Secrets (34 page)
He walked her back to the plaza, took one of the side alleys through a mural-painted tunnel and stopped outside a shop with racks of gauzy cotton skirts and sleeveless embroidered blouses.
“This has possibilities.” He walked her in and turned her over to the sales clerk.
A fluffy dog on the counter watched her with bulging eyes and two lower fangs protruding. Rese went to the dressing room with a multi-hued red skirt and a cream-colored blouse embroidered with green trailing vines and tiny red flowers.
Putting it on scared her more than walking a ridgepole, but she was not going to show it. She buttoned the blouse and turned to the mirror, seeing … her mother. Chest constricting, she pressed her hands to her face. It was more than a likeness of features; it was…
Lance spoke outside the curtain. “Come out, Rese.”
Her throat cleaved. “I can’t.”
“Is it on?”
She groaned. “It’s on, but…”
Lance pulled the curtain. She jerked around. He drank her in like a hummingbird at a hibiscus, then swallowed. “That’ll do.”
She snatched her pants and T-shirt. “I need to change back.”
“You look great.” He caught her elbow and led her firmly from the cubicle.
He did not understand. Of course, he’d never seen her mother, had no point of comparison, couldn’t fathom the disturbance inside her. He took out his wallet and paid, bagging her jeans and T-shirt. She should protest, but only held up her arm for the clerk to clip the tags. She was disintegrating, losing the self she’d created to avoid any semblance to her mother.
At this rate, she’d be dragging herself across the floor every time Lance looked at her.
Outside he glanced down at her sturdy work shoes clunking under the skirt. “One more thing.”
A store right on the plaza had sandals along the back wall. He looked from her to the choices, picked a pair that was little more than a few crisscrossed straps. The clerk brought her size and Rese slid her foot in like a stepsister to the glass slipper.
Lance stood her up. “How’s it feel?”
“Barefoot.” She walked to the low slanted mirror and looked at her feet in the flimsy sandals. She’d never worn anything so unprotective, but in them the transformation was complete. She was soft and pretty and terrified.
Lance told the clerk, “We’ll take them,” then put her shoes into the bag with her other clothes. Something was wrong with this picture. Very wrong. Control. She had lost it.
Outside the store, he stood and looked her over. “Wow.”
Why had Dad’s praise never meant so much as that one word? He touched her earlobe. “Sore?”
She raised her chin. “Nothing I can’t handle.” Nowhere near the piercing of her heart and mind.
He grinned. “They look great.”
“Now I can forever say on the day I learned my mother was alive I got my ears pierced.” Could he hear the desperation in her voice?
He drew her close. “I like kissing a woman with earrings.” But he didn’t do it. Because he knew she’d let him. And when she came to her senses and realized her ears were pierced and she’d worn a skirt and laid her head on his shoulder, she’d be hot enough to peel paint. He didn’t want his kiss adding to it.
Technically, he shouldn’t have kissed her at all. He could have comforted her without it. But the word “help” from Rese Barrett’s lips had put him a little past sanity. He was thinking clearly enough now to resist. But the kiss hung between them, and in a way that was better still.
“Let’s window-shop. Maybe you’ll see some dishes you like.” Although he didn’t expect her to make any decisions about something so mundane, they cruised the plaza and other shops along the side streets. Rese got the hang of walking in her sandals and skirt, but he wasn’t sure she noticed.
He might be distracting her, but the tension in her spine betrayed her strain. At least she didn’t slip into the previous shrieking fury. Women needed to cry often enough to learn how to do it without damaging themselves and others. His sides still stung from the pinch of her fists. But he was glad he’d been there when she broke. Had Evvy seen it coming?
The sun lowered in the sky, and his stomach signaled dinnertime. He could take her home and cook, but he chose a bistro instead. Maybe Star would be at the inn, but she didn’t seem to comfort Rese. And Rese was not in a position to be strong for anyone else. She had let down her guard, and he did not take that lightly.
For once, he hardly noticed what they ate since he kept a running monologue through the whole meal. He was telling her about Tony teaching him to ride his bike, making him learn all the hand signals and street rules before he knew how to pedal, when Sybil came to the table. He hadn’t seen her come in, but the moment she was there, the air was charged with some feminine malice he could almost taste. He didn’t think it was coming from Rese.
“Hi there.” Sybil included them both in her greeting, actually looking longer at Rese than him. She rested one hand on her lower back, but for once her navel was covered. It was higher up that things got skimpy.
Her message was hard to miss, but he could ignore it. “How are you, Sybil?” He stood up.
“Manners too.” She smiled, then turned to Rese. “He’s too good to be true. Makes you wonder what he’s hiding.”
Lance took his seat, reminding himself not to do that again. Her remark sent a shiver of disquiet through him, fallout of a guilty conscience.
She said, “I came by to see you, but you didn’t call. You must not be interested in what else I have.”
Bait and spear in one shot. He’d forgotten about her visit. “I meant to. And I am interested.” Though he didn’t want to talk about it now in front of Rese. The last thing she needed was more concerns about gunshots and executions. Or him.
“I’ll hold on to it. For a little while.” With a fan of her fingers, she left them.
Rese followed Sybil with her eyes, then turned back to him. “She must WD—40 her hips.”
He laughed. “I think it comes naturally. That particular motion is inborn.”
