“Thank you, Sam.” She fed him a melon ball and he licked at her fingers.
“Four more dates,” he garbled through the melon. “No, four weeks. Augh. Do we get to neck?”
“Yes.” She bent forward and let him kiss her. His kiss had a big hunger underneath it.
“But that’s it.” She pushed him away. “We can date as much as we like in that four weeks, though.”
“How about a daily double?” Sam took her hand and kissed her fingers one at a time.
“I suppose.” Kelly started to lose her speaking ability. He was getting her really hot again.
“Good, because that plan is already in effect, I just needed the green light from you. We might as well get to know as much of each other as we can. That didn’t come out just right, did it?”
“Never mind, Ozzie.” She kissed him again. “I’ll just torture you a while longer.”
“I knew you would.”
He ran his hands lightly over her arms, slowly moving up to her face, her temples, and her lips. She moved up against him, intoxicated by his touches. His kisses were even better than last night. He seem to be…learning her.
Sam finally stopped and sat up. He obviously needed a break from her relentless torture. She sat beside him and remembered once again they were in public when she saw an older couple walking down by the lake path. They glanced up at Sam and Kelly, smiled, and waved. Kelly picked a leaf out of Sam’s hair.
“What is this place, Sam?”
“It used to be an old homestead. Fish Trap Lake. The property on the rise over there is Red Miller’s cousin’s place. That couple you saw are probably bordering neighbors.”
“It’s beautiful. Is this where you Paradise High boys take your dates to make out?”
“Damn, what a good idea! I can’t believe we never thought about it. Mostly, we all went to the Doggie Drive-in outside Lynden.”
“The Doggie Drive-in. That is, like, whacked.”
“Hey, the old guy named it for his dog.”
“Okay, I’m not even gonna go there. It’s out of the Ozzie and Harriet realm.”
“Time to pack it up, Harriet, we’ve got to get ready for part two of today.”
She helped him pack up the basket, and after wobbly starts, their two-seater cruised down the road. They worked in rhythm with each other. The soothing motion of the bike helped Kelly quiet some of the thoughts racing through her head.
She’d said too much about her life. Normal people didn’t like to hear about someone’s hippie mother and her drug problems. He was quiet behind her. No singing.
Sam delivered Kelly to Myrtle’s and gave her a proper porch kiss. Enough to make steam in her veins. He retrieved the daisy bouquet from the front basket on the bike.
“Pick you up at five. Got any Western gear?” He held out the flowers.
“Just jeans,” Kelly answered, puzzled. She took the flowers.
“What are you, about a size six?”
“Ten. Real women are not size six.” She threw a handful of wilted daisies at him.
“Shoes?”
“Seven and a half.”
“Them’s some mighty dainty feet, ma’am.”
Kelly threw another handful of flowers at him. Sam walked bowlegged to the bike and mounted it like a horse. She couldn’t stop laughing.
“That’s too much horse for you, cowboy!”
Sam wrestled the bike into the back of his pickup, making horse noises, hollering, “Whoa, there, Gluepot!”
Kelly waved and went in the door. Myrtle had been watching from the front window, of course, and clucked like a hen, slapping her knee, overcome by her own laughter.
“Sam always was a clown. Didn’t I tell you he was just the ticket?”
Kelly plunked down on a vinyl chair. “He is just too good to be true. He deserves someone better than me,” Kelly’s voice cracked, then she burst out crying.
Myrtle glanced quickly over Kelly’s shoulder as one customer leaned forward slowly from underneath the dryer. It was Lynnette Stivers, and Myrtle was sure she saw a smirk creep over Lynnette’s hard features. Myrtle knew what she had to do. She grabbed a box of Kleenex.
“Nonsense, honey. Now take this and march over to the house.” She sounded like a drill sergeant, but that’s what the girl needed right now. Kelly snuffled her way to the connecting house door obediently.
As soon as she was gone, Myrtle flipped up the dryer hood on Lynnette and plucked a curler from her blonde head.
“Ouch!”
“Well, you are toast for sure, Miss Stivers. Now, I’m sure your mama is waitin’ for you to get all dolled up for Eastern Star tonight. It’s late. I’m gonna close up. You best be gettin’ along. The curlers are on the house.”
