Natural Born Charmer (24 page)

If only it were that simple. “Once I finish this portrait, I’m leaving Garrison.”

April looked disappointed, which was nice. “So your engagement is officially off?”

“We were never engaged. Dean picked me up two weeks ago on the highway outside Denver.” Blue told her about Monty and the beaver costume.

April didn’t seem all that surprised. “You do live an interesting life.”

In the living room, Riley finished reading Mrs. Garrison’s horoscope. It said romance was in the picture, which made Riley so embarrassed she wanted to make something else up, but she couldn’t think of anything. Riley wished she was in the kitchen with April and Blue, but Dean said she had to stop letting people know how much they scared her. Dean said she should watch how Blue took care of herself and do the same thing, except without hitting anybody, unless she absolutely had to.

Mrs. Garrison grabbed the newspaper like she thought Riley might steal it. “That woman in the kitchen. I thought her name was Susan. That’s what I heard in town.”

Nobody except Blue knew that April was Dean’s mother. “I think April might be her middle name.”

“Are you related to her? What are you doing at the farm?”

Riley poked at the couch arm. She wished she could tell Mrs. Garrison that Dean Robillard was her brother. “April’s a friend of the family. She’s sort of like…my stepmom.”

“Humph.” Mrs. Garrison stared at her. “You look better today than you did last week.”

She meant Riley’s hair. April had taken her to get it cut, and they’d also gotten some new clothes. Even though it had only been a week, Riley’s belly didn’t seem to stick out so far, maybe because she didn’t have so much time to be bored and eat. Whenever she wanted to go to April’s cottage she had to walk, and she had to take care of Puffy. The bike riding was hard with the hills, and then Dean made her throw the football around. Sometimes she wished the two of them could just sit still and talk, but he liked to be doing stuff all the time. She’d started to think maybe he was ADHD like Benny Phaler, or maybe it was just because he was a boy and a football player.

“I got my hair cut,” she said. “Plus, there isn’t too much junk food lying around, and I’ve been riding my bike a lot.”

Mrs. Garrison’s lips got all puckered, and Riley saw that some of her pink lipstick had run into the creases. “Blue turned nasty that day at Josie’s just because I said you were fat.”

She twisted her hands in her lap and remembered that Dean said she had to keep standing up for herself. “I know I am. But what you said kind of hurt my feelings.”

“Then you have to stop being so sensitive when it’s obvious someone’s having a bad day. Besides, you don’t look so fat now. It’s good you’re doing something about it.”

“Not on purpose.”

“It doesn’t matter. You should study dance so you can move better. I used to teach ballroom dancing.”

“I went to ballet for a while, but I wasn’t any good, so I dropped out.”

“You should have stuck with it. Ballet builds confidence.”

“The teacher told my au pair that I was hopeless.”

“And you let her get away with it? Where was your pride?”

“I don’t think I have too much.”

“It’s time you get some. Grab that book over there, put it on your head, and walk.”

Riley didn’t want to, but she crossed the room toward this gold
swan table and put the book she found there on top of her head. It slid off right away. She picked it up and tried again with more success.

“Turn your thumbs so they’re pointing straight ahead,” Mrs. Garrison ordered. “It’ll open up your chest and pull your shoulders back.”

Riley tried it and decided she felt taller, more grown-up.

“There. You finally look like somebody who has a good opinion of herself. I want you to walk like this from now on, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

April poked her head in. “Time to go, Riley.”

The book slipped off Riley’s head, and she leaned down to pick it up. Mrs. Garrison’s eyes squeezed into little slits, like she was getting ready to say something really mean about Riley being fat and clumsy, but she didn’t. “Do you want a job, girl?”

“A job?”

“Get the wax out of your ears. Come back next week and you can walk Tango for me. Blue’s worthless. She says she’s walking him, but all she does is take him around the corner and let him sleep.”

“Because he’s too old to walk,” Blue called out from the kitchen.

Wrinkles folded up between Mrs. Garrison’s eyebrows like she might be thinking she was getting too old to walk, too. Somehow it made Riley less afraid of her. She sort of liked what Mrs. Garrison had said about how Riley finally looked like somebody with a good opinion of herself. April, Dean, and her dad were always saying nice things to her, but they were just trying to build her self-esteem, and Riley didn’t believe them. Mrs. Garrison didn’t care about stuff like self-esteem, so if she said something good, it was probably true. Riley decided to practice more with the book when she got back to the farm.

“Blue, bring me my purse!”

“Is there a gun in it?” Blue shot back.

Riley couldn’t believe the way Blue talked to Mrs. Garrison. Mrs.

