“Welcome to ‘Nighttime.’ This is station KKZF, coming to you for the next two hours with your favorites, with music for the magic of midnight, soft mood music to lull you to sleep, to play in the background, to bring back memories.” He spoke in mellow, drowsy tones that stroked her senses like strong, deft fingers.
Charity sighed and slithered down under the sheet. How could she not have known it was Oregon? Of course Rory and Oregon were the same. There was that marvelous voice that made Oregon’s chest rumble slightly when he talked. The voice that was like melted butter oozing over every sensitive, quivering nerve. Rory Runyon had held her in his arms last night, kissed her! and made love to her! Charity blushed and tingled and ached and worried. Was she rushing into a relationship as swiftly as Ziza did? And as disastrously? She shuddered at the memory of that year she had spent with Ziza, then shoved the memory aside, exchanging it for thoughts of Oregon.
“We’ll start off tonight, darlin’,” he was saying in his sexy voice, “with one just specially for you. This is to you. Here’s ‘Would You Be My Lady?’ ”
As the country music began, she wondered if he had chosen the song to send her a message in the title. Her heart thudded against her ribs.
As she listened to the song, her thoughts buzzed like busy little bees. Why hadn’t Oregon told her he was Rory Runyon? Maybe he would tomorrow night. But she would teach him a lesson tonight! He had set her up last night, come home to a quivering mass of frustrated woman, and seduced her. And the memory turned her to jelly again.
The music ended. “There, darlin’, did you like that? I hope so. Isn’t this a marvelous night? Another nice evening like last night.” His voice thickened, becoming so warm, so seductive. “Wasn’t last night the best ever?” Charity sighed blissfully as he continued, “Tonight the temperature’s seventy degrees, with a breeze and a full moon. Have you seen that moon? It’s a big white pearl in the black sky. I’d like to sit in the moonlight and hold you in my arms. Would you like that, darlin’? Just sit and listen to the next song. How’s this? ‘You Oughta Be Home with Me’? Let’s listen.”
Soft music and Barry Manilow’s voice drifted into the darkened room, and Charity bit her lip. Was Oregon/Rory playing these songs to tell her something? Or was she imagining that they might be for her? She listened to Oregon’s chatter in between songs, and to two more records, “My One and Only” and “Waiting for You.” Then he asked for requests.
She sat up, dialed frantically, and listened to the phone ring. His voice came over the radio and the phone. “Hi, there. This is Rory Runyon of ‘Nighttime,’ at station KKZF.”
“Rory, this is Charity.”
“Charity.”
She slipped beneath the sheet and tried to catch her breath.
“Darlin’, I’d hoped you’d call. What song would you like to hear?”
Sweet revenge. “ The Men in My Life.’ ”
He coughed. “ ‘The Men in My Life’? That’s an unusual request, but I’ll play it for you. Don’t go away, darlin’. Here’s your request.” The song began, and Oregon’s throaty voice came over the wire. “Charity, you’ve been holding out on me. The men in your life—I thought I might be the man in your life.”
She looked at the phone. Now, why couldn’t he have said that to her last night when he held her close? Men were impossible to understand! “You are, Rory,” she answered breathlessly, so full of sincerity she was struck by wonder at herself.
“I belong to a group?”
“No, it’s just you.”
“Then you should’ve requested ‘The Man I Love,’ or some song like that.”
“Well, there’s another man … but you’re the one I really want to know.”
“You’re just saying that because it’s safe.”
“No, Rory, I’m not.”
“Another man.” He said it like a death knell. Like the voice of doom.
“I’d trade him for you.” Now she was marching straight into deep water. Revenge? She might drown in the waters she stirred up.
“Darlin’, I’m overcome! I’m just a voice in the night.”
“Oh, but you’re so sensitive, so … much more honest with me.”
He coughed again. “Charity, I …”
She waited. And waited. The long red second hand on her clock swept on steadily. “Yes?” she finally said.
“Maybe you’re judging him too harshly. Tell me about this other man in your life, darlin’.”
Now he was treading on dangerous ground! “Well, Rory, I’ve met someone and I like the way he kisses.”
There was a flurry of coughs. “Oh, darlin’, you do?”
“Yes, but he still doesn’t have what you do. Your sensitivity. I can talk to you. You talk to me. That’s important. More important than spectacular kisses, don’t you think?”
His voice was in the basement, down so low, it practically sent vibrations over the phone wires. “Damn, we’re at the end of the song. Call me back, dar—”
As the music faded Charity grinned and wriggled her toes. Chalk one up for her, Mr. Oregon Brown. Put that in your noggin and think about it! It was the first time she had ever heard Oregon swear. Usually it was “Mercy” or “My!” or some other mild word. She smoothed the sheet as his voice came from the radio.
“There we have it, ‘The Men in My Life.’ Charity, darlin’, you call in again, will you?”
“Sure, Rory.”
