Читать книгу Forever...Again - Maureen Child - Страница 11

“I don’t understand,” Ron said a moment later when the awkward silence over the milkshake had passed. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all, but this had been bothering him for months. Every time he saw her, he wondered why she’d really come. And just how long she planned to stay.

“What?”

“What you’re doing here.”

“Eating dinner?”

“Clever. I meant here in Binghamton.”

“Well that’s blunt.”

“Yep.”

“You do that to annoy me, don’t you?” Lily asked, tilting her head to one side as she studied him. “The one-word answers, I mean.”

“Yep.” Hell, why should he be the only one irritated and annoyed? And something else, his mind whispered, but he paid no attention. If he noticed that her hair shone blond in the sunlight drifting through the plate-glass window, it was simply an observation. Right?

“That’s what I thought.” She paused, glanced up as the waitress delivered her hamburger and said, “Thank you, Vickie, it looks great.”

“Enjoy, Ms. Cunningham.”

Lily sighed. “She’s still worried that I’ll yell at her some more. Did you see how she walked backward from the table?”

He’d noticed. And he had a feeling a lot of people walked a wide path around Lily. Any woman who could go from calm and cool to red hot and blistering in a matter of seconds was one to keep an eye on. “Could be she was treating you like a queen.”

Lily laughed outright. “More likely she was afraid I’d jump at her.” She shook her head and on a disgusted sigh, added, “You’d think I’d be able to control my temper better after all these years.”

“Everyone’s got a temper.”

“Not everyone uses it.”

True. Most folks played the game of being nice while biting their tongue to keep the angry words inside. For himself, he much preferred a good flash of temper. Truth usually spilled out then, and he’d rather know exactly where he stood with a person than to have to try to guess.

He nodded at her as he watched her slather ketchup on her hamburger bun and then drizzle a river of it across still-steaming French fries. She’d never struck him as the ketchup type, Ron thought. There was more “caviar and champagne” about her than “beer and pretzels.”

“I’m better than I used to be though,” she said, piling tomato, onion, pickles and lettuce onto the open-faced burger before slapping the other half of the bun down on top of it all.

“Yeah?” Fascinated now, he watched as she tipped the hamburger over, took off the bottom half of the bun and used her knife to spread potato salad on the toasted surface.

“Oh yes.” Unaware of his scrutiny, she kept talking while she smoothed on another layer of potato salad. “When I was younger, I’d pick up anything within reach and throw it at the closest victim when I was in the middle of a temper. I can tell you, my brothers learned to duck at an early age.”

“How many?”

“How many what?” She put the other tomato on top of the potato salad and then slapped the bun back into place at the bottom of the burger.

He shook his head. The burger was so high now, he didn’t know how she’d ever be able to get a bite. “Brothers.”

“Three.”

“Uh-huh. Do you always do that?”

“What?” She held the big burger in both hands, took a huge bite, then set the burger down and, laughing, picked up her napkin and held it in front of her face while she struggled to chew.

“Pile all that stuff on your hamburger. You probably can’t even taste the meat anymore.”

She chewed, held up one hand and when she’d swallowed, she said, “Of course you can. And why bother having the fixings for a burger if you don’t use them? It’s terrific. You should try it.”

“Potato salad on a hamburger?” Ron winced. “No thanks.”

“You’ll eat it with a hamburger though?”

“Sure.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I eat ’em separately.”

“Here’s a secret, Ron,” she said, grinning now at his perplexed expression. “All the food you eat ends up together, anyway. There are no separate compartments in your stomach—you know, one for tomatoes, one for meat, one for potato salad.”

“You’re a real comedian, aren’t you?”

“I don’t hear you laughing.”

“I’m laughing on the inside.”

“And crying on the outside?” she asked. “Not very attractive.”

“Do you see tears?” He held up both hands as if he were surrendering to a man with a gun. “Never mind. Don’t bother. Don’t say anything more. Your mind’s on one of the weird tracks again, isn’t it?”

She grinned. “Tom, Dan and Howard.”

“Huh?”

“My brothers,” she said, taking another, smaller bite. “You asked about them before.”

Hell, Ron could hardly remember what they’d been talking about. How could anyone keep up with the way this woman’s mind worked? “You just jump onto whatever conversational track feels right at the time, don’t you?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Right. Where are they now?”