Garrison must really, really need her or she’d make Blue leave. She wondered if Blue had figured that out yet.

When Mrs. Garrison got her purse, she pulled out a five-dollar bill and held it toward Riley. “Don’t buy candy with this or anything fattening.”

Riley’s dad always gave her twenties, and she didn’t need more money, but it would be rude to refuse. “Thank you, Mrs. Garrison.”

“Just remember what I told you about your posture.” She snapped her purse closed. “Blue will drive out to the farm to get you next week.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll still be here,” Riley said. Her dad hadn’t told her what day they were leaving, and she was afraid to ask him because, more than anything, she wanted to stay at the farm for the rest of her life.

On the way home, April reached over and patted Riley’s leg. She didn’t say anything. She just patted. She also hugged a lot and touched Riley’s hair and made Riley dance with her. Sometimes April acted just like a mom, except she wasn’t always talking about calories and boyfriends. Also, Riley’s mom had never said the curses April did. Mainly Riley liked the way April smelled, like wood and flowers and spiral notebook paper. She would never say it out loud, but sometimes being with April was even better than being with Dean, because Riley didn’t have to run around after a football all the time.

She started to smile, even though she had a ton of things to worry about. She couldn’t wait to tell Dean that she’d been alone with Mrs. Garrison, and she’d hardly been scared at all.

Blue’s bedroom might be the smallest on the
second floor, but it was also the farthest from her employer’s, and it had a tiny balcony overlooking the backyard. She sat cross-legged on the pink plush carpet, her back against the puffy floral bedspread as she studied the drawing she’d just finished. Nita’s eyes looked like a ferret’s. She’d have to fix that. Or maybe not.

The gilt bedside clock pointed to midnight. She set her sketchbook aside, yawned, and closed her eyes. In her mind, she saw the caravan nestled under the trees. She imagined a light flickering in the window, calling her home. But the caravan wasn’t home, and she’d get over missing it the same way she’d gotten over missing all the other places she’d left behind. All the other people she’d left behind.

Something hit the balcony door, and she jumped. As she twisted around, she saw a looming figure. Her heart lurched. A melee of emotions—anticipation, dread, anger—struck her all at once. She pushed herself up from the carpet, stomped over to the door, and yanked it open. “What do you think you’re doing? I almost had a coronary.”

“I do that to women.” Dean stepped inside. He smelled spicy and exotic, while she smelled like hash browns. He took in her wrinkled
Goodyear T-shirt with old paint stains on the logo. She hadn’t even washed her hair this morning because Nita kept banging her cane on the bathroom door demanding breakfast. Still, he seemed a lot more critical of the pink-on-pink bedroom than of her. “Where do you keep your Barbies?”

“You could have called,” she retorted. “Or, better yet, continued to ignore me.” She sounded like a sulky ex-girlfriend, but it hurt that he’d stayed away, even though that’s what she’d wanted him to do.

“Now where’s the fun in calling?” He wore faded button-fly jeans and a fitted black shirt with a tuxedo-pleated front. Who would even think of putting together something like that? And pulling it off so perfectly.

“How did you know this was my room?”

He slipped his finger under the bunched sleeve of her T-shirt and straightened it. “The only one with the light still on.”

If it weren’t so late, if Nita hadn’t tested the last ounce of her patience, if Blue hadn’t missed him so much, she’d have done a better job of hiding her feelings of ill use. As it was, she snatched her arm away. “You’ve ignored me all week, and now you decide to show up in the middle of the night.”

“I knew you’d miss me if I gave you half a chance.”

“Go away.”

He gazed down at her with those dreamy blue-gray eyes and brushed her cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re worn out. Have you finally had enough?”

She pulled her eyes away from the suntanned
V
of skin at his open shirt collar. “More than enough.”

“Good. I’ll let you come back.”

She couldn’t help it. She sucked her teeth.

His lip curled. “You’re going to be your normal pigheaded self, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know how to be anyone else.” She grabbed a stack of clean
laundry and stuffed it in the dresser. “Go away. I didn’t invite you up here, and I don’t feel like sparring with you.”

“That’s a first.” He folded himself into the overstuffed pink ruffled boudoir chair. He should have looked silly, but the chair only made him look more masculine. “Here’s the thing, Blue. I’m not saying you’re selfish, but I do think you could consider somebody other than yourself once in a while.” He extended his legs and crossed his ankles. “Like Riley, for example. She hasn’t had a decent meal since you left.”

“Hire a cook.” Blue knelt down to pick up her sketches from the carpet.

