The storm came up after midnight. Thunder jarred Anna awake. She lay for a moment, listening to the rumbling and the sighing wind. Then she flung back the covers and padded from her bedroom and down the hall. Her mother hated storms and usually wanted company until they were over.
The older woman was heavily asleep, lying with her arms outstretched, her face puffy from drink and tears. Her mouth was open, and she snored with every breath. As Anna stepped into the connecting bathroom with its night-light, she saw what she expected—a bottle of prescription sedatives sitting on the counter. Anna closed her eyes for a despairing moment. The combination of alcohol and sleeping pills could be lethal. Matilda Montrose knew it, but didn’t seem to care.
Returning to the bed, Anna seated herself on the side and reached for her mother’s flaccid wrist. Her pulse was steady and strong, her color was pasty—but no more than usual—and her breathing seemed unrestricted. She could go on hating Rip, and fearing him, for some time to come. Anna sat a little longer, then she replaced her mother’s arm on the bed, smoothed it an instant and returned to her own bedroom.
She moved to the window and pushed the curtain aside to look out. Beyond the glass, wind whipped the trees and lightning cracked open the night sky like a giant eggshell. The elemental fury made her feel restless, as if she was waiting for something. She knew what she craved, knew that need had been set off by Rip’s kiss as much as by the storm. But the combination of Rip and desire was as deadly for her as alcohol and drugs were for her mother.
She had always been attracted to him. Something in his rough, almost wild upbringing had stirred her imagination and her sympathy as they grew up together. He had seemed so free, coming and going when he pleased, defying authority when it suited him, and never whimpering when the consequences caught up with him. He didn’t toe the line like her brother, didn’t dress like him, act like him, think like him. Rip’s defiance was natural, a part of his personality, not something brought on by a need for petty rebellion.
Regardless, Rip had been different when around her in those early years, often showing a rare gentleness beneath his hard, untamed exterior. The contrast made her feel special, as if she held a place in his life he shared with no other, as if he allowed her to see a part of his nature he exposed to no one else. She had been passionately attached to him in an innocent fashion. Or perhaps not quite so innocent toward the end.
She was, she knew, deeply sensual behind her calm facade. Sometimes she thought her marriage had foundered on this secret snag beneath its surface, that deep in her ex-husband’s constricted soul he had been shocked that his brief and inept attentions in bed were never quite enough, that he always left her needing more. More what, she was never entirely sure. Not just more sex, but rather greater tenderness, wider imagination, a slower, deeper exploration of erotic experience. Once or twice he’d tried, but it was beyond him. Finally, he found someone who expected less of him.
The rain began at last, tapping in a wet staccato against the window glass. Anna dropped the curtain and climbed back into bed. Rolling to her side, she rested her head on her bent arm as she watched the lightning flicker around the curtains, listening to the falling rain.
She enjoyed storms, especially when she could watch them while lying safe and warm. She supposed that, like most women, she preferred her excitement to be without violence or unacceptable risk. Of course, nothing about the pact she had made with Rip could be called safe.
Stand by me…
The words he had spoken lingered in her mind like a haunting reminder of times gone by. He had stood firm when the rabid dog had come at her that day. And there had been other times, such as the day he and Tom were in eighth grade. Their English teacher had accused Rip of copying Tom’s homework essay, based on a minor spelling error that appeared in both papers. It was Tom who had copied Rip’s paper, but her brother had been too paralyzed to confess, afraid of the scene it would cause if their mother and father found out. So he had kept quiet, and Rip wouldn’t speak up, refusing to rat on him.
Anna, so much younger than the two boys, had heard distant echoes of the incident on the bus home the day it happened. She’d heard how Rip swore he didn’t care and claimed his shame in front of his classmates, and even the paddling he got from the school principal didn’t matter. She had been with the two boys later when Tom cried as he tried to make it up to Rip, saying how sorry he was and offering to admit his guilt.
But the bigger boy only gave a moody shrug, and said to forget it, that what was done, was done. Tom had been relieved; even Anna had seen that. She’d also seen that Rip was pretending, saying what he knew his friend wanted to hear.
Later, when Rip went away and sat by himself behind the garage, Anna had followed. Dropping to the ground beside him, she’d drawn her knees up and let her arms dangle across them, imitating him. She had wanted to touch him, hug him, say she was sorry he felt so bad, but she didn’t think he would let her.
