LET ME CALL YOU SWEETHEART Read online

  "Zach, no." She grabbed his hand, hanging on when he would pull away. "Not without talking to your sister first. Promise me."

  He stared down at her through eyes as opaque as pale blue ice. Bess knew a moment of pure fear, wondering if she had just unleashed a killer behind those impossibly cold eyes. Then Zach gave her a grim smile.

  "Don't get shook. I'm not going out to stalk him on some lunatic vendetta. Life has a way of bringing back one's mistakes. I can wait."

  Unconvinced, Bess continued to watch for signs of malice but Zach betrayed none. He seemed furious, justifiably so, and frustrated, also understandable. But no hint of maniacal rage steeped behind those emotions. He had his anger under control.

  "Thanks for telling me, Bess. I appreciate the honesty." He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb, reminding her that she still possessed his hand. Blushing, she let go. But he made no move to leave.

  "Was there anything else you needed to know?"

  It was just the two of them, alone in the night. When he took his time in answering, Bess had a moment of distressing clarity.

  What did she really know about this man? He could have been rubbing elbows with serious criminals for all she knew.

  "There's one thing," he said at last.

  She looked up, fixing her gaze within the power of his own. Making it impossible for her to break away as his voice lowered a suggestive notch.

  "I was wondering if you saved a dance for me."

  * * *

  Chapter 5

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  He gave her no time to consider his seemingly odd statement. Not that she needed it. She'd dreamed of it too long.

  He scooped her into a loose embrace, her fingers curled lightly in one big hand while his other rested low and easy at the small of her back. She'd never slow danced with anyone except the imaginary partner in her lonely teenager's room. Zach made it effortless.

  His gaze held hers mesmerized, dissolving her tension so their movements sprang from an inherent inner rhythm instead of an awkward count of one-two-three. He moved her across the driveway gravel with the slight pressure of his hand, their unhurried steps slowing into a more-intimate shuffle as their bodies swayed ever nearer. The breezy print fabric of her summer dress caressed the backs of her legs as Zach eased her in closer until she could feel him imprinted through the thin material.

  Dazed and compliant, she sought the comfortable lee of his shoulder as a pillow for her head. Her eyes closed and nothing existed beyond the haunting melody and her awareness of the man shifting against her with a seducing leisure. He rested his head atop hers, his cheek rubbing over the pale silk of her hair. Nothing could be so perfect this side of making love. Down from where her palms capped his shoulders, her slight form melted along his, riding the subtle bunch and relax of his muscular thighs as their dance slowed to a side to side: rocking, then stilled altogether.

  She lost track of how long they stood there in her driveway, leaning into each other, absorbing the sounds and sensations, fascinated by something as natural and ordinary as the harmony of each other's breathing. Finally, Zach's lips brushed, soft and warm, against the curve of her ear, sending a shudder through her every fiber. Then he stepped back. His hands lingered at her waist, a testament to his reluctance.

  "I was just going to ask for the dance and talk for a while but I'm afraid I'm going to want a lot more than that unless I get the hell out of here right now." The low rasp of his voice rubbed her sensibilities raw.

  "Okay."

  He didn't know if she was okaying his urgent departure or his need for more. He didn't ask.

  She didn't watch him walk away. Instead, she let her wobbly knees give way, flopping down on the stone steps leading up from the drive to the front walk so she could close her eyes and lose herself once more in the moment.

  Things were getting complicated. It was only a matter of time before Zach would ask for more.

  What was she going to tell him?

  * * *

  It was a Sunday tradition for Bess to stop in at Sophie's Diner for breakfast before closing out the week's receipts at the store and going to church. The booths were all filled by the time she arrived shortly after eight so she slipped onto one of the stools at the counter and ordered the eggs-over-easy special. She'd almost managed to consume her breakfast in peace when the spots on either side of her were filled by the Drabney sisters.

  "Good morning, Elizabeth," one of the elderly sisters said, marking an end to her quietude. "I saw Herb Addison yesterday."