“You know I can’t do that while Mad Jack is around. He decided he wants to build that damned porch himself. So far, the workmen haven’t recognized him, but that’s only because he keeps to himself, and nobody expects to see a rock star standing on a ladder with a hammer in his hand.” Long, denim-clad legs stretched in front of her. “But hiring household help is asking for trouble.”

She snatched a drawing pencil from under his heel. “Jack’s leaving soon, and so is Riley. Your problem’s disappearing.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He drew his leg in. “I don’t ask for favors easily, but we could use a little help.”

She picked up the last of her drawings and stood. “I already have a job.”

“And it’s making you miserable.” He rose from the powder puff chair.

As she gazed up at him, the small bedroom seemed to grow even smaller. There was one sure way to get him out of here. “How much will you pay me?”

She waited for him to start pulling hundred-dollar bills from his pockets, so she could kick him out. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over a bandage on his wrist. “Nothing. I’m asking you to do this as a favor. A home-cooked dinner on Sunday.”

Just like that, he’d yanked away her moral high ground.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he said, “but all of us would really appreciate it. If you give me a list, I can pick up whatever you need.”

She’d been certain he’d offer her money, which would have given her a perfect excuse to throw his Sunday dinner back in his face, but he’d outmaneuvered her, and now she’d feel churlish if she refused. She dropped her sketches on the bed and thought about how much she missed the farm. She wanted to talk to Riley. She wanted to see how the new furniture looked and check up on Puffy and embarrass herself in front of Jack. She wanted to be part of it all again. Her old weakness—trying to belong where she didn’t. “Is everybody going to be there?”

His mouth tightened. “You want another chance to act like an idiot in front of Mad Jack, don’t you?”

“I’m more mature now.”

“Sure you are.” He picked up her sketches from the bed. “Yeah, they’ll all be there. Tell me what you need.”

As long as she stayed with the group, she could go. Just this once. She mentally reviewed the contents of the pantry and gave him a short list, which he didn’t bother to write down. He held up her final sketch. “This is great, but I thought you were painting her dog.”

“Nita decided she has to be in the portrait, too.” Nita cared more about keeping Blue around as her indentured servant than she cared about the painting. “Are you ready to go home yet?”

His gaze wandered to the bed. “Definitely not.”

She set her hand on her hip. “I’m supposed to take off my clothes just because you got bored and decided to hop over my balcony railing tonight? I don’t think so.”

His eyebrows drew together. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it, that I stayed away.” He jabbed his finger in the general direction of her face. “You’re not the only one who’s allowed to be pissed off.”

“I didn’t do anything to you! I needed a job, and don’t tell me I had one with you because I didn’t.”

“I was counting on you, and you turned your back on me. Obviously, you didn’t care how I felt.”

He looked honestly angry, but she didn’t believe him. “You’re overprivileged, overindulged, and perfectly capable of holding your own with all of them. What really bothers you is not getting your way.” She marched to the balcony door so she could throw him out, but as she pushed the handle, she imagined his body sprawled on the ground with his legs twisted underneath him, and she backed away.

“What really bothers me,” he said from behind her, “is believing you were someone I could count on.”

She set her jaw against a twinge of guilt and headed across the room. “You’re going out the front door. Don’t make any noise, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He shot her a hard look, stepped in front of her, and opened the door himself. She followed him out into the pink-carpeted hallway, past an excruciatingly ugly painting of a Venetian canal, and down the steps, so she could lock the door behind him. Just past the landing, he stopped cold and turned. She was on a higher step, and their eyes met. In the light from the dusty crystal chandelier, his face was both familiar and mysterious. She pretended she understood him, but how could she? He lived in the stars, and she was good, solid earth.

She stood without moving as he lifted his arms and channeled his fingers into her hair. The loose rubber band that had been barely holding up her ponytail gave way as he tunneled under it.

His kiss was harsh and thrilling. She forgot everything she knew about herself and slipped her arms around his neck. Tilting her head, she opened her mouth. He cupped her bottom and squeezed. She pressed closer, and her hips rubbed against him.

He broke away so suddenly she got a head rush and had to grab the railing. Of course, he noticed. She flipped her hair, sending the dangling rubber band flying. “You are so bored with yourself.”

“I don’t feel bored.” His low, rough voice scraped her skin like
sandpaper. “What I feel…” He curled his hand around her bare thigh, just below the hem of her shorts. “What I
feel…
is a hot fuckable little body…”

Sparks erupted inside her. She licked her lips and tasted him. “Sorry. Now that I’ve had you, my curiosity is satisfied, and I’m not interested. No offense.”

His gaze held steady. He deliberately brushed his fingers across her breast. “None taken.”

