Читать книгу Dry Creek Sweethearts - Janet Tronstad - Страница 10

Duane woke up several hours later and squinted. Enough light was coming in the tinted windows to let him know it was midmorning. He wished it was still dark. His eyelids felt as though they were coated with sandpaper. Fortunately, the fire in his throat was gone and he could swallow without pain. He tried to say his name and an encouragingly full voice came out briefly before turning to a squeak. If he had some coffee, he might actually be able to talk normally.

Something had pulled Duane out of his sleep and he couldn’t figure out what it was. Phil was obviously not in the bus. The rain must have stopped, because Duane couldn’t hear it. No one was around. He knew the bus was stuck in the mud at his great-aunt’s place. It couldn’t have been the sound of another vehicle coming up to the bus that had awakened him. Nothing but a tow truck could get in and there were no tow trucks in Dry Creek. If anyone was here, they had walked down the driveway.

Then he heard it. A quick, decisive knock on the door of the bus.

Phil wouldn’t ordinarily knock, but maybe he had his hands full with something and couldn’t pull the door open. The thought encouraged Duane since that probably meant his manager was on the other side of the door holding several cups of coffee.

Duane ran his hand through his hair as he walked down the aisle of the bus toward the door. He’d have to find Mrs. Hargrove and ask about getting the key to his great-aunt’s place. Well, it was technically his place now, although he never thought of it that way.

Great-Aunt Cornelia would be the first one to tell him to get his hair combed before he went out and he had a stubborn spot that resisted his finger combing. If he could get inside the house, he could take a shower. The water would be cold, but it would be better than nothing. It should, at least, tame his hair. Maybe he’d be able to turn the utilities on without too much trouble.

Duane stepped down toward the bus door and pushed it open.

“Oh.”

Duane grunted and took another swipe at his hair. The sun was bright outside and it hurt his eyes. He blinked anyway. What was she doing here? He always thought that when he saw her again, he would be looking good. Like maybe coming off a heart-pounding concert where there were screaming fans on the sidelines and reporters taking pictures.

Instead, he suddenly remembered the ketchup stain on his T-shirt from the hamburger he’d eaten outside of Salt Lake yesterday. A T-shirt he’d just slept in. And he hadn’t shaved since he left San Pedro. Or even brushed his teeth last night. There wasn’t a fan in sight. And his hair looked wild.

“You’re really here,” Linda said to him as she narrowed her eyes and examined him suspiciously.

Duane winced. She would have given a warmer welcome to a spider crawling up her arm. And she hated spiders.

“My bus,” Duane croaked out. His voice was not as strong as he had hoped or he would remind her it was also his land. The people in this part of the world might not be impressed by rock stars, but they were big on the rights of someone who owned land to be on that land, even if they were stuck in the mud and looked as if they’d slept on a park bench during a hurricane.

Right now, Duane couldn’t speak all of the words he’d need to explain that he didn’t usually look like this. That he was successful and had money in the bank. In two banks, in fact. He even had gel that would tame his hair if he just had a chance to get to it.

Linda held out a brown bag. “Your friend, Phil, asked me to bring this out to you.”

He saw the forced smile Linda gave him. Her face was thinner than he remembered and her hair was definitely more subdued. She’d let it go back to her natural brown color and it looked good, all sleek and shapely. She was wearing jeans and an oversize chef’s apron that covered a white T-shirt. Of course, there were no ketchup stains on her T-shirt. No hair problems, either. She could have stepped off the cover of a gourmet food magazine.

Duane needed coffee. There were two containers in the bag and as long as one of them was coffee he was okay. He’d drink almost anything if it’d give him his voice back so he could talk to Linda. “Thanks.”

Linda stiffened. “No need to thank me. There’s some hot soup there, too.”

Duane reached out and took the bag while he had the chance. “How much?”

“It’s already been paid for.”

“Oh.” Duane looked at the clutter tray he kept near the driver’s seat. He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill that was curled up there between several singles.

He offered the twenty to Linda. “Tip.”

Linda’s eyes snapped as if he’d insulted her. “You don’t need to give me that kind of money.”

Okay, so Linda was finally talking to him.

Duane’s head hurt. Giving someone a generous tip was supposed to be a good thing and, when he got his voice back, he intended to tell Linda that. He would try to tell her now, but the sun was shining down on her and he just wanted to take another minute to look at her.

“Your hair—” Duane said. The sun was turning strands of her brown hair into gold. It was beautiful. She should have let it go natural years ago.

Linda flushed. “I know it’s nothing like it used to be. I don’t take time to streak it anymore. I have to get Lucy off to school before I get to the café and—well, you don’t want to know all about that. You probably don’t have to worry about getting anyone anywhere, not even a dog.”

“But—”

“Sorry, it’s none of my business who you live with, dog or otherwise,” Linda interrupted, looking determined to be polite. “So, Phil tells me you’ve come back here to sing a big, dramatic solo in our church.”

“What?” The word started with a squeak and ended with a whisper.

“I hope it’s not supposed to be a secret. He’s back at the café now using my phone to make some calls. Cell phone reception isn’t very good here. People don’t usually have a press conference after singing in church, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing. After all, it’s your show.”

