Banjo Man (8 page)

Love. The thought took shape and substance in her mind, and her glance swept immediately to Rick’s reflection in the mirror.

“Lookin’ good!” he said with a grin.

“Do you really think so?” she asked, her lips parted and her wide eyes shining.

“Oh, yes, darlin’, I really do!”

Rick was watching her with a hint of something in his eyes, a touch of awe perhaps. He had thought she was beautiful the first time he saw
her, at three
A.M.
in a dim hallway, so it wasn’t just that she was prettier now. No, it was as if he were witnessing some subtle transformation in the mirror. An unfolding of wings. An unfurling of petals. The first bright spark of a fire.

Each clipped, coppery lock that drifted to the floor was a step out into the world.
Into the world … and into my heart
, he thought. He felt the swift, sharp stir of arousal that her nearness always awoke in him. Shifting restlessly as he stood, leaning his elbows back against the far edge of the counter, he studied her, thinking,
What power will you have over me when you realize just how much of a woman you are, Ms. Laurie O’Neill?

As if he had spoken aloud, Laurie blushed. “Stop looking at me like that, Westin. You are making me very nervous!”

“Me too,” Larry agreed, brandishing his scissors. “Go away. Go get a soda, or take a walk, or something.”

“You two sure know how to hurt a guy,” Rick drawled, stretching his lean, hard body. He reached way over his head, hands locked, arching his torso back against the restless tension that tightened his shoulders; the muscles strained visibly against his shirt.

Laurie watched him, feeling the deep, surprising excitement his physical presence caused. Her body responded, and she fidgeted restlessly in her chair.

Rick caught her eye and laughed, a rich, husky sound that mingled with her own silvery laugh. At that moment they were perfectly attuned to each other, like two acrobats hurtling through the air, each one astounded and delighted by the other’s perfect timing.

“Am I missing something?” Larry complained, staring at the two of them in amused puzzlement.

“Nothing I could explain.” Rick grinned, and Laurie bit at the inside of her cheek, willing back her self-control.

“Good!” was Larry’s retort. “Then disappear for about thirty minutes.” With a flourish, he resumed his clipping and snipping.

Rick paused on his way out, bent, and picked up one lock of Laurie’s shining hair. He tucked it safely in his pocket and left.

In less time than she’d expected, the haircut was complete, and she was spun away from the mirror for a final appraisal.

“Perfect!” Larry confided in a grand stage whisper. “Absolutely perfect.” Then, “What do
you
think?” he asked, spinning her back to face her reflection.

Laurie couldn’t answer, not only out of modesty, but because her breath was trapped in her throat. The girl … the
woman
there in the mirror
was
beautiful. Her hair was a lightly feathered cap of shining copper and gold, thick and rich with highlights, shaped so that it followed the lovely curve of her brow and cheek and neck.

“Well?” Larry prompted, obviously proud of his handiwork.

Laurie nodded her silent agreement. A small smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. “Yes,” she said, finding her voice. “It’s wonderful. You did a beautiful job! Oh, thank you, Larry.” And then, already out of the chair, she added, “I’m going to get dressed before Rick comes back, and surprise him.”

“Why don’t you go look in our boutique, find something luscious, and
really
surprise him?” Larry suggested, remembering her prim blue blazer.

“Oh, I wish I could, but I don’t have time today,” she answered wistfully as she picked up her pocketbook
and the bill he had written and turned away. But then she hesitated, looking over one shoulder and touching her hand to her hair as if to convince herself that what she saw in the mirror was real. With a shaky laugh, she hurried to the dressing room.

Her clothes were gone. Vanished. And in their place were a soft, silken swirl of a skirt and an apple-green silk blouse.

She dressed in the tiny room, slipped her feet into ivory sling-back sandals that were exactly her size, and turned slowly in front of the mirror. Tears stung her eyes. That man. That crazy, wonderful man. He shouldn’t be doing all this; she shouldn’t be letting him. But, oh, the sweetness of it! The kindness. The pure dizzying pleasure of being looked at the way he looked at her. How could she resist?

Nothing in her whole life had prepared her for Rick Westin.

