Banjo Man (3 page)

She only made it as far as the living room when she tripped over something big, black, and hard in the dark.

“Ow!” she yelped, cradling her stubbed toe in one hand.

Rick sauntered in, flipped on the light, and shook his head. “And you said you drove all the way from Pennsylvania by yourself?” There was a distinct note of disbelief in his voice.

“Yes. Yes, I certainly did. And without brakes.”

“Sounds like a fool thing to do, woman. I’m all for a little risk, but even
I
wouldn’t try such a drive.”

Laurie scowled at him and dropped onto the sofa. She sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “Listen, I didn’t plan it that way! I’m really a very calm, sensible, practical person.”

“Sure.”

“Yes, I am! It so happens that I had just gotten out … out of my hometown, and headed across the mountains, and I lost my brakes. Ellen’s brother delivered the car, and said he had checked
it out, so I thought everything was fine. It wasn’t—” She stared him down, daring him to challenge her story, then shrugged lightly and added, “So I did what I had to do. I drove here. And here I am. And what in the world are all these cases and why are they lying around in the dark?”

“Banjos.”

“Banjos? All of them?”

“Yup! Mostly five-string, some a hundred years old, some all the way from Possum Hollow, Kentucky.” His dark eyes shone with a glint of pure, joyous delight. “Look at that one,” he said, pointing to a dark shape in the corner. “It’s so purty, I wish I could play the case!”

His enthusiasm was as contagious as measles, and Laurie grinned. “I’ve never heard anyone talk that way about a banjo before.”

“No, guess not.” He laughed softly, averting his face. Then he met her eyes, and held them with his dark, intense gaze. “Someday I’m going to love a woman the way I love these banjos, and we’ll make our own kind of music together. Then I won’t have to ride to the moon alone.”

Laurie’s eyes were round as saucers. Why was he telling her this? What did he mean?

But before she could ask, Rick leaped to his feet, avoiding her eyes now, and strode to the kitchen. In a second he was back with a tall glass of some frothy amber liquid and a small plate of coarse dark bread spread with honey. “Here, get yourself some energy, sweet thing.”

“Would you
please
stop calling me that!” Laurie demanded, her hand poised in midair.

“Why? It suits you.”

“How do you know? You don’t know a thing about me.”

“But I bet I’m right! Wanna bet? And let me see, now, what would be an appropriate prize?”

“You’re crazy!” She laughed, accepting the glass from his hand and taking a tiny sip. “Ummm—this is wonderful. What is it?”

“A banana–yogurt–summer-squash shake.”

“Ugh!” Laurie held the glass at arm’s length and stared at it. “Are you kidding?”

“Nope.” He laughed, that now-familiar glint flashing in his dark eyes. “Go on, drink it down. Guaranteed by Aunt Jess Winters in Skytop, Tennessee, to cure what ails you. Whatever it may be!”

“And the bread … first tell me what’s in it!”

“Rye, rolled oats, whole wheat and wheat germ, sorghum molasses. I made it myself.”

“You’re not serious!”

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a real skeptical side to your nature?”

“No one’s ever fed me health food in the middle of the night before,” Laurie retorted, smiling.

“Their loss, my gain,” Rick answered, a teasing grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. Then he rose, picked up a banjo case, and came back to sit next to Laurie on the sofa, his thigh stretched intimately alongside hers.

She felt the heat of his body through their clothes and stiffened. Forbidding her hands to tremble or her voice to quake, she quipped with feigned nonchalance, “I bet that banjo has a story to tell.”

Rick pinned her with a glance that saw right through her masquerade, but his dark eyes were as gentle as they were penetrating. He studied Laurie briefly, then bent his head and concentrated on the banjo case in his hands. “This banjo, here, was made before the Civil War. I got it from a man who got it from a man who got it from the great Doc Hopkins. That makes me one lucky fellow.”

Tossing her a boyish grin, he snapped open the case and withdrew the long-necked instrument. “You asked how I met Ellen? Well, it all started with this banjo. When I got it, some of the parquet work here on the neck was chipping. It was late one night after a show, and I was dog-tired and ready to drop, but when my manager handed me this baby, well, I just had to get to work on her. Went to cut a spare piece of wood and slashed my arm open. Ellen was on duty that night in Emergency. Like tonight.”