“That’s good. I’ll be waiting. Don’t forget me. Now, well take a little break here to talk about something scrumptious, Henrietta’s Apple Pie Mix. Yu-um-yum.”
Oregon’s drawling “yum-yums” sent Charity’s pulse into flight. In husky tones that sounded as seductive as his usual patter, he urged his listeners to try Henrietta’s Pie Mix. “You want something that will melt in your mouth? That is so delicious you’ll have to come back for more?” Charity wriggled. Henrietta should sell a whopping big amount of pie mix. “Just reach out and pick up Henrietta’s Pie Mix the next time you’re in the store.”
Each word made her want to reach out for Oregon! He added softly, insinuatingly, “Oh, it’s so tantalizing. Your taste buds will thank you. Just try Henrietta’s Pie Mix and see for yourself. Don’t take my word for it. Pick some up tomorrow.
“Now, ready for some music again? Here’s another oldie. I’ve been waiting all day to play it. Are you listening, darlin’? Good, here goes.” In a languorous voice he said, “ ‘Upstairs in My House.’ ”
“Upstairs in My House” ! He was playing it to her for last night! It was a rock song by Men At Work and had a lively beat that wasn’t going to put anyone to sleep. It wasn’t typical of the music played on ‘Nighttime.’ He had to have chosen it for the title! Why was he so vocal as Rory Runyon and so evasive as Oregon Brown? Maybe he had a guilty conscience about setting her up for seduction last night!
The next song was a request from someone named Dinah. Charity lay in the dark and wondered what Oregon was saying to Dinah while the song played. How many women were in his life? How seriously had he been involved with one in his past? She knew so little about him. And so much. Her lashes fluttered closed while she thought about his kisses.
The song ended, and he played two more, titles that meant nothing to her. Maybe she had imagined the others were meant to convey a message to her. Then he asked for requests again. She sat up, dialed quickly, and felt her heart jump when he said, “Hi, there.”
“Rory, it’s me. Charity.”
“Good, darlin. I’m so glad you called again. What would you like to hear now?”
“ ‘Why Do People Lie?’ ”
“ ‘Why Do People Lie?’ Fine. You know, that’ll wake everyone up, darlin’. That’s a red-hot Kenny Loggins.”
“I know. You won’t play it?”
“It’s coming right up now. Hang on to your seats out there. Here we go.”
The heavy beat filled the room, and Charity held her breath.
“Charity. We’re not on the air now. Darlin’, no one should lie to you. I know just how sweet you are.”
She slipped down in bed, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder. It was hard to get her breath. “Thank you, Rory. You don’t really know.”
“Charity …”
And she knew he was on the brink of telling her again. And again he didn’t.
“Yes?”
“Tell me some more about the man you like to kiss.”
Her eyes flew open. Why wouldn’t he admit his identity? Well, Mr. O. O. Brown would wish he had! “Well, I intend to get him out of my life quickly.”
Two beats of silence followed her announcement, and then he said, “Is that so! You ought to give him more of a chance before you come to a conclusion.”
“I’ve given him enough chances for a lifetime. He just doesn’t have what you do, Rory. He doesn’t tell me how he feels.”
“Well, it’s hard sometimes, Charity, for guys to put their feelings into words. Sometimes they do things that make them feel guilty later and then it’s hard to talk about it.”
“You mean this guy feels guilty because he kissed me, so now he wishes he hadn’t, but he can’t admit he has regrets?”
“No! He couldn’t have any regrets—Dammit, the record’s over. Call me again.”
He sounded frantic. Not one bit like his usual laid-back self. She smiled and listened as he changed to the familiar slow drawl. “There, darlin’. Everyone should be wide awake now. Darlin’, call me again tonight, will you?”
“Sure, Rory.”
“Good. Let’s settle down with the next tune. Put your head back on a soft pillow, close your eyes, think of that special person, someone you want to be close to. Think of that certain someone in your life and listen to this next tune. It will help you relax. Here’s ‘Kisses Sweeter than Wine.’ ”
The music came on, and as she listened, her thoughts were on Oregon’s smile, his green-and-gold-flecked eyes. Floating in a cloud of bliss, she listened to two more songs, a commercial done in Oregon’s husky voice, which could sell furnaces in the Amazon, another request by a sultry-voiced female named Samantha, and more songs. Time ticked past. Samantha called in again. Charity didn’t care for her deep, breathless voice at all. Finally the last chance for a request came over the air. Determined to beat Samantha, she dialed hastily and was gratified to hear the ring, then Oregon’s husky voice. She was aching with longing for him. She wanted his kisses, his big strong arms, his loving. She wanted him to tell her he was Oregon Brown!
“Rory, this is Charity again.”
“Charity, darlin’, you stayed up until the end of the program. What do you want to hear?”
“ ‘All Alone Tonight.’ ”
“ ‘All Alone Tonight’ it is. I wish you were here with me, darlin’, so I could hold you close. Here’s your song.”
