by Jodi Thomas
“I don’t mind. Bring Bran back for lunch if you like.”
Noah studied her. “How’d you know I was going to see Brandon Biggs?”
“I saw him drop you off at the back door and start walking back to town. Foster picked him up about the time he got to Lone Oak Road and took him home. He probably thought if he knocked he’d wake everyone up.” She paused and then added, “Like you did stumbling over everything.”
Noah watched her closely. She wasn’t mad. She just looked busy. He almost asked if she’d kissed him in the dark hallway, but he wasn’t ready to hear the truth.
“Tell Bran we’re having baked pork chops. He likes those.”
Noah lifted the keys and started to say something, but then he thought better of it and grabbed his hat. He’d much rather beat the tar out of Brandon Biggs than apologize, but Noah knew he wouldn’t feel good in his own skin until he made it right between them.
Bran had done him a favor and, like it or not, he wouldn’t feel even until he paid the guy back.
He found Brandon Biggs on the front porch of a duplex near the old downtown square. He was drinking a beer and offered Noah one without a word when he walked up.
Noah sat down on the porch railing, but before he could say anything, a terrible banging racket came from the open front door.
“That’s my brother, Border,” Bran yelled. “He’s practicing.”
“He do that often?”
“He’s been doing it since just before I started drinking.” Bran laughed. “After a few beers he gets better.” They both took a long drink and he added, “After five beers you start dancing to the music.”
Noah found that hard to believe. “About Friday night . . .” he began.
“Forget it. You would have done the same for me.”
Noah wasn’t so sure he would have, but he nodded. “I owe you one.”
Bran smiled. “Next time you get the urge to slug me, promise me you’ll take a step back.”
“Fair enough.”
They listened to the band practice while they finished off their beer. When the boys took a break Bran asked, “You hiding out at the Truman place?”
“I guess. I didn’t really think of it as hiding, but you may be right.” Noah found it strange that the one person he really didn’t like knew his secret. “Rea told me to invite you to Sunday lunch, but I guess you’re busy.”
“No such luck.” Bran smiled as he stood. “I’ll be there before you can get that old pickup started.”
Noah watched him leave, then poked his head in the apartment to tell the boys how good they sounded. Friday night he hadn’t paid much attention to the band, but now he decided they must have added to the headache he had yesterday morning.
Border Biggs was a carbon copy of his big brother. The kid named Beau, on the other hand, had something about him. Noah had seen it in bull riders. Something in the way they stood or maybe something in their eyes that said they were going to be somebody someday and nothing would stop them.
Noah took the time to drive around the town square before heading back to the Truman farm. When he was away from Harmony he thought he might never come back, but now when he was home he realized how dearly he’d missed the town. It was as if one windy day the soil got in his lungs and no matter where he went for the rest of his life there would always be a piece of this town in him next to his heart.
He took his time driving home. When he passed his folks’ house in town, he could tell it was all closed up. Most people were sleeping in or already in church. The First Baptist and the First United Methodist Church were across the street from one another. Every Sunday they’d fight over the parking spots along the street. The Methodists won in the end because they always started five minutes before the Baptists. Noah figured they’d still be racing on their way to the Pearly Gates one day.
He drove past the bank, the post office, and the town hall. In an odd way he felt like he had to see them all, just to make sure nothing had changed.
A half hour later he walked into the Truman kitchen and found Bran kissing Reagan right in the middle of her pie making.
He took one step, his fist ready to fire, and then Reagan broke the kiss and looked at him. Noah expected her to look startled or even shocked into fear, but no, she simply looked bothered.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” After all, she’d just kissed him two nights ago. At least he thought she had.
Reagan smiled and moved back to her pies. “Comparative shopping,” she answered.
Noah glanced at Bran, and the big guy looked as confused as Noah felt. A half hour later, they sat down across from one another. Each looked at the other, and Noah had a feeling Bran felt the same way he did. They were in the same boat, and someone had taken the oars.
Chapter 38
SIMS PLACE
SUNDAY MORNING, DENVER WAS PACKING WHEN HE HEARD a car drive up in front of his house. The part of him that had lived far too long in a war zone came alert. He walked to the front window and flipped the security system he’d just set on rest to full cover.
A moment later he flipped it back off and ran for the door. Claire had just stepped from her car when he grabbed her and swung her around. Before she could even say hello he was kissing her.
The feel of her in his arms made him realize just how much he missed having her close. He felt like all of him wasn’t there, wasn’t working, wasn’t breathing, when her skin wasn’t brushing against him.
When he finally broke the kiss to let her breathe, he whispered against her cheek, “I’ve missed you.”
She laughed. “You saw me last night at dinner.”
“No, I saw your family and, much as I like them, I didn’t want to rip their clothes off. I want you.” Since their rainy walk in the park he’d seen her twice. Once when he’d taken her and Saralynn to the show and on Saturday night with everyone around watching them. She might be taking their going public seriously, but he wanted the private back.
“I thought I’d come over and drive you to the airport.”