After a while, she’d done the only thing she could think of, which was to pull from her pocket the chocolate candy bar that she had been saving for a special time. Taking Rip’s grubby hand, she pressed the candy into it and curled his fingers carefully around it.
He had looked at her, then, and tried to smile, but the tears he refused to shed had crowded his eyes. It hurt Anna even now to think about it.
It also pained her to remember how she had gone to the jail when he was arrested for robbing the service station. He hadn’t wanted to see her, had refused to leave his cell. He only sent word that she was to go home, go away and forget about him. He hadn’t wanted anybody to stand by him, not then.
It was just as well, since no one had. Not Tom, who was nowhere to be found. Not Rip’s own father, who’d gone around town cursing and swearing Rip was no son of his. Not Anna’s mother, who declared Rip had always been a bad influence on her boy, or her father who reluctantly agreed. Even Papa Vidal had little to say on Rip’s behalf, though his testimony had been beneficial.
The elderly black man had sworn in court that he’d seen Tom Montrose driving “hell-for-leather” past Blest late on the night of the robbery. He’d hemmed and hawed on the witness stand, but finally placed the time at least an hour after Rip was arrested with the service station money in his possession. That had been enough to remove the suspicion that Rip had harmed Tom—at least for the jury, Judge Benson and even Tom’s father. Nothing, it seemed, would ever satisfy Tom’s mother on that point.
It was also Papa Vidal who put forth the idea that Rip, when caught, had been returning the money he’d stolen. That assumption, and the fact that no weapon was involved in the robbery and that there had been no injuries, had caused his sentence to be reduced and made him eligible for parole after three years.
Anna closed her eyes, trying to relax as she let the sound of the rain ease her strained nerves. Instead, she saw Rip in her mind’s eye as he had stood in court that last day. He had been sullen and insolent, with his long hair flopping into his face and his worn shirt stretched tight across shoulders that were hard-muscled from his job in the service station’s body shop. He had appeared tough, with a mutinous tilt to his head and disdain in his copper-bronze face.
Regardless, when he met Anna’s gaze across the width of the courtroom, such pain had shone in his eyes that she felt her heart would break. She had wept for days after he was sentenced, shedding endless silent tears alone in her room. That was until her mother found her crying and slapped her, accusing her of disloyalty to her family and her brother’s memory.
Those angry words had sounded strange to Anna then and still did, as if her mother had given Tom up long before anyone was certain that he wasn’t coming back. Anna refused to accept that. She couldn’t think of him as gone forever, not her brother who shared her love of books and funny movies, got a huge kick out of silly practical jokes and enjoyed the simple things like picnics and walks in the woods. Her brother and best friend who choked up while singing “The Star-Spangled Banner,” but had a picture of Confederate General Robert E. Lee on his bedroom wall. The boy who liked to watch deer play in the woods, and was so tenderhearted that he made himself sick by drinking too much the nights before he was supposed to go hunting. She missed him so much, couldn’t believe she might never see him again.
She had not managed to ask Rip the right questions about Tom the evening before, but she must. She would do it the first chance she got, perhaps at Sally Jo’s barbecue. If she could only figure out how to go about it.
The dawn broke bright, hot and extra humid due to the rain in the night. Anna went to work as usual and had been at her desk less than an hour when Rip called. He wanted her to go shopping with him when she got off. The mall an hour away stayed open until ten o’clock, he said; they would have plenty of time.
She could hardly refuse in light of their agreement. Besides, she had her own agenda.
For all the good she did the rest of the day, she might as well have left work the instant Rip hung up. She couldn’t concentrate, was jumpy or else sat staring as if in a trance. The two women who worked with her in the Clerk of Court’s office teased her unmercifully about the deeds she filed in the wrong place and land abstracts she copied in error. It was a relief when Rip finally picked her up outside the courthouse.
They rode for several minutes in silence. Anna was aware of everything about him, from how he sat to the way his hair grew over his ears. In an effort to distract herself and establish some kind of normalcy, she said, “So, what kind of shopping did you have in mind?”
“Clothes,” he answered with a glancing smile. “Plus a few other things.”
“What sort of clothes?”
“Up to you. Whatever I need.”
“Jeans?” she suggested, since it seemed necessary to narrow the selection somewhat.
