by Judy Duarte
“Let’s take one day at a time.”
At least that would give her time to think things through.
“By the way,” she said, “what’s the dress code on Friday night?”
“Whatever you’re comfortable wearing. Some people will be casual, while others might get dressed up. I’ll probably wear a sport jacket.”
“And for the parade?” she asked.
“Slacks, I guess. Or maybe jeans, if you’d prefer. Nothing fancy.”
“How about the ice-cream social?”
“Well, that’s casual, too. But I suspect some people will have on their church clothes.” He paused for a moment, as though wanting to say something else.
When it became apparent that he had nothing more to add, she said, “I’ll be glad to go with you. Why don’t I meet you in town on Friday evening?”
“You mean at my apartment, right?”
She wasn’t sure what she meant. “Okay, I’ll meet you there. We can talk about the sleeping arrangements later.”
He paused a beat. “Fair enough.”
There was so much left unsaid that the silence filled the line until it grew too heavy to ignore. But instead of mentioning the chasm their lovemaking had created between them, she told him goodbye and promised that they’d talk again—soon.
Yet thoughts about the future followed her back to the living room, where the girls had continued to practice without her.
She’d no more than taken a seat when her cell phone rang again. She glanced at the display, thinking Ray might have forgotten to tell her something, but she recognized Zoe Grimwood’s number.
“I’m so sorry,” she told the girls. “But I need to take this call, too.”
As Catherine returned to the patio, eager to hear what was going on in Manhattan, she greeted her friend.
“Guess what?” Zoe said. “Word is out that Paul De Santos has managed to pull things together financially. And he’s going to start casting parts for Dancing the Night Away.”
That was the show Erik had been producing when he’d left town, taking several large investments with him.
“I saw the script,” Zoe added. “And the lead would be perfect for you.”
Erik had said the same thing—before he’d talked Catherine into investing fifty thousand dollars of her own money into the project. The man she’d trusted had burned her in many ways when he’d left. The most difficult, of course, had been facing the irate investors and telling them she had no answers for any of their questions.
“I’m not sure how Paul would feel about me auditioning for any of the parts,” Catherine said. “He probably blames me. Erik left him holding the bag. He had to deal with the investors who’d lost their money and try to make things right.”
“Paul can’t hold you responsible,” Zoe said. “You invested in the project, too.”
Still, Catherine had been dating Erik, so she should have been able to see through him. If Paul considered her guilty by association, she’d never land the part. So, no matter how badly she wanted it, why should she even audition?
“I’ll have to think about it,” she said.
“Why? That part was made for you. And Paul has to know it.”
She was certainly tempted. If she went back to New York and landed a role in the very musical Erik had been trying to produce, it might vindicate her in the eyes of everyone she’d ever known or worked with on Broadway.
Catherine crossed the porch and peered through the window, into the living room, where the girls continued to practice their dance steps.
“I’ve got a commitment here for the next couple of weeks,” Catherine said. “I can’t come immediately.”
She also had a commitment to Ray, the job he’d asked her to do. And then there was their budding romance or whatever they’d been tiptoeing around.
Tiptoeing around? That sounded as if they were both considering some kind of relationship, when she didn’t know what either of them were actually thinking, let alone feeling.
She slowly shook her head. She’d better get the stars out of her eyes, or she could end up brokenhearted again. Ray had made it clear that he didn’t want to date anyone. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have hired her to keep the women at bay.
So what made her think he’d be interested in her—other than the fact that she was safe and would be leaving soon?
And worse, what if she was wrong? What if he actually considered striking up a romance with her? And what if she were foolish enough to go along with it?
She might end up married to the guy—and stuck in a small town forever.
“How’s your knee?” Zoe asked.
When Catherine had been in New York, she’d been having a little trouble with it. She’d considered seeing a specialist, but the down time had really helped. “It’s a lot better than it was—in fact, I think it’s completely healed, although it’s still a little stiff.”
And that reminded her. If she was going to return to Broadway, she’d have to start working out again. She’d also have to lose a couple of pounds.
“Okay,” she told Zoe. “I’ll do it. Once I have my flight scheduled, I’ll give you a call.”
At that moment, Kaylee ran out to the patio and tugged at Catherine’s sleeve. Then she pointed toward the living room, where Shauna was belting out the song.
“She’s not looking at the screen,” Kaylee whispered, her eyes bright. “She’s doing it, just like Hannah Montana!”
Catherine smiled at the child she thought of as a daughter and gave her a wink, then returned to her telephone conversation with Zoe. “I can return in a little over two weeks, but I won’t have access to my apartment for another three. Will you let me stay with you for a while?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, then. It’s all set.”
As she ended the call, she told herself it was time to go home. It was the right thing to do.
The only thing.
Chapter Nine
On Friday night, twenty minutes before the birthday party was scheduled to start, Catherine arrived at Ray’s apartment.
And he was ready for her.
