Charade

by Barri Bryan

  Lynn actually smiled. “You are a glib-tongued son-of-a-gun."

  A tender emotion he couldn't catalogue left Trace feeling uncertain and a little hesitant. For the first time since he'd come into the room, he really looked at Lynn Evans. She wasn't pretty in the accepted sense of the word, but standing there with her hands on her hips and icing on her chin she exuded a kind of feminine appeal that was as surprising as it was disturbing. He wanted to return her smile. He didn't dare. “Your friend Walter was way out of line."

  "He's not my friend.” Lynn picked up her spatula. “And tell me something I don't know.” She shook her head. “I shouldn't have snapped at you. I know you meant well."

  Trace decided to take advantage of her sudden good humor. “Since you're no longer angry with me..."

  Lynn interrupted, “I wasn't angry with you."

  "Then what..."

  "...is my problem?” Lynn finished the question for him and went on to explain, “Having Walter come in here with his threats just after Otis told me Joel was coming to the reunion and bringing a guest was too much. I lost it."

  Trace sympathized, but not enough to let it deter him from what he'd come here to do. “Can you put your other problems aside long enough to concentrate on this business of my dad and your mother?"

  Lynn smeared icing on a cupcake. “I can't worry about my mother now. I have more important things on my mind."

  For Trace there was nothing more important than saving his dad from the clutches of over-sexed, middle-aged Lillie McGuire. “Like what?” he asked.

  "Like getting this building repaired and like finding some good-looking man to escort me to the Class Reunion.” Lynn poured food coloring into a small container of icing and stirred it with a tiny spoon. “If Joel can come to the reunion and bring a guest, so can I."

  So Lynn Evans was still in love with her ex-husband. That was not Trace's concern. Getting his father away from a scheming female was. An idea hopped full blown into his head. He leaned across the counter. “I'll make a deal with you."

  Lynn eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of deal?"

  "I'll bring your building up to the city's building code standards if you will help me break up the affair between my dad and your mother."

  "How much would you charge?” Lynn held up one hand. “And before you answer, I have to tell you that there's an apartment upstairs.” She made her hand into a fist and pointed her thumb upward. “That's where I live."

  Trace thought for a moment before saying, “I'll do the job for the cost of the materials plus ten percent.” He mentally crossed his fingers and waited.

  "That seems fair.” Lynn iced another cupcake. “Are you really a licensed contractor?"

  Trace lifted one hand. “I swear."

  Lynn put the iced cupcakes on a tray. “I don't know ... How much money would you want down?” She put a clear plastic cover over the tray.

  Trace reminded himself of what was at stake here before saying, “You can pay for the material as I order it. When the job's complete, you can pay me ten percent of the total cost of the material."

  "That's very generous.” Lynn bit her lip and stared into space. “Damn Joel Evans."

  Trace added what he hoped would be the clincher. “And if you like, I'll pretend to be your date for your class reunion.” He thought without a trace of conceit that if she wanted a handsome, charming man, he could fill the bill.

  Lynn took another muffin tin of cupcakes from a shelf and set them on the counter. “You're not married?"

  "My wife died five years ago.” Even now those words had the power to wound and upset. He'd lost his sweet Eva to some rare illness only days after she'd given birth to their first child. His voice was rough when he added, “So did our baby girl."

  "I'm sorry.” Lynn came around the counter and sat on the stool beside him. Their eyes met briefly, and Trace read in her glance compassion and pity. She laid her hand on his arm. “That must have been terrible for you."

  Memory held Trace in its painful grasp for a moment as he stared at the floor. “It was."

  Lynn moved her hand and looked away, saying quietly, “This is a business deal, nothing more."

  Trace pulled his mind from aching memories and back to the present. “Yes, strictly business."

  Lynn waved her arms around in an all encompassing gesture. “Are you sure you want to take on the job of repairing this place?"

  Trace wasn't, but he lied with ease. “I can handle it."

  Lynn frowned. “Can you bring it up to city standards in twenty-four days?"

  Trace spoke with more assurance than he felt. “It will be a piece of cake."

