Born in a Small Town

Page 17

“Yeah? What did you think I’d be driving?” he asked, rolling down his window for a breath of fresh air. “Too windy?”
“No,” she said, tossing back her hair. “I thought you’d be driving more of a stockbroker’s type of vehicle. You know, a BMW or a Mercedes or something.”
“Me?” Jack laughed. “No way!”
“Is that what you are—a stockbroker? Lawyer?” she asked, adding quickly, “I’m just guessing.”
“No.” He considered. Did he really want to tell her he was a small-time farmer? Or about to become one? They hadn’t had much chance to talk in the club or in the bar, which had been almost as noisy. “I’m a geologist by trade. Prospector.”
“Really! Ever find anything exciting?”
“You mean like diamonds or gold? No.” He shot her a look in the dark of the car, lit only by the instrument panel and the streetlights as they drove slowly up Edmonton Trail. He was in no hurry to get to the sister’s, where she said she was staying. He had the impression she was just visiting Calgary, that she was from somewhere else. Edmonton?
“You ever find anything?”
“Oh, sure. Boring useful stuff like zinc and copper. Molybdenum.”
“Hmm.” She sounded dreamy, not really paying attention to him.
“Turn here?” He indicated the quiet residential street that ran parallel to the Bow River valley at the top of the hill. She nodded.
“It’s the house up there, the one with the van parked in the driveway.”
Jack noticed the van had “Emily’s Kitchen” painted on the side. Her sister. There was another vehicle beside it, a new Bronco.
He parked and got out of the Mustang, then walked around to her side, feeling real regret that the evening was over. He opened the door for her. “I’ll walk you to the house.”
“All right.” She seemed at loose ends all of a sudden, the intimacy of the warm interior of the car shattered in the crisp night air. She shivered and drew her jacket closer, and Jack put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him for a few seconds, head bent. He squeezed her shoulders, then released her and reached for her hand. His heart was beating like crazy.
They walked quietly up the frosty sidewalk.
“Are you going to ring?” Jack asked, ready to push the doorbell with his thumb.
“No,” she said, putting her hand on his arm.
“I’ve got a key. Well—” she looked up at him “—thank you for everything, Jack. I had a wonderful—”
What the hell. He reached for her and lowered his mouth over hers, then wrapped his arms around her, pressing her tightly against him. Her mouth was soft and sweet. She’d long ago lost her vampy lipstick, and he liked that. He deepened the kiss, suddenly desperate to have her, all of her. It wasn’t going to happen, not in a million years. She was clearly a city gal, and he was looking for a different kind of woman to share his life. Not that one chance encounter at a noisy club meant he was even thinking along those lines, at least as far as she was concerned.
But, man, she was luscious. And beautiful. And sexy. And…inexperienced. He could tell by the way she kissed. Awkward, yet intense. The very sense he had of her vulnerability had him pulling away from her.
“Hannah?” He tilted her chin up. “I had a great time tonight. You’re one terrific lady. I won’t forget you.”
He took the key from her, inserted it in the lock and held the door open as she stumbled inside. She looked as shaken as he felt. “Good night, Cinderella.”
She lifted her hand in a feeble wave, and he closed the door and tore off down the sidewalk, cursing how quickly good luck could turn to bad.
Still, in his business, wasn’t he used to that?
CHAPTER FOUR
HANNAH MADE HER WAY quietly into Emily’s small living room. Sheets and blankets were piled on the arm of the sofa bed. A light on the end table was the only illumination in the otherwise dark room. Hannah hoped she hadn’t disturbed Emily and her…visitor, coming in late like this.
She bent down to unzip her boots and kicked them off. Then she sank onto the soft chenille upholstery of the sofa and stretched and sighed.
Jack had kissed her. He’d actually kissed her! He’d seemed to mean it. To really, truly want to kiss her. Hannah put her hands to her cheeks, still flushed and hot. What a night!
And then a thought struck—it wasn’t her he’d kissed. He’d kissed the person she’d pretended to be, all dressed up in sexy clothes and hair dyed red. The makeup, the earrings, the—
“Steve!” came a frightened yelp from the hallway that led to Emily’s bedroom, as well as the extra bedroom she used as a home office for her catering business, and the bathroom.
“Em?”
Hannah was bewildered. Her sister had appeared briefly at the end of the hall, in slippers and bathrobe, then turned and streaked back down the hallway. She could hear a furious low-pitched discussion, a man’s deep voice and then Emily appeared at the corner of the hallway again, just peeking into the living room.
“Emily, for heaven’s sake, what’s wrong?” Hannah smiled. Her sister was incorrigibly dramatic.
“Hannah! Omigod, I didn’t recognize you! I thought it was someone else in my house. A burglar or something. Steve!” she yelled over her shoulder.
“You can come out now—it’s my sister!” She came over to Hannah, shaking her head. “That guy! I swear he grabbed his cell phone and dived under the bed…”
She came closer and did an exaggerated double take. “Look at you!” She grabbed Hannah’s shoulders. “What happened? What did you do to your hair? It looks fabulous. You look terrific. Are those your boots? Omigod—Prada?”
