Born Innocent (3 page)

“
Well.” In the mirror, Ella’s reflection wore a wounded look. “I certainly didn’t think you’d
mind
if I invited him. He’s such a nice man, after all.”

“
You were matchmaking, Mother. Just admit it.”

Ella turned then and faced her daughter. ‘ ‘And what if I was? I can’t see how my creating a pleasant opportunity for you to enjoy the company of a decent man is going to hurt you.”

“
I’m not interested in him, Mother. Get that through your head.’ ’

“
Oh, no? And why not?”

“
I’m just not.”

“
That’s no answer.”

“
It’s answer enough.”

“
Oh, stop this. Let’s be honest, at least, just between you and me. Let’s have it out in the open. You’re not interested in a nice, respectable man because—”

“
Mother, don’t start,” Claire warned.

But it had no effect. Her mother finished triumphantly, “You’re too busy waiting around for a single glance from that no-good bounty hunter, Joe Tally!”

Claire said nothing for a moment. She was trying to keep from defending Joe, because defending Joe would only play into her mother’s hands. But, in the end, she couldn’t stand the unfairness. Joe was a good man who’d never had a single break in his whole life. And Claire wouldn’t stand by and let people run him down. She softly advised, “Don’t call Joe names, Mother.”

“
Names? What names? I suppose you’re going to try to tell me he isn’t a bounty hunter?”

“
You know what I mean. You said he was no good.”

“
It’s only the truth.”

“
It is not. Joe is...” Claire contained herself, reminding herself of the true issue here. “Joe’s got nothing to do with this discussion.”

With a snort of pure disdain, Ella waved her hand in front of her face. “Good heavens, how you do delude yourself. But you can’t delude me. Joe Tally has
everything
to do with why you won’t give a decent man a chance. I’ve watched you since you were little more than a baby, chasing after him, following him around like a lovesick calf. And even though you tell me there’s nothing between you, I know what’s before my eyes.”

“
It’s none of your business, Mother.” Claire tried to sound strong and purposeful, but her mother became nothing short of an emotional battering ram once she got going. Claire found herself wishing she’d kept her mouth shut about Alan Henson. She should have just left well enough alone and ignored her mother’s embarrassing attempts at matchmaking.

But it was too late. Ella, who was a tall woman, anyway, drew herself up even taller. “None of my business? How can you say that? My only daughter is ruining her life and she tries to tell me it’s none of my affair?”

“
I’m not—”

“
Don’t tell me what you’re
not
doing. I can see. And don’t fool yourself. I know what’s best for my own child. And what’s more, I will never stop providing opportunities for you to get to know nice men
—
any
men—as long as they’re not that trouble-making loser, Joe Tally!”

Claire was reaching the end of her rope on the subject of Joe. She spoke very precisely. “Joe is not a troublemaker, Mother. Nor is he a loser.”

But Ella would not be silenced. “He is and always has been
nothing
but bad news. And if you weren’t so blinded by your sick infatuation with him, you’d realize the truth. It is purely a miracle that he’s managed to end up on the right-hand side of the law. Why, when he was a boy—”

“
Stop it, Mother. I’m not telling you again. Just leave Joe out of this.”

“
Well, that would be just fine with me. There is nothing I’d like better than to leave that—”

“
Stop. Stop right there. I mean it. No more about Joe, or I will leave this house now.”

Ella must have decided Claire was serious, because for several seconds she said nothing, only glared and fumed. Claire took those precious seconds to make her other point. “And be warned. The next time you provide one of these
opportunities
for me, you’d better anticipate that I’ll be tossing the German potato salad on the counter, and walking right out the door.”

Ella continued to glare at her daughter. She said tightly, ‘‘Unfortunately, you are too old to spank. I imagine you’ll do what you want to do, whether it mortifies your mother or not.”

“
At last you understand,” Claire said quietly.

Ella made a small, tight sound of exasperation, then turned to the mirror once more and gave her hair a final pat. When she faced Claire again, she wore a determined smile. “Well,” she said carefully, “since that’s settled, let’s return to our guests.”

“
Fine,” Claire agreed, admiring her mother in spite of her frustration with her. Ella Whitney Snow’s father had been a minister, and her grandfather a judge. She had married Pine Bluff’s one doctor and devoted her life to her family and a number of worthy causes, for which she worked unstintingly and without pay. A true pillar of her community, she knew how to put a proper face on things when there was nothing more to say.

Somehow, Claire got through the evening. But it was grueling. Her mother listened, enthralled, every time Alan Henson opened his mouth. And her mother’s friends kept tittering and whispering to each other whenever they thought Claire wouldn’t notice.

By eight-forty-five Claire had had enough. The dishes were done and put away, and everyone sat in the living area explaining to Alan all about the Independence Day parade and the annual races, both of which would be held on Main Street tomorrow.

Claire waited awhile for an appropriate opening, but everyone kept filling each smidgen of silence with another tale of how Gerry Hines won the potato sack race last year,
and why little Pookie Evans cried every time the starting gun went off. Claire’s mind began to wander—to the test from the drugstore, which she intended to finally put behind her as soon as she’d achieved the privacy of her own cottage.

She stood, aware that the move was abrupt, but past caring if anyone noticed her eagerness to be gone. “Well, I should get back to relieve Verna. Dinner was great, Mother. Good to see you all.”

Alan shot out of his seat as if Ella had pinched him— which Claire would not have put past her for a minute. “I should get back, too. I’ll walk you.”