  Lynn said, “Don't be funny,” but flashed him a smile that quickly converted to a frown. “I can't make any promises where my mother's concerned. But I will talk to her.” Standing, she moved back around the counter. “When can you start on my building?"

  She was a pushy little dame. Trace found himself thinking that if she had on something besides that frumpy white coat and bulky apron, and if she combed out that messy hair, she might be passably pretty. He shook his head. “I'll bring the contract over tomorrow night. You can sign on the dotted line and tell me what your mother said."

  Lynn hesitated. “I may not get around to seeing Mother before the weekend."

  Trace stood and shrugged his shoulders. “Call me when you have talked to her and I'll bring the contract by.” He took a business card from his shirt pocket and laid it on the counter.

  Lynn lifted a bowl from a shelf near the counter. “I don't have a lot of time to get these repairs done.” She set the bowl on the counter and impaled Trace on a stiletto stare. “I get the message. I'll talk to her tomorrow."

  Trace backed toward the door. “Fair enough, I'll bring the contract by tomorrow evening.” Turning on his heel he hurried from the room, wondering as he headed out the front door of the shop just what he'd gotten himself into.

  Chapter 3

  Lynn backed her little Toyota from its parking space and swung onto the busy thoroughfare with the sinking feeling that she was on a fool's mission that would only result in angry words and hurt feelings. The last thing she needed now was to disturb the uneasy truce that existed between her and her mother.

  Lynn had been a defiant and rebellious teenager, quarrelling with her mother often and vehemently. Maturity and experience had taught her patience and a measure of discretion. Time had mellowed her mother also. Now, by tacit agreement, Lillie stayed out of Lynn's affairs and Lynn didn't poke her nose into her mother's business—at least she hadn't, until now.

  She couldn't believe that she was on her way to interrogate her mother about the most personal of matters, her sex life. She and Lillie had never had a conversation about sex before, not even the old birds and bees discussion most girls have with their mothers when they reach adolescence.

  Lillie had always been a very private person. Thrice married and widowed, she seemed to be the epitome of small-town, straight-laced respectability and decorum. Yet here was Lynn, on her way to ask this reserved, docile, middle-aged lady about an alleged affair she was having with a senior citizen who had a heart condition. “This is crazy,” she told herself as she changed traffic lanes. “I can't do it.” Then she remembered what she stood to lose if she didn't. “Okay, I'll give it a try.” Speeding through an amber light she made a left turn onto Oakdale Street.

  Lynn parked her car in Lillie's drive, got out and walked slowly toward the front door. What if Trace was wrong? That was a very likely possibility. By the time she rang her mother's doorbell she'd convinced herself that what Trace had told her was either a lie or a mistake. She would get to the bottom of this matter and then she'd set Trace Randolph straight on several issues.

  Lillie McGuire was a slight woman with graying hair and skin like old parchment. She was all smiles when she opened her front door. “Lynn, darling, do come in.” Stepping back she waited for her daughter to enter. “This is such a pleasant surprise. Yo
u usually don't come to call on week days."

  "Nothing like a little surprise now and then,” Lynn quipped as she came inside and looked around. “Where is that damn cat?"

  Lillie asked, “Are you referring to Minerva?"

  Lynn was set to give some caustic reply when she remembered why she'd come here. “Of course, I mean Minerva."

  "I shut her up in the back bedroom."

  Lynn wondered why Minerva had been relegated to the bedroom but she didn't ask. She was too glad to have that ill-tempered feline out of the way.

  Lillie shut the door before turning to ask, “Whatever made you decide to come to lunch today of all days?” Before Lynn could answer she motioned with her hand. “Oh, you surprised me, no doubt about that. Come into the dining room. Lunch is ready. I prepared your favorite, chicken and rice. I also made an orange cake."

  Lynn would have preferred a salad with fruit for dessert. She was watching her weight. She would never understand how her mother could eat like a field hand and stay as trim as a ballet dancer. “I may skip dessert. I can't afford to gain even ounces this near my class reunion.” She waited for Lillie's lecture on the dangers of strenuous dieting.

