The Dixie Virgin Chronicles: Belinda (Book 1)

by Peggy Webb

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  “You disagree with me about Tchaikovsky’s music?” He smiled. “I’m glad. Nothing is more boring than a ‘yes’ person.”

  If he only knew, she thought. She didn’t disagree with him about anything. In fact, if he had said the sun was black, she’d have looked for dark streaks in it. She was that much in love.

  The very thought of loving her boss horrified her. Not only was she as different from Reeve Lawrence as it was possible for a woman to be, but she was putting everything she had hoped for in jeopardy—her job, her security, her future. It just couldn’t be possible, she thought in panic. When had it happened? It had sneaked up on her when she wasn’t looking, that was what.

  The sound of his rich voice rumbled on, and she pretended to be paying attention. She was relieved when the lights finally dimmed and the ballet started. Now she could think in the dark without having to pretend.

  She stared straight ahead at the stage, afraid her face would give her away. The costumes were beautiful, the music grand, and the dancers graceful. She should be in heaven. Her very first ballet, and here she was locked up in her own mind with her tortured love.

  Maybe it wasn’t so. Maybe living a fairy-tale life in that fairy-tale house had warped her thinking. Perhaps she just thought she was in love.

  She sneaked a peek at Reeve. No. He was real and her love was real. She could tell. She guessed that’s why things had never worked out between her and Charlie Crocket—or Matt Hankins. She hadn’t really loved either of them. They had drifted into her life and selected her, and she had gone along for the ride.

  A kind fate had rescued her from Charlie and Matt. Who was going to rescue her now?

  The lights came up and Reeve took her arm. “Shall we go downstairs?”

  “Is it over?”

  “Over? No. This is intermission.”

  They walked downstairs, and she was saved having to talk to Reeve by the crush of people who approached him. Apparently half of Tupelo knew him. If he thought her silence was strange, he didn’t have a chance to comment. She stood at his side and let her mind drift. Lordy, she was in a fine mess. How was she ever going to keep her feelings secret? And keep them secret she must. There was not a snowball’s chance in the Bad Place that Reeve would ever fall in love again, especially with somebody who was not in his social circle. Besides all that, she had her job to think about.

  “Miss Diamond? Miss Diamond/”

  The insistent female voice shook Belinda out of her study. “Yes,” she said, trying to look pert and prepared, though she didn’t have any idea who the woman was or what she was talking about.

  “I asked where you went to school,” the woman said.

  “Just about everywhere,” Belinda told her, wondering why in the world it mattered.

  “I mean, what specific school, Miss Diamond? I can’t seem to place your accent. And that fashion statement...” She stared pointedly at Belinda’s rhinestone-studded pantyhose, though how she could see through her weighted-down eyelashes was a mystery to Belinda. Then the woman gave a false laugh. “I’m a W girl, myself.”

  “Lois, will you please excuse us?” Reeve took Belinda’s elbow with the intention of rescuing her, she guessed. Well, she was in no mood to be rescued.

  “Why, Lois,” Belinda said in her best drawl. “Didn’t old Reevey-boy tell you? I went to the school of hard knocks.”

  Lois’s mouth dropped open, and as far as Belinda could tell it was still hanging open when Reeve drew her back through the crowd.

  “Are you mad at me?” she said.

  “No.”

  “Then why are you scowling?”

  “I’m not scowling.”

  “Your face would frighten old ladies into heart attacks.”

  “So would that fake accent you used with Lois.”

  “She asked for it.”

  “Reevey-boy?”

  Belinda’s face flushed hot, but she wasn’t about to back down—boss or no boss. “I do not intend to apologize,” she said softly. “You can fire me.”

  “Fire you?” He stopped dead in his tracks and grasped her shoulders, oblivious to the crowd swirling around them. “Fire you?”

