Cinderella's Big Sky Groom

by Christine Rimmer

  “And once, a boy at school called me a big, fat cow. Trish spit in his face and then blacked his eye. Said he’d better not disrespect her sister if he knew what was good for him. She got suspended for a week for doing that.”

  The smallest hint of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Trish is a fighter. I’ll say that much for her.”

  “Yes. And Arlene…”

  “Arlene what?”

  “Well, six years ago, when she married Clyde—that’s her husband, Clyde—she really wanted me for a bridesmaid, made a big deal about my dress. She wanted me to have a color I liked, wanted the fit to flatter my…generous curves. And then, when she threw her bouquet, she threw it to me.” Lynn couldn’t help chuckling. “I don’t think Trish has ever forgiven her. But I guess Arlene figured I needed that bouquet more than Trish did.”

  Ross looked at her then. “Arlene miscalculated.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Good. I meant it as one.”

  They shared a smile before he turned back to the road.

  She said, “So if you ask me, do I care if Jewel and my stepsisters ever speak to me again? Well, in spite of everything, the answer would have to be yes. Yes, I do care. They are my family. And I honestly do not want to lose them. And somehow, I’m going to find a way to mend this awful rift between us.”

  They rode in silence for a time. Then she asked, “What about your family?”

  “What about them?” The words sounded casual, but his real meaning came through loud and clear: keep away.

  “You said you’re not close….”

  “We’re not.”

  She tried one more time. “You said your parents are dead. What did they die of?”

  He took so long to answer, she began to wonder if he’d heard the question.

  But at last he said, “It’s not something I talk about, as a rule. People like their lawyers to come from solid, dependable backgrounds. Since I don’t, I generally try to gloss over the subject whenever anyone brings it up. I don’t lie about it. I just…avoid getting into it.”

  “You’re asking me not to repeat what you’re going to tell me?”

  “That’s right.”

  She felt slightly breathless. This was progress, wasn’t it? One of the secrets she saw in his eyes, revealed? “All right. You have my word. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

  After a minute, he said, “My father had a few problems. He liked to gamble. He liked to drink. And he liked to fool around with other men’s wives. My mother just liked to drink. She died of liver failure. And he died when he got caught in another man’s bed. The other man showed up unexpectedly. With a shotgun. Not a pretty way to go.”

  Expressions of sympathy rose to her lips. She did not utter them. Instead, she reached across the distance between them and squeezed his arm.

  He kept looking straight ahead. “Hardly a princely beginning.”

  She told him softly, “You’ve come a long way.”

  “As I think I mentioned the other night, I knew what I wanted.”

  “And you went after it.”

  He flashed her a look. His eyes were black agates, smooth and impenetrable. “That’s right. Nothing stood in my way.”

  She took her hand off his arm and retreated to her own seat, wanting to probe further…but not quite daring to.

  Later, she thought. Over time. It’s one thing we do have because of this lie.

  Time…

  He bought her an absurdly expensive engagement and wedding ring set, with diamonds all along the wedding band and an engagement stone the size of a brand-new eraser at the tip of a number-two pencil. Hard and bright as his eyes, the thing glittered on her hand.

  She tried to argue that there was no need, that they could just as well buy a manufactured stone. The false stones were beautiful; they looked like the real thing. And a fake stone was more than good enough, considering the circumstances.

  But he said, “We don’t want to let Lily Mae down, do we? And anyway, why the hell shouldn’t we get the real thing? I can afford it. And I like the way it looks on your hand.”

  “Ross. We don’t need it. And we certainly don’t have to bother with a wedding band.”

  “Yes, we do, if we want this engagement ring. The two are a matched set.” He turned to the salesman, who was standing far enough away to give them a bit of privacy, watching them with a slightly baffled look on his face. “We’ll take them. She’ll wear the engagement ring.”

  The salesman, all smiles now, trotted off down the row of glass cases to write up the big sale.

  When they left the jewelry store, Ross wanted to take her to dinner.

  She made a face at him. “You really do want to see what I look like carrying an extra twenty or thirty pounds around, don’t you?”

  He admitted that it was a little early yet to eat. “So what shall we do until then?”

  She glanced down at the ring on her hand. It caught the sunlight and gleamed at her. She felt…just wonderful.

  It might all be a lie, but what a beautiful lie. Ross’s ring on her hand. Ahead of her, an evening with him.

  A number of evenings. At least a month’s worth.

  “We could go to ZooMontana. But I think it closes at five.”

  He glanced at his watch. “That’s only an hour away. Better think of something else.”

  She suggested an art center. He said that would be fine with him.

  So for the next two hours they wandered the rooms of a newly expanded museum, admiring the work of top Western artists—and holding hands, though there really wasn’t any need to. They didn’t see anyone they knew.

  And then, later, since he insisted, they went out to eat at a restaurant in a nearby hotel. There, though he tried his best to tempt her, she refused dessert.

  It was after ten when they got back to her house.

  She wanted to invite him in, but decided that might be taking temptation a little too far.

  He kissed her on her front step. “Just in case the neighbors are watching,” he whispered as his mouth covered hers.