  It never came. Instead her mother said, “Very well, dear.” She followed Lynn into the dining room.

  The nagging feeling that something was amiss sent a sinking sliver of suspicion slithering down Lynn's backbone. “I appreciate all the work you put into preparing a meal especially for me.” She looked at the beautifully laid table. It was set with three places. The sinking feeling hit rock bottom. Raising one eyebrow she stared at Lillie. “Three places, Mother?"

  Lillie dropped her head and clasped one hand in the other. “Someone else is having lunch with us.” Dropping her hands, she lifted her head and gazed into Lynn's startled face. “I hope you don't mind."

  Lynn minded greatly. “I had hoped we could have a little time alone."

  "I'm sorry,” Lillie apologized. “I had no idea last Tuesday when I invited a friend to come for lunch today that you'd call and say you were coming over."

  Now Lynn knew why Minerva had been relegated to the back bedroom. She pulled a chair from the table and sat in it. “Do I know this friend?"

  "No dear, you don't. His name is Ralph Randolph.” Lillie sat in a chair across from Lynn. “I've only known him a few weeks myself. He moved to Hatlesville about three months ago from Crystal Falls."

  The door bell rang. Lillie jumped to her feet and raced to answer, calling over her shoulder as she went, “That's him now."

  Under her breath Lynn whispered, “Oh, shit.” Trace's dad was Lillie's other luncheon guest! What the hell was she supposed to do now? There wasn't much she could do except eat her lunch, and then get out of there as soon as possible.

  One look at Ralph Randolph and Lynn knew where Trace got his good looks. Ralph—that's what he insisted Lynn call him—was a charmer with a ready smile and a soft southern accent that lent magnetism and appeal to every word he spoke. And the way Ralph and Lillie looked at each other spoke volumes. Damn, Trace was right; there was something going on between these two.

  Lynn ate her food and excused herself as soon as she could politely do so. She thought as she decided to go that she'd never before been so thoroughly ignored. “I have to go now. Ruthie is minding the store alone.” Standing she pushed back her chair. “It's nice to have met you, Ralph."

  Ralph momentarily shifted his gaze from Lillie to Lynn. “It's nice to meet you too.” He turned his gaze and his attention back to Lillie. “This cake is delicious."

  Lynn sidled toward the door. “I'm going now, Mother."

  Lillie didn't bother to look Lynn's way. “Bye, dear, drive carefully."

  By the time Lynn reached her car she was feeling the first bite of an emotion she refused to give its proper name—resentment. How could the mother who had always been so judgmental of her lifestyle suddenly become intimate with a complete stranger? By the time she pulled her car into a parking slot in front of her bakery her resentment had escalated to anger. She swore under her breath as she got out of her car and hurried toward the bakery. Once inside, she slammed the door and leaned against it.

  Ruthie greeted her from behind the counter. “Hi, Lynn."

  Lynn moved across the room and took her apron from a hook. “Hi, Ruthie."

  Ruthie asked, “Can I go to lunch now?"

  "Sure, run along."

  As she reached for the door knob Ruthie turned to say, “A Mr. Randolph called. He said he'd be by with the contract for you to sign around seven this evening.” She turned her head to one side. “What contract?"

  No one could accuse Ruthie of being diplomatic. “Mr. Randolph is a building contractor I've hired to do some repair work on the building."

  * * * *

  Lynn spent the remainder of the day baking and decorating an elaborate wedding cake, and being torn by dissenting emotions. If she didn't need her building repaired so badly and if Joel wasn't coming to the reunion with a guest, she'd tell Trace where he could stick his contract. But it did and he was, and that left Lynn with little choice. She would have to accept Trace's deal and hope for the best.

  By the time Trace knocked on her door that evening, Lynn had convinced herself—sort of—that she was doing the right thing. She asked him in and invited him to sit down; thinking as she did that she had never seen a man with eyes so blue and hair so black.

  Trace sat in her old easy chair and drew a long breath. “I noticed as I came up that your stairs need some repair work. Did you know the handrail is loose in a couple of places?"