“She walks like a woman?”
He leaned back in his chair and eyed Rese—earrings, blouse, no makeup or nail polish, but without her edge, downright pretty. “A certain type of woman.”
“What type?”
“The kind who knows she’s attractive.”
Rese ran her hand down her water glass. “She reminds me of Alanna.”
“Your mother?”
She gave him her hard stare. “Alanna was not my mother.”
He studied her a long moment. “You’re talking about some serious stuff here.”
“I know.”
He hadn’t wanted to get back to her mother until they were out of there, but Rese didn’t seem as overwhelmed as before.
She released the water glass. “I’m not pretending it wasn’t bad. I just can’t excuse…” Her voice broke.
Still at risk. He did not want to see her lose it in front of Sybil, who was no doubt watching, journalist that she was. Lance stood up, but didn’t take Rese’s hand. No sense complicating things further. “Come on.”
They walked out past the table where Sybil sat with the tall brunette and another blonde, a table that probably had the waiter thinking he’d found paradise. Lance gave Sybil a smile as they passed. He couldn’t afford to alienate her, and she couldn’t help it if she had all the seductiveness Rese lacked, even if her siren song was wasted on him.
The evening had cooled substantially, and he gave Rese the lady’s leather jacket, an interesting combination with her skirt. The earrings looked good, but the tender lobes wouldn’t feel good in the helmet. “It’s just a few miles. Want to ride without?”
“No, I do not.” She took the helmet and eased it over her head, wincing when it pressed against her ears.
“Tough as nails.” He smiled. “Galvanized.”
“How am I supposed to ride in this?” She pinched the skirt.
He stooped and swung her onto the bike. The skirt hiked up to her knees, but nothing indecent. He tucked it under her thighs so it wouldn’t fly up.
“You did that with experience.”
“I’ve had the bike a long time.”
“And have taken plenty of women along.”
He didn’t answer that. Rese would form her own opinion, especially after Sybil’s attention. Everything he’d done today could get him into trouble,considering she’d almost fired him for taking her on a picnic—for the recklessness that followed. All he was trying to do was help her over the shock of her news. Talking about his past experience was not necessary.
He climbed on and felt her hands on his waist. She could hold his shoulders, but it was nicer this way. The helmet really would be hurting her newly pierced ears, so he took her home expeditiously. She swung off the bike with a far different motion than Sybil’s, but for some reason, it grabbed him as Sybil’s had not. What was he doing?
What he always did. Trying to be somebody’s hero, and falling for her in the process. If anyone had told him Rese needed someone, he’d have scoffed. He still didn’t believe it. She’d been knocked down, but not out. He walked her inside and stopped at her door. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Somewhere between the restaurant and home, she had climbed into herself again. Her chin was up, her gaze direct, forcing a confidence she wanted him to believe.
“Want a steamer to help you sleep?”
She reached for her doorknob. “I’ll be fine.”
He stepped back. “Okay.” He’d give her the courtesy of belief, even though he doubted she’d sleep at all. He started for the back door, trying to grasp the day in all its strangeness.
“Lance.”
He turned.
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “Antiseptic on your ears.”
She reached up as though rediscovering the earrings there. He went out before she blamed him. The thought of piercing her ears really had come out of nowhere. But he couldn’t help smiling.
R
ese stood at the door after Lance went out. Maybe the damage wasn’t done. He had not pressed his advantage. Both times that he’d kissed her, she had been distraught, vulnerable. If she didn’t show that need again, he might not press it.
She went into her room, frustrated and confused, but not furious.
“Anger is a secondary emotion.”
Possible. Mom had only gotten mad after Walter hurt her. Rese didn’t want to think of that. She wanted to recall the good things about her mom, but the memories were all entangled.
Lance had been right about waiting, but now she had to wait through the whole weekend. With guests coming tomorrow, she couldn’t be falling apart. But how could she pretend everything was fine when it was all so wrong?
Rubbing the back of her neck, she started to undress, then turned and looked at herself in the mirror. Mom had loved anything soft and flowing. She’d been so pretty in the dresses she wore, even in jeans and silk blouses. She didn’t need Alanna to make her attractive. Dad couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
Rese looked into the mirror. The peak of her eyebrows, the tilt of her lips. What else had she inherited? Shudders ran down her spine and knotted at its base.
What if …
She swallowed. She was already older than Mom had been when she married and had her. No one had yet appeared that others couldn’t see. But how would she know? She closed her eyes and gripped the dresser. If what she thought was true turned out to be a lie, how would she ever know?
Odds were against Rese sleeping. Lance looked through the French doors to the villa. Her light was on, but he doubted she would come out. She’d been decisive in her dismissal. Although, after their first kiss she had come barreling up to his room to confront him, so it was a possibility. She had more reason now to believe it sympathy—it was.
As he stood there, Star’s yellow Volkswagen Beetle pulled up to the side of the shed by his bike. Good. Star would keep her company, and he had a hole to clear.
He wished he had a way to cover the glass-paned doors. If he’d known about the hatch when he framed the carriage house, he’d have done things differently. Maximizing light and airiness had put him in a fishbowl.
With only the flashlight lit, he opened the hatch. Propping the light so it illuminated the space beneath the floor, he examined the timbers below. The first timber would be the worst. Once he dislodged it, the others would not be as tight.