She shrugged, but he thought he caught a glimpse of something less casual sparkling in her eyes. “In Boston.”

“That where you’re from?”

“Nope.” She picked up two French fries and swirled them through a pool of ketchup before popping them into her mouth. “I’m from Binghamton.”

He smiled. Damn it, he didn’t want to like her, but it was hard not to. “Before here, then.”

“Originally Boston, then Los Angeles, then New York, then…here.”

This is exactly what bothered him, Ron thought. She’d been everywhere, lived everywhere. Why in the hell would she come to a spot-in-the-road town like Binghamton? And why would she want to stay? She’d grown up in a world of privilege and now he was supposed to believe that she was going to be happy slurping down milkshakes and building burgers at South Junction?

No way.

She wouldn’t last.

And then what would Mari do?

All of his daughter’s friends were backing away from her. She’d lost a lot of her big financial backers for the research lab already. And with talk spreading, chances were good she’d be losing more. His own mother had been on the phone only that morning, arguing with a banker from Lexington. But it seemed gossip traveled pretty damn well.

The word was out.

Something was going on at the clinic and Mari Bingham wasn’t to be trusted.

A fresh wave of anger crested inside him, and Ron was half surprised the top of his head didn’t just blow off. Hearing his daughter talked about and whispered over as if she were a criminal was enough to make his blood boil. But there was only so much a father could do.

Mari’s world was crumbling around her, and for some reason she was convinced that Lily Cunningham was going to help her turn the tide. Well, Ron wasn’t. Even the best PR people couldn’t fight all the insidious whispers and the fears and suspicions of the very people they were trying to hose for money.

Besides, a woman society born and raised couldn’t be without society for very long. One of these days, Lily’d be off, leaving Mari high and dry, and he’d have to find a way to cushion the blow for his daughter.

“Why come here?” he asked tightly, getting back to the original conversation.

“I was invited.”

“Must be more to it than that.”

Lily set her burger down and reached for her shake. After taking a sip, she lifted her left hand to push her hair behind her ear. That bracelet of hers chimed musically.

“I wanted a change,” she said. “I wanted to live somewhere that wasn’t made of concrete.”

That much he could understand. Ron could no more leave the mountains permanently than he could sprout wings and fly. He had to be where the sky was huge, the trees were green and a man could walk miles in the forest without running into another soul.

But Lily Cunningham just didn’t seem the kind of woman to appreciate the simpler things in life.

“You look like you don’t believe me,” she said, and tipped her head again, studying him through big brown eyes that looked to him like warm, milk chocolate.

“Not sure I do.”

“Fortunately for me, Mari does.”

“Mari’s a nice girl.”

“Finally. Something we can agree on.”

He leaned back in his seat and watched her as she dug into her burger again. Something about her bothered him, and he really couldn’t put his finger on what it was. But as she ignored him and ate her dinner, he remembered how she’d leaped to Mari’s defense. How she’d read Vickie the riot act and forced the waitress to admit that Mari just wasn’t the kind of woman her enemies were making her out to be.

A surge of gratitude rushed through him, swamping the mistrust that still echoed inside him. Lily had defended his child and Ron had responded by skewering her. What did that say about him?

Hell, if his mother were here, she’d give him that fish-eyed glare she used to use on him when he was a kid.

“Look,” he said, giving in to the urge to make amends, “I want you to know how much I appreciate you standing up for Mari the way you did.”

Blond eyebrows lifted. “How hard was that?”

“What?”

“To be nice to me.”

He frowned and reached for his own burger. Less decorated than hers, it was still tasty and sitting there getting cold. “Wasn’t hard.”

“Then one would think you’d be able to pull it off more often, wouldn’t one?”

“One might.”

Her lips twitched. “A hardheaded man.”

“That’s been said before.”

“I’m not surprised.”

He took a bite of his burger then chewed and swallowed before speaking again. “I’m not sure about you, Lily Cunningham.”

She smiled and winked at him. “Good.”

“Good?”

“If you were sure of me, I’d be predictable. Boring.”

“Stuffy?” He prodded, reminding her of the word she’d used to describe him.

Apparently she remembered very well what she’d called him, because she looked at him now and grinned. Her brown eyes sparkled and good humor fairly shimmered in the air around her. “Oh, very few people can pull stuffy off with any degree of success.”

