The woman kept her eyes averted and appeared to be searching for words. Her response, when it finally came, was calm and reasonable. “McClanahan wasn’t exactly made for drag racing.”
He slid his sunglasses down his nose and stared at her, his eyes narrowed. Something about the woman seemed familiar. Only he couldn’t see her well enough to figure out what. He stepped back and frowned at her. “Do I know you?”
The woman hesitated. Then she quickly pushed past him and slid into the car to shuffle through some papers she pulled from the glove compartment. “I have an appointment in a few minutes, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with. I assume you have insurance.”
Will couldn’t remember the last time a woman had given him the cold shoulder. Maybe he’d gotten spoiled, but her attitude ticked him off. “I do,” he snapped. “And I’d rather not get the police involved in this. I’ve had a pisser of a day, if you’ll pardon the language. Your damage is minimal. I’ll take a chance on mine. I’m late for something myself.”
Her eyes widened. “If you could please give me your company’s name.” She kept her gaze on the notepad in her hand, pen poised in midair.
“Better yet,” he said, his voice softer now, “how about if I just pay you for the damage? We could make a reasonable estimate, and if it’s more, you can get in touch with me later.”
“I’d prefer to keep this within the law.”
“I wasn’t suggesting anything illegal, just—”
“Convenient. You’re interested in convenience.” She nodded impatiently. “All right. We’ll do it your way.”
“Sounds reasonable enough.” He turned and made his way back to the Ferrari, deliberately taking his time. Reaching for the wallet inside the glove compartment, he pulled out a wad of cash and counted out several large bills. That ought to do it. He doubted the whole car was worth that much.
Favoring his right knee, he ambled back to the woman’s car and leaned inside to hand her the money along with a few insurance papers. “It’s all there. With a toll-free number. I don’t imagine you’ll need it, though. This should cover it.”
The woman glanced down at the money and shook her head.
“I made what I thought was a generous guess,” he said. “If it’s too much, keep the rest for your trouble.”
“Fine,” she said, looking suddenly angry. With surprising strength, she yanked the door closed, leaving him staring at her through the window.
He took a hasty step back and then grimaced when a pain shot through his leg. Suddenly he realized he hadn’t told her he’d disconnect the two cars himself. It would need to be done carefully, just right in order to—
He reached out to pound on the window just as she fired the old clunker, jerked it into gear and surged forward.
Speechless, Will stood there watching as she floored the heap and roared through the intersection at a speed that couldn’t possibly be described as a snail’s pace.
Chapter Three
It was well after five when Hannah pulled into her driveway on Wilmington Street. Turning off the ignition, she leaned forward and glanced up at the old white house. The towering maples stood naked and gray in the front yard. Jenny was right. With only one person to fill its rooms, the house was a mausoleum. Built in 1910, it had been designed for a family, not a woman alone. But Sarah had loved the house. And Hannah loved it, too. She’d grown up here in a childhood filled with books and classical music. And books with endings where Mommies and Daddies didn’t leave their little girls.
This house was home to her with its front porch and rocking chairs that invited one to sit and relax. It was the same front porch on which Sarah had sat watching Hannah play in the front yard. The same porch from which aunt and niece had stood hand in hand as Hannah’s father had turned to say, “‘Bye, Hannah Banana, see you soon,” as they’d climbed into their car. Two young parents who’d met up with responsibility too soon and handed their daughter over to Sarah long enough to sow a few wild oats. Unaware that they would never see either Sarah or Hannah again.
In front of the white rail porch grew Hannah’s treasured Madam Butterfly tea roses. Featherless peacocks now in the last throes of winter. Hannah’s mother had planted the bushes more than twenty-five years earlier, when she and Hannah’s father had first married and lived here with his older sister, Sarah. Hannah tended them now, pruning and pampering, awaiting their arrival each spring as one awaits the return of old friends.