  An innocent enough comment. Innocent, at least, on the surface. Bess reserved judgment as she stirred in the artificial sweetener needed to make Sophie's coffee taste less like forty-weight oil.

  "He asked about you."

  Bess took a swallow, grimacing at both the brew and the turn of conversation. She didn't favor the ladies flanking her with a glance that might indicate interest. "Did he?" Her tone remained carefully neutral. It wouldn't do to feed the flame. She watched Myrt Watson and Lorraine Freemiere exchange hopeful looks in the cloudy mirror behind the counter. Too late. The matchmaking sparks were at full blaze.

  "He said he was looking forward to a taste of your rhubarb pie."

  Bess stirred in another packet of sweetener, holding to her politeness with difficulty. "That's all he has a taste for, I hope."

  Myrt made an aggravated sound but Lorraine, the older and more opinionated of the two sisters spoke right up. "And what's wrong with Herb Addison? He has his own acreage and no house mortgage. He'll own that fancy cultivator outright by next spring and I hear he's fixing to put in central air." Lorraine worked at the bank. She knew everyone's financial dealings. In her mind, a paid balance made for a good match.

  "Well, that ought to cool down his taste for my rhubarb, then."

  "Really, Bess," Myrt sighed. "You are the nitpickin'est woman. Herb Addison is a very nice man."

  "Who forgets to put in his bridgework and still subscribes to those slinky ladies' underwear catalogs even though his Effie's been gone for over three years."

  Lorraine chose to ignore her criticism. "He's just lonely and a tad forgetful. Nothing a good woman couldn't change."

  "And what if I'm not such a good woman?" she asked archly.

  Both matrons laughed at that a little too long and a little too heartily for Bess to feel flattered.

  "Why Elizabeth Carrey," Myrt concluded, "you're as straitlaced as Wilbur Marlow's back brace."

  She was thirty-four and already being compared to an old man's creaking back brace. Great. A real confidence builder.

  "Well, if not Herb, how about Walt Sadler? There's nothing wrong with his teeth."

  "If you like crocodiles," Bess murmured into her cup.

  "Now, Bess, that's just plain unfair. Walt is a nice boy."

  "I don't trust anyone who has that much to smile about and still lives at home with his mama and sister at forty-five years old."

  Not to be discouraged, Lorraine said. "I happen to know his mother is quite fond of you."

  Bess made an uncharitable noise somewhere between a snort and a groan.

  Incensed by the younger woman's lack of appreciation for their relentless matchmaking efforts, Myrt said. "Unless you want to end up a wrinkled old spinster, you had better lower your standards. I doubt that Prince Charles is coming to Sweetheart, Iowa, anytime soon to ask you out to dinner."

  "I'm leaving all my evenings open just in case. I hear he likes the more mature type."

  The two busybodies shook their collective heads, wondering why they bothered with the stubborn creature. Except, like everyone in their small community, the two adored Bess Carrey and worried over her lonesome state. It just wasn't natural for a woman of her looks and sweet temperament to be alone. And so they told her every time they met, which was at least twice a day; once for breakfast at Sophie's and again when she brought her meager deposit to the bank. They'd named themselves the watchdogs of her fast-fading chances to snare a beau from the s
lim pickings in Sweetheart, and Bess couldn't help wishing their leashes were a bit shorter.

  Seeing her with Zach made their efforts redouble.

  "Have you made any plans for the fireworks tonight?"

  Deliberately dodging their question, Bess said, "I'll have my usual tables out for the sidewalk sale this afternoon. Maybe someone will buy up my whole inventory and I can accept Ted Doolin's bid on the store. Then I can run off for some wild, wicked adventure. Maybe even to New York City."

  Both woman scowled slightly at her levity. New York City equated to sin. But they both knew Joan Carrey's daughter wasn't going anywhere.

  "That's not what I meant, Elizabeth," Myrt chastised in her former schoolteacher tone. "I meant social plans."

  "I promised to take Faith to the rodeo."

  Lorraine patted her hand sympathetically. "Chaperoning a sixteen-year-old girl is not exactly a social event."

