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Anne stopped dead on the sidewalk and turned to look at him. ''Kidnapping six tenified girls and deliberately stranding them in the mountains with a bunch of illiterate, uncouth louts was sensitive and caring?**
"Okay, so maybe he was a litde...impetuous/' Neill conceded. Another couple walked past, eyeing them curiously. '*But those illiterate, uncouth louts were his brothers, and it was his deep concem for their happiness that led him astray."
*'Led him astray?" Anne choked on a gurgle of laughter. ''Next you'll be telling me that he was really the innocent party in the whole movie."
*'Well..." Neill stretched the word out consideringly. "I don't know that Fd go quite that far, but I do think there was a certain...nobility of spirit about his actions that—" He broke off when Anne laughed. It was such a young, happy sound that it made it difficult for him to hold on to his serious expression. "I thought we were having a deep, intellectual discussion about the social relevance of the film we just saw."
•*I bet it's the first time anyone's tried to find social relevance in Seven Brides for Seven Broth-ersr
He arched his eyebrows and looked down his
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nose at her. **Then it's past time someone recognized its true value. For example, how can you fail to miss the deeply layered meaning in lyrics like, Tm a lonesome polecat'?''
**Or the profound melancholy underlying the surface of a song like 'Bless Your Beautiful Hide'?"
**rm not too sure about that one," Neill said, frowning thoughtfully. **I think that may be nothing more than a demonstration of complete male chauvinist piggery."
Their laughter drew several glances and a few sympathetic smiles. Most of the week, the sidewalks in Loving were pretty well rolled up by nine o'clock. Other than the restaurants and a couple of bars, the businesses closed up shop. Saturday nights were different. Saturday was date night or take the family out for a hamburger night and, every other week, catch a movie night. When the movie ended, the small crowd left the shabby theater and, on a warm summer night, took their time heading home.
They passed an elderly couple walking slowly, matching shuffling step to shuffling step and holding hands like your lovers. Up ahead was a young couple, a child between them who picked up his
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feet and swung on his parents' hands every few feet.
**Mayberry," Neill muttered, and then was surprised that he'd spoken the thought out loud. He caught Anne's questioning look and shrugged. "This town. It makes me feel like I just fell into a movie set. I keep expecting Barney Fife to come swaggering down the street or Aunt Bea to toddle out of the beauty parlor."
Anne looked around, trying to see the scene through his eyes. To her, it was simply the town where she'd grown up. She knew it was small and rural, even out of date, but she'd never really given it much thought. It simply was what it was.
**Does it bother you?" she asked curiously.
**No. It makes a nice change." Neill reached out to take her hand, linking his fingers with hers, and Anne felt her heart bump with pleasure at the casual intimacy. **It's certainly got its advantages. People smile at you. You don't have to worry about finding a parking place, and the crime rate is probably too low to measure."
Anne shivered despite the warmth of the night air. **It's not paradise," she murmured. **Crime isn't limited to big cities."
**No, but it doesn't measure into the triple digits
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in a place like this." He saw her face as they stepped beneath a streetlamp, and his fingers tightened over hers. '*What's wrong?"
**Nothing." Anne smiled with an effort, deliberately closing the door on the memories that tried to slip through. She glanced up at him, her smile taking on an edge of mischief. ' 'I was just thinking that I never did pay my share of lunch that first day. How about if I buy you an ice cream sundae to make us even?"
**I wouldn't mind an ice cream sundae." His voice slowed to a drawl. '*But I have to tell you that I think your first offer was more than adequate compensation."
She gave him a questioning look, saw the warmth in his eyes and reaUzed he was talking about the kiss they'd shared that first night when she'd come to his motel room. Color warmed her cheeks, and she looked away, half afraid of what he might see in her eyes. Wholly afraid of the emotion fluttering in her chest.
A movie, ice cream sundaes and walking a girl to her car on a warm summer's night. Neill tried to remember the last time he'd spent such an innocent, enjoyable and sexually frustrating evening
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and decided it had to have been when he was in high school.
They'd laughed over the movie, then sat talking over a pair of ice cream sundaes until Luanne's owner announced that it was closing time and shooed the last of her customers out the door. And all the time, under the laughter and the conversation, he was aware of a low hum of awareness, a hunger. A need. She felt it, too. He caught glimpses of it in her eyes, those clear gray eyes that did such a poor job of hiding her thoughts. He could feel it in the Utfle jolt that went through her when he took her hand or reached out to brush her hair back from her face.
Because he was a man, he couldn't help but wonder if he could talk her into coming back to his motel room. He thought the odds were pretty good. But because he wanted something more from her than a quick roll in the sack, he'd made up his mind not to try. He wasn't sure just what that something more might be, and that scared him a Uttle. It also made it easier to rein in his baser instincts. Until he understood what he was feeling, he didn't want to rush into anything.
'1 had a lovely time tonight." They'd reached her car, parked in front of Lisa's tiny shop. Stop-
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ping by the driver's door, she turned to look up at him. *'Thank you, Neill."
