Sleeping Beauty (6 page)

He'd planned on eating at the diner down the street, but now he thought of the kitchenette that had come with his room. It had been awhile since he'd cooked himself a meal, unless you counted reheating Chinese take out. He liked to cook—had actually spent a few months working as a short-order cook once upon a time—and it occurred to him that it had been too long since he'd set pan to stove. Letting the impulse carry him, he pushed open the door of Bill's Grocery and went inside.

Anne hefted a cantaloupe and tried to remember the trick for telling if it was ripe. Was it supposed to have a yellow spot where it had rested on the ground and sound hollow when you thumped it? Or was that watermelons? There was something that was supposed to feel heavy for its size—lettuce or cantaloupe?

"Try smelling the stem end," a masculine voice suggested behind her. Startled, she turned and found herself staring up into smiling blue eyes. Recognition was immediate. It was the stranger from the gas station, the one she'd assumed was halfway across the country by now. Surprise had her blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

"What are you doing here?"

"Buying vegetables," he said, as if there was nothing odd in her abrupt question.

"No, I mean what are you...?" Anne stopped and bit her lip, feeling color flood her cheeks as she heard the echo of her own words. "I just...I thought you'd be...somewhere else by now."

"In the junk food aisle, maybe?" He sighed, looking regretful. "I get that a lot."

"No, I meant somewhere else." She waved one hand as if to indicate distance. ''Another town or state or something. I didn't know you were staying here. In Loving."

"I hadn't planned on it, but it looks like it's going to be a few days before my bike is fixed. Your friend, David, is going to have to track down parts."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I hope you didn't have somewhere you needed to be today."

''That's what you get when you have an old bike," Neill said, shrugging. "And I'm not on any kind of schedule, so it's not a problem to hang out here for a little while."

In fact, at the moment, this unexpected stopover was starting to look rather promising. He'd thought about Anne with her big gray eyes, pretty smile and rather spectacular legs several times over the last twenty-four hours. When he'd realized that he was going to be stuck here for a while, he had wondered if their paths might cross again. It was a small town, after all, and it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. When he'd seen her studying the cantaloupe display with such a serious expression, it seemed like his luck was running high. He decided to push it a little further.

"Lunch hour?" he asked, looking at her slim black skirt that ended several inches above her knee and blacksilk blouse whose color was reflected in her clear gray eyes. Simple black pumps with slim, tapered heels that displayed those killer legs to perfection, and her dark gold hair was pulled back in a soft twist. A few baby-fine curls had escaped to lie against her nape—a look he found ridiculously tantalizing.

''Yes. I work at the bank." Anne realized she was still clutching the cantaloupe and turned to set it back with the others, using the moment to try to gather her scattered senses. When she turned back, she felt her smile achieved just the right amount of friendly distance. "I was going to pick up groceries and run them home."

"Have lunch with me," he asked-

"What?" She stared at him, her eyes wide and startled. "I...I can't."

"Why not? You have to eat. I have to eat. Why shouldn't we eat together?"

Why not eat together? All the reasons why not tumbled through Anne's mind and finally came out as one simple protest. "I don't know your name."

"Neill Devlin," he said promptly.

"Anne Moore." The response was automatic, as was accepting the hand he held out, but she had to struggle not to jump at the electricity that arced from that casual touch. Her eyes shot to his face, wondering if he'd felt the same thing. The awareness in those clear blue eyes told her that the sensation had not been one-sided. Her cheeks warming, she pulled her hand back, resisting the urge to rub her fingertips against her tingling palm.

"Now that we've been introduced, have lunch with me." Neill's tone was light, easy, making it seem ridiculous to have doubts, foolish to refuse. When she still hesitated, he gave her a crooked smile. "Take pity on me. I'm a stranger in a strange land, and I hate to eat alone."

Anne's teeth worried her lower lip as she considered the idea. It was crazy, of course. She didn't do things like that—Shaving lunch with a strange man, even if he did happen to have smiling blue eyes and a truly beautiful mouth.