“And I’m one of them?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, thoughtfully as she reached for her shake again. “But I see a glimmer of hope shining around you, Ron Bingham.”

“Is that so?” She kept twirling the straw through the ice cream, drawing his gaze to her red polished nails and the sapphire ring on her right hand.

“Oh yes.” She sucked at her straw, and Ron told himself not to notice the pucker of her full lips. For all the good it did him. “With a little bit of effort,” she said, “you could be destuffied.”

“Not even a word.”

“It is if I say it is.”

He smiled in spite of his efforts not to. “The de-stuffifying process sounds painful.”

“It won’t hurt a bit.”

Ron wasn’t too sure of that. He had a feeling that spending too much time with Lily could potentially be very painful. She made him think too much. Feel too much. Dream too much.

And for a man who’d been emotionally asleep for ten long years, waking up was not only painful…it was dangerous.

Over the weekend, Lily had had every intention of washing her car and then planting new flowers in the pots outside her front door. Well, the car was still dirty, but there were a few empty nursery pots scattered at her feet.

She sighed, tipped her head back and stretched the kinks out of her back while staring up at the cloud-covered sky. Looked as though a storm might be coming in and she found herself hoping it would happen. Not only did she enjoy the fabulous light show of electrical storms, but rain might take the edge off the humidity.

Smiling to herself, she bent down, blew her hair back out of her face and grabbed the sides of the huge, terra-cotta pot and gave it a pull.

It didn’t budge.

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” She stood up, frowned at the damn thing, then bent over to give it another yank. Still nothing. Although she was pretty sure she’d felt something in her back yell “uncle.”

“Maybe I should have put the pot on the steps first.” She shook her head, disgusted at her own lack of foresight. “Brilliant, Lily. Really brilliant.”

Purple, red and white petunias billowed over the edges of the pot and tumbled along the sides in wild profusion. They looked cheerful—and for the moment—healthy. Of course, they wouldn’t look that way for long.

Lily had a black thumb.

Every plant she’d ever bought had died a horrible death. She either underwatered or overwatered—didn’t seem to matter. She swore that when she walked through the local nursery choosing plants, you could almost hear the flowers shrieking, Not me, don’t take me!

She loved having flowers in her yard. Loved coming home to their color and scent. She simply had no talent for it. But that had never stopped her from trying.

“Until now,” she muttered, kicking the side of the heavy pot. Her white tennis shoe didn’t protect her toe, which only served her right, she thought as she hopped indelicately and bit down on her lip to keep from cursing.

It was a terrible habit, and she’d tried to put a lid on her foul language, especially since she’d moved into this neighborhood that was absolutely crawling with children. On that thought, she forgot about the stubborn pot and turned around to look out at the tree-shaded street. The Johnson twins, age seven, were popping caps with a hammer on their curb. Lily shook her head. Any moment now, one or both of them would be crying and sucking on a smashed finger. The Danville girl, at nine, was concentrating on a fierce game of hop-scotch—who knew kids still played that?—with her best friend. A couple of doors down, thirteen-year-old Kevin Hanks was busily mowing lawns for spending money.

Lily glanced at her own grass. Time to hire Kevin again before the neighbors started complaining. Honestly, moving to a house had been such a change from her loft apartment that sometimes she was just overwhelmed by it all. But bottom line—it was worth it. She loved having her own home. A place she could decorate or not. A place where she could practice her scandalously bad gardening skills. A place where she could sit on the front porch and listen to the sounds of children’s laughter.

A tiny ache pierced her heart, and she lifted one hand to her chest as if she could somehow smooth it away. Lily sighed a little as old dreams drifted through her mind and then dissolved again. She’d always wanted a family. Children of her own. But when she’d found out that wouldn’t be happening, she’d tried to make peace with it.

At first she’d thought of adoption. Then when her husband had left her, she’d let go of that thought as well. It hadn’t been common at that time for single women to adopt, and after the disaster of her marriage, getting married again wasn’t even a consideration. So Lily’d forgotten about her old dreams and had tried to build new ones.

Generally speaking, she’d done a hell of a job. Top of her game in the PR business, she’d had everything that most people worked their whole lives for. And she’d tossed it aside without a second thought the moment she’d had a chance to come here.

“It was a good choice,” she said, speaking aloud to make sure her subconscious heard her. “No matter what, it was a good thing, moving here.”