And nothing had prepared
him
for the way she looked when she stepped out of the dressing room. Lovely. She glowed with a shy, mysterious awakening that had nothing to do with the haircut or the clothes or anything he had done, and yet he had everything to do with them. Rick felt his heart slam to a stop against his ribs. Something hit him hard behind the knees and smack between the eyes. So this was what had sent the troubadours and minstrels wandering through the countryside with tales of love and maidens fair. This was the secret he had held in his heart as he roamed the Appalachians from spring until fall every year, alone, waiting for someone. Her.

“You look lovely,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” she said with a shy laugh. Then she shook her head. “I say thank you, and yet I really can’t thank you enough. There’s no way—”

“There’s no need. It’s my pleasure. Truly.”

He stood looking at her another moment, and she turned slowly before him, suddenly not shy at all. Just happy.

“All right,” he said, drawing a deep breath, as though he hadn’t breathed for a long time, “all right, let’s go get some lunch.” He handed her a shopping bag with her old clothes and took her arm, guiding her to the door.

“The bill—” she began.

“I’ve taken care of everything. And you don’t have to thank me. It is my pleasure.”

They were halfway down the block when she stopped and turned, pulling him to a halt. “Rick—you make me crazy! I forget who I am, where I am … where I’m
supposed
to be! I can’t go to lunch now; it’s after one. I have to be back at work.”

“Okay, then, dinner. I’ll pick you up for an early dinner, and then we’ll go to the theater, and dancing afterward. Don’t say no!” he insisted, waving away her objections. “Listen, the jitterbug is back, and I’m a great jitterbugger. Trust me!”

Didn’t that man
ever
sleep? Laurie yawned languidly, rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

She pulled her chair over to the window and leaned across the sill. The white light of early morning washed across her arms, but there was no warmth to it yet, just a teasing promise. Since last night, all of life seemed a teasing promise: a golden ring on the merry-go-round, a surprise at the bottom of the Cracker Jacks box.

She hadn’t slept a wink and was sorry now, at just past seven
A.M.
, with the whole day stretching ahead. Her eyelids drooped over sleepy gray eyes; the small of her back ached; her heart thumped and bumped unevenly in her chest, a tom-tom beating out a disquieting message.

Rick Westin! There was the heart of the problem.

The thought of him pulled at her soul like the tide, constant and irresistible. When she closed her eyes, his face was imprinted on her lids; when
she drifted into a moment’s sleep, he moved through her dreams.

They had shared an exquisite Japanese dinner, seated on woven cushions behind a paper screen, drinking warm sake that made her head spin. Or was it the look in his dark eyes that made her dizzy? Then they’d made a mad dash to the theater, where she had sat at what was now
her
table, stage front, to be thrilled again by the sound of his voice and the wild, dark excitement of him on stage. And as if that weren’t enough, later they had gone dancing at some little club where the band members all knew Rick and the music tugged at their feet … and she wished he would hold her in his arms forever.

And then she had sat awake in the stiff kitchen chair for most of the night, trying to talk some sense to herself.

The trouble was, she wasn’t listening.

She was, quite honestly, crazy about the man. She wanted to quit her job, abandon her bed on the couch, snatch up her hairbrush and toothbrush, and go pound down his door. She could see the headlines now:

EX-NUN ARRESTED FOR BREAKING AND ENTERING LOVER’S APARTMENT!

Hugging her knees, she pressed her fevered forehead against the windowpane. She couldn’t believe herself, talking about a lover! A month ago she would have been just leaving the chapel after matins, her veil in place, her dark skirt brushing the floor. Too much was happening. Too much, too fast. It was wonderful—but so very confusing.

Again she closed her eyes and saw his dark, angular face, the curve of his jaw, the shape of his mouth. She pictured his wild, dark hair and gypsy
eyes, the sexy grin that flickered across that perfect face.

Oh … was this love? Could it be? She had so little knowledge, and no practice at all. How was she supposed to be sure? Whom could she ask?

“Good grief, what are you doing up already?” Ellen stormed in through the front door, her eyes taking in everything at once, as always. “Honestly, a person who doesn’t have to be at work until nine should sleep till at least eight forty-five! Coffee on?” she asked without pausing for breath.

“Gee, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“No problem. I’ll have it perking in a sec. Should I put a muffin on for you?”

