"Ah, Lynn." His good-humored sigh lightened her mood. "Present-day mythology would hold that men think about nothing but sex when they're with a woman. Grown-up men aren't that shallow. You're saying you haven't—you know—since that awful day." He grinned when the tiny smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. "My God, after hearing that, I'm humbled to think you'd even consider going out with me. It took a lot of courage."
Slanting him a look, she managed a smile. "Oh, I don't know, you put out some good vibes, too. Those roses made quite an impression."
"Dang." His voice had a teasing note. "I knew taking the Jag tonight was a mistake." At her questioning glance, he indicated the console between them. "If I'd brought the truck I could take you in my arms now and offer some comfort."
"That's what you get for showing off," she laughed, feeling better by the minute.
"Lindsay. Lynn." His voice had turned serious. "I'm going to take you home now. You look exhausted. But before we leave, I want to say something."
She waited, wide-eyed.
"I've been widowed for two years, but that story is for another time. It was a good marriage, but after Anne died, I wasn't interested in finding another woman.
"I don't consider myself a romantic, and I don't believe in love at first sight, but when I saw you at the Kensington, I felt a connection. That has never happened to me before, certainly not with Anne."
That remark produced a rush of satisfaction.
He ran his hand through his hair, in frustration. "God, this sounds like the world's worst pick-up line. I'm as gauche as a hormonal teenager." He tried again. "Damn it Lynn, you interest me. I'm attracted to you." He glared at her, defensively.
"Oh." What else was there to say?
With a self-deprecating laugh, he tried again. "It's more than attraction. I want to be with you, with all the intimacy that entails, but I know that's going to take time and it won't be until you say so. The thing is, I'd like to see you again, so we can explore what we might have together."
Joy and hope were new for her. She spoke cautiously. "I feel the same thing, David. I want to see you again very much, but I'm afraid to try anything too intimate. Maybe I can't be what you want, but I'm willing to see what happens."
"Think about it. I'll call and maybe we'll work out something for next weekend." He noted the look of alarm on her face and added, with a gentle smile, "I don't mean, you know."
"Oh, for God's sake," she laughed, "I'm not going to bolt if you say the word."
"Okay. No hooking-up. Just an easy, friendly afternoon and maybe dinner. Okay?"
"Do we have to eat eggplant?"
He shouted with laughter. "Woman, you are a delight. I swear, no eggplant."
The evening had ended, but the promise of a future remained. David started the car and they drove home in silence, too moved by what had transpired to talk about it. Throughout the evening, he had become convinced that Lynn was the woman he wanted to share his life in every possible way. When he walked her to her door, he paused, and stood, looking down at her.
"Do you think we could try a kiss to see what happens? I promise no adolescent groping. Just a simple kiss."
Smiling up at him, she leaned forward to signal her willingness.
"Ah, Lynn," he sighed, and put his arms around her, gently touching her lips with his own. He pulled her against him and her body filled every nook and cranny, as though a creation custom made for him. With gentleness and quiet love, he tried to draw the fear and despair from her soul and replace it with the magic of dreams to come. The triumph he felt when she softened and leaned toward him rivaled any he had ever felt in his life. The kiss ended and for a moment they stood, holding each other, Lynn's head resting right where it belonged, in the hollow of his shoulder.
"Next time, we go in the truck," he whispered in her ear, earning a small laugh so filled with emotion, it sounded like a sob.
"Goodnight, D.G.," she said, her heart shining in her eyes. The light of her joy followed her into the house.
David shook his head in wonder as he returned to the car, thinking of the role chance and happenstance play in people's lives. The act of choosing, at random, this tiny place in the Ozarks to begin anew, had become a defining moment in his life. In this small town, he'd found love with a depth he hadn't thought possible.
A few minutes later, still on an emotional high from the evening, he put the Jag in the garage, and entered the kitchen to find Sarah waiting up for him. She was sitting at the table with a magazine and a can of pop.
"How did it go?" she asked, eagerly. "Did you like each other?"
