Belinda (10 page)

Not that he’d been avoiding her, he told
himself as he drifted toward the sound of the music. He’d been busy
catching up with his work now that he didn’t have the constant
worry of finding and keeping a good nanny for his children.

Light and music poured through the open
doorway, and it seemed that his den had been transformed into a
place of enchantment. When he reached the door, he saw Belinda,
draped in scarlet chiffon and rhinestones, her arms lifted
gracefully over her head, waltzing and twirling.

She came to a stop in front of him. “Hello.”
Her smile was radiant. “Fancy meeting you like this.”

Before he could say anything, she drifted off
in a whirl of chiffon skirts, dancing the music until she had made
another circuit of the room. When she was even with him once more,
she paused, arms still lifted over her head.

“Well, hello again.”

Reeve’s gaze lingered on her face, then moved
to the soft blue-veined skin of her upper arms. He could see her
pulse beating there, like tiny wings of a trapped butterfly. He
couldn’t seem to take his eyes off that vulnerable spot.

“Here it is, this lovely summer evening—” her
voice wove itself around his mind, drawing his attention back to
her face and her wonderful vampish lips “—and the children are all
tucked into bed. Quincy’s sound asleep, too. Don’t you think this
is a grand time to dance?”

She waited for his response. It was a long
time coming. He was trapped in the contemplation of her lips.

“I suppose...” he finally said, leaving the
sentence adrift among the haunting strains of music.

Belinda took his hand and pulled him into the
den. A warmth spread through him, and he reached back and quietly
shut the door.

“What is that music you’re playing?”

“An old Hank Williams tune, ‘Your Cheatin’
Heart.’ It was the first CD I ever owned, and I was always a fool
about it. Couldn’t bear to leave it behind, so when I left Augusta,
I tucked it into my suitcase.”

He had a sudden vision of Belinda walking
sideways under the weight of her possessions. He wondered if she’d
put in her grocery-store china with the blue chickens around the
border.

“Hmm,” he murmured. Whether he was agreeing
with her decision to bring her music to Tupelo or just making a
noise to let her know he was listening, he didn’t know. He glanced
down at their entwined hands. Holding her hand felt good and right
somehow, so he held on.

“Do you dance?” she asked.

“Not much.”

“That’s what I figured. Shoot, I’ll bet you
haven’t danced in a month of Sundays.”

“Something like that.”

They had been moving slowly toward the center
of the room as they talked. Her chiffon skirts whispered against
his trousers and her fragrance drifted around him.

“You wait right here,” she said. “Now don’t
you move.”

He wouldn’t have moved if an elephant
suddenly charged into the room.

Belinda started the record again, and Hank
Williams’ sad song of lost love filled the room. Belinda came
toward him, singing along. She had a sweet clear voice that set his
skin a-tingle.

She drifted into his arms and it seemed only
natural to hold her there. He didn’t know who made the first move,
but suddenly they were dancing, hips pressed close, hands tightly
clasped. It seemed he had never danced before and, at the same
time, that he had
always
danced. Belinda was tall and
willowy, and she moved in his arms with more grace than any woman
he’d ever known. His own movements were surprisingly sure, as if
the memories of dance had been buried deep inside and had sprung to
life in that moment of music and roses.

He felt something soft against his cheek and,
looking down, saw that it was her hair. Belinda had laid her head
on his shoulder, and her silky hair caressed his cheek. He closed
his eyes to the lovely sensations that rippled along his skin.

“You dance a lot better than Charlie
Crocket,” she said.

“I’m glad.” He tightened his hold, wanting
close enough so their heartbeats blended.

“Better even than Matt Hankins.”

“Who’s Matt Hankins?”

“Just somebody who drifted out of my life the
same way he drifted in. Men seem to come and go in my life with the
regularity of tides.”

Reeve was jealous of them all—Matt Hankins
and Charlie Crocket and every other man who had ever drifted close
enough to be a part of Belinda’s life. The force of his feeling
startled him, and he was suddenly very conscious of the way he was
holding Belinda.

He eased his hold and she tipped her face up
and smiled at him.

“I’m harmless, Reeve.”