“I don’t have to leave for another hour.” He kissed her neck as he talked.
When he pulled back, waiting for an answer, she just smiled and he understood. They might have trouble carrying on a conversation, but they had no problem communicating.
“I’ll race you,” he whispered.
An hour later they were both trying to find the clothes they’d tossed on the way to the bedroom. Both knew it was time to leave, but they couldn’t seem to stop touching one another.
“We’re worse than Saralynn’s rabbits.” Claire laughed.
Denver caught her and kissed her again, and then she insisted they leave.
Since he was heading east, they drove to the Will Rogers International Airport in Oklahoma. His hand never stopped touching her on the drive. He thought of telling her that he was falling in love with her, but using the word love was something he never did. Denver had always felt like that one word opened the relationship up for a world of hurt.
They talked of little things and listened to music. He told her how to drive and she told him to shut up. They argued over which road to take, but all the while he was caressing her hair, trying to memorize the feel of it.
“Next time,” he whispered in her ear, “I’ll hire that crazy pilot who lives in Harmony. What’s his name, Wild Derwood? He could have me to OK City in half an hour, and then I’d have longer to stay home and make love to you.”
Claire laughed. “Derwood is nuts. He smoked too much weed in the sixties. Half the time he flies my mother to Dallas, she has to tell him which way to go. I think his method of navigation is the same as the Wright Brothers—follow the train tracks.”
“It would be worth the risk,” Denver whispered. “I didn’t get enough of you, Claire. How about pulling over?”
“There’s not even a tree left between here and Oklahoma City. I’m not pulling over.”
He kissed the side of her throat and she
sighed. “I’m hiring Derwood next time,” he whispered. “And I want four hours at home alone with you before we start playing the couple to everyone. Four full hours, Claire.”
“I’ll try,” she answered, her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “But I was thinking more like six. I’d like to take it slow for once. Very slow.”
“You got it, beautiful.”
When they got to the airport, he checked his luggage and then held her. For several moments he felt like he couldn’t let go. Something had happened in the few days he’d been home. Maybe it was the “going public” thing, or maybe they were just getting to know each other’s world, but Claire had gone way beyond being a woman he had an affair with when they both had the time.
Somehow this complicated woman who made him mad as often as she made him laugh had climbed into his heart. A heart he would have sworn had turned to stone years ago.
“Call me,” she whispered.
“When?” She’d never before asked him to call.
“Anytime after nine. Any night.”
He pulled away enough to see her, to know if she was serious.
What he saw shocked him. Claire Matheson had tears in her eyes and she was holding him as tightly as he held her.
Denver smiled and kissed her nose. “Promise you won’t paint any pictures of me.”
“No deal. You have your work and I have mine.”
He laughed, thinking he’d probably see his likeness shot out of a cannon or stapled to a barn door when he got back.
She kissed his cheek and ran from him as he turned toward security check.
He watched her go, knowing that he’d finally gotten to her. As he began to toss his coat and keys into the tray, he whispered to himself, “I love you, Claire.”
Chapter 39
MONDAY
MARCH 15
RONELLE WENT BY THE DINER ON HER WAY TO WORK MONDAY and picked up a pie. Marty had told her they’d be having lunch today. It seemed like only a few hours since she’d seen him. Maybe it was, because every waking moment since he’d kissed her last night she’d been thinking of him.
She’d been very careful at breakfast not to favor her left leg. She’d even dressed early so her mother wouldn’t see the bandage through her pajamas. The only thing she hadn’t had time to do was wash her jeans and his jogging pants, but they were safely tucked under her bed. If she had to wait until her mother’s Saturday hair appointment, it wouldn’t matter.
A little after noon, she walked up the steps to Marty’s duplex. A fancy car was parked outside and she wondered if one of the Biggs boys had stolen it. They’d always seemed nice enough to her, but her mother and Martha Q both thought they were prison bound.
Just before she knocked, Ronelle heard voices, angry voices.
“Stay out of my life, Kerri,” Marty shouted. “I’m telling you no for the last time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” a female answered. “You’re rotting in this town. I’ve come to load you in my car and take you back to Dallas. Your father agrees, you belong in a rehab facility, not out here. End of discussion.”
Ronelle didn’t know what to do, so she just stayed where she was.
Marty’s voice came angry and low. “I’m thirty-three years old, Kerri. I’ve been running my life for years without your or my father’s advice. The accident didn’t change that. Just because I can’t walk does not mean my brain cells have died.”
The woman changed her tactics. “But Marty, how could you possibly be happy here? There’s not even a decent place to eat in this town, and this apartment is drab as a prison cell.”
“Good-bye, Kerri. Tell my father I’m fine. I don’t want or need anything from him.”
“He sent money. Cash this time, since you didn’t cash the checks.”
“I don’t need it.”
“You’re not yourself, Martin. I told your dad you’re probably hooked on drugs or something. Otherwise, you’d see reason.”