  Bess smiled. "I'm sure it will keep me busy. Half the boys in town are tying up my phone line."

  "Do any of them have single fathers?"

  "Really, Lorraine," Bess chuckled, sipping at the now unpalatably sweet coffee. "Romance is for the young, not for the soon-to-be-withered, like me." Before either woman could cut in with any comments, she added, "I have Faith for the summer and I mean to make the most of it until Julie gets back from her honeymoon."

  "That gadabout sister of yours has always had the traveling bug."

  Because it wasn't a harsh judgment, Bess didn't take offense. "Julie's always been the free-spirited one, that's for sure. I can't see myself prowling about Aztec ruins in Mexico. All I'd find is Montezuma's revenge. I get homesick watching too much of the Discovery Channel."

  "Where is your niece? Isn't she helping out at the store?"

  Bess smiled patiently at Myrt, who believed idleness meant an opportunity for mischief. "She's on vacation. She's sixteen. I didn't take her in to make a slave out of her."

  "You spoil that girl, Elizabeth," Lorraine pronounced. "You always have. I bet you went and got that satellite dish just so she wouldn't miss her MTV."

  "Spoiling her is one of my greatest pleasures." She picked up her water-stained bill and her handbag. "If you would excuse me, I have a business to run."

  "More like it runs you," Myrt mumbled. "If you weren't always buried in that musty old store, maybe you'd find more time for courting. Enjoy yourself once in a while."

  "And what makes you think I'm not enjoying myself?"

  Neither woman could answer, for Bess never complained about her lot. She always smiled as if everything was wonderful. Since her mother died, she'd come partially out of her shell, committees at the school and library, volunteering for fund drives, working tirelessly, efficiently at any task put to her. No one in Sweetheart could complain that Bess wasn't a paragon of all that was good and decent. Just like her mother raised her.

  Except for that unfortunate incident with the red shorts that nearly sent poor Walt to the cardiac ward … and the business with that Crandall boy. Surely good-heartedness didn't need to extend quite that far. Zach Crandall was hardly a stray dog to be taken in and pitied.

  And they worried for their guileless young friend.

  "Shall I give Herb your best?" Lorraine called optimistically.

  "You can tell him I baked lemon meringue this year."

  "I'm sure he'll want you to save him a piece for the barbecue. All it would take is a little encouragement from you. And you wouldn't want folks to get the wrong idea after seeing you with that Crandall boy yesterday."

  Bess took a breath and held it until her temper was under control. She knew it would come down to that. Plain, lonely Elizabeth Carrey so desperate for a man that she should settle for the likes of Herb or Walt without complaint.

  What would the two busybodies say if she announced with shocking deliberation that she had been hipbone to hipbone with Zach Crandall under the moon last night, and that he was so damn hot and sexy, she'd considered dropping with him right there in the driveway for some madly passionate lovemaking?

  Either they'd have a stroke just imagining that changing sheets for Herb Addison wasn't half as appealing to her as rolling around in them with Zach Crandall, or they'd have her locked away for her own good. Since she'd been locked away most of her life from anything that might be construed as mildly pleasurable, she said nothing beyond a soft, "Thank you for your concern, but I'm a big girl now."

  She went to the cash register and counted out the approximate coins, thinking it would serve them right if she started disgracefully chasing after one of the high school boys. Maybe that would stop them from trying to shove moldy old widowers down her throat.

  Or maybe she should develop a backbone and give Zach the encouragement he needed, proving once and for all that there was just a trace of bad girl in her after all.

  She stepped out into the early-morning sunshine and glanced around the quiet streets before taking the shortcut across the town square where the only reminders of yesterday's craft fair were the holes from table legs in the grass. There was no hurry in her stride. It wasn't as though she had to balance the national budget. If she had a half dozen people wander in and out of the store all day, it was a good day. She didn't kid herself about making a million in the used and rare book business. A good month was making the bill payments. But the house was paid for, and her father's family had left her a tidy little trust from which to draw if she needed any extras. She was comfortable.

