“This time I was one step ahead of you.”
“Was is right. Now we’re even.”
“Not quite. Danny?”
“What are you calling him for? You know I make him nervous.”
His soft paunch preceding him, Danny walked over and calmly observed Harlan, whose family he’d known for over fifty years. Harlan spun Beth around and pushed her toward his old friend.
“Danny, she’s going to get herself in a heap of trouble if she follows me. Keep her here, all right? One of her brothers will be down for her soon.”
Beth turned red. “I’ll have you charged with kidnapping.”
“Try it,” Harlan told her. “Danny’s son is the local sheriff.”
He had no idea if that was true or not, but knew that Danny wouldn’t contradict him.
“Stick her in the smokehouse or something. I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me nothing,” Danny said. “Glad to help.”
Harlan kissed Beth hard on the mouth. She did not kiss him back. He was counting on her sense of fair play not to kick an old man in the shins and bolt.
He didn’t relax, however, until he had reached the interstate, heading west into Nashville, no 1965 Chevrolet Bel Air in his rearview mirror.
Beth remained composed after Harlan departed rural Coffee County in her brother’s Land-Rover. She smiled when she heard him grind the gears of Julian’s Rover, gleefully imagining what his backside and bruised body would feel like after a couple of hours of bouncing around. He had definitely tried to put one over on her in a way that struck her as both arrogant and annoying. The prospect of Adam or Julian flying to Tennessee to fetch their little sister didn’t sit well with her at all.
But she wasn’t as angry as she might have been simply because she had Harlan this time.
If only she knew why she’d even bothered. He got her blood boiling, to be sure, leaving her with a flat tire and an elderly man who’d love to nail him a Yankee. But her motives for not throwing in the towel and heading back home had nothing to do with her car. She had her car. What they had to do with she didn’t want to know right now. She had work to do.
“I need to make a phone call,” she told Danny.
The old man mulled over her request a moment. “Guess it won’t do any harm.”
He directed her to the pay phone Harlan had used. She dialed Taylor and Eleanor Rockwood’s residence. Eleanor answered.
Beth turned her back to Danny. “Mrs. Rockwood, it’s Beth Stiles. I’m calling to find out if you’ve heard from Harlan.”
“Yes, thank heaven. He called not long ago. This has all been the most embarrassing misunderstanding. I’m very sorry to have worried you, Elizabeth.”
“Oh, I wa
sn’t worried. You know Harlan. Anyway, does this mean you’ve called off Jimmy Sessoms?”
“Well... no, not yet. I will, as soon as he makes contact with me.” Eleanor sounded tentative, even self-conscious. “Harlan had forgotten our brunch and gone fishing. He has had a great deal on his mind and was due for a break. He was never even in Vermont.”
Beth knew her own family would have stuck up for her in the same way Eleanor Rockwood was sticking up for her son. Or didn’t she have any idea Harlan was lying?
“When are you expecting Harlan back?” Beth asked casually.
She heard Eleanor hesitate. “Elizabeth—Beth, I know you’ll understand I’m in an awkward position. If Harlan would like to speak with you, I’m sure he will. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.”
“Of course.”
Beth hung up, wondering why she’d bothered to call. To see if Eleanor knew more than she did? If he’d confided in her? Stupid. Eleanor was right. If Harlan wanted to tell his ex-wife anything, he would.
He’d already made damned clear that wasn’t what he had in mind.
She turned to Danny. “You know how to change a tire on a 1965 Chevrolet?”
“I sure do, ma’am. They don’t build cars like they used to.”
She smiled her best smile. ‘They sure don’t. Harlan tell you I have a problem with mine?”
Danny was stone-faced.
“You could save my brother a lot of trouble if you could fix it before he gets here.”
Of course, she could fix it herself. She wasn’t going to tell Danny that.
He rubbed his ample chin. “Pretty handy with cars yourself, I recall”
“I used to be,” she said, aware that for all his prejudices, Danny was no fool.
“You’re a handful, Mrs. Rockwood. I don’t envy Mr. Rockwood one smidge.”
Beth considered Danny’s comment highly sexist, but resisted the temptation to let him have it. He took her out to her disabled car in his tow truck, admired the old Chevy, and told her more about the good old days while he had a look.
“Not too promising, ma’am, but I guess you already know that. You shouldn’t keep running on a flat. Good way to wreck the rim.”
That Stubborn Yankee Page 8
