Keeping Victoria's Secret (10 page)

Looking it Cindy, the checkout girl, he
clumsily fumbled for his wallet. Eyes wide, her jaws temporarily
ceased torturing the wad of gum.

“Jack, what are you doing? Get out of my way.
You’re not paying for my stuff.” Vicky elbowed him aside and
reached into her purse for her own wallet.

“Oh yeah.” His gaze went helplessly from
Vicky to Cindy. “What am I doing?” he muttered to himself. “What
the hell’s wrong with me?

Cindy knew Jack well. She winked, shrugged,
and resumed her chewing. “You okay, Jack?”

He nodded.

Turning to Vicky, Cindy said, “Will that be
all for you today?”

“Yes, thanks very much,” said Vicky swiping
her credit card.

Realizing he’d entirely forgotten his own
cart and muttering apologies, he raced around to get it and dashed
for another checkout.

“You must be the lady I heard moved into the
old Willet place,” said Cindy.

Vicky looked up surprised, and then
remembered that she had moved into a small town. She smiled at the
girl behind the counter who handed her the receipt.

“Yup, that would be me. I’m Vicky Buonadies.
My grandmother was a Willet and lived there a long time ago.
Pippen’s Grove seems like a nice place.”

We like it here. It’s all right I suppose.
What’s got into Jack? He seems awful jittery. Not like him at
all.”

“Couldn’t say.” She smiled back. “Tell you
the truth, I barely know the man. Just met him the other day.
Thanks, and have a nice afternoon.”

"You do the same. Thank you for shopping at
Henry Hudson."

She rolled her cart towards the exit and out
into the parking lot, trailed by Jack.

When they were back in his truck with the
grocery bags safely stowed behind the seat, she asked if there was
a place in town to pick up some flowers, planters and a few
gardening tools.

“Sure thing, Vandersmoot’s Nursery, right
down the road,” he said. “That’ll be our next stop.”

Jack made a quick circuit of the village
pointing out historic landmark buildings, some of which dated back
to colonial times. He pulled into the gravel lot of Vandersmoot’s.
The nursery was doing a brisk business right at the peak of the
spring planting season.

“I’ll make this quick,” she said. “I think I
know pretty much what I want.”

“I’m in no rush,” answered Jack,
shrugging.

Getting out of the truck, he waved to his
friend, Joe Vandersmoot, who was arranging potted flowers outside
the front door.

“Joe, this is Victoria. Can you help her with
what she’s looking for? Victoria, Joe and his family own the
nursery.”

Vandersmoot beamed a hundred watt smile at
Vicky, who returned one of her own.

“You must be the girl who just moved
in…,”

“...to the old Willet place.” Vicky finished
his sentence for him, smiling. “I seem to be getting that a lot.
Guess it’s pretty hard to hide here in Pippen’s Grove. Nice town,
what I’ve seen so far.”

“It’s okay. We like it. Right, Jack? I could
show you around sometime if you like.”

Vicky thanked him and moved towards the flats
of annuals.

“Nice shower we had this morning Jack.
Weather’s been cooperative lately. Guess that means we’ll be in for
something nastier soon enough. How are the orchards?”

“They’re in good shape this year. Ought to be
a good crop.

Joe turned to watch Victoria bending over to
examine some Impatiens, with obvious appreciation of the way the
tight jeans molded her behind. Returning his gaze to Jack, he
raised his eyebrows in question, vaguely gesturing in Victoria’s
direction. “You mind if I....” He looked curiously at his
friend.

Jack froze. His stomach clenched at the
thought of Victoria and Joe together, unsure why that might be.
Shrugging to indicate his indifference he said, “Hey, I don’t own
her.”

Victoria picked out several flowers and the
containers she’d need. At the register, she asked for some potting
soil, fertilizer and a few good hand tools. While she waited, he
helped Joe load the supplies into the back of the pickup. He
returned as Vicky was putting her wallet away.

The young woman behind the register turned to
smile at him. “Jack, how are you? Haven’t seen you in a while. Been
busy out there in the orchards?”

