Any Thursday (Donovans of the Delta) (2 page)

Taming the little wildcat was going to be fun. It was exactly what he needed to pass the time until he could get back to the only thing that stirred his blood—fighting crime in the back alleys and waterfront bars of San Francisco by reporting on it.

“All finished.” She glanced up from the hood.

“You have grease.”

She put her hand to her face and smeared some on her chin. “Where?”

“Here.” He smiled to himself, and with practiced ease kissed her. She fought. Her lean, lithe body bucked against him, and she tried to keep her mouth set. But the passion was there. He could feel it simmering just beneath the surface of her cool exterior. His own body surged in response.

“We’re going to be good together, Hannah Donovan.”

She backed off and wiped her hand across her mouth. Her expression was filled with fury.

“Not till hell freezes over.”

He laughed. “You’d be surprised how fast I can make hell freeze over,” He climbed into his rented car and leaned out the window. “Give you a lift, Hannah?”

“I wouldn’t ride with you five inches, let alone five miles.”

“We’ll ride together, Hannah. I promise you that.”

His brow rose in a way that made her think of the devil, then he set off toward the Donovan house. She hoped he took a wrong turn and ended up in the Mississippi River.

“Damned arrogant barbarian.” Pete’s ears perked up at the tone of her voice. She bent over and hugged him. “Not you, old friend. Jim Roman. Ride, indeed.” Her cheeks grew hot. She knew full well he hadn’t been talking about cars or horses. Excitement stirred deep inside her. The West Coast Warrior wore power and danger like a cloak. She was intrigued, challenged. And also wary. Even though it had been five years since Rai, she remembered what it was like to let priorities slip away, to become so wrapped up in a man, her work became perfunctory and merely adequate.

They’d met in Sri Lanka. He was a cetologist. Both had been assigned to the research vessel
Glory
, charged with studying a large pod of sperm whales. They’d fallen for each other, hard and fast, and it quickly had gotten out of hand. Her work began to suffer. She had been aware of what was happening but was helpless to change it. With Rai, she’d lost her perspective and her ability to reason. In retrospect, she’d blamed the mystery and beauty of the Indian Ocean, the marvel of their shared work, the glory of their shared passion—anything except herself.

She’d gotten out before it was too late. Putting an ocean between them, she’d devoted herself to her beloved profession, restored her own confidence in her work. And she’d guarded against letting another Rai into her life.

She crossed the ditch that separated the gravel road from the Donovan pasture. Her pulse was still racing from Jim Roman’s remark about riding and the images it had evoked.

“I’ll probably rue the day I had my opportunity to shoot him and didn’t,” she muttered.

 o0o

Hannah found her mother in the kitchen, up to her elbows in petit fours and cheese straws and finger sandwiches. Anna turned at the sound of the back screen door banging shut.

“I declare, Hannah. If you don’t do something about Agnes, I’m going to go stark raving crazy. She thinks she knows more about weddings than Amy Vanderbilt. You’re the only one in the family who can handle her. She’s in the library now, thinking up mischief. If she says we need Italian bowknots one more time, I’m going to—”

Abruptly she stopped talking and reached up to wipe away a big spot of grease from Hannah’s cheek. She gave her daughter a cagey smile. “Let’s forget about this wedding for a while and talk. Just the two of us. It seems I never get to talk to you, with you up there in Alaska doing all that whale research.”

Hannah picked up a cheese straw and popped it into her mouth. She smiled at the emphasis her mother put on whale research. Although Anna Donovan would never presume to tell her children what to do, her greatest desire was that they all marry and have big families and live happily ever after— just the way she had with Hannah’s father, Matthew.

“Yes, let’s talk, Mom.”

Taking her mother’s hand, Hannah led her to a chair and sat down beside her at the kitchen table. No, she thought, Anna never would say outright what she was thinking, but she’d drop hints that were big enough to fell an elephant.

“Now . . . tell me about Aunt Agnes’s latest plan.”

Anna pushed an errant pin into her neat salt-and-pepper French twist. “That can wait. Tell me what took you so long out in the pasture. I thought you were just going out for a little target practice.”

“I got sidetracked—by Jim Roman. What in hell is he doing in Greenville?”