Myrtle figured if Lynnette hadn’t been so stunned, she might have had something to say back. All she did do was raise one drawn-on eyebrow at Myrtle, grab up her white purse, stick on her white sunglasses, and stalk out the door, curlers bouncing.
“Don’t you give me the evil eye, Lynnette Stivers, you’re lucky I don’t put a curse on you! I’m an old witch, ya know!” Myrtle cackled as Lynnette drove off in her black Trans Am. “That woman is trouble on fat tires,” she said out loud, as the other two customers clapped and cheered.
“Okay, gals, fun’s over. Opal, you take over in here, I have to go see to Kelly,” Myrtle said. She steamrolled through the connecting door to take care of one hysterical former city gal. “Must be a bad planet,” Myrtle mumbled to herself.
Myrtle sat down next to Kelly on her red sculptured mohair sofa. “What is it, child?”
“I don’t deserve him. He’s too good for me,” she sobbed out.
Myrtle put her arm around Kelly. “Honey, that is not true. You are just used to being treated badly. Think of him as a gift the cosmos sent you to make up for all the bad times.”
Kelly would have laughed, but she couldn’t speak anymore. She cried like a baby against Myrtle’s shoulder. She was a married woman with a suitcase of drug money, in love with the boy next door who was just too good to be true. She should leave Paradise and let Sam have a good life with someone’s second cousin. But she was really starting to love it here. Paradise.
Myrtle handed her a Kleenex from her smock pocket. She rubbed Kelly’s back and offered silent comfort. When Kelly calmed down a little, Myrtle went into the kitchen and fixed them each a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of Oreos. They sat and twisted cookie tops off, eating the double stuff in the middle. Kelly finally curled up under a blanket and napped on the sofa.
When she woke up a short while later, Myrtle was in the kitchen making fried egg sandwiches. There, perched on the chrome and red vinyl dinette chair sat Fred Hansen, the man Myrtle had danced with at the social.
Myrtle winked at Kelly, and right in front of Fred, reminded her that Fred had been a widower for five years now and they now had a great friendship with occasional sex but neither cared to get married. Fred was set in his ways, she’d said. Fred nodded amicably throughout Myrtle’s frank talk.
“Feeling better, sweetie?” Myrtle motioned her in and patted the barstool seat beside her.
“Very much. Hi, Fred. Are you golfing today?”
“If you want to call that cow pasture a golf course, you bet,” Fred replied. “But first me and the boys are going to hit the driving range and improve our distance some. You know I occasionally take eighteen holes with Sam Grayson’s dad.”
Kelly shifted closer to the table, suddenly interested. “Is that so? What’s he like?”
“Well, you’d never know Hank had all that money. He sings bass in the local theater group musical. The guy did a hell of a singing Frenchman in South Pacific last year. He’s a regular sort of guy. Gives a lot back to the town.”
“Built a swimming pool for the high school. Course, Sam was a champ swimmer, and they all said his daddy built it for him. That’s kids, though. They forget the pool stayed behind after Sam left.”
“His mother ca
me from Texas and taught us all a thing or two about Southern hospitality,” Myrtle chimed in. “Sam’s daddy met her in college, then brought her up here to his family. I hear tell her own folks were dirt poor, and her daddy was a drinker. She turned out mighty re-fined for all that.
“She used to teach art at the high school, before her children were born. She and Hank lost their firstborn son to meningitis. You can see how precious Sam was to them. He was next born after that loss.”
Myrtle kept up her pace. She was truly a gossip factory. “They built the medical center as a remembrance to their lost baby, then replaced it ten years ago with the new center. She raised funds for that first center like a woman possessed. I think she transferred her grief into fund-raising. Of course, if there had been a proper medical center here before, her first baby might have lived.”
“My goodness, how do you know so much about them?” Kelly asked.
Myrtle struck a familiar Bette Davis pose with one hand on her hip. “Darlin’, what else do women in a small town do but talk and gossip to their hairdresser?”
“Where did they get all that money in the first place?” Kelly asked.
