When You Dance With The Devil (Dafina Contemporary Romance) (31 page)

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Authors: Gwynne Forster

BOOK: When You Dance With The Devil (Dafina Contemporary Romance)
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After supper, Richard asked Fannie to excuse him and rushed to speak with Francine. “This is one time I’m sorry I don’t have a car. We could go to one of the lounges in Ocean Pines and talk in private,” he told her.
“We can drive my car, but first I think you ought to ask Judd to excuse you. He’s so used to having your company after supper that—”
“Yours, too. Get your coat.” He walked over to Judd. “Francine and I are going for a ride so we can talk.”
“Do a good job of it, friend. Opportunity usually knocks only once. Was I right that you’re over that New York lady? Estelle, I believe you said.”
“Yes. We had a pleasant talk, and I got back here as fast as I could.”
“I wish you luck with Francine. She’s a tough one, but she’s worth every bit of the feeling you invest in her. Have a good time.”
They walked hand-in-hand to her car. “Would you like to drive?” she asked him.
“I don’t mind.” She tuned to an easy-listening radio station, rested her head against his shoulder and waited for whatever he wanted to say. “Let’s just listen to the music. When we talk, I want to look at you.”
 
 
He parked in front of the Bridle and Saddle Lounge. “Does this place suit you?” he asked Francine.
“It’s perfect, especially since the tourist season is over. It will be almost empty.”
“What would you like?” he asked her after they took a booth in a far corner.
“A piña colada.”
“I’ll take the same without the rum,” he told the waitress.
“Did you see her?” Francine asked, letting him know that how he felt about Estelle had been uppermost in her thoughts.
“Yes, I saw her in her office this morning for about fifteen minutes. Neither of us needed more time. We talked, wished each other well and meant it, and we parted on good terms.”
She knitted her brows. “But I had the impression that you cared deeply for her, that you might still love her. I thought your feeling for her was what prevented the two of us from developing a meaningful relationship.”
“And that impression had merit. Until this morning, I hadn’t seen her for several years, not since I learned that she married and, until recently, I believed that I still loved her. When my feelings for you became so strong, I was less certain about Estelle, and I wanted the freedom to . . . to let what I felt for you have sway.”
The waitress brought their drinks and a large bowl of trail mix, and he lifted his glass to Francine. “Here’s to a long, happy relationship.”
She nodded, sipped the drink and began stroking the back of his hand, almost absentmindedly, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. “And you could settle that within yourself in fifteen minutes?”
“Less than that. The minute I saw her, I knew. Oh, she’s still a knockout, but after longing for her all that time, mind you, I was with her, and I didn’t have the least urge to touch her. We shook hands, and I felt nothing.” He ran his hands over his hair. “Francine, I’m talking about a woman who once rocked me clear out of my mind. Who knows how it would have been if I . . . if I hadn’t developed this feeling for you.”
“So you were lovers.”
“Once. It sunk me, but the earth didn’t move for her. I suspect that helped her to realize she was in love with another man.”
“Is she happy?”
“I didn’t ask her. My response to her, my evaluation of my feelings for her wasn’t contingent upon that, but she appeared to be very happy, and I’m glad about that.”
Francine sipped her drink slowly, contemplatively. Then she raised her head, and her gaze bore into him. “Can there be anything between you and me, Richard? I want to know now. I’m in deep enough as it is.”
He leaned back in the booth, and took her hand in his. “You’ve given me some anxious, painful moments and cost me one entirely sleepless night when I didn’t know whether you were in trouble or not, alive or dead. I thought I’d go crazy. I’d rather you had most any profession other than that of undercover cop, because I fear for you whenever I’m not looking at you. But fate or Providence . . .” he let a grin slide over his face . . . “has taken the matter out of my hands. I love you, and I want you, badge and all.”
Her hand grabbed her chest, and she gaped at him. “You
what
?”
“Francine, if you love me, I want us to see if we can make a go of it.”
She seemed addled. “I do love you. I’m certain of that. What will we do?”
The sudden thudding of his heart startled him, his breathing accelerated, and he grasped both of her hands. He didn’t know if he could speak. What had he done to deserve such happiness? “Francine. Sweetheart,” he managed to say. How could he tell her what he felt?
“How will the folks at the boardinghouse react to us?” she asked him, but that was the least of his concerns.
He slipped his arm around her and tightened it. “For the time being, we’ll have to be circumspect, and Fannie will have to change places with you in the dining room.”
She snuggled up to him to the extent allowable in that cherished watering hole of the Maryland blue bloods. “I hope I don’t have to break Marilyn’s arm,” she said with a brilliant smile lighting up her face.
He needed to hold her and love her, and he could see trouble ahead. Until now, he hadn’t minded the rules that Fannie stipulated as if they were equivalent to the four Gospels, but he would need Herculean willpower to stay out of Francine’s bed while she slept three doors from his room. “Let’s go home,” he said, as he stood and held out his hand.
She drained her glass and took his hand. “I never prayed so hard as I did when you were in New York. You didn’t say you’d be seeing a woman, but I knew it, and I knew why. I’m so thankful that it’s over.”
“So am I.”
He assisted her into the car, went around to the driver’s side, got in, closed the door and turned to her. She was his woman now, locked in his arms with his tongue deep in her mouth, and he intended to see that she never wanted another man. Now that he had stopped trying to control his feelings for her, what he felt in his heart nearly overwhelmed him.
He broke the kiss, and she gazed at him, puzzled. “I’d rather not have an accident on the way home,” he told her. “And I think we’d better plan a weekend some place, and soon.” As he held her, he had a sensation of not belonging to himself, of seeming to float into space, a part of the universe. Lord, he loved her!
“I love the feeling of your arms around me, strong, like an ancient fortress,” she said. “How about Miami next weekend?”
A woman who wasn’t coy, but honest and forthright about her feelings was to be prized. He hugged her, rejoicing in the treasure he held in his arms. “Great. I’ll meet you in Ocean Pines when you get off work Friday.” He put the key in the ignition and headed for Pike Hill and Thank the Lord Boarding House.
 