  Her chin came up proudly. “That’s what I said.” She was shaking so hard inside she thought she might break into a hundred pieces in the middle of the concert hall. Sometimes life simply wasn’t fair. All she had ever wanted was little house to call her own, and what did she end up with? Loving the wrong man and losing her job by insulting his friends.

  “Do you think so little of me that you believe I’d fire you because of Lois Mease?” A muscle jumped in the side of his tight jaw.

  Hope sprang to life in Belinda. “No, I think you are...” She paused, thinking of all the things he was—wonderful, magnificent, handsome, generous, sexy. Of course, she couldn’t say those things to him. Not now. Probably not ever. She looked him straight in the eye. “You are a very fine man.”

  “Good. I think you are a very fine woman, and I have no intention of firing you.” He released her shoulders, tucked her hand into his arm, and escorted her back to their seats. “Let’s enjoy the ballet and forget about Lois.”

  “She’s a hard woman to forget with all that funny-looking streaked-up hair cut like a man’s and all that rouge that looked like it had been put on with a hoe. I could have said a thing or two about her fashion statement, but I didn’t.”

  Reeve chuckled. “I think you gave her what she deserved with one succinct statement, Belinda. Though I’m not fond of being called Reevey.”

  “I thought it was cute. Makes you sound like some kind of machine used to trim the grass.”

  The lights dimmed and the curtain rose. Belinda and Reeve sat side by side, watching the ballet, thinking their separate thoughts.

  After the final curtain call, they made their way back through the crowd, outside and into Reeve’s car. Once they were inside the rick cocoon of leather and darkness, cruising down the street in silence, Reeve launched into the subject that had been very much on his mind. In his characteristic manner, he got right to the heart of the matter.

  “Belinda, for the past two days I’ve been planning a project that is very exciting to me.”

  “Good. Tell me about it.” She was feeling expansive now that she had survived the threat to her job. In her present mood, she also believed she could handle her ill-fated love.

  “I have already lined up all the people necessary to do the job—tutors, an elocution coach, a finishing-school expert.”

  “Well, that sounds ambitious... all those people.” She shifted in her seat so she could see his face better in the dim light. “Now, if you’ll just tell me what this project is, maybe I can offer an opinion. I have one on just about everything.”

  Reeve laughed. “That’s the reason I decided on this project, Belinda. You are such a remarkable woman—and you have so much potential.”

  Belinda went very still. She had so much potential. Her heart hammered in her chest so hard she thought she wouldn’t be able to get her breath.

  “I’m the project?” she whispered.

  Reeve was so caught up in his plans he didn’t notice her turmoil.

  “Just think, Belinda. With the right tutoring you can be one of the most outstanding women in the city, even in the state.”

  “The ballet tonight—that was all part of the project?” Her visions of romance vanished like wisps of smoke in a strong wind.

  Something in her voice made Reeve glance her way. Her face was white and stricken, as if a light had been snuffed out somewhere inside her. His hands tightened on the wheel and he silently cursed himself. In his usual bulldog method, he had plowed ahead with his project, never stopping to think how Belinda might view it.

  “Of course the ballet was not a part of the project.” That was a half-truth, but maybe it would help rectify his terrible mistake. “I wanted you to see the ballet, and I needed a companion.”

  “Why
didn’t you take Quincy? I’ll bet she’d love it. She might even have more potential than I do.”

  She shifted as far from him as possible, hugging the door as if she were trying to disappear into the leather.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve handled this badly.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. You think I have potential, and I guess I ought to be flattered. Some of my bosses have thought I was too independent and sassy to have potential.”

  “This is not about my being the boss and you being the employee.” He stared straight ahead, trying to keep the anger out of his voice and failing miserably.

  “Then maybe you’ll tell me what it is about. See, since I need a tutor and an elocution coach and a finishing-school expert, I’m having a hard time figuring this thing out. Maybe I need a brain transplant, too. Do you know any good surgeons?”