“Sam’s granddaddy was a banker,” Fred said, “He made some good land deals. They managed through the Depression pretty well. He must have stashed his own money in a mattress instead of at his bank. Most likely he saw it coming and ducked.”
Kelly felt a chill tingle over her at the thought of money stashed under the bed. Myrtle looked at her funny.
“Well, that’s enough gossip for today, ladies. My nine iron needs a warm-up, and so do I.” Fred leaned over and gave Myrtle a kiss, then took Kelly’s hand in his and looked into her face.
“You’re a wonderful gal, Kelly. Sam would be lucky to have you,” he said.
“Thank you, Fred.” Kelly smiled. She wished she could believe it herself.
As Fred left, Kelly walked slowly upstairs and drew herself a hot bath in the claw-footed tub. Tiredness seeped into her, despite the nap. She slipped out of her clothes and let them fall in a heap on the floor. The tub filled, and she added a few capfuls of lavender-scented oil.
She stepped into the bath and sank into the warmth. Kelly drifted into the feeling of Sam’s arms around her.
Paradise had so much to give her. Sam had so much to give her. How did she even get to that thought? She’d come here a week ago to hide out. She’d come straight from a wedding. She sure hadn’t planned on getting involved with anyone.
Kelly pulled Myrtle’s sea sponge into the bath, then set it on her forehead, letting the hot water drip over her closed eyes.
If she wanted Sam, or Paradise, or both, somehow she was going to have to set it all straight.
Tomorrow she would make some calls and figure out exactly what Raymond was up to, and whether he went on the honeymoon without her. It would help speed up the divorce if she could tell Sam exactly where he was. Divorce? Heck, they were only married three hours before she knocked him out and bolted; she could probably have Sam get the whole thing annulled.
Monday morning she’d call Caroline Prosser. Caroline was the closest thing to a good friend she had in L.A. She’d tell Sam what she found out afterward.
Caroline could find out where Raymond was. He might have already filed for divorce himself and done that thing where he published it in the paper. And even if he hadn’t, she could be a free, unmarried woman in, what, ninety days?
A slow smile spread over Kelly’s face, and she sank deeper into the water, returning to her more pleasant thoughts of Sam’s arms around her and his fabulous kisses. Yes, that man could kiss the socks off a schoolmarm.
At five o’clock a delivery boy came to the door carrying boxes from Duncan’s Western Wear. He handed Kelly several large packages and grinned nervously as he waited for a tip, eyeing Kelly in her bathrobe.
Kelly scrounged in the bottom of her purse and came up with $2.50 in change.
Seeming pleased, the boy said, “Thanks, ma’am,” and ran off.
He acted like that was probably the largest tip he had ever received. You’re not in L.A. anymore, Dorothy, she realized.
She found Myrtle, and together they ripped into the brown-paper-wrapped boxes like kids. Inside one was a beautiful turquoise Western shirt with white embroidery and silver decorations.
Another box held the hat to match, and the third box had a pair of turquoise boots trimmed in silver and white.
Inside one of the boots they found a gray felt jewelry box. Kelly opened it and took out a stunning turquoise and silver necklace, very tasteful, not too gaudy, and a pair of earrings to match.
“My, my, my. Sam sure does know how to treat a lady,” Myrtle said. She held the shirt up to Kelly’s front. “This is a wonderful color on you.”
“It is beautiful, but do people actually dress like this? We aren’t in Texas, you know.” Kelly giggled.
“Well, normally we don’t get too gussied up in Paradise, so my guess is you are going to the Grant County Fair and Rodeo, dear. It’s about forty miles east of here. You better hurry up, now. Sam seems to be the prompt type.”
“Okay. Let’s get me all gussied up.”
Racing upstairs, Kelly got the basics on with her own jeans and called Myrtle up for inspection. The boots fit like a glove—thank goodness, because her feet weren’t used to much but Keds and sandals lately. The slim boot toes reminded her of the ten pairs of Charles Jordan high heels she’d left behind in Raymond’s L.A. closet.
God, she missed those shoes. There were some benefits in working in the wholesale garment market, and getting wholesale prices from the shoe rep was definitely one of them. When she got the divorce she would ask for her shoes back.
“Looks like it was made for you.” Myrtle primped the shirt collar and turned Kelly to the full-length mirror.