“Of course I’m hooked on drugs. They’re called painkillers, but I only take half of what I did when I was seeing all those doctors. If I’m dying, I at least want to be able to count the days.”
She must have stomped her foot. “I’m not leaving without you.”
“Morning,” someone said from behind Ronelle, almost making her jump off the porch. “How’s the knee?”
She turned around and saw Border grinning at her.
He might not look any less scary in the daylight than he had last night, but he’d helped her and she did need to thank him for that.
“I . . . I wanted to thank you for last . . .”
“Oh, forget it. Glad I could help.” He looked down at her. “You planning to deliver the mail or just stand out here till the postage rate changes?”
She smiled. “Mr. Winslow has company.”
Border pounded on the door. “He won’t mind the interruption. He said for me to come on over when I was ready to go to school.” The overgrown kid smiled. “I slept in this morning on account of I had to practice late last night. I’m in a band, you know.”
“Really.” She would have guessed a gang before a band.
“Yep. We have real gigs and make real money. I’ll let you know the next time we play at Buffalo’s, and maybe you and Marty will come listen.”
“Maybe.” The clear picture of her mother having a heart attack flashed in her mind. “I’d love to.”
“Love to what?” Marty snapped as he appeared in the doorway.
Ronelle could see a beautiful woman in a fine silk suit standing a few feet behind him. The visitor looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine.
Border didn’t seem to notice the woman. “Ronny says you and her might show up to one of my gigs. I’ll tell you the songs we know and maybe you could request one.”
Marty smiled and met her eyes. “We might, if she’d go out with me. A real date might be nice.”
Ronelle felt his gaze moving over her as if she didn’t have on enough clothes. Compared to the woman in silk with high heels and pearls, she must look like a Goodwill mannequin. But he wasn’t looking at the woman. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten she was even there.
“Martin, I’m not going to stand here and be ignored. Are you coming with me or not?”
“No,” he said, without even looking at her. “I have a lunch date.” He shoved the door open. “Ronny, if you’ll wait here, I’ll take Border to school and be right back.”
He motioned Ronny in, and Border followed behind like a pet bear.
“You’re having lunch with the mailman?” Kerri snapped.
“Mailwoman,” both guys said at once.
“I’m sure we’ve plenty for three, if you want to join us,” Ronny said in little more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your business.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The lady in silk shoved her way out the door. “This wasn’t business, this was personal. Something I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.”
As she stormed toward her car, Border yelled, “Sorry about that dent, my bike fell over when I was trying to start it.”
When the woman climbed into her car, Ronny swore she heard several hiccupped screams.
Marty and Border disappeared out the back door, and Ronelle was suddenly left alone.
For a few minutes she didn’t touch anything, but as she warmed she took off her coat and began to walk slowly around the room. His desk was covered with papers, most with numbers and charts. She looked into his bedroom, where she’d been for a while the night before. Workout equipment. Shelves full of clothes, but no drawers. A bed made perfectly in military style.
Nothing personal, she thought. Not one picture or notebook, nothing. Everything in Marty’s world was in black and white and chrome. It crossed her mind that maybe he saw himself as nothing but a machine. Sometime after the accident he must have stopped living and started just surviving.
Silently, she crossed into his perfect kitchen. He’d said this pl
ace had the only kitchen and bathroom in town that were handicap friendly. But the house didn’t seem to fit him. She set her bought pie down on the polished counter. Like him, everything was clean, spotless. Ronelle looked down at the ink stain on her hand and the spots on her baggy pants where she’d accidentally spilled bleach. A man like him would have a friend like the lady in pearls, not someone like her.
When she heard his car pull up at the back ramp, she ran into the office area and waited by the fire. Everything about her was mousy. She didn’t belong near a man like Marty Winslow.
She could hear him banging his way into the kitchen, then down the hall and into the office.
“Take that ridiculous hat off,” he snapped, obviously still in a bad mood.
Ronny gathered her strength. She wouldn’t have anyone else ordering her around; everyone in her life already did. “It’s not ridiculous. It was my father’s. When he died he gave it to me, and Dallas let me keep it because she didn’t want it and she said stuff like it doesn’t even sell in a garage sale.”
Ronny turned toward the fire, seeing just how stupid the hat did look in the reflections on the brass frame of the grate. The only good thing about it was that it seemed to match the rest of her outfit.
She knew he was behind her, but she didn’t turn around. She expected him to yell at her again, or maybe order her to sit down and eat, but he didn’t. He just reached for her hand and tugged it toward him.
Her knees almost buckled when she felt his kiss against her palm.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, so low she barely heard him. “You’re the only person in my world who doesn’t make demands on me, and yet I can’t seem to be nice to you.”
She knelt beside his chair. He tugged her hat off and looked at it. “A fine hat,” he declared.
“Don’t make fun of me,” she said.
“I’m not. I’m the only clown in the room.” Then, as if he’d done it a hundred times, he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. “If you don’t mind, honey, take off your coat and I’ll get the salads. We can eat by the fire if you like.”