The next morning, Jolene raced down the stairs prepared to gobble up her food and get to the bus within thirty-five minutes. If only she hadn’t overslept, but after a nightmare awakened her, she hadn’t been able to get back to sleep until nearly dawn. She sat at the table with Judd and Richard, comfortable with the notion that they would welcome her.
“Ask Rodger to wrap up your breakfast,” Judd said, “and you can eat it on the bus. No point in making yourself sick.”
She looked at Rodger. “Would it be too much to ask?”
Rodger smiled, as he always did when one of the boarders asked a favor of him. That smile and his willingness guaranteed him many presents at Christmas. “Give me ten minutes, Miss,” he said.
Jolene thanked him and looked at Richard. “Maybe it’s too personal, but I would like to know if everything’s all right with you and Francine. I wouldn’t like her to be . . . well, hurt.”
When he stopped eating, she thought she might have annoyed him, but he winked at her. “I’m pretty certain that she’s happy, Jolene. Thanks for your concern.”
Maybe she had changed, but so had Richard. “That’s wonderful,” she said with a feeling of true joy. Rodger handed her a box and a thermos, and she thanked him. “See you both this evening. Bye.” She floated down Ocean Road, singing “God Didn’t Make Little Green Apples,” a pop song she learned from a schoolmate and the only one she knew. If it hadn’t been for Judd’s thoughtfulness, she’d have missed the bus, for the driver revved the engine as soon as she stepped on it.
I guess that’s what love is,
she thought as she dropped coins into the box.
Caring about a person’s well being. If so, that means I care about Judd, Richard, Francine, Joe, and Fannie.
She laughed to herself.
Imagine me caring about Fannie.
“Good morning,” she sang to the driver, still in heightened spirits.
“And good morning to you. From the way you sound, I guess you heard.”
She looked down at him with what she supposed was a quizzical expression. “Heard what?”
“I dropped by to see Masterson yesterday after work, and he told me he’s going home day after tomorrow.”
“Really? That’s good news.” She headed for the back of the bus where she could eat in peace.
“He told me to tell you to come to see him before he leaves there,” the driver called to her.
“He did? Thanks.” She kept walking.
 
 
“When you start managing my new shop,” her boss said that morning, “I’ll raise you to seven hundred a week. You’re doing all right. Just be careful, and don’t let people like Vida walk all over you. She’s a user.”
She gave him a hard look. “You’re really going to give me that job?”
“I said I would, didn’t I? We’ll open the first of the year.”
“Thanks,” she said, feeling weak in the knees. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know that. You’ll do all right,” he told her, and it was high praise coming from him.
She left work that afternoon thinking of her future, confident that she would always be able to take care of herself. She hadn’t spent a penny of her inheritance since she went to work at the beauty parlor. Richard was right, she admitted. She alone was responsible for herself and everything that happened to her. She could read and reason, so she couldn’t blame Emma Tilman for anything but being a lousy, unfeeling parent and for not telling her who fathered her.
Deciding that she should visit Harper to see whether he needed anything, she got off the bus at Crane Street and, on an impulse, bought a pint of butter-pecan ice cream and, with the December wind at her back, hurried to the hospital. At his door, she hesitated before knocking, remembering when, in her nightmare the previous night, she walked through a door and dropped into space. She knocked.
“Come in.” He leaned against the wall beside the window, and his voice was strong and steady.
“Hi. Gee, I forgot you were so tall.”
He turned toward the door and, when he saw her, a light flashed in his eyes—nice eyes, she realized—as a grin spread across his face. He started walking toward her. “Jolene!” he exclaimed, his joy almost palpable. “I’m so glad you came. Did Jack tell you what I said?” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“He told me you were going home tomorrow,” she said, backing away from the heat of his nearness. “What did he tell you? That guy doesn’t even know my name, and until you called him Jack, I didn’t know his.” She didn’t want Harper to think she got on familiar terms with every man who drove the bus between Pike Hill and Salisbury.
“He didn’t have to know your name; he described you perfectly.”
Better not ask what Jack said. She didn’t want Harper to think the man interested her. She didn’t ask herself why she wanted Harper to think well of her, but she admitted to herself that she was off his blacklist and she wanted to stay off. She changed the subject.
“I brought you some ice cream.”
“Gee, thanks. I haven’t had anything good since you brought me that dinner Thanksgiving Day. Have a seat.” He opened the ice cream and took the spoon from the bag.
“Won’t that spoil your supper? You won’t be hungry.”

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