Hannah shot her a wry glance. “A knockoff.”
“Wow, you could be straight out of Vogue. What’s got into you?” Her sister stood up and switched on another table lamp.
“You,” Hannah said wryly. She tossed her new jacket onto the arm of the sofa, revealing the glittery tank top in all its sexy splendor. It had cost a ridiculous amount of money. So had the boots, a knockoff or not. She was freezing. “Oh, Em. You’re always telling me I’m so dull. I just wanted to prove to you for once that I was capable of dressing up—and then you don’t show.”
Emily looked guilty, but not as guilty or as sick as Hannah had expected.
“You didn’t plan it this way, did you?” she asked suspiciously. “Throw the boring big sister out of the nest to see if she can wobble along on her own?”
“No, definitely not!” Emily sniffed and sat down again. She did sound a little congested. “Was the club nice? I hear that band’s really hot. You have a good time?”
Hannah threw her a superior look. She was enjoying this. “Oh, excellent.”
“Uh, meet any guys?” Now her sister was getting to the main point—at least the point that interested her the most.
“A few.” She paused for effect. “One very nice man, in particular. He drove me home.”
“He did?” Eyes alight, Emily moved closer to her on the sofa. She plucked at the soft leather of Hannah’s skirt. This foray into chic had cost Hannah a month’s wages. “Very cool. You get that in Glory?”
Hannah nodded. “Maude’s.” She reached for the overnight bag she’d left at Emily’s earlier, when she’d come into town. Emily had been at work. She pulled out a nightgown, her usual rose-sprigged cotton flannel, and made a silent gesture toward the hall and mouthed, “Steve?”
“Never mind him. Here, I’ll make up your bed while you go change.”
“I’ll do it, Em,” Hannah said firmly, her hand on her sister’s arm. “You’re sick—remember?”
She shooed her sister away and padded down the hall to the small, old-fashioned bathroom with her nightie and her toiletries bag. Back to being plain old Hannah Parrish. The car would be ready at noon. The adventure was over. It’d been a lot of fun, she had to admit. But she wasn’t going to make a habit of this kind of thing.
She folded her new clothes carefully and stacked them in a little pile on Emily’s laundry hamper to repack. Back to sweaters and skirts. And comfortable shoes. And cotton underwear. She carefully peeled off the false eyelashes. Ouch! Back to no makeup—moisturizer and maybe lip gloss. The fake fingernails could stay for now. She’d paid forty bucks; she might as well enjoy them. She’d work on removing them when she got home. But what if she had to live with acrylic talons? Maybe they wouldn’t come off.
I’ll never forget you. Had he really meant it? she wondered sadly, wiping off her eyeshadow. She’d never forget him, either, but that was irrelevant. The ball was over. The prince was still a prince—somewhere—but Cinderella would be back to her old life in the morning.
HANNAH WENT to church with Mrs. Putty on Sunday, something she often did. The old lady was always so grateful to have company on the short walk to the church. Hannah didn’t care much about the sermon, but she liked the singing.
The next day she did laundry and thoroughly cleaned her apartment, which barely needed cleaning. One person, especially a careful orderly person like Hannah, didn’t make much mess. She turned up the heat and gave Joan a bath. The parrot adored water and created such havoc in Hannah’s bathroom that she kept the bird’s bathing down to once a week, mostly in the summer because she worried about Joan’s catching cold. It wasn’t summer now, so this was a special treat. “Atta girl! Blimey! Atta girl! Take off, eh?” Joan squawked over and over, letting Hannah know the bath was appreciated.
After her bath, Joan would spend the rest of the day quietly grooming herself, so it was worth the chaos in order to get the peace and quiet of a contented parrot.
Mr. Spitz, who was black with a white spot on his head, was no trouble. He was getting on—Hannah had no idea how old he was, since she’d gotten him from the High River pound—and spent most of the day sleeping on top of the refrigerator or in Hannah’s bay-window seat.
She washed her hair before she went to bed, the fifth shampoo since she’d tinted it. She was getting a little worried. Her hair didn’t show the slightest sign of fading back to its regular brown, and the tint was supposed to come out in eight washings. Good thing she still had her whole vacation ahead of her.
That was Monday.
Tuesday, she went shopping and restocked all her cupboards and made Seth Wilbee a pound cake. She put soy flour in it, too, and wondered if he’d notice. She could hardly cover up the flavor with spices, not in a pound cake. At the last minute she threw in a few handfuls of raisins. Now it was a raisin cake. Extra nutrition, she told herself.
That evening she started a new needlepoint project—a bellpull she wanted to give to the senior librarian, who was retiring this year, as a Christmas gift—and watched something on public television. Beginning a new needlework project, usually a source of great satisfaction to Hannah, just didn’t hold her interest, and after half an hour, she put it away. Even the television bored her, and by half-past nine, she was in bed reading, hair damp from the sixth washing. But she couldn’t keep her mind on the story. All she saw on the page was a redheaded woman dancing with a mysterious stranger.