Nothing but Trouble

by Beverly Barton

  Peyton gripped her in his arms so tightly she cried out. His blue eyes turned to sapphire flame. “Don’t try to convince me that you’re sleeping with Hanley. I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe what you want, Peyt. You always have. You really are just like your father, aren’t you? Bulldozing over people to get your way, thinking you know what’s best for everybody else.” She knew only too well how much Peyt hated the comparisons between himself and Marshall Rand, how desperately Peyt tried not to emulate the Senator in spite of how much the two men resembled each other.

  She hadn’t expected the kiss, so when it came, she reacted instinctively, accepting Peyton’s passion, responding ardently. She clung to him, the world around them blurring into hazy shades of unreality. Then she heard the sound of someone clearing his throat. It took her several moments to realize what was happening, what she had allowed to happen and was indeed encouraging to continue.

  “Got grape sodas for all of us,” Mike said.

  Peyton released Tallie. She stepped back, away from him. Mike handed Peyton his cola, then placed one in Tallie’s hand as he put his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him.

  Peyton stared at the couple, then down at the grape soda in his hand. “Tallie tells me that you’re keeping an eye on her.”

  “That’s right. From now on, I’ll take care of Tallie. She wants it that way, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  Tallie couldn’t find her voice for a few moments, then she looked at Mike and smiled. “That’s right, honey. I was trying to tell Peyton he’s a free man, that now I’ve got you and I won’t be bothering him to come and get me out of any more jams.”

  Peyton glared at Tallie. “Are you sure this is the way you want it?”

  She knew he was giving her one last chance to change her mind. Since she’d been sixteen, she’d been in love with Peyton Rand, had dreamed of being his woman. Now, after all this time, he’d finally made the offer and she couldn’t accept. For his sake. She loved him far too much to destroy his life, to drag his name through any more scandal, to be the cause of his political career’s demise.

  “Yes,” she said. “This is the way I want it.”

  Peyton didn’t say a word. He set the grape soda on a nearby window ledge, then gave her one last, hard look before he walked off, got in his Jag and drove away.

  The minute the dark blue car disappeared, Tallie fell into Mike’s open arms, tears dampening her cheeks.

  “Why’d you do it, Tallie? You must love that guy an awful lot.”

  “Oh, Mike, I do. I love him more than life itself.”

  Six

  Tallie tapped her foot to the beat of the country song the band played, an old Eddy Arnold tune she recognized because it had been one of her grandfather’s favorites. Sheila giggled at something Susan Williams said, then downed the last drops of her beer. For at least the fifth time in the past hour, Tallie wondered what she and her two best friends were doing at the Pale Rider. She’d been here several times over the years, but this was Sheila’s and Susan’s first visit. Susan had refused anything alcoholic, and Sheila, on her second beer, was already a little light-headed. Her friends were as out of place in Marshallton’s most popular night spot as a French courtesan would be in a Baptist Sunday school.

  Tallie knew the only reason Sheila and Susan had agreed to this wild night on the town was in the hopes of dragging her out of the depression she’d been in the last month, ever since she had let Peyton Rand walk out of her life. Oh, she’d kept up the pretense that everything was normal, but those closest to her knew better. She wasn’t sure she would have survived these last few weeks without Susan, Sheila and Mike, not to mention the never-failing love of Solomon and Sheba. People who’d never known the devotion of a faithful pet had missed one of life’s sweetest joys.

  “This is a very interesting place,” Susan said, glancing around at the huge, smoky interior of the rowdy, let-the-good-times-roll honky-tonk.

  “Reminds me of the inside of Uncle Joe’s old barn.” Sheila breathed deeply. “And it doesn’t smell much better.”

  “Sweat and beer and cigarette smoke do combine to make a unique odor, don’t they?” Susan circled her glass of cola with her hand, rubbing the edge with her thumb. “Wonder why people come to a place like this?”

  “You mean why are we in a place like this?” Tallie smiled as she looked out on the dance floor where dozens of couples shuffled around in each other’s arms.