With that she turned around to face her enemy again. The overflowing pot of petunias that would, most likely, remain on the sidewalk for all eternity…or until the latest flowers died and she could empty the dirt and start over. “There’s just no way I’m gonna be able to move you.”

“Need some help?”

Surprise had her spinning around, and her heart had already done a weird little twist and roll before she realized the man talking to her wasn’t Ron Bingham. That in itself was a surprise. Every time she turned around lately, that man was there. As if he were keeping a wary eye on her.

But today, she had the police strolling up her front walk. Or at least, the sheriff. Bryce Collins gave her a quiet smile, and she forced herself to return it. He seemed a nice enough man. Tall and broad-shouldered, his gray eyes were always calm and steady, as if he could reassure people with a simple glance. And maybe that worked on most people.

However, it wouldn’t be working on Lily. Bryce Collins was going after Mari. Making it seem to the people of Binghamton that she was actually guilty. And from what she’d heard, he should have known better. Mari and Bryce had been as good as engaged several years ago—until Mari had gone off to medical school.

And maybe Bryce was just nursing a grudge, but whatever his reason, it seemed ridiculous to Lily that he could suspect a woman he’d once loved.

“Was driving by. Saw you kick that pot,” he was saying in a soft, amused tone. “Figured you might want a little help moving it.”

Lily stared at him for a long minute. Across the street, the Johnson boys were still snapping caps, the sharp, staccato bursts of sound like an overgrown clock ticking off seconds. Kevin’s lawnmower hummed in the background, and at the end of the block a car engine revved. A perfectly ordinary summer day.

Except for the fact that she had the town Sheriff offering to play landscaper.

“Shouldn’t you be out arresting Mari or something?” she snapped and instantly regretted it. Antagonizing the man was not the way to win him over to the truth.

Bryce’s gray eyes narrowed, full lips thinned into a grim slash across his face. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said quickly, lifting one dirt smudged hand to smooth her hair back from her face. “I tend to say whatever I’m thinking and, believe me, that’s gotten me into a lot of trouble over the years.”

His expression didn’t soften. “Can’t imagine why.” Sarcasm dripped off every word, and Lily winced.

“Right. Look.” She took a step forward, ignoring the ache in her toe. “You seem like a nice, intelligent, reasonable man…”

“But?”

“But—” Lily threw both hands high and let them slap down to her thighs “—I do not understand how a reasonable man could possibly suspect Mari of anything criminal.”

“Ms. Cunningham, I’m—”

“Lily.”

He caught himself, nodded and said, “Lily. I’m not going to discuss an ongoing investigation with you. That’s police business.”

“Investigation.” She snorted the word. “That you should be investigating Mari at all is criminal.”

He tensed and that muscle in his jaw twitched again.

“Fine,” she said, “we won’t talk about it. But you should be doing some serious thinking, Sheriff.”

Finally, a flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Is that so?”

“Yes. You should be thinking about who would want to make Mari look guilty.”

Amusement fled, and once again his gray eyes were steady and cool. He met her gaze for a long, silent moment before he said, “Trust me, ma’am. I’m doing a lot of thinking.”

Lily watched him closely. There was more here than met the eye. Despite how it might look to the rest of the town, Lily now had the distinct impression that a large part of Bryce Collins knew damn well that Mari wasn’t involved in the drug ring. His problem was, she guessed, that being sheriff, he was forced to run down every possibility.

Whether he believed it or not.

Lily nodded slowly, took a deep breath and then let it out again. “Okay, Sheriff,” she said softly, “I will trust you.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Thanks.”

“For now,” she added, just so he would know that if she thought he was barking up the wrong tree again, she’d be right there to tell him so.

He smiled and gave her a look of approval. And Lily thought that once this whole mess was behind them, she and Bryce Collins might be able to be friends.

“So,” he said. “You want some help moving that pot?”

They might have their differences, but Lily was no dummy. Why turn down a big, strong man when he’s offering help? “You get that pot up onto the porch—and the matching one, too—and I’ll pour iced tea.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Bryce walked to the first pot and stared down at the rioting petunias. “Look real pretty, don’t they?”

“Yes,” Lily said on a resigned sigh. “But that’s only because they don’t realize just how close death is.”

“Does anybody?”

“Guess not,” she said, shivering as a small chill crawled along her spine. “I’ll go get that tea.”