The music started and Oregon’s voice came over the phone. “Charity?”
“Yes. I’m lonesome, Rory.”
“Oh, darlin’, if you only knew how lonely I am. I wish we could be together. I get so lonely …”
“Rory, isn’t there anyone in your life?”
“No, darlin’. Except you.”
“You tell everyone that.”
“No, I don’t. Charity, darlin’, you don’t know how lonesome I’ve been. I feel like a rolling stone. I don’t belong any place, no one belongs to me.”
He sounded sincere. Heartbreakingly sincere. She wondered about Oregon. How could anyone who seemed so self-assured, who had worked for one of the largest newspapers in the U.S., who had a nice house and so few apparent worries, be lonesome? There should be a flock of women in his life. The thought startled her. Oregon was appealing, sexy, intelligent, and such a magnificent lover!
“Charity, don’t go away. Maybe you should give this guy a little time, a chance to talk to you.”
“You don’t want to be the one man in my life?”
“Oh, yeah, darlin .”
“Rory, there must be some woman in your life.”
“Just you, darlin’. I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“I might be falling in love with you.” Was she?
“What about the guy who kisses so well?”
“He simply doesn’t have what you do. We don’t talk things over, we don’t feel the same about life, the way you and I do. He doesn’t have your … voice.”
“Charity, we’re going to have to meet.”
She looked at the phone, then returned it to her ear. “Tomorrow?”
He chuckled softly. “Soon, darlin’. Real, real soon.”
“I can’t wait until tomorrow night.”
Another tiny pause, then he asked, “Charity, are you going to listen to ‘Nighttime’ tomorrow night?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“Darlin’, I won’t—well—Hell, the music’s over.”
Now, what had he been about to say? She listened to his closing.
“Well, that wraps it up at station KKZF for tonight. Sleep well, darlin’. Nii-aight.”
She melted. Then she turned off the radio, climbed out of bed, pulled on a robe, and stepped out onto the back porch. While she sat in the dark, staring at Oregon’s house to watch for his light to come on, she wondered about him. Was he really so lonesome, or was that a line? Crickets chirped a shrill melody in the quiet night, while moonlight splashed over the flowers and yard. Finally Charity saw a light flicker on upstairs in Oregon’s house, then off again. His room was downstairs, hidden by the board fence, but for a few seconds he had been in the bedroom where she had slept last night. She wished she were there again and was shocked at her feelings. How could she fall for Oregon so completely and quickly, when she had been so cautious with men in the past? There was no logical answer. Reluctantly she rose and went inside to bed.
Thursday morning the ringing of the phone woke her from a sound sleep. “Charity?”
It was Oregon, and he sounded just like Rory. If she hadn’t known before, she would now. “ ‘Morning, Oregon.”
“Darlin’, you’re in bed!” His voice lowered. “I can just picture you there, your curls all tangled, your blue eyes sleepy, your long, pale lashes curling over your eyes. Your mouth so inviting … I want you to wake me up, so we can love again.”
He sure wasn’t at a loss for words when he had a phone in his hand. His seductive voice stroked her, and she stretched sinuously in bed. “Enough of that!”
“You don’t like it?”
She heard the hint of laughter in his voice. “Not now. It’s disturbing.”
“That’s exactly what I want it to be, hon.”
“Oregon!”
“My attorney says you’ve decided to sell the paper.”
“That’s right. I don’t know anything about a newspaper. Aunt Mattie doesn’t either. So I want to sell it. Yesterday I talked to our lawyer, Mr. Oppenheim, about selling.”
“Well, I’m interested in buying. I want a paper. I can’t get the ink out of my blood.”
“I think we can work out a sale. I’d like you to have the paper. That would please Aunt Mattie. She sings your praises rather high.”
“She’s sweet. I’d like to hear someone else sing my praises.”
She laughed. “You’re cute.”
“Oh, my. I don’t care to be called ‘cute.’ I’ll have to repair my image tonight.”
“That was a compliment, not a challenge.”
“Yeah, sure. Cute.” He sounded disgusted. “Charity …”
“Yes?”
“It was better to wake up yesterday, with you in my arms.” His voice was intimate and husky, sending dancing sparks cascading down her spine. She was breathless, yearning for him.
“Hmmm.”
“Charity, I want to kiss you, to really kiss you.”
“Hmmm.”
His voice held a smile. “See you in a little while, darlin’.”
“Hmmm.” The receiver clicked in her ear. Bemused, she lay in bed while memories played through her mind like a kaleidoscope. Finally she dressed in cut-offs, a white cotton shirt, and sandals, and went to work to help clean the house thoroughly.
At about three in the afternoon, when she was in Aunt Mattie’s hot attic above the garage, Oregon’s head thrust through the opening in the attic floor and he grinned at her. “Hi. Want some help?”