He’d stocked a box of condoms in the drawer of his nightstand—just in case. He also had two selections of wine—a nice merlot lying on its side in the pantry, as well as a pinot grigio chilling in the fridge.
Not that he was going to try and seduce her. But this time, he was prepared for a romantic evening, especially since he hadn’t been ready the last time.
As he swung open the door, he found her waiting for him, her striking blond hair glossy and curled at the shoulders. She’d chosen a festive red dress for the party, one that was both modest and heart-stopping at the same time.
What other woman could pull off something like that?
The moment their eyes met, all was lost—every thought, every plan, every dream he’d ever had.
What was it about Catherine that had him wishing things were real? That their feelings for each other were mutual? That their engagement wasn’t just an act?
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said. “I’d meant to get here sooner.”
“No problem.” He slipped aside and let her in. “The American Legion Hall is just a short walk from here. We ought to arrive in plenty of time—that is, if you’re ready to go.”
In the soft living room light, he scanned the length of her one more time, deciding she was as dazzling as ever in that simple red dress and heels.
Yet when he spotted the little black clutch she carried and realized it was too small to hold much of anything, even a toothbrush, a pang of disappointment shot through him.
She’d said that they could talk about the sleeping arrangements later, although he suspected she’d already made up her mind. That is, unless she left an overnight bag in her car—just in case.
A guy could hope, he supposed.
“Do you want to come in for a drink or something?” he asked. “Or do you want to head for the party?”
�
�I’m ready whenever you are.”
“All right, then.” He lifted his arm in an after-you manner, then stepped out the door, locked up the apartment and followed her down the stairs.
She looked hot tonight—like a model striding down a runway, all legs and sway. And for the next couple of hours, she was all his.
Another pang of disappointment shot through him. What he wouldn’t give to know that she was here because she wanted to be. Would she have come if he’d actually asked her to be his date?
He supposed he’d never know, because he sure wasn’t going to ask her.
As they continued out onto the sidewalk and started down Main Street, she slowed in front of the florist shop, where a variety of potted orchids were displayed in the window.
“I love exotic flowers,” she said.
He’d have to remember that.
When they reached the beauty shop, which had a Closed sign in the window, Ray came to a stop. “I’m sure you’d never consider getting your hair done in a small town like this, but you ought to check it out sometime. Darla Ortiz, the owner, used to be a Hollywood actress back in the sixties. And she’s decorated the place with all kinds of memorabilia.”
“No kidding?” Catherine stopped, too, then peered through the window and into the darkened shop that had closed an hour earlier.
Ray caught a whiff of Catherine’s floral-scented body lotion, something exotic, something to be handled with care—or cherished from a distance like those orchids at the floral shop.
He did his best to shake it off, as he stood next to her and looked into the darkened hair salon.
“It’s pretty cool inside,” he said. “Darla has a wall full of framed headshots of various movie stars who were popular forty and fifty years ago. Some are even black-and-whites from the post–World War II era. And each one is autographed to her.”
“I’ll make a point of stopping by to see them,” Catherine said.
Feeling a little too much like one of the older women in town who worked for the local welcoming committee or a fast-talking real estate agent bent on selling the community to a new buyer, Ray said, “Come on. We’d better get moving.”
As they started down the street again, he couldn’t help adding, “Brighton Valley is a small town with a big heart.”
“I’ve sensed that.”
He wanted to say that the same was true of most of the residents, including the mayor, but he decided he’d better reel in his wild and stray thoughts before he went and said something stupid. Something he might not be able to take back.
Instead, he decided to enjoy the evening with Catherine—whatever that might bring.
* * *
The Ernie Tucker birthday committee had gone all out in decorating the American Legion Hall for the celebration, complete with red, white and blue balloons and matching crepe-paper streamers. Several picture collages on poster board had been placed at the entrance, as well as in various spots around the room.
Each board had a slew of photographs—old brown and whites, a few Polaroids and some in color. They each provided a view of Ernie’s life from the time he was a baby until present day.
“There’s a lot of history here,” Ray said.
“I can see that.”
One particular photograph caught Ray’s eye. Ernie was a kid, standing barefoot next to the original Brighton Valley Community Church.
“For example,” he said, pointing to the picture. “That church burned down nearly sixty years ago. And the congregation rebuilt it in its present location on Third Street.”
“How did it happen?”
Ray chuckled. “Fred Quade and Randall Boswell who, according to my grandmother, never did amount to much, snuck out of Sunday services one summer day. They hid out in the choir room, where they decided to drink a beer and light up a smoke. Before long, they were both sicker than dogs and ran outside, leaving two smoldering cigars next to the robes hanging in the closet. And before long, the church was on fire.
“It seems that old Reverend McCoy was giving one of those fire and brimstone sermons. My grandmother said there were a few people who thought that brimstone was raining down on Brighton Valley.”
Catherine smiled, then pointed at a picture of Ernie receiving a Hero of the Year award from the city council back in the 70s. A young boy, Danny Marquez, stood next to him. “Is that Ernie and his son?”