As her skin pebbled, he gave her a less than friendly smile, turned away, and let himself out of the house.

Blue felt hungover the next morning as she walked out to the curb to get the Sunday paper for Nita. Last night, Dean had tried to change the rules on her. He had no right to be angry just because she wouldn’t worship and adore like all the rest. When she went to the farm today, she needed to give him as much trouble as possible.

As she leaned down to pick up the paper, she heard a hissing coming from the other side of the hedge. She looked up and saw Syl, the owner of the local resale shop, peeking at her around the shrubbery through a pair of red cat’s-eye glasses. Syl had short salt and pepper hair and thin lips she’d enlarged with dark red lip liner. Blue had enjoyed her sense of humor when they’d met at the Barn Grill after the big fight, but Syl was all business now, hissing like a garden hose and gesturing for Blue to approach. “Come here. We need to talk to you.”

Blue tucked the paper under her arm and followed Syl around the corner. A gold Impala sat parked on the opposite side of the street, and two women climbed out: Dean’s real estate agent, Monica Doyle; and a slender, middle-aged African American woman Syl quickly introduced as Penny Winters, the owner of Aunt Myrtle’s Attic, the town’s antique store.

“We’ve been trying to get you alone all week,” Syl said as the
women gathered around. “But whenever you show up in town,
she’s
always around, so we decided to stake out the house before we went to church.”

“Everybody knows Nita has a fit if she doesn’t get her Sunday paper first thing.” Monica pulled a tissue from the navy and yellow Vera Bradley bag that matched her dressy blue suit. “You’re our last hope, Blue. You have to use your influence with her.”

“I don’t have any influence,” Blue said. “She can’t stand me.”

Penny fingered the gold cross at the neck of her red dress. “If that was true, she’d have gotten rid of you by now like she has everybody else.”

“It’s only been four days,” Blue replied.

“A record.” Monica gave her nose a delicate toot. “You have no idea how she runs over everybody.”

That was so not true.

“You have to convince Nita to support Garrison Grows.” Syl shoved her cat’s-eye glasses up on her nose. “It’s the only way we can save this town.”

Garrison Grows, Blue quickly learned, was the plan the city’s leaders had put together to revitalize the town.

“Tourists drive through here all the time on their way to the Smokies,” Monica said, “but there’s no decent restaurant, no lodging, hardly any shopping, and they never stop. If Nita will let us go ahead with Garrison Grows, we can change all that.”

Penny tugged on the small black button between her breasts. “With no national franchises here, we can take advantage of the nostalgia factor and make this place look like everybody’s memory of what small American towns were before KFC moved in.”

Monica slipped her purse to her shoulder. “Naturally, Nita refuses to cooperate.”

“It would be so easy to draw tourists if she’d only let us make a few improvements,” Syl said. “Nita wouldn’t have to pay for a dime of it.”

“Syl’s been trying to open a real gift shop next door to her resale
shop for five years,” Penny said, “but Nita hated her mother and won’t rent her the space.”

As the church bells rang, the women began outlining other parts of the Garrison Grows plan, which included a bed-and-breakfast, converting Josie’s into a decent restaurant, and letting someone named Andy Berillo add a coffeehouse to the bakery.

“Nita says coffeehouses are only for Communists,” Syl said indignantly. “Now what would a Communist be doing in East Tennessee?”

Monica folded her arms across her chest. “And who worries about Communists anyway these days?”

“She just wants to make sure everybody in town knows how she feels about us,” Penny said. “I don’t like to talk bad about anybody, but she’s letting this town die out of spite.”

Blue remembered Nita’s anxious-to-please expression in those early Garrison photographs and wondered how different things might have been if the local women had welcomed her when she’d arrived instead of shunning her. No matter what Nita said, Blue didn’t believe she had any intention of selling the town. She might hate Garrison, but she had nowhere else to go.

Syl squeezed Blue’s arm. “You’re the only person who has her ear right now. Convince her these improvements will mean money in her pocket. She likes money.”

“I’d help if I could,” Blue said, “but the only reason she’s keeping me around is to torture me. She doesn’t listen to anything I say.”

“Just try,” Penny said. “That’s all we ask.”

“Try hard,” Monica said more firmly.

Nita pitched a fit that afternoon when Blue announced she was taking off, but Blue didn’t give in and, around four o’clock, amid threats of calling the police, she left for the farm in the Roadster. Since her last visit, the pastures had been mowed and the surrounding fence
had been repaired. She parked by the barn, next to Jack’s SUV. The warm wind plucked at her ponytail as she crossed the yard.