“No, thanks, I—”

“Hey, are you all right, kiddo? These last few days you’ve had the appetite of a sparrow! And you know, you’re looking very pale … kind of translucent, you know what I mean? Like a candle burning at both ends. Have you got a fever?”

Before Laurie could protest, Ellen was perched on the windowsill, one palm resting flat against Laurie’s forehead, the other hand circling her wrist. “Uh-oh, just as I expected. Temperature elevated, pulse erratic; I bet your blood pressure’s sky-high. Did you have a good time last night?”

Laurie had to laugh at the obvious non sequitur. “Thank you, Nurse Farrell. It’s nice to know you make house calls.”

“Anything for a friend. So tell me, how’s Rick Westin?”

“He’s fine,” Laurie said, taking a sudden interest in the sunrise.

“Aha!” Ellen chortled with delight. “Pulse racing! Pressure mounting—”

“Ellen, stop it.” Laurie laughed, jumping off the chair and out of reach. “You’re supposed to be on
my
side.”

“But I am! I’m hoping you fall madly in love with the fellow, because he’s the nicest man I’ve ever met. And you’re my best friend. The two of you deserve each other. Besides”—her hearty laugh bounced off the walls—“it’ll be a wild and crazy love affair, that’s for sure! I could write it up for
Woman’s Day
and make a fortune.”

“Ellen!”

“No, I’d never do that. I promise.” She held up three fingers in the Girl Scout oath, and then added with a wink, “But I am anxiously awaiting confirmation of my diagnosis.”

Laurie avoided her friend’s eyes, turning away with her hands clasped behind her back. “The patient isn’t sure herself yet.”

“Ah, understandable, considering the patient’s recent case history.”

Laurie licked her suddenly dry lips. “Is it your considered opinion that the patient could survive exposure to such a disease?”

“Oh, sweetie”—Ellen stepped closer—“it’s life that’s the disease. Love is the cure.”

Later, standing beneath the hot spray of the shower, Laurie tipped back her head and let the water wash over her upturned face. But instead of soothing her, the water’s rush added to her restlessness. She felt fidgety, itchy, all in a dither! Out of nowhere a scene from an old western movie popped into her head: a captive tied up on top of a red-ant hill. That was just how she felt! It was as if her skin were alive, every nerve ending aflame, every synapse relaying a single message over and over again:
desire.

His kiss. His touch. The heat of his body.

She wanted Rick Westin.

But if she got him, what in the world would she do with him?

Laurie dissolved into heated laughter, and turned the cold water on full force. There had to be some calm, logical, mature way to deal with this entire situation. Trouble was, she couldn’t think of a thing.

She turned off the water, stepped from the shower, and covered herself with a fluffy terry towel. Rubbing herself dry, she was suddenly and totally aware of her body and its own secret, teasing promise.

What would it be like to make love with a man? What would he think of her body, these narrow shoulders and small, pink-tipped breasts, these hips? Were her hips too bony to be provocative? Were her buttocks too flat? Did men like that, or did they want full, curving bottoms to cup in their hands? And her knees … and her feet … and the parts of her body she was carefully not naming, not even to herself! Could she ever let a man look at her naked?

The thought sent horrified shivers racing down her spine from her reeling brain.

But her traitorous body was busy with its own fantasy. Her heart was turning somersaults in her throat, her stomach was tied in a knot, and her skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat.
Naked.
What would it be like to stand in front of a man naked? Or in front of a naked man?

No sooner thought than imagined! With her mind’s eye she saw Rick Westin, with his dark, flashing eyes and the now-familiar smile tugging at his lips. And what else? Well, he had broad shoulders, and dark hair on his chest. But was there a lot? Just a little? She had been too scared to notice. Which would she like better? And his chest was tanned and solid, the muscles as well
defined and beautiful as those on some Greek statue. And all that muscle tapered down to those slim hips that she had to keep her eyes off when he wore his tight, faded jeans. She had seen no more than that, but she was sure he’d have rock-hard calves, and strong, solid thighs and … oh!

She let her forehead rest against the steamed glass of the mirror and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Heavens! Another complication. If she couldn’t think sexy, she sure couldn’t
do
sexy. But she wanted to.