Jack nodded and mumbled something. Carol
Barrett was one of the pie bakers with matrimony on her mind.
Always friendly, Jack liked her well enough, and had dated her
casually for a while, but when she’d begun to pursue him, assuming
they were a couple, he’d had to avoid her.

On the road back to the farm Vicky remarked,
“An old girl friend, or a current one?”

“Huh? Who?” he replied innocently, though he
knew exactly what she meant.

“Carol. The woman who rang me up at the
nursery.”

How the hell did she detect that? “Well, I
guess you’d say she’s.... I guess the answer is yes.”

“What does that mean?”

He was becoming irritated. “I guess it means
that it’s none of your business.” There was silence in the truck
for a mile or so before he spoke again. “Joe Vandersmoot was
eyeballing your butt pretty hard when you were leaning over the
petunias.”

“Oh sure. Besides, they were impatiens, not
petunias.” More silence ensued.

By the time they’d returned home neither of
them was speaking more than necessary.

Jack helped her unload flowers and groceries,
she thanked him, and he made his way back to the apartment over the
garage as the rain began again. He thought that if he lived to be a
hundred he would never ever figure out what went on inside a
woman’s head.

Vicky stood at the bedroom window in her
nightgown, the sun shining through the orchard, brightening her
day. As Jimmy Smith had predicted, the apple blossoms lay on the
ground, scattered everywhere by the wind and rain. All ready the
light green haze of the new growth formed halos around each
tree.

She’d awakened long before dawn and spent
four straight hours writing, stopping only for coffee and a quick
bite. Washing her few breakfast dishes at the old soapstone sink,
she'd set them to drain and headed for the stairs.

As she made her bed, she remembered Jack
asking about her name on that box of Rendezvous Romance from
Marsha. I wish I'd remembered to get it out of sight. Keeping my
Tori Baxter identity hidden has always been difficult. Now that I’m
living in a small town, it’ll be even harder.

Drawn to the sunny window of her bedroom she
stretched, yawning. Were the blooms already down yesterday
afternoon when I rode into town with Jack? He really doesn’t like
me much. How could yesterday start out so friendly, then by the
time we got home with the groceries, what happened? I thought I was
being nice! The man just makes me crazy.

“I'd better get moving.” Stripping off her
nightgown, she paused to admire the trees once more before heading
to the shower. I’ll never get used to living in such a beautiful
place.

The long warm shower refreshed her and she
padded back to her room with a bath towel wrapped around her,
dripping hair spread over her shoulders. Patting herself dry, she
wrapped the towel around her hair and bent over to rub moisturizer
on her legs. That chore done Vicky slipped into a matching pink bra
and panty set before tackling her long hair. She gently brushed it
out and blew it dry, leaning over to dry from the roots to give it
some volume. Work clothes today, she told herself choosing jeans
and a top.

Ready for the day, Vicky made a mental note
not to even consider the possibility of moving from the farm. Jack
really does have the right idea. I’ll keep myself busy cleaning and
exploring this big farmhouse.

Determined to examine everything from cellar
to attic, she ventured downstairs into the basement. It wasn’t the
creepy place of her imagination. Sure, there were plenty of spider
webs, but at one time, the stone foundation had been painted white
and shelving hung from rafters along one side. Smiling, she thought
of the women of her family storing things for generations on those
shelves. “Those kitchen utensils are antiques by now,” she murmured
to herself.

To her surprise and delight, she did find
some memories of her grandmother. Opening a shallow cabinet, she
discovered empty canning jars, and a small stack of unused faded
labels that looked as though they bore traces of Nanna’s writing.
In another cupboard, she found dusty bottles of wine lying on their
sides, with no labels. Something homemade? How long had they been
down here and who’d made the wine? Could it still be any good?
She’d have to ask Jack.

The better part of that day, she spent
investigating the house, taking time now and again, to clean dusty
corners of cobwebs and neglect. From room to room she proceeded,
armed with her spray can of furniture polish and dust cloths. To
her amazement, she found in an upstairs closet an ancient Kirby
upright vacuum cleaner that started right up when plugged in.