“Hannah! Watch your language. I declare, I don’t know where you get that talk, your brother Paul being a preacher and all. It’s enough to scare any man off. Why . . . how in the world did you get sidetracked by Jim Roman?”

“His car broke down, and I fixed

“Oh. Is that all?”

Hannah chuckled at the crestfallen look on her mother’s face. “Don’t start putting one and one together and getting six.”

“Who? Me?”

“Yes, you. I know what you’re up to, Mom. And it won’t work. You’ll just have to be satisfied that you raised one daughter who’s content to be an old maid.”

“Pshaw! You’re always teasing me. Just like your father. He’s a nice man, don’t you think?”

Hannah grinned. “Pop? I’ve always thought so.”

“There you go, teasing again. Of course your father is wonderful. That’s a given. I’m talking about Jim Roman.”

“What I think about Jim Roman won’t do to tell in polite company. How do you know him, Mom?” Jim had told her, but she wanted to hear it from her mother. She figured he wasn’t above lying to get what he wanted.

“He’s the son of my college roommate and one of my best friends, Mary Louise Pritikin. You remember Mary Louise, don’t you?”

Hannah laughed. Her mother had so many people she called best friends, it would take the census bureau to keep up with them all. “No, Mom, I don’t. That was before my time, remember?”

“I forget. My, my, it seems like yesterday—me and Mary Louise getting our first pair of silk stockings together.” Her face became dreamy as she thought of old times. “Anyway, she married and moved off to California, but we’ve kept in touch over the years. I still have the card she sent me when Jim was born. She sent me a card when he got his big, fancy job too. He writes for that paper . . . what’s it called?”

“
The Daily Spectator
.” Hannah smiled at her mother’s perception of Jim Roman’s work. “Writes for that paper” didn’t touch the scope and influence of Jim’s column. “I still don’t see what he’s doing here. Surely
The Daily Spectator
isn’t interested in covering a wedding.”

“Mary Louise told me he works for a John Searles, who is head of what’s called a publishing empire. Isn’t that a silly name for a few newspapers and magazines? An empire. Makes me think of the Queen of England.”

“Mom . . .”

“I know.” Anna held up her hand. “You want me to get to the point. I declare, Hannah. You were always the impatient one. I remember that time Reverend Clemstattler dragged his sermon out so long. You stood up on the back pew and yelled, ‘Amen, now let’s go home.’”

They laughed together. Then, Hannah, as impatient as ever, gently urged her mother back on the subject.

“Well, you see, Jim Roman is going to write about your sister’s wedding for one of those magazines,
America’s Elite
. Isn’t that nice? I think Tanner’s wedding was written about in there, too. My, my. Two of my children making big news. And both of them happy as pigs in the sunshine. Did you know Amanda’s pregnant again? She and Tanner are not letting any grass grow under their feet. Making up for lost time, they say.”

“I didn’t know. That’s wonderful, Mom. They both want a big family.”

“Somebody shot at Jim Roman.”

“What?” Hannah was accustomed to her mother’s way of dropping one subject and plunging into another. She thought of the rifle she’d hung on the rack on the back porch and wondered what Jim Roman had told her mother about their encounter.

“In San Francisco. That’s why Mr. Searles sent him to Greenville. Mary Louise called last night and told me the whole story. I don’t think Jim Roman ordinarily writes about weddings, does he?”

“No, Mom. He covers the crime scene.”

“Some name that sounds like an Italian cake. That’s who’s after him. Poor man. I told him he could stay here.”

“Here? In this house?” Hannah jumped up and went to the kitchen window. Sure enough, Jim’s dusty rented car was parked in their front yard.

“Of course. Would I turn away the son of my best friend, especially after she called and asked me to watch after him? She’s had a hard life, and Jim is all she has.”

“What about the wedding, Mom? You’re swamped as it is. I don’t see how we can have another guest in this house. Especially an outsider.” Even as she reasoned, Hannah knew it was useless. Her mother had a heart big enough to take in everybody who knocked on the front door, and she also had a stubborn streak. Hannah could see her mind already was made up.

“The son of a friend is never an outsider, and we have plenty of room. Tanner and Amanda and their two girls will be staying in her house in Greenville. Paul and Mattie and their children will be here, but your brother Jacob will be the Lord only knows where. I’ve put Jim in Jacob’s room. Right next door to yours.”