  Lynn knew, but that wasn't on the city's list of items to be replaced or repaired. “Don't worry about the handrail. Just take care of what's on the city's list."

  Trace said with an arrogance that set her teeth on edge, “The hand rail will be on my list. A loose rail on an outside stair case is not something to be ignored."

  A hint of insolence crept into Lynn's voice. “You don't have a list."

  Trace smiled that insidiously sexy smile. “I'd feel terrible if you fell down a flight of stairs and broke your neck."

  Lynn was momentarily lost in the blue of those eyes. Before she could find her voice, he asked, “How did things go with your mother?"

  Lynn sat on her lumpy old couch. There was no good way to deliver bad news, so she didn't try. “I didn't talk with her, not about your dad anyway."

  Trace leaned forward. “Ruthie said you went to her house for lunch. What happened?” Impatience pushed him to his feet. “You don't have some idea of reneging on our deal?” When she didn't answer, he demanded, “Do you?"

  Ambivalent emotions slammed around inside Lynn as she waved a weary hand in his direction. “Sit down...” How could a man be so sexy and at the same time, so damned aggravating? “...and give me a chance to explain."

  Much to her surprise, he did just that. “Go ahead, but this had better be good."

  "Your dad had lunch with Mother and me."

  Trace's eyes narrowed. “The hell you say."

  Lynn nodded her head. “I swear it's true. Mother didn't tell me when I called to say I was coming over for lunch that she was expecting Ralph, too.” She shrugged one shoulder. “He arrived before I'd been there five minutes and he was still there when I left."

  Trace was on his feet again. “You left the two of them there alone?"

  Lynn admitted, reluctantly, “Well, yes."

  Trace slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Oh, my God! The old fool is going to kill himself.” He took long strides across the room before turning to face Lynn. “A piece of afternoon ass is not worth his life.” He advanced toward her with fire flashing in his eyes. “How could you have been so stupid as to leave those two alone together?"

  Lynn's temper caught fire. “Just a damn minute, mister!” She jumped to her feet, moved to stand directly in front of Trace, and stare up into his face. “Don't call me stupid. And don't you dare refer to my mother as a piece of a
fternoon ass.” With both hands on her hips, she added, “Your dad is a lecherous old man."

  For a moment Trace stood looking down at her, dwarfing her with his size, intimidating her with his stare. Then with a sigh, he fell into a chair and put his head in his hands. “My dad is an old fool.” Dropping his hands, he lifted his face. The concern in his eyes was undeniable. “"I'm sorry. I apologize. This problem with Dad is making me crazy."

  Lynn could understand that. An hour of watching her mother and Ralph Randolph holding hands and flirting outrageously had been enough to make her slightly insane. “You should have seen them. They're like two love-smitten teenagers.” She sat again, this time in her easy chair. “It was disgusting."

  Trace snapped his fingers. “Maybe we've been going at this in the wrong way.” A slow smile spread across his face. “How serious are you about wanting to break up this little love affair?"

  Recollections of events from today's lunch played through Lynn's mind. “I'm dead serious."

  Once more, Trace was on his feet and pacing across the floor. “I have a plan that just might work.” He stopped suddenly. “It's a little extreme."

  Extreme Lynn could live with. “Just as long as it's not illegal, I'm game.” Little did she know then that those hasty words would come back to haunt her later.

  Chapter 4

  Trace stopped his pacing and sat in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair as a devious plan formed in his head. “What would your mother say if she saw you behaving with some man the way she was behaving with my dad today?"

  Lynn snorted, “She'd be fit to be tied, and I'd get the tongue lashing of my life."

  Trace nodded. “Exactly. And if my old man saw me carrying on with some...” he almost said floozy but caught himself in time. “...woman, he'd be livid."

  Lynn wrinkled her nose. “So?"

  "So don't you see? That's the answer.” Trace was on his feet and once more moving restlessly around the room. “We will give our parents a dose of their own medicine."

  "How can we do that?"

  Trace drew a deep breath. “We pretend to have the hots for each other."