  Belinda was past caring about her job. There would always be other jobs. Her pride had been deeply wounded. Every word Reeve said confirmed what she had always known: they were from two different worlds. And it hurt like the devil to think he believed she had to be reshaped before she was even worthy to work in his world, let alone love.

  She clenched her hands into fists, fighting to hold back the tears. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Crying should be private, especially since she would be crying over an impossible love.

  “Belinda—”

  “So fire me.”

  “If you say that one more time—’’

  He clamped his jaws together tightly and drove with a single-minded vengeance. Belinda sat on her side of the car in blistering silence.

  By the time they reached his neighborhood, Reeve had calmed down enough to be rational.

  “Belinda, look. Please forget the whole thing. Forget the project. Forget everything I said. You’re an excellent nanny, and I appreciate you just the way you are.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t dare look at him. She didn’t want to see a lie on his face. It was better for her if she pretended he was telling the truth. She wanted to salvage some of her pride.

  He parked the car and they walked stiffly toward the front door, side by side but not touching. Belinda wondered why she had ever believed they would exchange a good-night kiss. Maybe she needed that tutor, after all. Maybe she needed six tutors.

  Inside the door, she turned to face him, her hands folded in front of her, the way a good obedient employee should.

  “Thank you for taking me to the ballet, Reeve. Good night.”

  Reeve thought of a dozen things he should say, but he didn’t quite know how to say them. In the end he settled for a simple good-night.

  He watched her walk up the staircase. Twice he almost called her back. He had hurt her terribly, wounded her pride, probably shaken her self-esteem. If only he had explained his intent. If only he hadn’t called her a project. If only he had asked if she was interested in being made over.

  Slowly he followed her up the staircase, far enough behind so she wouldn’t notice, thinking all the while that two of the saddest words in the English language were if only.

  Chapter Seven

  Belinda made it to her bedroom before the tears started. She closed the door softly, resisting the urge to slam it. When she was upset, she loved to slam things and throw things. But this wasn’t her house; it wasn’t her door.

  She stalked across the room, tears streaming down her cheeks, and kicked the love seat. That made her toe hurt just enough to give her a reason to cry. She wanted a reason to cry besides the real one. She didn’t even want to think about all her real reasons for crying.

  She was so upset she didn’t even want to email her friends.

  She stripped off her clothes and stalked toward the bathroom with Reeve’s words echoing in her mind: You have so much potential. She clamped her hands over her ears to shut them out, but she still kept hearing them.

  “What’s the use?” She uncovered her ears and let herself replay their conversation in the car while she drew a tub of water. Of course, she’d had one bath already this evening, but she’d always believed the best therapy in the world was a good hot bath.

  When the water was almost up to the rim, she stepped into the tub and sank so low the water lapped her chin. Her hair was getting wet, but she didn’t care. What did a wet head matter when the man she loved thought she needed remaking?

  She scrubbed hard at her face, removing all trace of tears. She didn’t want to cry over Reeve Lawrence. She hadn’t cried over Charlie Crocket and she hadn’t cried over Matt Hankins. But she hadn’t been in love with them, either.

  Closing her eyes, she rested her head on the cold porcelain rim of the tub.

  “Be sensible, Belinda,” she told herself.

  Oh, Lordy, she had been anything except sensible tonight. She had let her feelings take charge of her brain, and then she had let her tongue run wild. That was the thing about her—she’d always had a habit of saying what she thought. She decided it was a good thing she’d spent most of her life moving around the country, for she probably wouldn’t have been able to stay put, the way she let her tongue run away with her.

  Tomorrow she might as well start looking for another job, no matter what Reeve had said. Working for him after all the things she’d said would be impossible.

  She looked around the bathroom and sighed. All this had been hers. And she’d thrown it away in a temper tantrum. Well, not exactly a temper tantrum. But she had been mad.