She climbed out of the car, reached for her purse and shut the door with a clunk. After letting herself into the house she leaned against the door and closed her eyes. In this house, at least, everything remained in order. Dishes were stacked neatly in the kitchen cabinets. Towels were folded precisely on the bathroom shelves. Books lined the walls of the small den. She felt better just being here.
The house had its own familiar scent. Years of lemon-scented furniture polish, winter afternoons of chocolate-chip cookies and summer Sundays of blackberry cobbler. Home. For the first time in an hour-and-a-half, Hannah allowed herself to relax. She felt as if she’d been holding her breath since she’d glanced in her rearview mirror to find Will Kincaid ramming into her car.
Will Kincaid. She’d known he was coming back. But meeting up with him face-to-face had been the last thing she’d anticipated.
She sank to the floor and rested her head in her hand. In the few seconds she’d had before he stalked up to her car, she’d wrapped the scarf around her neck and yanked the hat down on her head, praying he wouldn’t recognize her. And he hadn’t.
To her surprise, the realization had brought her no sense of satisfaction. In fact, she’d found herself fighting the crazy impulse to shout at him. Don’t you know who I am? Have I changed that much?
But then, she knew the answer to that.
She scrambled up to stand before the cherry mirror that hung in the hallway. She yanked off the hat and the glasses she wore for driving. Ten years had brought about more than a few changes, she knew. She’d all but given up makeup. Fine lines had appeared in places where once there’d been none. She didn’t smile much anymore and tended to stay about five pounds underweight.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She’d gotten what she wanted this afternoon. Will hadn’t recognized her. And she’d driven away without having to endure the awkwardness of that recognition. She had no desire to start digging up the past. She should be glad. She was safe.
Laughter bubbled inside her at the irony of it. Her eyes grew moist and the laughter died. Ten years. And she’d never forgotten Will Kincaid or his smiling face.
She’d never forgotten him. He hadn’t recognized her.
Chapter Four
Hannah went to work at the Lake Perdue Library each Saturday morning from eight to twelve. This Saturday should have been no different.
She left her house at seven forty-five just as she always did. But this morning as she scraped the frost from her windshield, she sent a cursory glance up and down the street before climbing into her car. Turning off Wilmington onto McClanahan, she searched both directions for a flash of bright red.
She was being ridiculous. As if he’d be waiting for her. She doubted he even remembered the accident had taken place. He’d been so nonchalant about the whole thing he’d probably already replaced the car with a new one.
Determined to put the incident behind her, she climbed out of her car and shut the door. Halfway through the library parking lot, she turned and looked back at the sorrowful sight of her aunt’s cherished old jalopy. It had been one of Sarah Jacobs’ eccentricities, and she’d been reluctant to part with it long after such gas-guzzlers had gone out of style. Along with everything else she owned, Sarah had left it to Hannah when she’d moved into Meadow Spring a year ago. Hannah didn’t know why she’d kept the car other than that she couldn’t see herself in some flashy little import. And it ran perfectly. Why replace it when the entire trip to and from work rolled the odometer forward a mere ten
miles a day? The car suited her just fine. She’d see about having it fixed first thing Monday morning and send Will Kincaid a check for the difference.
She’d barely gotten through the door before Jenny Dudley scooted around the front desk and strong-armed her to the drawer where they stored their purses. Two fingers graced the line of her jaw as she cocked a hip and said, “I won’t candy-coat it and say you didn’t miss out. Because you certainly did. You should have been at that parade, Hannah. You should have come.”
“So tell me what was so exciting.”
“Why, Will Kincaid, of course.” She took Hannah’s sweater and hung it on the coat rack behind the desk. “Let me get your coffee and I’ll tell you all about it. You really missed….” Her voice trailed off as she stepped into the back room.
Hannah let out a deep sigh. Will Kincaid again. So far, overlooking his impromptu visit to Lake Perdue had proved impossible. Neither he nor anybody else was about to let her forget it.
Jenny clicked back to the desk and handed Hannah a mug of coffee.