“Oh, how terrible!”

“Sure was. I bled all over the drumhead, and had to replace it. Damn!”

Laurie shook her head in disbelief. “No, I meant
you.
It must have hurt.”

“I’m tough,” he answered simply, a grin spreading over his handsome face. “But I never object to a little sympathy and comfort, especially from a beautiful woman—”

Laurie was on her feet and talking before he could finish his sentence. “You know, I think what I really need is a little sleep. I’m supposed to start work tomorrow, and—”

“That’s all right. I’ve got early rehearsals. Just leave the stuff; I’ll clean up. You take the bedroom and I’ll toss my body on the couch.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t hear of it!” How could she ever explain to him about the bed? There was no way she could sleep on that pillow, that sheet. “No! I insist that I take the couch! It’s only fair.”

Rick forked one hand through his tousled hair, then crossed his arms solidly over his chest and dropped onto the couch. “You want to argue about this, sweet thing? Or you want to get some rest?”

“I … guess I’ll get some rest,” Laurie whispered, edging backward toward the bedroom.

“Good. Sleep tight.”

Nodding pleasantly, she slipped through the door, shut it behind her and collapsed against it, her strength pouring out through the soles of her feet like water from a sieve. So much for any hope of sleep tonight!

Through the wall, she heard Rick moving about in the other rooms. Then the bright slice of light beneath the door vanished, and all was quiet.

Quiet as a mouse herself, Laurie slipped to the side of the bed and lay down, fully dressed, eyes staring at the ceiling. The minutes ticked by, slowly, bringing no easing of her tension. She felt like an overstretched banjo string, thrumming with the beat of her own pulse, ready to snap at a touch.

Sitting up, she partially loosened her dress, unfastened the belt, and lay down again. Then she was up, kicking off her shoes, peeling off her stockings. Lying down, she thought she was going to suffocate; she was afraid to breathe too deeply, afraid to close her eyes. She jumped up, slipped her dress off over her head, and tiptoed to the window in her prim white slip. Opening the window, she drew a steadying breath, then roamed silently about the room, pacing, counting her steps, and trying not to think—about anything!

I knew it
, she grumbled softly to herself.
I should have had that glass of warm milk and never talked to him! I should have stopped and called Ellen, as I said I would. I never should have left the convent on a weekend. Maybe … maybe, I never should have left at all.

Covering her face with her trembling hands, she leaned against the wall.
Oh, I don’t mean that, I really don’t! I’m just scared, that’s all, a little scared.
Anyone
would be, right? I’ve spent every long night for years in a tiny cell, with dozens of other women beyond the curtain. And tonight
who’s there but a tall, sexy man with a bare chest and warm, earth-brown eyes. Oh, I’m beginning to sound like my sister Katy, or Ellen, or …

Her wide gray eyes lit with laughter, which she smothered quickly behind one hand.
Goodness, I’m beginning not to sound like a nun! Now, that may be a cause for celebration—one warm milk coming up!

Laurie stole to the door, pried it open silently, and sneaked out into the living room. There she stopped dead in her tracks.

Moonlight was pouring through the open window, lighting the form on the couch with a pale, golden glow. Rick Westin had one arm thrown across his eyes, the other angled across his bronzed chest. His bare legs were stretched the length of the couch, his feet dangling over its arm. Laurie’s hand flew to her mouth. Now she knew why they called them briefs! Not much of this man was hidden, and both what she saw and what she could imagine left her breathless.

Thank heavens he was sleeping!

Laurie leaned just a tiny bit closer, marveling at the dark dusting of hair on his chest and thighs, the golden glow of his skin, the loose power in his limbs. And then she pinched herself, gulped a huge breath of air, and spun back toward the safety of her door.

But not in time.

Rick’s soft, teasing “ ’Night, sweet thing!” caught her. Pierced her like an arrow.

And when she finally managed to slip into the less-wrinkled side of the bed and pressed her heavy eyelids shut, the voice remained with her, accompanied by the soft distant strains of a banjo.

“Good morning, Paula,” Laurie called to the secretary who was sitting just inside the suite of offices that housed Senator Murphy’s ambitious staff.