*'My pleasure." She was so pretty standing there in her tidy blue and white striped shirt and trim jeans, her hair caught back from her face with a pair of simple gold clips, thanking him as politely as a little girl after a birthday party.
Her eyes widened a little when he stepped close and braced one hand on the roof of her silly Uttle car. Her breath caught raggedly, and her eyes widened on his. What was it about her? Neill wondered half-angrily. She wasn't at all his type. He liked long, leggy brunettes with eyes that said they knew a lot about the way the world worked. Not women like this curvy little blonde with innocent gray eyes and, God help him, the most kissable mouth he'd ever seen in his life.
Anne's breath sighed out as his mouth closed over hers. This was what she'd been wanting all night. No, if she were honest, she had to admit that she'd been thinking about this since he'd kissed her in the park two days ago. She'd half convinced herself that she'd dreamed it—the way the world dipped and swirled and filled with hght and color. The way her blood seemed to thicken even as her pulse rocketed.
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The keys she*d taken from her purse dropped to the pavement as she clutched at Neill's arms for balance, feeling the ripple of muscle and smew as he pulled her closer, shifting the angle of the kiss to deepen it. His mouth opened over hers, tasting her shivering response.
With an effort, Neill dragged his mouth away from Anne's. Staring down at her, he tried to figure out what it was about this woman that tried his self-control like no one else had. One kiss—^in public again, dammit—^and he was rock hard and ready to pull her into some dark alley and take her. And she just might let him, he thought, seeing the stunned arousal in her eyes. She was quivering under his hands, and his fingers tightened on her shoulders for an instant before he released her and took a cautious step back.
Goddamn scruples and conmion sense, he thought savagely. Bending, he scooped her keys up off the pavement.
**You'd better go,
" he said, pressing them into her hand.
**Y-yes.*' She stared down at the keys for a moment as if she wasn't quite sure of their purpose. After a moment's fumbling, she managed to sort out the right key and open the car door. Neill
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shoved his hands in his pockets and stood watching her, his expression brooding. Before sliding into the seat, she turned and looked at him, her eyes wide and uncertain, her teeth tugging nervously at her lower lip. * *Do you... can I give you a ride back to the motel?''
"Thanks, but I think I'll walk. I can use the exercise." And he didn't trust himself to spend another minute with her. But when she tumed to get into the car, he reached out and caught the top of the door, stopping her. **Dinner tomorrow night?"
*'Oh." Anne bit her lip, remembering her promise to her mother. ^Td like to but I—^we—my brother Jack and I always have dinner at my parents* house on Sundays. Actually, my mother asked me if I'd invite you."
**Your mother?" Neill's brows rose, and Anne felt herself flushing.
"'She heard...I mean, I...ah...mentioned that we'd met, and she wanted to meet you." Her face felt as if it was on fire. She was so accustomed to the fact that her family—^her mother—^felt the right to oversee her life that it wasn't until she was offering the invitation that the strangeness of it struck her. This wasn't the way it was done in the real world, she thought. In the real world, a woman of
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twenty-five did not bring home a man she'd known less than a week for her parents to inspect.
Neill considered the invitation for a moment. Times might have changed a lot in recent years, but meeting a girl's parents still held an ominous ring of possible conmiitment. But he was curious, he realized. He'd told her all about his family, but Anne rarely spoke of hers. He'd met the brother. It might be interesting to meet her parents.
*'Sure," he said slowly. ** Sunday supper sounds good."
Chapter Seven
A week, Neill thought, staring out at the sporadic Sunday afternoon traffic going past the gas station. A week ago he'd been limping along a dusty road, fantasizing about hopping on the first plane that would take him a thousand miles from the nearest cornfield. Now he had only to tum his head to see the cornfields that hovered at a polite distance from the edge of town, and the view didn't bother him at all. He was even willing to concede that there was something rather majestic about the endless rows of dusty green leaves and golden tassels.
The air was hot and still, the sun beating down out of a cloudless sky. He'd spent a couple of evenings in one of the local bars, nursing a beer and
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listening to the regulars talk. There was some concern about rain—^would they get enough of it and would it come at the right time? You couldn't discount the possibility of hail, either. 'Course the com was nearly ready to harvest, so hail wouldn't be the disaster it would have been earlier in the season. He'd heard about Milt Bowdrie's prostate surgery and that it looked like the youngest Lewis girl had herself a scholarship to some fancy college back East, and had listened to idle speculation on the possibility that Sally Ann Weaver's recent trip to see her family in Bismark had been a cover-up for the fact that she was having breast implants.
Anyone who thought gossip was a woman's game should spend an afternoon in a pool hall, Neill thought, remembering. He watched a faded blue station wagon slow to let a shaggy gray mutt trot across the street and lifted a hand to retum the driver's wave. He didn't have the slightest idea who she was and wondered if she thought she knew him or was just being friendly.