“Thanks, Jen. You didn’t have to do that.” She took a sip of the strong brew and then reached for a stack of books that had been returned the previous afternoon, flipping through the brown wood box for the appropriate card. The library had yet to be computerized, but she preferred it this way. For the most part, she did not welcome change. Aware that Jenny was waiting, Hannah decided it was time to face the music. With a look of resignation, she said, “All right. I’m all ears. Tell me what I missed.”
“I wouldn’t be the first to point out that those pictures in the magazines didn’t do him an ounce of justice. The man is downright delectable.”
“Delectable.” In her mind Hannah conjured up the image of the wide-shouldered man who’d appeared at her car window.
“And so athletic,” Jenny said in a winsome tone, bending over the desk to rest her chin on one palm. “I just love a man who takes care of his body.”
“He’s an athlete all right.” The brown leather bomber jacket he’d worn had done little to hide the well-honed body beneath. A body he was paid to hone, of course.
“And that smile. Why, half the women on Main Street were beside themselves. Swooning, practically.”
“Really?”
“Imagine Lake Perdue turning out a man like that! He’s as famous as any movie star,” Jenny declared with an assertive nod.
“Think so?” Yes, he had turned out to be quite a man. A man who’d grown from a charming boy who could convince anyone to do anything into a man whose mere physical presence threw women like Jenny Dudley into swoons. Women like Jenny Dudley, not women like Hannah Jacobs.
Jenny straightened and sighed. “I know so. All you have to do is take one look at him to see that.”
Hannah slid a card into a book and slapped the cover closed. “Then he shouldn’t be lacking for female company while he’s visiting.”
“If I were ten years younger, I’d march out to that house he’s renting in Tarkington’s Cove and introduce myself. Rumor has it he might be staying awhile. According to Kay Lynn over at Kelly’s Realty, he took out a six-month lease on the big house—you know, the one the developer built to spec for himself and then decided to rent—”
“Six months?” Hannah looked up in surprise.
“That’s what Kay Lynn said. They don’t expect him ever to play pro ball again. Hurt his knee real bad in that game.”
Hannah focused on the cards before her. “How do you know all this stuff, Jen?”
“I read about it. Lake Perdue doesn’t have many famous residents.”
“I guess not.” Hannah’s hand shook as she shoved a card into the last book and then grabbed a rag and scrubbed at the countertop. She knew exactly how Jenny knew. She’d been following the same accounts of his career, unable to help herself.
“Funny thing was, Kay Lynn said she was over at the First Baptist Church when Will pulled in yesterday. The front end of his fancy car had been crunched up like last week’s newspaper. Tom Dillon had just seen him on Main Street and the car was fine. Darnedest thing, but he wouldn’t say what happened.”
Hannah scrubbed furiously at a nearly invisible ink spot. “Really?”
“A car like that. You’d think he’d have been hopping mad.”
Before Hannah could reply, the front door opened. Henry Lawson stepped inside, his bulky frame clearly catching Jenny’s attention.
Thankful for the diversion, Hannah said, “Morning, Mr. Lawson. How are you today?”
“Fine, fine, Miss Jacobs. Keeping busy as usual.” The big man took off his hat and doffed it in Jenny’s direction with a quick nod. “Mornin’, Miss Dudley.”
“Mr. Lawson,” Jenny said, blushing. Henry Lawson’s appearance put the subject of Will Kincaid on hold. She moved around the desk and said, “Can I get you anything to read this morning?”
Twisting his hat in his hands, he said, “Naw, I don’t reckon. I’ll find something interesting, no doubt.”
Jenny nodded and cleared her throat. “Then you let me know if I can help you.”
Hannah sighed. Thank goodness for Henry. “I think I’ll go work on some of those torn bindings, Jenny. Call if you need me.”
She quickly made for the back room before her friend had a chance to remember what they’d been discussing.
Chapter Five
Will Kincaid awoke on Saturday morning to the certainty that a marching band had set up a show inside his head.