Duane shook his head. His voice might be gone, but he didn’t want Linda to believe what Phil said about him giving a show. The agreement last night was that Duane would visit the church—visit the church—as in going to a church service and putting a big donation in the offering plate. He hadn’t agreed to call the kind of attention to himself Linda was talking about. Duane knew that people around here took their church seriously. He didn’t want to come in looking like some big shot throwing his weight around and demanding to do a solo in front of reporters.

He’d been nearly invisible when he’d been here as a teenager; the cowboys, like his friend Lance, had overshadowed everyone else. Duane hadn’t expected any big attention from the church back then and he certainly didn’t expect it now. He’d played guitar for people in the café and that was it. He’d always wanted to keep a low profile in Dry Creek anyway. He wasn’t really accepted here and he knew it. He saw no reason to remind everyone else of the fact. Besides, they all knew he hated church; that much had been obvious.

Linda moved slightly. “Well, I need to get back to the café.”

The one person who had seemed to really accept him in Dry Creek had been Linda. She’d opened her heart to him when he’d been a lonely boy and never turned it away from him. He’d later thought she was like sunshine after a long Chicago winter.

And then he’d made the mistake of asking her to marry him. He never should have done that. He was in some dreamlike fog when he asked, but he should have known better. A man like him had no business thinking of having a wife or a family. Especially not a sweet wife like Linda. He’d grown up in a car, for pity’s sake. A car that reeked of alcohol. His only friend back in Chicago had been a homeless man named Pete who had taught him to play jazz songs on the guitar. Duane figured he had nothing to offer a family.

Still, seeing Linda here today in the sunshine made him long for a future with her anyway, even if he couldn’t have it.

“Don’t go,” Duane tried to say, but he couldn’t make any sound and Linda just turned to walk away.

Duane looked down at the coffee he held in his hands. He hoped it gave him his voice back because he needed to speak to Phil. And then he needed to talk to Linda.

Linda looked back at the bus when she reached the main road. She’d walked over to the bus instead of driving and she was glad she had. It gave her a few minutes to pull herself together before she got back to the café.

She stood a moment at the bent-heart stop sign that marked the gravel road crossing by the Enger driveway. There were several plastic red flowers planted in the dirt at the bottom of that sign as a reminder of the love of the eloping couple from twenty-six years ago.

Linda had to blink to stop from crying. One miracle in the love department was probably all that would happen in Dry Creek for a while. Besides, she couldn’t stand here all day. Even if Doris June Hargrove and Curtis Nelson had their happily-ever-after, that didn’t mean God was going to give one to her and Duane. Linda didn’t even have the hope needed to pray for one.

The day was still overcast and the ground was damp as she kept walking back to the café. Everything smelled musty, like wet earth. She hadn’t worn a jacket and she crossed her arms to warm herself. The day had turned chilly. Or maybe it was just her. There had been nothing in the day when she got up to warn her that her worst nightmare was coming true.

Apparently Phil wasn’t crazy after all. Duane was back there in his black tour bus, looking very much like the rock star he was. She wished she had believed he was really in the bus, because then she would have used the walk over here to think of something clever to say to him.

Instead, she’d sounded like what she was—a delivery person from the local café. And, a bit of a shrew. She couldn’t believe she’d practically asked if he was living with someone. His private life was certainly none of her business. Technically, it wasn’t even any of her concern if he had gotten a dog to replace Boots.

Thinking of Boots reminded her that she’d have to give Mrs. Hargrove a call and warn her that Duane was back in town. She hoped Boots wouldn’t be as shocked to see Duane as she had been. Then she’d have to call Lucy. It was Saturday and her sister was at home, but she’d never forgive Linda if she missed a chance to see the Jazz Man up close and in person.

She wondered how long Duane would be here.

Linda shook her head. She had always thought that, if she saw Duane again, she would say something to make him regret leaving Dry Creek. Make him regret leaving her. She certainly didn’t think she’d be taking a righteous stand about some mammoth tip he wanted to give her. Now that she had a moment to think about it, she decided her reaction had made her sound as if she had needed the twenty dollars and had been too embarrassed to accept it.

Linda knew God didn’t care more about some people than others because they had larger bank accounts. And, truthfully, she was happy with the money she made in her café, especially now that they’d started setting the pie money aside for Lucy’s college fund so that worry was covered.

It’s just that Linda didn’t like the feeling that Duane might look at her and be glad he wasn’t married to her. Of course, if he did it probably would have nothing to do with money. Cold hard cash was only the beginning of the differences in their lives now. Duane was probably relieved not to be with her because she’d grown old and boring while he’d turned into a glamorous rock star without a care in the world. He probably knew without asking that she didn’t own one designer pair of jeans, but had three old fuzzy bathrobes instead.

Linda had known since her visit to Hollywood that she wouldn’t fit in with Duane’s road trip life, but she hadn’t known until this morning that she’d turned into the same kind of disapproving adult she and Duane had complained about all those years ago. She probably would never have to admit it to him, but she didn’t even like the rock music he played anymore. It was too loud and it made her want to turn the volume down.

She shook her head. She had indeed turned into her mother. It wasn’t a happy thought.

There were several people on the porch of the café when Linda walked up and she doubted it was because she was serving Irish oatmeal for breakfast this week.