Hannah sat back down with a plop. She’d known she’d have to deal with her bossy Aunt Agnes; she hadn’t counted on having to deal with the West Coast Warrior.

CHAPTER TWO

When Hannah left the kitchen, she went straight to the library to deal with Aunt Agnes.

As she pushed open the door, she saw Agnes, her back ramrod straight, her lips pursed, running her finger over a Victorian table.

“Checking for dust, Aunt Agnes?”

Agnes jerked her head around at the sound of Hannah’s voice. Hannah always was taken aback that Agnes was so like her brother Matthew in looks and so unlike him in personality. Both were tall and slim with an elegant bearing that spoke of royalty in their lineage. And both had the bright blue eyes of the Black Irish. While Matthew was good-natured and easygoing, Agnes had the disposition of a prickly pear.

“Hannah, you always did have the habit of sneaking up on people. I guess you learned it up there in the frozen wilderness, having to sneak around so polar bears won’t eat you up.”

“Don’t change the subject, Aunt Agnes. The library’s clean. I dusted it myself.”

“Then you missed a spot.” She took a big swipe at the table and held up her hand. “There, see it? If Anna’s going to have the wedding reception here instead of at the country club, where all the Presbyterians and Episcopalians go, then I’m bound and determined to see that she does it right. After all, Hallie is my only brother’s child, and my favorite niece to boot.”

She narrowed her eyes, obviously calculating the effect of her last statement on Hannah. Hannah laughed.

“So you’ve always said, Aunt Agnes.”

“Lord, child, you know I’m just kidding you. I love all of you like you’re my own. But I don’t see how we’re ever going to get you to the altar till you change your ways. Thirty’s mighty old not to be married.”

“I’m not altar bound, Aunt Agnes. But Hallie is.” She crossed the library and took her aunt’s arm. “Let’s make a pact. Let’s work together to make Mom’s job easier instead of aggravating her with suggestions. You know she’s going to run this wedding exactly as she pleases anyhow.”

“Well, I guess if we’re not going to the country club, that’s all right. But it does appear to me that since Anna’s insisting on fixing everything herself instead of having it catered, she could serve Italian bowknots. They’re the latest thing in finger foods, you know. Italian bowknots. I read about them in
Redbook
.”

“It you want Italian bowknots, Aunt Agnes, I’ll see that they’re served. But Mom doesn’t have time to make them. You have to.”

“You know I can’t cook worth a flitter.”

Hannah knew it was true. “I’ll come over to your house and help you, Aunt Agnes.” She’d just made the supreme sacrifice. Her cooking was on a par with Aunt Agnes’s, but she’d do anything to make this wedding run smoothly.

“That’s fine with me. But don’t you bring that wolfhound of yours. Your uncle Charlie’s allergic to dog hairs.”

“Pete’s a Siberian husky.”

“Husky, smushky. It appears to me that’s one of the major reasons you’re an old maid. Keeping company with nothing but dogs and whales.” Agnes gathered up her hat, a dashing straw bowler, and set it on her head at a jaunty angle. Hannah was reminded of the way Hallie wore her Stetson. “I’ll see you this afternoon at four, and don’t you dare be late.” With that final order, Aunt Agnes swept from the library.

As soon as the door was shut, Hannah picked up the first thing she could get her hands on, a fat book of Eudora Welty’s collected stories, and flung it across the room.

“Hell’s bells.” The book sailed across the back of the sofa and landed with a satisfying plop on the hearth.

“Temper, temper, my dear. Is that any way to catch a husband?” Jim Roman’s head appeared over the back of the sofa, then his broad shoulders, then his impressive chest. “You almost beheaded me.”

“Pity I didn’t. How long have you been back there eavesdropping?”

“Long enough to know that Aunt Agnes considers you to be doomed to oldmaidhood. That’s a quaint term. I never hear it on the West Coast. It must be a southern expression.”

“We have a lot of things in the South you’ve never heard of. Manners, for one thing. The very idea, lying on the sofa eavesdropping.”

“Actually I was napping until you and Aunt Agnes got into that interesting discussion about Italian bowknots and old maids and wedding receptions. Your charming mother told me to make myself at home. I was looking for a book to read, and all this bucolic peace and quiet put me to sleep.” Jim Roman unfolded his long legs and stood up. Picking up the book she’d thrown, he started toward her.