Obviously, it mattered a lot to her what he thought about Lynn. He got a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and took a seat across from her at the table, prepared to talk.
"It went well. Yeah, I think we found a lot to like about each other, or, at least, I did." He paused thoughtfully before continuing, and decided to push a little. "What would you say if this grew into something more than just a casual friendship? It's already gone beyond that."
She looked at him eagerly. "Dad, I really like Lynn, and I'm glad you like her. Don't worry about me."
"You know her?"
"Well, yeah. I've known her for a couple of weeks." She had the grace to look a little guilty.
"So that's what all the interest has been about."
"I've been in her store downtown and we really hit it off, first thing. She's teaching me to make perfume. I'm going to do a fragrance for a science project in school."
He looked at her over the edge of the bottle as he drank. "You knew I had a date with her and you never said anything? Why not?"
Her voice was tentative, apologetic. "I don't know. I was there right at the beginning. I was in the store when she got a phone call from a girl friend the day after they'd gone to dinner at the Kensington. They were talking about the hunky new waiter, and I knew it was you. The woman on the other end was obviously warning Lynn off. You'd made quite an impression." She grinned at his startled look and laughed. "Dad, you're blushing. Come on. You're hot; considered possible Chippendale material."
"Why do I keep forgetting that this is a small town? Did she say anything about me?" Realization struck. "My God, she doesn't know I'm your father, does she?" How could he have forgotten to mention something this important to their relationship? Put it down to temporary insanity.
"I haven't mentioned it. Did you say anything tonight about having a daughter?"
"Well, no. We didn't get around to it. She knows I was married and widowed."
"Dad," she looked at him eagerly, "could we keep it that way for a little while?"
"Why? Don't you want her to know I'm your father?"
"It isn't that. I want her to like me for who I am and not because she has to on account of you and she are dating."
He shrugged. "I guess that makes sense, but not for long. She doesn't like deception." He frowned, remembering. "Sarah," he said, his expression serious, "I don't want to spoil the mood we have going here, but I have to talk about this. Speaking of deception, I heard a story about you tonight I didn't like hearing."
He rose from the chair to throw his empty bottle in the recycle can. When he turned back to her, she looked worried, as well she should.
"What?"
"I had a private conversation with Harold Simmons this evening. His daughter, Ashley, it seems, is a friend of yours." Sarah's apprehensive expression confirmed what he'd learned. He came back to the table and stood, looking down at her.
"He told an amusing story about his daughter and her friends getting tattoos last week. In fact, he complimented me because my 'brave' daughter volunteered to go first. Would you like to explain that?"
The guilt on her face was proof enough. The warm glow of the evening vanished. Anger, hurt, and disappointment—he struggled with them all. Hurt won out.
"On second thought, I don't want to hear an explanation or an excuse. Damn it, Sarah," His hand slammed on the table, showing his frustration. "We had an understanding. I trusted you to follow my wishes and you betrayed that trust."
"It's really tiny," she said, in a small voice, "and way down on my hip so no one will ever see it."
Her explanation deepened his disappointment. "I don't care. The important thing is you did it. I thought we were doing okay; that we had a good relationship based on love and respect; that we were getting along." He turned away from her, running his hands through his hair, then turned back. "You have so little respect for me, you sneak around behind my back."
"Daddy, please, just listen." She started to stand.
"Sit."
She sank back into her chair. "I had to do it. The girls would have dropped me—not let me be in the group. I wouldn't have any friends at all. I didn't have a choice."
"Ah, Sarah," he said, too tired to argue. "There's always a choice. This was betrayal, plain and simple. No friend is worth lying and cheating for."
She gazed at him, pleading. He hated seeing her tears. "We'll talk about this tomorrow. The evening's been too special to end this way." He turned and walked off, leaving her sobbing in remorse.
David could hear the shouting from his office, where he sat at his desk, reading his mail. He recognized the angry voices of Sarah and Logan, somewhere outside, near the front of the house. A glance at the clock told him it was time for Sarah to be home from school.