"I told you how to pick out a cantaloupe," he reminded her. "Lunch seems like the least you could do to repay the favor."

A smile tugged at the comers of her mouth. ''Cantaloupe is one of my favorite foods."

"That makes it a debt of honor," Neill said solemnly. "You definitely have to save me from a lonely lunch."

"I...there's a diner down the street," Anne said slowly, feeling excitement curl in the pit of her stomach. It was crazy, of course. It was completely out of character. Then again, just lately, she'd started to think that her character was pretty damn dull.

Luanne's Cafe looked like a movie set from American Graffiti. Worn black-and-white checkered linoleum and red vinyl booths, patched here and there with duct tape, a long counter with a speckled gray surface and backless red stools. The walls were covered with framed photos of various sports teams, ranging from the local Little League to pro teams from all over the country and, from the look of the uniforms, dating back into the forties.

Business appeared to be good, with all the seats at the counter filled and only one booth open. Neill took it, sliding into the seat that faced the door, wondering if Anne of the pretty gray eyes was going to show up. He was inclined to think she would, but he wouldn't have bet his next royalty check on it.

She was an odd little thing, he thought, as he took a packet of crackers from the basket on the table and tore open the plastic. Not shy, exactly, but...skittish. Like a kitten who wanted to be petted but was cautious of getting too close. He hadn't imagined the way her eyes had brightened when she saw him and knew, without ego, that she'd thought of him a time or two since their brief meeting the day before. When he'd suggested lunch, she'd wanted to accept. He'd seen that in her eyes, too. Yet she'd hesitated, as if he'd suggested a torrid weekend, which, he had to admit, didn't sound half-bad.

Neill trusted his instincts. As a writer, he had to. More often that not, particularly when he was starting a new project, they were all he had. And his instincts told him that there was a lot more to Anne Moore than what you saw at first glance. They'd also told him that she'd show up, he thought, smiling as he saw her walk through the door.

Her teeth tugged at her full lower lip as her eyes skimmed the restaurant, and Neill found himself wondering how she would react if he offered to do the nibbling for her. Her eyes brightened when she saw him, and her mouth curved in a shy smile that, for some reason, made him want to drag her into the booth and kiss her senseless.

Definitely too much time alone, Devlin, he thought, rising as she approached.

The old-fashioned courtesy made Anne flush with pleasure, even as she wished he'd stayed seated and less noticeable. When she'd agreed to have lunch with him, she hadn't thought about the fact that there was nowhere, short of going to another town, that they could go where someone wasn't likely to recognize her and wonder who she was with. Not that there was any chance of a man who looked like he did going unnoticed unless he put a bag over his head, she admitted.

"So, is there really a Luanne?" he asked as he slid into the seat opposite hers.

"What?" The unexpected question startled her. In the ten minutes since they'd parted company at the grocery store, she'd nearly made herself sick wondering what she would say to him, what he would say to her, trying to think of witty bits of conversation. None of those fragmented scenarios had begun quite like this.

"Luanne." He tapped a finger against the name emblazoned in black script across a dog-eared red menu. "Is there such a person or did they just invent the name to give the place an air of exotic mystery?"

"Exotic mystery?'' Anne's brows went up, and, catching the laughter in his eyes, she forgot to be nervous. "Y-yes, I can see how the name Luanne would conjure up images of exotic lands and sultry women. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but Luanne was the first cook here, back in the forties, and, according to what I'm told, she was a black woman, about six foot tall, skinny as a rail, chewed tobacco and had six husbands."

"All at once?" Neill's brows shot up in a look of exaggerated shock, and Anne had to struggle to hold oft to her serious expression.