She was hot, tired, and hungry by the time
she got all the way up to the attic. There were some interesting
looking boxes, trunks, and old suitcases, which looked like they
might contain more pictures and keepsakes. I can’t wait to go
through all these things! This will be my first job tomorrow.

She realized it was time for dinner, so after
stopping off on the second floor to wash and change into cooler
clothes, she returned to the kitchen.

“What’s good in here?” she said, poking her
head into the refrigerator and looking over the contents. Thank
goodness, I did go shopping yesterday. I’m totally beat. Deciding
on an easy comfort food meal of pasta tossed with sautéed fresh
vegetables and a sprinkle of cheese, she located what she needed in
the outdated kitchen. As she prepared her meal, she began
remodeling the kitchen mentally, evaluating the rooms’ potential.
The pre-historic refrigerator gurgled and rattled as it strained to
keep its insides cool and make ice cubes. I could easily afford to
put in new cabinetry and countertops if I stay away from expensive
appliances and granite. Looking around the kitchen, she realized
there was no spot for a dishwasher. I’d definitely want a new
refrigerator and dishwasher.

She stopped in mid-thought. Wait a minute.
There’s no point in making any long-range plans. The reality
crushed her enthusiasm. Why bother fixing the place up, if it’s
going to be taken away from me? Frustrated, she slammed the pan
filled with her dinner down and watched a few slices of vegetable
dance out onto the table. Yes, I definitely need comfort food. And
while I’m at it, I’ll open a bottle of that apple wine I bought
yesterday. She looked through drawers searching for a
corkscrew.

Every day Vicky reminded herself that if Jack
could plant crops he might never harvest, she could at least get
her house in order. She’d made a little progress cleaning,
unpacking boxes, and organizing. After spending her mornings
working diligently at her computer, around noon she went out and
watered her planters filled with flowers. She’d hung her baskets of
impatiens on existing hooks around the porch, imagining Nanna
tending to baskets of flowers hanging in these same places. Her new
sleigh bed was made up with smooth sheets and her grandmother’s
quilt in the largest bedroom at the back of the house. From there,
she had a clear view of the orchards, barn, and garage.

Afternoons, she took her laptop to the front
porch to work outside. Jimmy would arrive in his Jeep with the
mail. If she saw him, they’d chat for a minute as he handed it to
her. Jack’s would be deposited in the box, while Vicky carried hers
into the house.

She decided that it was best to have as
little contact as possible with Jack, because he seemed to want it
that way. Since their trip to town together, he’d come and gone,
driving past the house, not even glancing in her direction.

One morning he’d written down his internet
password and cell number in a note and left it on the back porch.
“In case you have any questions, or need anything.”

A week went by and at last, Vicky felt that
she had things under control. She took her laptop out onto the
front porch and got comfortable on one of the large wicker chairs,
hoping she could write uninterrupted for an hour or two while
waiting for the mail truck to arrive.

Jimmy’s wife was pregnant with their first
child and due within the month. Every day when he made his
delivery, he gave her an update of his wife’s progress. He'd
mentioned Penny craving lemon pound cake with vanilla ice cream so,
using a favorite recipe, Vicky had baked one for her.

The sound of an approaching truck caused her
to look up expectantly. Slowing, on the far side of the road was
Van Winkle’s pickup truck, easily distinguished by the broad dent
in the rear left panel where Ben Cohen’s Caddy had left its
mark.

Rolling to a full stop, she saw him lean out
the window and stare at the house. Then he turned and grinned at
her. Oh God! Please don’t let him come up here. After a while, Van
Winkle pulled away and vanished up the road. Leaning back in the
wicker chair she sighed with relief. No use trying to continue
writing, her mood was broken.

When she heard the mail Jeep pull up in front
of the box, she grabbed the pound cake from the table and trotted
down the steps waving.

“Hello Jim,” she called to him.

“Only seventeen more days ‘til her due date,”
he announced passing the mail through the open window and accepting
the cake. “Wow, this is great! She’ll love this. Thanks Vicky.”

“How’s Penny feeling?”

Quickly, he told her about the latest doctor
appointment. While they were talking, Jack’s truck came from the
back, rattling and crunching down the gravel drive. He halted
before getting to the road, opened his door and climbed out.