  “Some people get lonely,” Sheila said. “They come here looking for escape, hoping they can find someone to hold them, to listen to them, to care about them, even if it’s only for a few hours.”

  Tallie glanced over at Sheila, who was no longer giggling. Loneliness was a constant in Sheila’s life. She’d been a widow for years, and wouldn’t even consider dating. Her husband had been years older than she, and everyone had been surprised when the eighteen-year-old, plain and plump Sheila Hanley had married Claude Bishop’s business partner, a widower in his late forties.

  “I’m not sure I’d want to spend the rest of my life with the type of man you’d meet in this place.” Susan lifted her glass to her lips, took a sip, returned it to the table and glanced around the room again, her nose slightly tilted in the air.

  “Susan Williams, you’re a snob,” Tallie said. “Besides, you like animals better than you like men. You always have. When we were in high school, you’d be out riding your horse or romping around in the fields with one of your dogs while the other girls were learning the facts of life in the back seats of their boyfriends’ cars.”

  “Look who’s talking.” Susan pointed at Tallie. “You were too busy mooning over Peyton Rand to date other guys in high school.”

  Tallie’s smile vanished. She didn’t want to think about Peyt, didn’t want to remember how many years of her life she’d spent waiting for him to love her.

  “Now you’ve gone and done it,” Sheila said. “That’s the one name we weren’t supposed to mention tonight.”

  “It’s all right,” Tallie said. “Not mentioning his name won’t keep me from thinking about him, about what a complete fool I am.”

  “You know, I feel like dancing,” Sheila said. “I suppose it’s out of the question for me to ask one of you to dance. People would probably get the wrong idea. Just think what Maude Simmons would write in her ‘Around and About Crooked Oak’ column in the Marshallton News.“

  The three women looked at one another, then burst into laughter. The laughter helped release the tension that had built up inside Tallie. Thank God for good friends, she thought.

  “Listen to that song, would you? It’s enough to make you cry.” Susan’s tone was dead serious, but she could not refrain from giggling.

  Suddenly, all three friends were laughing again, the uncontrollable, giddy laughter that brings on tears and side cramps.

  Tallie threw up her hands in a gesture of submission, pleading with her friends to stop so that she could end her own unrestrained laughter. “We’ve got to stop this or they’ll throw us out of here.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Sheila swung out her arm, indicating to her friends that they should look around. “Who could hear us with all that noise?”

  Susan stared at the bar area on the other side of the room. “Oh, no. What’s he doing here?”

  “Who is it?” Sheila asked.

  Tallie glanced in the direction of Susan’s riveted stare. “Damn! It’s Eric Miller. If he sees me, I’ll have the devil’s own time getting rid of him.”

  “We could leave right now,” Sheila suggested.

  “We might not want to do that,” Susan said.

  “Why?” Tallie noticed that Susan’s gaze was no longer fixed on the bar, but on the entrance to the Pale Rider.

  “Peyton Rand!” Tallie couldn’t believe her eyes.

  “If we leave now, we’ll have to walk right past him.” Susan shook her head. “This night is turning out to be a lot more interesting than I eve
r thought it would.”

  “Surely there’s a back way out.” Sheila surveyed the room. “We could go hide in the ladies’ room.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Tallie said. “The Pale Rider has a bouncer or two. If Eric bothers me, I’ll just have him thrown out on his ear.”

  “What about Peyton Rand?” Susan asked.

  “I’m not sure why he’s here, but believe me, he isn’t going to bother me.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Susan shook her head.

  “Uh-huh.” Grunting, Sheila rolled her eyes upward.

  * * *

  Peyton hadn’t been inside the Pale Rider for years. It wasn’t his usual kind of night spot. He preferred the more sophisticated places in Memphis. But he’d agreed to meet Lowell Redman here for a few beers. Lowell had told him that he liked to hit a few of the local night spots when he went off duty to keep an unofficial eye on things.