Her quick assessment of his motives startled
him. “Perhaps I’m not.”

“Oh.”

Gazing down at her, he lost track of the
music. His steps slowed, then stopped altogether.

The music wound to a close, and still they
stood in the center of the room, holding each other, locked
together by passion that was as sudden as it was unexpected.

He moved away from her, toward the sofa, his
heart beating as if he had just escaped a band of cutthroats.
Belinda stood silently in the center of the room, beautiful and
lovely to look at.

There was an unconscious elegance about her
that struck Reeve as both natural and surprisingly strange. How
could a woman of her background project such a stately well-bred
image? What would she be like if she were groomed and tutored and
polished? It boggled the mind.

“Do you like ballet?” he asked suddenly.

She smiled, then came toward him, her skirts
whispering softly. “Well, I’ve never seen the real stuff, up on a
big stage and all that, but I’ve seen some on the TV.”

With an ease born of self-confidence, Belinda
sat on the sofa beside him, spreading her skirts carefully, then
taking time to bend down and smooth her hose. Not many women wore
them nowadays, especially women as young as she. Somehow, he found
that fashion statement very endearing.

“Did you like the ballet, Belinda?”

“I thought all that jumping around was right
graceful, and the women’s costumes were just peachy, but I did
think the men ought to wear a different kind of pants. I mean, just
look what all they were showing.”

“Indeed.” Reeve smoothed his hand over his
chin to keep from chuckling. Belinda’s point of view never failed
to delight him.

“What would you think about going with me to
the ballet Saturday night?”

“Why...I would think that was just about the
grandest thing I’ve done since I came to Tupelo.”

She leaned down to give her legs another
smoothing. Reeve’s gaze followed her hands. A muscle worked in his
jaw, and sweat beaded his upper lip. Someday he might have to tell
her what her unconscious gesture did to him. On the other hand, he
didn’t really want her to stop.

Belinda finished arranging herself and smiled
at Reeve. “Now that I’m drawing such a fancy salary, I might start
going to all sorts of highbrow stuff like the ballet. I’ve always
thought I’d like it better than mud wrestling, anyhow.”

“Mud wrestling?”

“Charlie Crocket used to be right fond of the
Saturday night mud wrestling. Of course, I always did like to be in
a crowd that’s having fun, but seeing folks grabbing at each other
all covered in mud didn’t have much appeal to me.”

“I think you’ll find the ballet much more to
your liking.”

The scent of roses drifted Reeve’s way again,
and he fought the urge to slide his arm along the back of the sofa
and rest it lightly on Belinda’s shoulders. It was time for him to
go. After all, he had made a small start on his project, and the
things he wished to accomplish couldn’t be done in a single
evening. The education and sophistication of Belinda Diamond would
take a long time.

Reeve smiled. He couldn’t remember when he
had been as excited over a project. Belinda had great potential,
and when he finished with her, she’d be the envy of every woman in
Tupelo—and the target of every man. That last thought shook him a
little. Not for any personal reasons, he assured himself. Not at
all. His reasons for remaking Belinda Diamond were strictly
business. She was the best nanny he had ever hired, and with a
little polish, she would be perfect. And if his finished product
attracted the attention of men, he’d just have to protect her. It
was that simple.

He was enormously pleased with himself, so
pleased that he reached over and lightly squeezed her hand.

“Will you please excuse me, Belinda?” He
wanted to get started right away lining up the necessary people for
his project.

“Certainly.”

He stood up. “Thank you for the dance.”

“Next time we’ll do the jitterbug. It’s one
of the best dances ever invented.”

“Indeed.” He was spellbound for a moment,
lost in thoughts of doing the jitterbug with Belinda. Then he said
good-night and strode from the den, trying all the while to stay in
his dual role of employer and tutor.

In the doorway, he stopped and glanced back
at Belinda. She lifted her hand and flickered her fingers at
him.

“Toodle-oo,” she said.

Reeve left the den whistling. He guessed an
employer might whistle on occasion. What was the harm?