  She gave herself up to that kiss, sliding her arms over his chest, grasping his wide shoulders and sighing as his tongue touched hers.

  By the time he pulled away, she felt just dazed and dreamy enough to reconsider the idea of asking him inside. Really, what harm could it do? It was Saturday night. She didn’t have to work tomorrow.

  He must have known what she was thinking. He whispered, “Better not. It wouldn’t be wise.”

  Reluctantly she stepped back. They murmured “Good night” in unison and she stood on the step, watching as he strode over the yellowing grass of her small front lawn to the Mercedes. After he got in, he turned and looked at her from the driver’s seat before he started up the big SUV.

  She waved. He waved back. Just like a smitten lover. As if he couldn’t bear to lose sight of her, though he knew it was time to go.

  Inside the house, she hung her coat in the closet. Then, feeling light as the bubbles in a glass of champagne, she ran up the stairs.

  She was giggling to herself when she passed Trish’s room. The door was ajar. Lynn peeked in.

  Sometime during the day Trish must have come for her furniture. All that remained were a few dog-eared women’s magazines scattered across the scuffed hardwood floor and a number of fat, gray dust bunnies. They fled away beneath Lynn’s feet as she entered the echoing space.

  “Oh, Trish…” Lynn sighed at the bare walls and the uncurtained windows. “What did you do, store it all?” There certainly wouldn’t be room for it at Arlene and Clyde’s, where Trish would have to share a room with their three-year-old, Darla Sue.

  Lynn bent and picked up the magazines. A little time, she thought. A week or so. And I’ll call Arlene’s.

  Her stomach tightened painfully at the thought. Rejection. That was what she would get for her effort. At least at first. But it had to be done.

  She spoke aloud to the empti
ness again. “First, though, I think I’ll give it a little time.”

  Yes. A little time…

  Chapter Eleven

  The next afternoon, Danielle appeared at Lynn’s door. She’d dropped Sara off at the McCallums before she came.

  “To give us a few minutes alone,” she said. “I love my child. But the phrase ‘monopolize the conversation’ must have been invented with Sara in mind.”

  Lynn led her friend to the breakfast nook, where she offered a chair and a hot cup of coffee.

  “Rumor has it you’re engaged,” Danielle said. “And that diamond on your finger leads me to believe that rumor has it right.” Danielle set her mug down. “Let me see.”

  Lynn held her hand across the table, regret squeezing her heart. She wanted to tell her friend the truth.

  But no. This was her lie. Hers and Ross’s. Danielle didn’t need to know, didn’t need to carry the extra burden of having to lie along with them, because that was what Lynn would have to ask her to do.

  “It’s absolutely gorgeous.” Danielle let go of Lynn’s hand and looked up. “Happy?”

  “Ecstatic.”

  “Boy, when I give a makeover, things happen, don’t they?”

  “You’re the best fairy godmother this Cinderella ever had.”

  Danielle fiddled with her mug a little, pushing it along the table from right to left. Then she asked, gingerly, “Jewel and your sisters?”

  Lynn simply shook her head.

  “What is the matter with them?” Danielle muttered. It was a rhetorical question.

  But Lynn did have an answer for it. “Well, Trish had a…what should I call it? A crush. A big one. On Ross. She thinks I betrayed her.” Lynn paused. She was giving her friend a chance to ask Well, did you? though she had no idea how she would reply. But Danielle didn’t ask. So Lynn continued, “Trish quit her job with Ross and moved over to Arlene’s.”

  “Grim.”

  “That’s the word.”

  “I hate to say it, but—”

  “I know, I know. I’m better off without them.”

  “Sorry. Good friends and hairdressers, they tell you the truth.”

  “You may be right. But I love them. And I’m going to work things out with them, I really am.”

  “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

  “I wish I could say you were wrong about that.”

  On Tuesday and Thursday of the following week, Ross appeared at the door to Lynn’s classroom right after she’d sent her young charges home for the day. He took her to lunch. At the Hip Hop on Tuesday and the State Street Grill on Thursday.

  On Thursday he told her he’d hired a new secretary, Mrs. Beatrice Simms. Lynn had never met her. Mrs. Simms, it turned out, was relatively new to Whitehorn.

  “I can tell by your expression,” Lynn said. “Mrs. Simms is a keeper.”

  “She seems…very organized. And efficient.”

  Lynn knew he was trying to be tactful, for the sake of her loyalty to Trish. “I really do hope she works out,” she said, meaning it. “And now all you need is a new housekeeper, right?”

  He grunted. “Do I ever. The dust on my tables is so thick, I can write myself memos in it. The woman came on Tuesday. You’d never guess it, though—except that she left a load of wet sheets in the dryer.”

  “Did she, um, happen to find my shoe?”

  Something flashed in his eyes; there and then gone. A fleeting memory, she felt certain, of the night they had shared. “If she did, she didn’t bother to inform me.”

  The red shoes had been expensive. And like the cashmere dress, they were mementos of that magical, forbidden night. Even if she never wore them again, Lynn wanted to keep them. “Do you think she might have thrown it away?”