Sunlight streamed in through his window, high enough in the sky to indicate ten o’clock had come and gone. He groaned and rolled over, pulling the feather pillow over his head. That last scotch had done it. He hated scotch. But it had been the only thing he could find in the boxes still packed in the basement. And after the day he’d endured, it had seemed the appropriate tonic for a much-desired bout of self-torture.
Drinking alone. They said people who drank alone had big problems. He supposed he qualified. In the last month, his life had all but fallen apart.
It shouldn’t have been that way. He hadn’t thought the Super Bowl would be the end. Who retired at the age of twenty-nine? Except for his traitorous knee, he’d never been healthier. What if he lived to be seventy-eight or ninety-two? What would he do with all those years in between? Live his life as a has-been? Yesterday’s news?
With a heavy sigh, he rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, one arm thrown behind his head. One thing he knew for certain. He couldn’t stay in Lake Perdue forever. Not with his father.
His father, who could always find something in him to be disappointed about. Eight years of pro ball, but what about that Super Bowl, son? Finally a Super Bowl, but you’ve ruined it with that bum knee, son. Glad you made it home in time for the parade, but what the devil happened to that hundred-thousand-dollar car, son?
Will groaned. His eyes flew open, and he squinted at the sunlight now bathing every corner of the room. He’d forgotten all about the car. When he’d come home last night intent on beginning his solo drinking spree, the scotch had washed away all thoughts of the incident. But he realized now it had been in the back of his mind since yesterday afternoon. Not the car. But the woman he’d run into. He recalled her face and realized he’d seen it in his dreams last night. The wool cap pulled low over her forehead. The oversize glasses that hid her eyes. And still there was something about her, something so familiar. He knew her. She was a plainer, skinnier version of someone he’d once known. And then it hit him.
Hannah Jacobs.
The name took him like a blow low to the stomach.
It had been Hannah. No doubt about it.
But what had happened to….
In the get-up she’d been wearing, she’d looked nothing like he’d remembered her. Before he had time to reconsider, he got up and gingerly made his way to the basement. There, he shuffled through five or six of the boxes he’d had sent back from L.A., before pulling out his high school yearbook, the red cover scuffed, the edges worn. His right leg
stretched out in front of him, Will sat on a crate by the washing machine and flipped through the index for her name.
Hannah Jacobs. Page 123.
He leafed through the pages until he found her picture. Long, honey-blonde hair. Wide hazel-green eyes that, as he remembered, had a way of changing shades depending on what she wore. High cheekbones. A full generous mouth. Lips that tended toward red without the enhancement of lipstick. Lips he’d once discovered were infinitely kissable.
He rubbed a thumb across the picture and frowned. Lake Perdue High had boasted more flamboyant girls than Hannah Jacobs, but in his mind she’d always had something that set her apart. Something appealing. Up until the last couple of months of their senior year, she’d always had a shy smile for him.
Shyness had been a part of Hannah the way brashness had been a part of the girls who had run around with Will’s crowd. A crowd to which Hannah had never belonged. While other girls concentrated on cheerleading and dating, Hannah had spent her time studying. Everyone knew Hannah Jacobs made the highest SAT scores. She was smart. So smart that Will had felt like a real jerk trying to talk to her. But she’d been the only girl in school to look at him with eyes that seemed to see through to that spot deep inside him that even he refused to examine. That small spot he’d subdued until it no longer existed.
He stared at the washing machine in the corner and let her name play through his mind. Hannah Jacobs. It had been what, ten years? Ten years. A lifetime. And yet, it seemed like only yesterday that he’d mustered up the courage to walk by her locker on the off chance that some miracle would occur and he’d find a reason to talk to her. Ah, you left your purse in class. Mrs. Smithers asked me to give you this book. The excuses came flooding back as if he’d invented them yesterday.
Of course, that was before Tom Dillon had beaten him to the punch and asked her out first. Before Tom had told him all about his night with Hannah. Will had been dumbstruck. He couldn’t believe that after the day he and Hannah had spent together at the lake she would….
Truths and Roses Page 2