“Well, and a good morning to you, Laurie!” The trim, gray-haired woman’s face lit in a smile at the sight of the newest member of the staff. “You’re looking mighty chipper this morning! Seems we haven’t scared you off after your first week of work.”

“Not by a long shot!” Laurie quipped. “To tell the truth, Paula, I love being busy. I love the bustle and chatter and responsibility—all the people I’ve met, and the feeling that I’m right at the heart of things.”

Paula took off her glasses and rubbed the lenses absentmindedly with the edge of her sweater. “Yes, I know just what you mean. After my husband died, I knew I had better get out and get a job, or I’d end up sitting alone and stewing in my own misery. And the pace here does keep one’s mind from dwelling on other things.”

Laurie’s mind was immediately filled with visions of high convent walls, and silent halls, and—

With a start, she realized that was not the only image she had been holding at bay all week. Conjuring up a totally opposite emotion was the sharp, tantalizing image of a lean, dark banjo player. Excitement quickened her blood.

Laurie blushed. Then, feigning nonchalance, she looked around the office. “Well, what does the good senator have in store for me today?”

“Plenty!” the older woman answered briskly, her tone effortlessly becoming businesslike as she handed Laurie a stack of notebooks. “The senator wants these facts researched before he goes back to Pennsylvania tomorrow. All the info’s here. ‘All you have to do is do it!’ ” She grinned as she repeated the jovial legislator’s often-used dictum.

Laurie looked down at the papers, then back up at Paula. “But where?”

“Library of Congress. Thataway.” She pointed out the window. “Just go out the east entrance, up South Capitol Street, and turn right on Independence. And if it’s your first visit, you’re in for a treat!” With that, she bowed her head over a pile of memos stacked precariously atop her desk.

Hugging the files to her chest, Laurie spun on her heel and marched briskly back out the door. Each day there were new things, unexpected, unpredictable things, to deal with: contact with public figures she had always relegated to another world, press conferences, cocktail parties, a pass by a coworker! And each day she felt more ready to handle them and less “different” than she had the day before. It was a wonderful feeling, one that warmed her heart and pushed away the fear she’d lived with these past months.

And much of this new confidence she owed to Ellen.

Dear Ellen, who had stumbled into her apartment at seven last Monday morning, yelped in surprise, and smothered Laurie in genuine affection. First she had handed over a battered suitcase full of outdated clothes sent ahead by Laurie’s mother, and a half dozen phone messages from her father, and then she’d offered another hug of welcome. “Oh, I am
so
glad you’re here, Laurie!”

They had perched on kitchen stools, their mugs of hot tea steaming on the counter top, as Ellen groaned and gasped her way through Laurie’s retelling of her departure, perilous drive, and late-night arrival at the apartment.

“That brother of mine! I’ll strangle him the next time I see him. Not checking the brakes! Where is that boy’s good sense?”

“Oh, Ellen, don’t scold! ‘All’s well that ends well.’ ”

“You call that ‘ending well’? Getting here in the wee hours of the morning and finding Westin asleep in the bed? Hmm. I guess you
could
call that ‘ending well,’ though I’m surprised you’re so … liberated!”

“Ellen!”

“Oh, I’m just teasing. But I bet you
were
surprised!”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Laurie giggled. “Remember the time we walked past the boys’ locker room, just as they threw Steve Lanski out in his shorts? Well, I think I had the same expression on my face.”

“Hysteria! Oh, my poor, innocent girl. You make me feel eighteen again, and that hasn’t happened in quite a while. Laurie, tell me,” Ellen prompted, her eyes warm with friendship, “are
you
still eighteen?”

Laurie hesitated for just a brief moment, then answered clearly and honestly. “I’m afraid so. In some ways, at least.”

“Well! Then I’d better do a little protecting here. Westin, up and out!”

Disappearing faster than a rabbit in a magician’s hat, she vanished into the living room, where she routed Rick Westin from his berth on the sofa. “Time to go home, handsome. Here are your pants. Your banjos. Your shirt. Call me later in the week and I’ll cook you some dinner.”

“Will that sweet thing be here?” he asked sleepily, pulling on his boots.

“Depends on how safe she’ll be in your presence.”

“Hey, you know me,” he replied, managing to sound terribly wounded by her unjust accusation.

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Ellen insisted, and their mingled laughter floated back to Laurie’s hiding place in the kitchen.