Claire restrained a sigh and realized this was probably as good a time as any to explain to Alan that she would never be getting any more involved with him than she was right now.

She smiled. “Sure. Why not?”

Ella, Dinah and the others made approving little clucking sounds. Ella rose to see her guests out.

“
Ella, it was wonderful,” Alan enthused when the three of them had formed an awkward knot by the kitchen door. “I honestly can’t say when I’ve had a more satisfying evening.” Claire shot him a glance, thinking he was laying it on a little thick. He went on, “And from now on, I’m adding that dash of fresh chopped jalapeno to my own barbecue sauce.”

“
Oh, well, now...” Ella was actually blushing. Claire glanced from Alan to her mother and wondered if she’d read this whole situation wrong. Was it possible her mother might be after Alan Henson herself? Ella simpered, “All cooks have their little secrets.”

“
Thank you for sharing yours,” Alan said with a perfectly straight face. Her mother gave a gracious nod. Claire tried to keep from rolling her eyes, deciding with some irony that she
must
be pregnant—because listening to this exchange, she felt like throwing up.

Alan added, as if it were an afterthought, “And I
will
drop by, if you’d like. Tomorrow or the next day. We’ll go over those figures, and I’ll show you just what I mean.”

“
That would be so helpful.” Ella serenely smiled.

Claire looked at Alan. “What figures?”

Her mother waved a dismissing hand. “Oh, nothing, Claire. Before you arrived, Alan and I were talking. He mentioned that he can show me a few ways to increase the income from what your father left me.” Ella handed Claire her clean casserole dish. “But enough about money. You youngsters be on your way now. Thanks so much for coming, Alan. You two have a lovely walk home.”

“
We will,” Alan promised, and led the way out the door. As Claire and Alan set off down the street, Claire was careful not to sway too close to him. She didn’t want to give him any encouragement—and she was thinking that she didn’t like the idea of Alan advising her mother on her finances. Joe’s cautionary remarks about the man had stuck with her.

When they’d reached the main part of town and were strolling the sidewalk toward the turn to the bridge, Claire observed lightly, “You know, Alan, you’ve never told me exactly what it is you do for a living.”

Alan turned to smile at her, his even teeth flashing white through the gathering darkness. “You’re kidding. I haven’t?”

“
No.” She waited for him to volunteer something—anything. When he didn’t, she asked more directly, “What is your work, really?”

A quick glance told her that his pleasant face had grown thoughtful. “Well, to anyone who isn’t in finance, it’s a little hard to explain.”

“
Try me. I took a few business classes in college. I might be able to understand.”

“
Well, I’m a financial planner. I advise people. On how to use their money to make more money. They come to me and I show them sound investments.”

“
What kind of investments?”

“
Well, now. That’s a little complicated. I’d have to really sit down with you, to go into all that.”

They had reached Sierra Street and the turn to the bridge. Claire stopped and faced Alan. She said as gently as she could manage, “Alan, I’d prefer if you didn’t give my mother any financial advice. Fair enough?”

He blinked, and then pasted on a smile. “Well. Ahem. Certainly. If that’s how you feel.”

“
Yes, that’s how I feel.”

“
Well.” Even through the shadows of coming night, she could see that his soft brown eyes looked wounded. “All right, then.”

Feeling like a first-class jerk, she muttered a thank-you and turned toward the bridge. Alan strolled along beside her, saying nothing for a few moments. As they reached the center of the old bridge, someone set off a rocket that rose screaming into the sky and exploded over the river like a bursting star.

Alan chuckled. “I thought those were illegal around here.”

Claire was relieved. The tension had been broken. “They are, unless you’re talking about a professional fireworks display. But that doesn’t stop some people.”

“
Will the sheriff be after them?”

“
If they keep it up.
And
if he can find them.”

Alan chuckled again, and the rest of the walk passed in amicable silence.

When they reached the motel, Alan put his hand on her arm just before Claire mounted the steps to her cottage. As far as she could recall, it was the first time he’d touched her, except in passing, since she’d met him.

His hand felt soft and cool. It was a light, gentle touch. There was nothing pushy or offensive about it, yet Claire recoiled from it. Deep in her heart, she cursed Joe Tally, not only for refusing to love her, but also for making any other man’s touch seem all wrong.

Alan offered, “Come to my bungalow for a drink.”

She hesitated, not wanting to go, but remembering her resolve to get things clear between them.

He urged, “Come on, Claire. Just one.”

“
All right. One.” She set the empty casserole dish on the edge of the porch to pick up when she returned.

“
Great.” He turned and led the way along the strip of grass beside her cottage and the middle bungalow, to his bungalow in the southeast corner of the motel lot. He opened the door and gestured her inside. “Welcome to my castle.”

Smiling weakly, she went in and sat on the beige couch in the small sitting room. Over against one wall there was a pine credenza on which sat a tray with a collection of liquor bottles and a few of the motel’s plain water glasses. “Scotch? Vodka?”

“
Just a club soda will be fine.”

He grinned. “Sit tight.” He held up the room ice bucket. “Be right back.”

“
It’s okay. I don’t need ice.”

“
Ah, but I do.” And he was gone.

He was back quickly, as he’d promised, sliding in the door to the accompaniment of a volley of exploding firecrackers from somewhere out on the street.

Efficiently, he dropped the ice into the glasses and poured himself two fingers of Scotch, then emptied a bottle of club soda for her. He handed Claire her drink. “To...fireworks.”