  “Anything’s possible, knowing that woman. I’ll talk to her next Tuesday, all right? And I’ll look around again.”

  “It’s really strange, don’t you think? That it would just…disappear like that?”

  He shrugged. “It has to be there somewhere.”

  She wondered for a moment if maybe he had found it himself, after all. If, for some reason, he hesitated to give it back to her. Maybe he wanted a memento of his own. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought.

  He was frowning. “Lynn. I swear to you. I wouldn’t keep your red shoe.”

  She hastened to put his mind at ease. “No, of course you wouldn’t. But if you do find it—”

  “You’ll get it. I promise. Are you ready for dessert?”

  She sweetly told him no.

  On Friday night he escorted her to the Halloween dance at the Grange hall. She borrowed a cat costume from one of her fellow teachers for the event. Ross came as a riverboat gambler, complete with embroidered vest, string tie and fake moustache.

  Trish was there, dressed in red satin, with black lace petticoats showing underneath: a dance-hall queen. She locked eyes with Lynn once. Lynn watched the emotions chase themselves across her sister’s dainty, heart-shaped face: surprise first, then honest affection, then hurt—and finally anger. The flashing series of expressions lasted mere seconds. Then Trish whipped her head away and flounced off. Lynn looped her dangling cat tail over her arm and asked Ross to dance with her.

  “Best offer I’ve had all evening,” he said.

  She focused on the singularly sweet sensation of having his arms around her and tried to block out the nagging awareness that she needed to do something to make contact with her family again.

  When Ross took her home at one in the morning, he kissed her on her front step, just as he had kissed her the night they bought the ring—and both of the days he had taken her to lunch.

  But he didn’t come in.

  She didn’t ask him and he didn’t suggest it. They were both exercising caution, avoiding any situation where they might be alone in the proximity of a bed.

  That Monday evening, Lynn forced herself to pick up the phone and punch up Arlene’s number. Jewel answered. Lynn had barely said hello when she heard the click and the dial tone. She set the phone back in its cradle and tried not to let herself get too depressed about the fact that her stepmother had hung up on her.

  The next day after school, Lynn drove to Billings to cheer herself up. She wandered through the stores at the Rimrock Mall and bought three skirts, five bright-colored sweaters, three pair of shoes that actually had heels on them and two cashmere blend jackets, one traffic-light red and one a sort of misty mauve color. She also bought a new coat of bright red wool.

  It was after nine at night when she got home. She was putting her new clothes away when the doorbell rang.

  It was Ross. “I called three times since five. No answer.”

  Pleasure washed through her, at the sight of him, at the thought that he’d wanted to talk to her so much, he’d been calling practically on the hour throughout the evening.

  “You could at least get a damn answering machine. That way, I could leave you messages, so you’d know how irritated I was that you weren’t there.”

  “I had an answering machine. Or rather, Trish did. She took it with her when she left.”

  “I’ll buy you one.”

  “I’ll take care of it myself, I promise—and do you want to come in?”

  He smiled then, causing her spirits to soar and her pulse to start racing.

  “Well, come on,” she said, not letting herself think that they were breaking their own silent agreement to avoid being truly alone together. She pulled him over the threshold and led him to the kitchen. “Want something to drink? Nonalcoholic, I’m afraid.”

  He accepted a glass of apple juice and sat down. “So, where have you been since five o’clock?”

  “Shopping. In Billings.”

  “Shopping for what?”

  “Clothing that is not brown.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “I certainly did. If my credit card could groan, you’d hear sounds of misery coming from my purse.” She brushed by him on her way to a chair.


  He caught her hand. A warm shiver traveled up her arm and spread out from there, up to her cheeks, down into her solar plexus…

  “What?” she asked, as if she didn’t know.

  Instead of answering, he stood and pulled her close.

  She braced her hands on his chest. Her heart was knocking away, too hard and way too fast. “Ross…”

  “Shh.”

  And he kissed her, sliding his hand down to press the center of her back, bringing her up tight against him, so that she had no doubt how truly glad he was to see her.

  She easily could have stood there, kissing him, feeling her body heating and readying, right on into the next millennium. But of course, if she’d done that, they wouldn’t be standing for long. They’d end up prone. On her bed…

  She pushed at his chest, murmuring his name again, in warning—and regret.

  “Sorry.” He let her go and stepped back.

  She tried to make light of it. “See? It’s just not safe for us to be alone together.”

  He didn’t take well to her teasing, not at that particular moment. “What does that mean? You want me to go?”

  “No, of course not. Sit down. Drink your juice.”

  “‘Drink your juice,”’ he parroted coldly. “You sound just like a kindergarten teacher.”

  “I am a kindergarten teacher.”

  “Well, I’m no kindergartner.”

  “Ross. Please don’t be angry.”

  He was scowling at her now. “I shouldn’t have come here.” He swore. “I don’t know why the hell I did.”

  She wanted to touch him, but she feared it would only make things worse. “Maybe you just…wanted to see me. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Isn’t there?”

  She refused to let him goad her. “No. There’s not. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes, I am. Now, sit down. And we’ll talk.”