Trust is the bedrock of a relationship. If it’s absent, the whole foundation will be shaky.
Annie checked her watch for the dozenth time, then glanced toward the stage where the Silver Spurs blasted their most popular country-and-western tune. John was late, but he’d texted to let her know.
Brenda Peterson appeared tableside, pink lips tipped sideways, eyes sparkling under her long bangs. “So, you and Dylan, all night at the old Mahoney cabin, huh?”
Annie sighed. Fending off rumors had been a full-time job today. “His truck broke down, that’s all. I’m dating John Oakley, you know.”
Brenda Peterson winked. “Yeah, but come on . . . Dylan Taylor . . . Don’t tell me there weren’t sparks, and I’m not talking about that fire he built you.”
“Good grief, did somebody bug the place?”
Brenda’s smile widened. “I knew it!”
“No. There were no sparks.” Oh, for pity’s sake. She was wasting her breath. “I’d like a Diet Coke, and John will have iced tea with extra lemon.”
Brenda shrugged, hopes apparently dashed, then sashayed away.
Annie’s gaze fanned the room and caught Marla Jenkins’s eyes. The woman quickly looked away. There were others darting glances her way too. Bridgett Garvin, Wade Ryan, even Mrs. Wadell. Good grief. She was never going to live this down.
She slumped in her chair and propped the menu high on the table, wishing they’d turn up the air-conditioning. No, what she really wanted was to go home and curl up in bed with her book. But that wasn’t fair to John.
At least Dylan wasn’t here tonight. Maybe he’d thought it best to lie low. No doubt he’d heard the rumors too, though they probably didn’t bother him one bit.
When he’d called that morning, she’d let it go to voice mail. He’d invited her over the next day to work on the column. He hadn’t sounded as friendly as usual. But could she blame him?
“Sorry I’m late, Annie.”
She lowered the menu and smiled as John sat across from her. He wore his work clothes and a stilted smile.
She was relieved to see a friendly face. “Hi, there. I ordered you an iced tea.”
“After the day I’ve had, something stronger may be in order.”
She gave him a sympathetic grin. “I’m sorry. Rough day at work?”
He nailed her with a look. “It wasn’t work, Annie.”
So he’d heard the rumors. Of course he had. John’s job as moneylender made him less than popular. She imagined he’d probably taken a few barbs.
Guilt wedged between the walls of her ribs. “I’m sorry. It’ll pass, I’m sure. . .”
John leaned forward, folding his hands on the white paper place mat. “Annie, you know I trust you implicitly, but I need to know what happened.”
Annie squeezed the napkin in her lap. “Nothing happened, John. I already told you that.”
He looked down, then back at her, a glare flashing off his glasses. “I believe you. What I meant was . . . what did he do? You can’t tell me he got you out there all alone, a pretty girl like you, and didn’t . . . try and take advantage of the situation.”
“Well, he didn’t.”
“In fact, the more I’ve thought about this, the more sure I am that he lured you there on purpose.”
His unwarranted judgment hit her in the gut, mostly because it echoed her own accusation. “That’s not true.”
“It’s just the sort of thing he’d do, and you’re naïve to think—”
“I’m not naïve, and he didn’t do anything, John.” She tossed her napkin on the table. “I think I’d know if someone came on to me.”
His eyes widened, whether at her action or her words, she didn’t know. “He’s got you defending him.”
“He hasn’t ‘got me’ doing anything. He’s innocent. Look, I know he has a reputation, but you don’t even know him. I told you nothing happened, and it’s a little disconcerting that you can’t seem to believe me.”
Brenda appeared and set the drinks down. She glanced between them and seemed to realize she’d interrupted something. “Need a few more minutes?”
Annie took a deep breath as Brenda retreated. Her heart pummeled her ribs. She was bone tired and sick of being on the defense. Defending Dylan Taylor—now there was a spot she’d never expected to be in.
The Spurs belted out the chorus, the music too loud and boisterous. She didn’t want to be here anymore. In public or with John. Annie gathered her purse and pulled out a few dollars. “I think we’d better call it a night.”
John set his hand on her wrist. “No, Annie. I’m sorry. I had a bad day, and I’m taking it out on you. Stay.”
She paused, took a breath. “I appreciate that. But I really am tired, and I just want to go home.” She stood.
John popped up. “Let me come with you.”
“I won’t be good company tonight, John. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“For lunch?”
She was working with Dylan on the column then. “I have to work. Maybe dinner.”
“I’ll call you.”
She nodded once and made for the door.