"I don't care what you think. They're my friends." Sarah's anger pitched her voice to scream level.
David winced.
Logan's loud rejoinder, "And that's the dumbest thing you've said yet," had him wondering what could have possibly stirred such emotion.
The front door slammed. He heard Sarah stomping through the house toward her bedroom. Another door slammed.
Might as well end work for the day.
He hit the save button, rose from his computer and went to the kitchen for some iced tea, wondering what could have caused the uproar. Something serious had to have happened to make the normally reticent Logan shout.
Smiling, he reflected on the problems the male sex had with females in general, and carried his tea to the back porch where he saw Logan standing, dejected, a stricken look on his face.
"Hey, Logan."
"Hello, Mr. Martin. I uh… I uh…" He stood hunched over, looking as miserable as a beaten dog.
"Sarah sounded a bit peeved. Come sit on the porch."
Logan mounted the steps warily, clearly not sure he should. David figured he felt he was unwelcome without Sarah's endorsement. Poor kid. He looked like he was trying not to cry.
"You want something to drink, Logan?"
Obvious relief straightened the boy's shoulders a bit. "Yes, sir. I'd like a soda, if you have it." He put his backpack on the floor and sat on one of the chairs.
David went into the kitchen and returned, handed him an icy-cold soda and a napkin to handle the wet from the can.
Deciding a casual but careful approach would be best, David said, "Sarah sounded a mite upset."
"Uh, yeah." Logan made a big project of opening his can, as though giving himself time to get his thoughts together. He looked pleadingly at David.
"She has a lot on her mind. She worries too much about what kids are saying. I tell her to ignore it, but then she gets mad at me." His frustration bubbled to the surface. "And I think the TAMs are behind it, and Sarah doesn't believe me." The look he threw David was one of desperation before he returned to a study of his soda can.
"TAMs?"
Smiling shyly, he said, "That's my name for them. Tiffany, Ashley, and Madonna. They've been together since grade school." He waited for a response.
David nodded. "I get it. So what's the problem?"
Outrage dispelled Logan's reticence. His face flushed, his fists clenched, he declared, "That Ashley is going to get Sarah into trouble, because of Jim Holder. Jim's been paying attention to Sarah."
Considering the disdain with which he uttered the boy's name, David was surprised he didn't spit on the ground.
"Ashley is crushing on him real bad."
David processed this information at a rapid pace. Jim Holder, judging from Logan's attitude when he mentioned the name, was a boy of some stature, considered, by Logan at least, to be better looking, more desirable from Sarah's point of view and definitely more popular—therefore loathsome.
Sympathy and understanding were required here. He remembered some excruciating incidents from his own teenage years.
"Jim Holder?"
"The captain of the soccer team. All the girls crush on him, which makes him think he can have anybody and he's been talking to Sarah, and Ashley is jealous."
Aha.
He got the picture.
"Sir," Logan continued, despair adding a quaver to his voice, "I find women very hard to understand." He paused, appearing shocked at himself for revealing such personal information. His whole demeanor said it was not good to be vulnerable around adults.
Poor Logan was really tied in knots. Never in his weakest moment would David want to relive those teen years.
"What are the kids saying?"
"Oh, you know."
David didn't know, so he waited.
"They pick on her because they're jealous. They call her stuck up and diss her clothes 'cause they think she's flexin."
"Flexing?"
"You know, showing off that she has money. They say she lies about why she came here; that she uses drugs, when she really doesn't. It's gotten to be real hardcore." He looked at David to be sure that last was believed. "It's all lies and Ashley is responsible, but Sarah won't believe me. I don't know why." He raised his hands, palms up, it being the traditional gesture of defeat.
Logan's pain left David feeling helpless. His heart went out to the boy. With no father around to talk to, and his mother, from what he'd heard, unable to function, the boy was left with no support system. He could try to fill the void. He really liked Logan. As Sarah said, 'There's some kind of connection.'