  She closed her eyes, and gradually the hot water worked its magic. She began to see Reeve in a new light. He was a wonderful man, a man who wanted only the best for his family. And tonight, she had been included in his family—sort of—and he had offered her the best.

  Love had blinded her. Love and pride as big as Kansas.

  “Belinda Stubaker, you’ve been an idiot.”

  She rose from the water and toweled herself dry. Then she rummaged in the closet till she found her snazzy pink rayon nightgown, slashed low in the back and front, and her matching pink robe. They still had the tags hanging on them. She had found them at an after-Christmas sale two years ago and had bought them for her trousseau, though at the time she didn’t even have a man, let alone an engagement ring. She believed in planning ahead. Now, of course, since she had given up on the idea of marrying—especially since she couldn’t have the man she wanted—she thought she might as well put on her trousseau gown and enjoy it. A broken heart is easier to deal with when you look your best.

  Belinda sat down in front of the vanity and began to brush her hair. Tomorrow morning she would apologize to Reeve, then she would ask him to drive her to Main Street and let her off.

  She ran the brush through her hair, thinking of all the things she would miss: Quincy and the children, this house, this bedroom, but most of all, Reeve.

  There was a soft knock at her door. She thought she must be hearing things. Nobody ever came to her bedroom door this time of night. The knock sounded again.

  “Belinda?”

  Oh, Lordy. She laid the brush carefully aside and hurried to the door.

  “Reeve?” she asked, her hand on the doorknob.

  “I’m sorry to bother you so late. May I come in?”

  “Into my bedroom?”

  “If you aren’t dressed...”

  She jerked open the door. “I’m dressed.”

  His gaze raked over her. “So I see.”

  If she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes lit up with that hot expression he sometimes got when he looked at her. Her legs became buttery, and she hung on to the doorknob, gazing up at him.

  “I couldn’t let us part with that terrible misunderstanding between us, Belinda,” he said as he came into the room.

  She closed the door and stood leaning against it. “I know. I feel rotten myself.”

  Reeve was acutely conscious of being in Belinda’s bedroom. He moved as far away from her as possible and stood with his back to the window while she hugged the door. Coming to her bedroom had been a mistak
e. But he wasn’t about to back out now.

  “Belinda, the fault was entirely mine.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, still hanging on to the door. Why couldn’t she have discovered she loved Reeve two weeks ago? Why did it have to be tonight? If she’d had a little time to live with her love, she might have been able to handle seeing him in her bedroom. As it was, she was about to go all to pieces right in front of his eyes. She could just see herself, Belinda Stubaker, breaking into twenty-two pieces and flying all over the bedroom. She guessed her heart would land at his feet.

  They were both silent for a long while, looking at each other, then they spoke at the same time.

  “Belinda...”

  “Reeve...”

  “Ladies first,” he said.

  “I was mad tonight. I shouldn’t have said all those things I did.”

  “You had a right to be mad.”

  “You’re being too kind.”

  “You’re being too forgiving.”

  Both of them gave a half smile in the way of people who are feeling a bit relieved. Belinda relinquished her hold on the doorknob, and Reeve left his haven by the window. They moved instinctively toward each other, then Belinda pulled back.

  Land, what was she doing, heading Reeve’s way in her pink trousseau gown like some floozy? The next thing she’d be telling him was that she loved him!

  Half-angry at herself now, she retreated a step back and sat down in front of the vanity, being careful her robe covered Virginia.

  “I probably shouldn’t have come tonight,” he said. “This can wait until tomorrow.” He started toward the door.

  “No. Wait. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. I didn’t want you to think that I was the kind of woman who entertained a man in her bedroom—in addition to being the kind of woman who needs a whole bunch of making over.”

  She guessed the devil made her add that last part. Reeve’s face got tight and a muscle started jumping in the side of his jaw again. Well, what did it matter when you got right down to it? She was leaving anyhow. She figured it would be easier to get over a broken heart if she didn’t have to see the man who broke it every day of her life.