  Peyton made his way across the room, past the dance floor and row after row of small tables filled with beer-drinking rednecks. These local good-old-boys were his constituency, the people who could help elect him. Like his father before him, he could lay claim to country roots, could profess a kinship with the county’s common people, could mix and mingle, hunt and fish, out-drink, out-cuss, out-fight any man in the place. And tomorrow night he could attend a thousand-dollar-a-plate charity function with the elite of Tennessee society and claim fellowship with them, lay claim to similar wealth and breeding, could mix and mingle, discuss stocks and bonds, drink expensive liquor and outmaneuver any smart businessman in the place.

  Peyton Rand, the people’s choice. A man at home anywhere. A born politician. Like his father before him.

  Peyton shuddered at the thought, but he’d long ago accepted the fact that he was his father’s son in many ways. He knew his only hope of not destroying himself and others the way his father had done was to keep a check on himself, on the powerful traits he had inherited.

  Peyton found an empty table several yards back from the dance floor. The waitress took his order for a beer. He would have ordered Scotch, but he doubted the liquor served at the Pale Rider could even begin to compare with what he was used to drinking. He was used to the best, and it wasn’t in his nature to accept less.

  He was a little early, but traffic had been light on the drive from Jackson. He didn’t mind waiting a while for Lowell. The distractions of the band, the noisy chatter and the attractive waitresses just might take his mind off the major problem in his life. Tallulah Bankhead Bishop.

  He hadn’t seen her for a month, not since he’d left her in Mike Hanley’s arms. When he’d driven away that day, he’d been consumed with anger and jealousy, but within an hour he’d calmed down enough to come to his senses and realize just what had happened. Tallie had given the performance of her life. She’d done what she thought was best for him. For him, damn her, not for herself.

  No doubt Tallie had figured out that if the two of them pursued an affair, it could well be the end of any political aspirations he might have. He wasn’t so sure anymore about what a relationship with Tallie would mean to his future plans. In the month he’d been separated from Tallie—the longest period in their acquaintance they’d gone without seeing each other—Peyton had come to a few heartfelt conclusions. By denying his baser feelings for Tallie, he hadn’t been protecting her, but himself. He’d been afraid of a relationship with a woman like Tallie. He’d instinctively known that he could not have an affair with her, become emotionally and physically involved with her without allowing her to influence him, indeed to change him.

  Tallie was the most honest woman he’d ever known. No pretensions. Nothing false. A basic what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person. She didn’t play games, didn’t even try to learn the rules of polite society. Tallie loved life, loved people, loved animals. She opened herself up to every experience, reached out and brought the world into her arms. When someone else ached with pain, Tallie cried. When someone was in need, Tallie tried to fill that need.

  Peyton had spent the past eight years denying his desire for Tallie, and now that he’d finally admitted to her how much he wanted her, she had rejected him—in order to protect him. What if he didn’t want protection? What if he was willing to risk everything for the chance to become Tallie’s lover?

  And what the hell difference did it make now? Tallie was out of his life for good. Maybe he was lucky. Maybe she really had spared them both a lot of unnecessary pain.

  Accepting the cold beer the waitress offered him, Peyton leaned back in the wooden chair, spreading his long legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds as he listened to the band’s rendition of George Strait’s hit, “You’re Something Special to Me.” Peyton knew and liked country music, although he usually preferred jazz or even certain classical works. This particular tune seemed entirely appropriate at the moment, considering his thoughts about Tallie Bishop. He supposed he’d always thought of Tallie as an angel, if somewhat tarnished around the edges, and he knew only too well how special she was, not only to him, but to everyone who knew her.

  But if Tallie hadn’t put a stop to their sexual relationship before it ever started, would he have had the guts to profess his feelings for her to the world?

  Enough of this melodramatic brooding! Opening his eyes, Peyton glanced around the dim, smoke-filled room, wishing that he’d taken his time getting here, wishing that Lowell would hurry. The last thing he needed was time on his hands to think about Tallie.

  Dammit all, was he hallucinating? he wondered. Had he thought about the woman so much, he was seeing her even when she wasn’t there?