“I look like Annie Oakley!” Kelly laughed at her reflection. “I can’t actually wear this, can I?”
“You’ll be the queen of the rodeo. You can borrow my old six-shooter if you like. It has no bullets, but it looks scary. That ought to keep Sam in line.”
“That’s assuming I want to keep him in line.” Kelly winked, and they both elbowed each other.
“All young men need keeping in line in my opinion, including Sam Grayson.” Myrtle smiled and helped Kelly fasten the silver necklace around her neck. They stood back for the full effect.
Myrtle reached over and took one of Kelly’s hands. “Just be kind to yourself, sweet cakes, and don’t let anyone treat you badly. You get to choose now. You’re a grown woman, not a child who has no say in how she is treated.” Myrtle gave Kelly a big hug.
“Quit it, you’re going to make me cry again,” Kelly said.
Myrtle pulled a Kleenex out of her pocket and wiped Kelly’s misty eyes.
“Then my makeup will run all over my face, and Sam will run away when he opens the door. You can only do that to a new man once.”
The doorbell rang on cue, and the two women raced downstairs like wild kids. Kelly took a deep breath and swung the door open.
There stood Sam, handsome as the devil in his Western duds. He was all in tan, with a dark brown suede jacket, brown boots, and hat. He tipped his hat back on his head and held out a bouquet of white roses and daisies.
“You look good enough to ride sidesaddle on my favorite horse, Wild Hair. These are for you, ma’am,” he offered.
“That is the second person that called me ma’am today. Am I looking matronly? Don’t answer that. And you don’t really have a horse out there, do you, Sam?” Kelly peered over his shoulder, half-expecting to see a couple of horses tied up waiting. “Because I don’t do horse, Sam Grayson.”
“Just horsepower. Excuse me, Myrtle, she needs kissing.” Sam took off Kelly’s hat for a minute. Myrtle pretended to look away, but watched out of the corner of her eye as Sam gathered Kelly up and kissed her good.
“Mmm, thank you for the wonderful…presents, Sam,” Kelly said breathlessly. She stepped bac
k and steadied herself, somewhat embarrassed to be kissed in front of Myrtle. She took her hat back and popped it on her head.
“Okay, cowboy. Let’s hit the road. We have a rodeo to get to.”
“How’d you guess?” Sam kidded.
Myrtle sang “Happy Trails” after them.
Sam drove the Chevy straight down the east highway to a place that glowed in the dark called the Starlight Diner. It looked like a railroad car, but Sam gave her a diner history lesson. He said most railcar diners were actually built to look like they rode the rails, but they never really did.
He almost had to drag her out of the truck in her turquoise duds, but oddly enough, the place was filled with people similarly attired. Kelly felt absolutely tame after seeing a few gold lamé Western outfits on some middle-aged ladies with big, big hair.
Even so, Sam and Kelly turned every head in the joint. Man, she’d love to know what stories people were making up about the two of them.
Sam was attentive and polite. He didn’t order onions and didn’t fawn too much. But she felt constant eyes on them.
It’s hard to bite into a double cheeseburger with everything but onions while you’re being stared at. She did it anyway, because she was starved. Kelly hadn’t eaten since the early-morning picnic Sam had provided. She washed it down with the best chocolate shake she’d had in her life. Once again, even the outskirts of Paradise provided her with fabulous food.
A real live Wurlitzer jukebox played country music. “I Fall to Pieces” came on; Kelly thought that only Patsy Cline could sing it that good. Kelly was done falling to pieces. Now she was going to pick them up and put herself together. Whatever that looked like.
If that included Sam, that was great. If not, they were still her pieces. She’d have to guard her heart against the obvious Grayson charms until she knew for sure he wasn’t just playing some game. Maybe he liked edgy girls from big cities with problems. The gossip on his Philly fiancée pointed to that.
Or maybe Sam Grayson made his parents nuts by dallying with bad girls. Seemed like he was a little old for that sort of thing, but it was a well-established fact in Kelly’s book of knowledge that men never grew up. It was only a matter of what age they stuck at: two or seventeen or thirty.
Talk of the Town Page 9