Contentment. That was what he was feeling right now. It wasn't something he'd had much contact with, particularly not in the last few years. He'd known some dizzying heights—^selling his first book, watching it creep onto the bottom of the New
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York Times list, then selling the second book and proving to himself that it hadn't been a fluke, that he might finally have found something he could do for the rest of his life.
He couldn't say he'd been unhappy, but lately he'd been aware of a niggling feeling that something was missing. Like the old song, he'd found himself wondering, is that all there is? And then he had cursed himself for being a greedy bastard for asking. This last week had made him realize that it wasn't that he wanted more. It was that he wanted something else, maybe even less than what he'd had, at least in terms of conventional success. He'd remembered something he'd almost forgotten—^how much he loved to write.
The stoiy he'd started that first afternoon was still there, pulling at him, giving him no choice but to write it. He didn't have the slightest idea what he was going to do with it when it was done, and he didn't care. For the moment, it was enough to simply enjoy the process.
*'Can you give me a hand here?" David said behind him.
Neill tumed away from the door and walked over to where David was working on an ancient black pickup truck. A newly rebuilt engine hung
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suspended over the engine compartment, ready to be lowered in place.
**Steady it on the side while I lower it/'
**Got it." This was something else he'd missed—^the smell of grease and exhaust fumes, the satisfaction to be found in building and repairing, creating something with his hands rather than his head. After spending his mornings writing, he'd gotten into the habit of wandering by the garage and lending a hand with whatever needed done, including pumping gas for the handful of drivers willing to pay a higher price for the extra service. If David Freeman thought there was anything odd about his sudden acquisition of an assistant, he didn't say anything. Once he was satisfied that Neill knew the difference between a carburetor and a fuel pump, he left him alone.
"At a guess, I'd say this truck is older than my grandfather," Neill commented as they eased the engine down. '^Wouldn't it make more sense just to run a new chassis in under the engine?"
**Bill Brent bought this truck brand new back in '55. Probably paid a couple thousand for it. According to my dad, he bitched about the price for the first fifteen years, then put a new engine in it and bitched about the fact that the old one had only
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lasted a hundred and fifty thousand miles. Since then, he's complained about every repair he's had done on it, first with my father, then when I took over the shop. He just kept bringing it in and complaining. Fact is, he cares a lot more about this truck than he does about his wife. Not that I can entirely blame him," David added in the interest of fairness. *'Roberta Blair has a face that looks like she fell out of an ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down, a voice that could shatter glass at fifty yards, and she's usually complaining about something.**
**Sounds like a match made in heaven.'* **Probably, but at least Bill doesn't sound like fingernails on a chalkboard.'*
They worked in easy silence after that. When he was in high school, Neill had spent one summer working for a mechanic, earning enough money to buy his first car—^a wreck of a Camaro coupe that he'd restored himself. He couldn't think of anything he'd owned before or since that had filled him with the same sense of pride. The engine in place, he picked up an orange rag from the top of a tool chest and wiped the grease from his hands. Maybe he should sell the Indian, buy something he could fix up.
I
*'Hear you've been seeing quite a bit of Anne Moore/' David said. He didn't look up, and Neill couldn't read anything in his voice.
*1 guess, in a town this size there isn't much that doesn't get noticed.'*
**Not much," David agreed. He straightened and looked across the body of the truck at Neill. "I've known Anne pretty much her whole life. I'd hate to see her hint."
The veiled warning prodded Neill's temper—all the more so because he'd worried about the same thing. It didn't take a lifetime of knowing her to recogniz
e Anne's vulnerability. There was no guile in her, no games, none of the brittle shields most people erected to protect themselves.
David must have seen the quick flare of temper, but his gaze remained steady. Questioning.
**I didn't realize she had more than one brother," Neill said edgily.
**When it comes to Anne, she's got a whole town full of brothers. She's had enough hurt in her life."
Neill's head snapped up, his eyes sharp with question. The idea of someone hurting Anne sent a wave of pure rage licking through his system.
I A'
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*'Who hurt her?'' The question was soft. Dangerous.
*'It was a long time ago. Best forgotten." David shook his head and frowned down at the engine, and Neill had the feeUng that whatever he saw there, it wasn't forgetfulness. When he looked up, his expression was rueful. *'It's none of my business," he admitted, "I just can't help feeling responsible in a way, for you being stuck in town so long, meeting Anne."
*'You can't do much without parts."
*'No, I guess not." But he still seemed uneasy.
Neill felt the quick surge of anger vanish as quickly as it had come. He couldn't fault the other man for caring about Anne.
*'I don't know where Anne and I are headed," he said at last. **But I won't hurt her if I can help it."
**Fair enough." David nodded, then grinned crookedly. "I guess you'd rather have popped me on the jaw."
*'Actually, I prefer to go for the nose. It makes a much more satisfying crunch." He laughed when David winced. His good mood restored, Neill leaned against the truck's fender and decided to do a littie probing for information himself. "So tell
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me about Anne's family. Fm having dinner with them tonight," he said, and saw David's eyes go wide with shock.
*'Bring a flak jacket," David blurted, and then looked as if he wished the words unsaid.
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