  Peyton glanced away from the table behind him where three women sat staring at him. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned slightly and took a second look. Hell! Sheila Vance, Susan Williams and Tallie Bishop. He hadn’t been seeing things. What were they doing here?

  His gaze locked with Tallie’s. Her face looked pale, her eyes misty. Was she on the verge of tears? He wanted to reach out and touch her, to draw her into his arms and hold her close. Despite the peace and calm he’d enjoyed in his life for the last few weeks, the reality of how much he’d missed Tallie hit him full force.

  He never took his eyes off Tallie while he gulped down a swig of beer, scooted back his chair and stood. He noticed the way she sat up straighter, the way her body tensed with anticipation when she saw him getting up and walking toward her.

  She looked up at him when he stopped beside her table. Damn, what pure innocence shone in those pale brown eyes, such undisguised longing, such sweet honesty.

  “How are you, Tallie?” he asked.

  “I’m fine, Peyt. And you?” He looked wonderful, she thought, more wonderful than in her dreams.

  “I’m okay. Keeping busy at work.” I’ve missed you, sugar, missed you so bad I’ve ached day and night with wanting to see you, to hear your voice, to touch you.

  “How’s Pattie and Spence? And Donna?”

  “My brother and his wife were well the last time I talked to them. And I suppose Donna’s okay, too. I haven’t seen her in a while. How’s Mike?”

  “Mike’s fine.” Mike is such a dear, sweet man, and I wish I were in love with him instead of you. I wish that every time I looked at him I melted into a puddle at his feet, the way I do with you.

  “Mike had to work tonight,” Sheila said. “That’s the reason he’s not with Tallie.”

  Peyton turned his attention momentarily to the other two women at the table. “Good evening, ladies. Y’all having fun tonight?”

  “Oh, yes,” Susan said. “We’re having a ball.”

  “Would you two mind if I took Tallie away for a few minutes?” Peyton held out his hand to Tallie.

  “She can’t go anywhere right now.” Staring at Tallie, Susan shook her head in a negative gesture.

  Sheila grabbed Tallie’s hand. “Mike’s the jealous type, you know.”

  “All I want is a dance.” L
ifting Tallie’s hand into his, Peyton urged her to stand.

  Making no protest, she simply stood and followed him out onto the dance floor. An old George Jones tune, “The Grand Tour,” was the band singer’s choice for the next number. The beat was slow, the lyrics heartbreaking, the rhythm body-hugging. The sweet, hard blending of guitar, piano and drums created the background for the singer’s soft, soulful rendition of lost love and pure country passion and pain.

  Peyton slipped his arms around Tallie, drawing her into his embrace. She knew this was a mistake, knew she’d live to regret it, but she simply didn’t have the strength to resist one more chance to be in Peyton’s arms.

  He couldn’t remember a time when a woman had felt so right in his arms, when he’d known in his heart that she belonged with him. But how was he going to convince Tallie?

  He buried his chin in her hair, the top of her head resting against his chest. “You smell so good, sugar. Like sunshine and roses.”

  “Why are you here, Peyt? Why are you doing this to me?” Didn’t he know how difficult it had been for her to send him away, to give up the one chance they might have had to be together?

  “I didn’t follow you here or anything like that. I’m meeting Lowell for a few drinks.” Peyton lowered his hand from her waist to the hollow just above her hips. “He’s been keeping me posted on the investigation into the shooting, and letting me know how you’ve been getting along.”

  “I told you I’ve been just fine.” She ran her hand across his shoulder and down his arm. “No one’s taken any more shots at me. I think Lowell’s right about his theory that someone, maybe Cliff Nolan or Lobo Smothers, just wanted to scare me.”

  “I hope Lowell’s right. I wouldn’t want anything happening to you.” He kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “I worry about you.”

  “Old habits die hard, huh?” She tried to make the comment sound like a joke, but knew she’d failed when Peyton tightened his hold on her, drawing her closer against his aroused body.