“Jeans I’ve got,” he said. “My business was the kind of Silicon Valley place with a casual dress code that included just about anything except a three-piece suit.”
“You must have had suits for business meetings or dinners?” Exasperation for his lack of helpfulness was strong in her voice.
“One. Navy blue. I was in a hurry, so I took the first thing that fit. The salesman picked out a shirt and tie.”
“And you let him?”
“His taste was bound to be better than mine.” His smile was spare.
“Not necessarily,” she protested, and meant it. Rip wore jeans again today, though these were faded almost white. His shirt was white also, this one western cut with mother-of-pearl snaps. Its tapered shape, wide at the shoulders and narrowing at the waist and hips, fit his torso with absolute fidelity while its pristine brightness made his skin look like burnished bronze. His rugged body shape and angular bone structure were the kind that rocketed male models to fame and fortune; anything he cared to put on would look great. At the same time, he had a simple style of his own that would be hard to improve.
When he made no answer, she went on, “What will you be doing now that you’ve sold your company? I mean, will it affect the clothes you need?”
“Probably not that much.” He tipped his head in consideration. “I’ll be working at home once I get a permanent place and have it wired for a computer. I have a few ideas I intend to develop.”
“I thought you sold your operation for enough to put you among the idle rich?”
“A man has to do something to keep busy.”
“Then jeans ought to see you through just fine. I don’t see why you need me.” She crossed her arms over her chest as she stared straight ahead.
“I’ve got a barbecue to attend tomorrow night, if you recall, and a civic club luncheon the day after. That means I need a few things more upscale, okay. What I buy is entirely in your hands, since you know what it will take for me to fit in. Afterward, I thought we might go look at paint and wallpaper.”
The last suggestion was meant to steer the conversation away from the subject of his clothes and his expectations. Anna was just as happy to allow it “Paint and wallpaper for Blest? But you’re months away from needing them.”
“Months, huh?” His lashes shielded his eyes.
“At least.”
“What if I told you I intend to fix up one of the outbuildings for a place to live, something that can be turned into a guest house later?”
She studied him a moment before she said, “I’d say you think big these days.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing that I can see. It’s just—surprising.”
His smile faded and his lips set in a grim line. “Considering where I came from, you mean?”
“I didn’t mean that at all,” she said sharply. “Or at least, I only meant surprising for someone from Montrose, not for, well…”
“Shanty trash from across the river.” The words were icy.
“You said it, I didn’t.”
“To save you the search for a substitute. I’d rather you just came out with it.”
“And I’d rather you turned around and drove me home if you’re going to be so prickly,” she declared, incensed. “I can’t test every word before I say it, Rip. I’m not responsible for where you came from or what happened to you, or what you’ve done or not done since you left here. And I refuse to feel guilty because—” She stopped, turning sharply from him and clamping her lips together. After a moment she said in ragged distress, “I’m sorry.”
A strained silence fell. Then he reached out to put his hand over her clenched fists in her lap. “Don’t apologize,” he said in low tones. “It’s my fault. I guess I am touchy. And you have no reason to feel guilty. You’ve never done a thing to me that I didn’t ask for—though I often wished you would.”
She swung her head, holding his dark gaze a long moment. His expression was shaded with wry humor, but it was also bold and open. He meant exactly what he said and didn’t care if she knew it.
“Rip…” she began uncertainly.
“Forget it,” he said, withdrawing his hand, putting it back on the steering wheel. “Let’s start again, all right? What kind of wallpaper would you say I need for the building that used to be the schoolhouse?”
She considered the question as best she was able while she waited for the shivery pleasure of his touch to fade from her skin. At last, she said, “Something with an educational theme, maybe. Books? World globes? No, wait. I think I saw a border with Greek scholars and scrolls in sepia tones. It was at the best decorator’s showroom in town, though. The shop will be closed by the time we can get to it.”
“No problem,” he answered. “I made an appointment at a decorator’s that may be the place you have in mind, since it came highly recommended. The guy specializes in restorations, and sells antiques and reproduction furniture. He agreed to have take-out food delivered so we can eat while we look. The choice was Italian or Chinese. I told him both because I didn’t know what you would like.”
“Both. Either,” she said a shade incoherently as she struggled to hide her amazement. She was really going to have to stop underestimating John “Rip” Peterson. Before she found herself in real trouble.