Читать книгу A Child Of Her Own - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 11

Three

It was a slow day at the Sparkle and Shine shop, slower than usual for a Monday in January. A cold drizzle had set in a little after eleven, and Lori Lee could tell by the clinking taps on the awnings that the rain was mixed with sleet. She hoped the weather didn’t worsen and force her to cancel the afternoon and evening classes. All the competition groups needed this last week of practice before they performed in Gadsden on Saturday.

“Where are those tights with the pink and red hearts on them?” Aunt Birdie called from the storage room. “I wanted to plan our Valentine display for the window. I’ve got to find something to keep me busy. It doesn’t look like we’re going to have any customers.”

“Mondays are always slow,” Lori Lee said. “Besides, the weather’s getting nasty. And we sold out of those tights last year. I have some ordered and expect them in any day now.”

“Well, I can’t find anything else to get into back here.” Emerging from the storage room, Birdie pulled a pack of cards out of her yellow smock pocket. “We could play a few games to pass the time.”

“You don’t want to play cards,” Lori Lee said. “You want to talk, to ask me a dozen questions about my date Saturday night.”

“I couldn’t care less about your Saturday night with Powell.” Birdie slipped the cards back in her pocket. “Even if you slept with him, I’d probably find the retelling as boring as you found the actual event.”

Lori Lee tried not to laugh, but several muffled giggles escaped. “I didn’t sleep with Powell.”

“I didn’t think you did.”

“We went to a play at the Ritz and had a late dinner at the Renaissance Tower.”

“That’s nice, dear.” Birdie walked over to the front door and looked outside. “It’s just a coming down, isn’t it? Good thing Rick and his crew are working inside.”

“I wondered how long it would take you to get around to talking about Rick.” Lori Lee walked over and placed her arm around her aunt’s shoulders. “I saw him this morning at the studio for all of about five minutes when I unlocked the door and let him and his crew in.”

“I think I’ll run next door and invite them to eat lunch with us. Lord knows I brought enough food for half a dozen people.” Birdie headed for the storage room. “I’ll need my coat and umbrella.”

“If you’re going to invite them all for lunch, just use the telephone,” Lori Lee suggested as she strolled around the shop, flicking imaginary specks of dust off the countertops. “And if Rick accepts, I hope y’all have a lovely lunch. Unfortunately, I won’t be here.”

“What do you mean, you won’t be here?”

“I mean I’ll go somewhere else for lunch. I will not allow you to play matchmaker for me with a man who is as unsuitable for me as I am for him.”

Birdie pivoted around slowly, then smiled broadly when she glanced at the front door. “You do whatever you want, sugar, but I’m going to issue my invitation in person.”

Lori Lee followed her aunt’s mesmerized stare, straight to the man approaching the front entrance. When the door opened, a blustery wind blew a gust of frozen rain into the shop as Rick Warrick entered. He shook the rain from his shaggy black hair and brushed icy droplets off his thick, corduroy work jacket. Lori Lee noticed the swirl of dark chest hair peeping over the top of his beige thermal undershirt.

“Good day, ladies.”

The sound of his deep, husky voice rippled along Lori Lee’s nerve endings like Mississippi sorghum poured over hot flapjacks.

“Well, hello, Rick,” Aunt Birdie said. “You boys taking a lunch break? Because if you are, Lori Lee and I would like to invite you to share lunch with us. I brought leftovers from my Sunday dinner.”

“Thank you, Miss Birdie—”

“Aunt Birdie.”

“Thank you, Aunt Birdie. I’m sure your leftovers will beat the heck out of my cold bologna sandwich.” Rick ran his fingers through his damp hair. “I’d be happy to accept your offer, if we can postpone eating for a bit.”

“Wonderful.” Birdie beamed, her eyelashes fluttered. “How long shall we wait? It’s nearly noon. I thought y’all took your lunch break at twelve.”

“We do, and my men are getting ready to eat right now. But before I join you ladies for lunch, I’d like y’all to come next door for a minute.”

“Is something wrong?” Lori Lee asked. “Have y’all run into a problem of some sort in removing the old heating system?”

“No, ma’am, not a problem, just an interesting development,” Rick said. “While we were tearing out the old heating unit, a part of the wooden wall behind it fell in. The boards were rotted clean through.”

“Was it some type of support wall?” Lori Lee went into the basement as seldom as possible. She hated the creepy feeling it gave her, as if she were inside a tomb. “Is there any danger of the upper level floor falling in?”

“No, nothing like that,” Rick assured her. “The wall served no purpose, really. I figure it was put up to close off part of the basement. We found something down there I thought you and Miss...Aunt Birdie might like to see.”

“Something in our basement?” Dimples creased Birdie’s fat cheeks. “Well, you go on over, sugar, and check it out. I’m afraid I can’t get up and down those rickety old stairs.” She smiled at Rick. “Just what have you found?”

“It looks like a bar,” Rick said. “And not just any bar. This sucker is a huge, ornately carved wooden bar, a good fifteen feet long.”

“Oh, my, yes.” Birdie clapped her hands together like a giddy child. “I’ve heard the rumors all my life, but I never realized that the old speakeasy was located in the basement of one of my buildings. Isn’t this exciting?”

Lori Lee didn’t know whether she would call the discovery of an old bar beneath her studio exciting or not, but Aunt Birdie and Rick certainly seemed to think so. She really wasn’t interested in exploring the subterranean depths beneath Tuscumbia, but if she didn’t pacify Aunt Birdie’s curiosity, her elderly aunt just might try to make the journey into the basement herself.

“All right. Let’s go see this great marvel.” Lori Lee wondered if she’d need her jacket. But if she took the time to bundle up and get an umbrella it would only prolong this little adventure. “We’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” Birdie called after them as they rushed out the door.

The awnings connecting the two buildings partially protected them from the downpour, but not from the wind gusts. Rick flung the door open for her, then followed her inside. Several workers spoke or nodded to Lori Lee; she returned their greetings. The men sat on the floor, their lunches spread out around them like a picnic.

“It’s quite a sight, Miss Guy. Bet that bar’s been in the basement since the twenties,” one of the crew members said. “After lunch we’ll clean up all that old rotted wood before we do anything else.”

Rick placed his hand in the small of Lori Lee’s back and guided her down the basement steps. His hand was big and warm and strong. His touch seared her through her sweater.

No other man’s touch had ever affected her the way Rick’s did. Years after he’d grabbed her on the front porch when she was seventeen, she’d told herself that she had exaggerated the power of his touch, that memories often played tricks on a person’s emotions. But this touch wasn’t memory. It was here and now—and its power was as great as she remembered.

She hurried down the steps, fleeing from him, trying to escape the unwanted sensations spiraling up from the depths of her femininity. The chill of the damp basement hit her suddenly. She shivered. Hugging her body to warm herself, she rubbed her palms up and down her arms.

“Are you cold?” Rick asked, coming up behind her.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I should have brought my coat.”

Before she could utter a protest, he removed his jacket and flung it around her shoulders. As she turned to face him, he pulled the zippered edge across her chest. His hands lingered, his long, thick fingers clutching the material. His knuckles rested in the crevice between her breasts.

Lori Lee looked at his hands. Big and broad. The tops sprinkled with dark hair. The palms callused.

“Thank you. But won’t you be cold without it?” She lifted her gaze to his face and her breath caught in her throat. Didn’t the man ever shave? Or was it that his heavy black beard gave him a perpetual five-o’clock shadow?

A lock of hair hung across the edge of his forehead. She longed to brush the errant strand away from his eye. She clenched her hand into a tight fist, warning herself not to touch him.