"Of course not. This is Indiana, and we don't permit such things. She was divorced once and widowed five times." She paused and cleared her throat, prunning her mouth in a disapproving line. "There were, I believe, rumors that not all of her husbands departed the mortal coil willingly, but nothing was ever proved, and both the sheriff and the mayor were extremely fond of her chicken pot pie, so they were not, perhaps, as diligent in their investigations as they might have been."

"I knew there had to be a story behind a name like that." Neill opened his menu, then tilted it so he could look at her over the top. "What happened to her?"

"Nothing exotic, I'm afraid. She bought the place sometime in the late fifties, then sold it in the seventies and retired to Arizona where, for all I know, she's working on husband number ten."

"I hope so. I'd hate to think of a woman like that reduced to playing bingo and watching the soaps. It's important to have hobbies."

"It does sound as if her hobby might have been a little hard on her husbands," Anne pointed out.

"Yes but a really exceptional pot pie is worth a few risks," he said thoughtfully and was pleased with himself when she laughed.

She'd looked nervous edging toward frightened when she first walked in, her eyes skittering away from his. But, despite her uneasiness, she'd come to meet him, and he found that interesting. He wanted to believe it was his irresistible charm that had brought her, but he had a feeling she was proving something, whether to herself or someone else, he couldn't be sure. And why he should care one way or another was beyond him. She...intrigued him. For the moment, that was answer enough.

Neill glanced up as a waitress in a pink uniform stopped net to the table. Somewhere in her mid-twenties, with brassy blond hair and a thin, angular frame, she wore a small diamond solitaire and plain gold wedding ring on her ring finger, but, judging from the blatant invitation in her heavily made-up eyes, she didn't believe in letting marriage restrict her. Their eyes met, and she gave him a sultry smile.

''See anything you like, sugar?"

As passes went, he'd heard worse,
Neill decided dispassionately. Fifteen years ago, he'd probably delivered worse lines himself. Hell, fifteen years ago, he might have been flattered, might even have been tempted, though he liked to think that, even at twenty, his taste had been a little more discriminating. As it was, he couldn't help but find such a blatant come-on just a little pathetic and, considering the woman sitting across from him, certainly lacking in manners.

"I think we need another minute or two." He flicked an impassive look over what she was offering and then glanced across the table. "Anne?"

Out the comer of his eye, Neill saw the waitress slant a look of studied indifference across the table. Her head was already turning back in his direction when she registered who he was with. She nearly gave herself whiplash when she jerked around to gape at his companion.

"Anne?" The husky purr vanished in a disbelieving squeak. "Anne Moore?''

"Hello, DeDe." It was only sheer willpower that kept the color from flooding Anne's cheeks. Aware of Neill's interested look, she forced what she hoped was an easy smile. "How are you?"

"Fine." DeDe continued to stare, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You're here with him?" she asked, as if she needed verbal reassurance before she could believe what she was seeing.

"Yes." Seeing that the simple affirmative wasn't going to be enough, she nodded in Neill's direction. "This is Neill Devlin. Neill, this is DeDe Carmichael. We went to school together."

Neill acknowledged the introduction with a polite smile, but he might as well not have bothered. A moment ago she'd been looking at him like a cat looking at a particularly plump canary. Now she was staring at him with the same expression she might previously have reserved for a two-headed alien. Neill wondered if he should be offended but decided he was more interested in knowing just why the fact that he and Anne were together should strike her as so extraordinary.

"We went to school together," DeDe parroted, her head bobbing up and down as her eyes shifted from Neill to Anne, then back again. The silence stretched. DeDe's pink sneakers appeared to be glued to the linoleum. Neill was just about to remind her that they needed more time to order when the annoyed jangle of a bell cut into her stupefied silence.

"You gone deaf, DeDe?" an irascible voice demanded from behind the counter. "Order up!''

DeDe jolted and frowned. "I'm coming!" she called over her shoulder. She gave Neill and Anne another speculative look and flashed a quick smile. "I'll be back to get your order," she promised, and Anne told herself it was just imagination that made the words sound like a threat.