Belinda sat on the sofa, humming, watching
him go. Boy, had he surprised her. That man was some dancer. Why,
she had felt like she was floating, the way he had held her in his
arms and guided her around the room—just floating off on a fine big
old cloud.

“Hmm...” She hugged herself and closed her
eyes. “My, my,” she murmured, remembering how his eyes had gotten
all bright and hot-looking when they had stopped in the middle of
the dance and stood gazing at each other. And just to think he had
invited her to the ballet.

She imagined herself walking into the
auditorium, holding his arm like a queen. Why, she’d bet every
woman in town would envy her. Never in all her life had a man like
Reeve Lawrence drifted her way.

She leaned her head back on the sofa and
imagined holding hands with him there—and even kissing him
good-night. Her dream was so real she could almost feel his lips on
hers.

“Hmm,” she said again, then suddenly sat up,
eyes wide. “Now wait here just a minute, Belinda Stubaker. This is
the best job you’ve ever had. Don’t you dare go messing it up with
silly notions of falling in love with the boss.”

She got up and hurried across the room to put
on some more music. Music was just what she needed to set herself
straight on the present situation.

Another sad country song began, and Belinda
slowly started to sway. She had done well this evening, getting
Reeve to loosen up a little and dance. But that was all she planned
to do—loosen him up a little and teach him how to enjoy life.
Shoot, she wasn’t about to overstep her bounds and find another man
drifting out of her life. She was ready for a little
permanence.

“I surely do love this grand house,” she
whispered as she twirled to the music of Waylon Jennings.

o0o

Reeve had never intended to go shopping for a
dress, but that was exactly what he found himself doing the day
after he invited Belinda to the ballet. He had been walking down
Main Street after lunch, enjoying the sunshine and taking a rare
leisurely stroll before going back to his office at Lawrence
Enterprises, when he had spotted the perfect dress for Belinda. He
went inside the store.

Maureen, who remembered him from the days
Sunny had been alive, hurried to meet him. “Can I help you, Mr.
Lawrence?”

“Yes. The I’d like to see the dress in the
window, Maureen. Do you have it in size...” Reeve had no idea what
size Belinda wore. Sunny had been a perfect size six, and while
Belinda was just as slim, she was also taller.

Maureen was quick to see his dilemma.
“Perhaps if you will describe the lady in question, I can help you
with the size.”

“She’s tall. At least five nine, perhaps five
ten. And very slender, almost as slim as Sunny.”

“I see.” There was no disapproval in
Maureen’s tone, only a polite interest and perhaps a mild
curiosity. “This dress is fitted. Is she full figured?”

“No, I wouldn’t say so.”

Reeve was surprised at how easy it was to
shop for Belinda. He had no haunting visions of Sunny, no feelings
of guilt. He didn’t even suffer the dull aching sense of loss that
had been a part of his life for the past two years. Instead, he
felt a sense of peace as pleasant memories of times spent in this
store with Sunny played through his mind. He felt almost as if he
was finally bidding goodbye to Sunny, allowing her to move on to a
different realm. Not that he had stopped loving her. He would never
stop loving her. But now, he could let her go.

The changes had taken place so gradually he
hadn’t even noticed them. Time had healed his wounds. Time and
perhaps a woman named Belinda Diamond.

He felt curiously buoyant, as if he might
take wing and fly out of the store.

Maureen got the dress for him, assuring him
that the lady could return it if it didn’t fit.

“Do you want it gift wrapped?”

He hadn’t planned to, but gift wrapping
suddenly seemed like a wonderful idea. Belinda was the kind of
woman who would love a surprise that came in a fancy package.

“Yes, please. And, Maureen, use the fanciest
paper you have and tie it with the biggest bow.”

Maureen quirked one eyebrow upward, perhaps
remembering that Sunny had been discreet and understated in all
things—including gift-wrapped packages.

“Certainly, Mr. Lawrence.”

o0o

Reeve considered leaving the package on
Belinda’s bed and letting her find it on her own. Then he thought
about presenting it to her at the dinner table in the presence of
his children. For a while he was taken with the idea of having it
delivered to the house by a messenger boy. “Package for Miss
Belinda Diamond,” the delivery boy would say. How Belinda would
love that!