“No, it’s the kid whose life he saved. There’d been a car accident, and the vehicle slammed up against a brick building. When it caught fire, the boy was trapped inside. His mother was thrown from the car, but she was seriously injured and couldn’t get to her son.
“Ernie came along and, using a tire iron, broke out the front window and pulled him to safety. Ernie suffered some burns in the process, but he became a local hero that night.”
“The community must love him.” Catherine scanned the crowded room. “Looks like quite of few of them have come out to celebrate his birthday.”
“Yep. Ernie has always been one of the white hats, as far as people in Brighton Valley are concerned. Not only was he the town sheriff for nearly forty years, he was also a veteran of World War II and received a Bronze Star. There are a lot of people in town who will tell you that they don’t make ’em like Ernie Tucker anymore.”
Ray’s granddad had been a local hero, too, and if he’d lived to be one hundred, the town would have also come out in droves. But Ray didn’t see any need to comment. This was Ernie’s big day—and one that was well deserved.
“Come on.” Ray nudged Catherine’s arm. “Let’s go wish ol’ Ernie a happy birthday.”
They did just that, and for the next two hours, Ray and Catherine made the rounds at the party, talking to one person or another.
Finally, after cake and ice cream had been served, Ray and Catherine wished Ernie the best, then made their way to the door and out onto Main Street.
Just as they were leaving, Kitty Mahoney, one of the local matrons who’d been trying to set him up with her daughter, stopped them and congratulated them on their engagement.
“You’re a lucky gal,” Kitty told Catherine.
Ray wrapped an arm around Catherine’s shoulder. “I’m the fortunate one. I thank my lucky stars every day that this lady agreed to be my wife.”
For a moment, he actually believed it—that they truly were a couple, that they had a future together.
Kitty smiled, then went about her way.
Ray loosened his hold on Catherine, letting his hand trail down her back before releasing her altogether. They might have been more affectionate before—the hand-holding, the starry-eyed gazes. But it wasn’t so easy pretending anymore, and he wasn’t sure why.
He supposed it was because he was having a hard time deciding what was real and what wasn’t.
Once they’d stepped outside, where a full moon lit their path, Ray said, “That was probably a boring evening for you, so thank you for being a good sport.”
“It wasn’t so bad. I’ve never had the chance to meet a man who was a hundred years old before. That’s actually amazing, don’t you think? And he seems so sharp.”
“He sure is.”
They continued their walk down Main Street, which was fairly quiet, now that the stores had all closed. Yet they weren’t doing much talking, either.
Ray wondered if she was pondering the sleeping arrangements—or if she’d already made up her mind.
When their shoulders brushed against each other, he had the strongest urge to reach for her hand—and he might have done it, if she hadn’t been holding her small handbag between them.
Was that on purpose? A way to keep her distance?
When they neared the drugstore and the entrance to his apartment, he slowed and nodded toward the front window. “Have you ever been inside?”
“Of the drugstore? No, why?”
“Uriah Ellsworth runs the place, and he just refurbished the old-style soda fountain in back. It’s kind of a treat to go in, sit at one
of the red-vinyl-covered stools and sip on a chocolate milkshake or a root beer float. I’ll have to bring you here one day.”
“That sounds like fun.”
Did it? Was she enjoying herself in Brighton Valley? Did she have any longing whatsoever to stick around town?
And more important, did she suspect that Ray would like it if she did?
When they reached the stairwell that led to his apartment, Ray slowed to a stop. “Why don’t you come up and have some coffee? Or maybe even a nightcap?”
“I’d really like to, but I need to get home. I promised to help Eva work on the girls’ costumes for the talent show.”
“What girls?”
“Kaylee and her friend Shauna. They created an act, which is pretty good. I choreographed the dance steps for them and have been coaching them.”
“No kidding?”
Catherine cocked her head slightly. “What do you find hard to believe? That the girls are actually pretty good? Or that I’m helping them?”
“A little of both, I guess. But I mean that in a good way.”
She smiled. And in the golden glow of the streetlight, he could see the pride shining in her eyes. Could he see something else in there, too?
Either way, it didn’t seem like something he should put too much stock in. Her feelings—whatever they might be—would only complicate the issue. So he said, “I’m glad you’re helping out. It’s…a nice thing for the mayor’s fiancée to be personally involved in one of the community events. So you can bet I’ll be at the talent show, cheering them on.”
“Thanks. The girls have really worked hard. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
“I already am.” And not just about the girls.
He paused for a moment, giving her a chance to change her mind about coming upstairs with him. When she didn’t, he said, “Come on, I’ll walk you to the parking lot.”
They continued to the intersection of Main and First, then they turned left and headed for the alley where she’d left her car.
“You’ll never guess what else I’m going to do,” she said.
She was full of surprises this evening, it seemed.
“I have no idea,” he said. “We haven’t had a chance to talk much this past week.”