  As she breathed in the sultry scent of late summer, her annoyance with the meddlers at the diner mellowed. It was hard to stay angry with those who genuinely cared for her well-being. Sweetheart residents considered themselves all one big close-knit family with the right to meddle wherever they chose. And like a big family, the town harbored few secrets and fewer surprises. She loved the intimacy of the town square, the fact that everyone knew everyone and that all looked out for each other. She'd never had that sense of closeness in the confines of her own family. That was why her sister had gotten out at an early age. Maybe Bess had been a little envious, but she'd never resented Julie for being brave enough to make the break. It was a courage she could never claim.

  How different her life might have been if she only had.

  She was content with her life, content with her freedom. No one to answer to. No one to obey but her own common sense.

  And no one to share herself with.

  Fishing in her shapeless woven bag for her keys, Bess walked along the pre-Civil-War and turn-of-the-century storefronts to pause at time- and weather-worn steps. She unlocked the heavy door with its leaded glass and brass fittings and swung it inward. It struck her an almost physical blow, that smell, the moldy stench of things old and forgotten. She braced against the memories hanging upon that stale odor. Since the store had been shut up all the day before, it was worse, stronger, thicker, almost heavy with neglect. The stagnant scent of her youth, shut away and unused. Sometimes, even after she'd gone home at night and showered, she could still smell it, the musty reminder of dreams shelved, growing thin and fragile with age. On those nights she'd cry herself to sleep, hating the store, hating her life and the woman who dominated both.

  She'd had the chance to escape once before and let it pass her by. Had that chance come again?

  If so, could she gather the courage this time to take it?

  * * *

  The sense of having been caught in a confining time warp followed Zach all day as he made the rounds of Sweetheart's festivities. Businesses surrounding the square held their annual sidewalk sale after lunch in tandem with the Friends of the Library's bake sale. The setups, the faces; everything unchanged. Including the suspicious looks he drew wherever he went. None of them saw a grown man, matured by the passing years. They saw the rowdy, restless boy and the menacing father before him. They were waiting, to a one, for him to step out of line, as if it were only a matter of time before his true colors would unfurl.

  When those colors showed themse
lves first thing Monday morning, he thought with wry amusement, would they ever be surprised.

  And resentful. And probably scared.

  More trouble to deal with, but he was trained to handle it; with tenacity not temper. Let them get used to seeing him walking their streets proudly, meeting their eyes without apology, because he wasn't going away anytime soon. Their hostile welcome was expected, but their respect would be demanded. He'd been looking forward to it for a long, long time.

  Time to pull the name Crandall up out of the mud where his father had wallowed. Time to pull his family back together.

  Every day, every hour, he saw as a step toward that goal. Regimented thoughts from a disciplined mind. He'd laid his plans out carefully, meticulously timed to rock the calm of Sweetheart like a nuclear assault. He wouldn't sneak back as if ashamed of who he was. He meant to march right down Main Street

  in full view of everyone. Let them stare. Let them grumble. Let them get used to the fact that Zach Crandall was home, this time to stay.

  He stopped his aggressive campaign trail, pausing at the edge of the square to take in the other reason for his return. Across the street, outside the antiquated front of the bookstore, Bess Carrey, with her practical upswept hairdo and modest blouse and skirt, stood straightening, talking classics with Miss Fitch, the reference librarian at the high school. His mood softened without his awareness of it as he watched the graceful gestures Bess used to punctuate her speech. Her sweet smile, the kindness in her eyes, acted upon the man the same way they had the boy, gentling the anger always simmering under the surface, quieting the darkness residing in his soul.

  He hadn't told her the complete truth about his return to Sweetheart, a deliberate omission. Part of him, the anxious, wary part of him, wanted to see if she would accept him back into her life unconditionally, unquestioningly. A selfish, unworthy test, perhaps. Loving Bess Carrey would be too easy—if only he could overlook the baggage that came with her in the form of her mother's moralistic memory and the censure of a whole town. Bess hadn't chosen him over them in the past. This time, he wanted a no-holds-barred victory.