Belinda (13 page)

“Is it over?”

“Over? No. This is intermission.”

They walked downstairs, and she was saved
having to talk to Reeve by the crush of people who approached him.
Apparently half of Tupelo knew him. If he thought her silence was
strange, he didn’t have a chance to comment. She stood at his side
and let her mind drift. Lordy, she was in a fine mess. How was she
ever going to keep her feelings secret? And keep them secret she
must. There was not a snowball’s chance in the Bad Place that Reeve
would ever fall in love again, especially with somebody who was not
in his social circle. Besides all that, she had her job to think
about.

“Miss Diamond?
Miss Diamond/”

The insistent female voice shook Belinda out
of her study. “Yes,” she said, trying to look pert and prepared,
though she didn’t have any idea who the woman was or what she was
talking about.

“I asked where you went to school,” the woman
said.

“Just about everywhere,” Belinda told her,
wondering why in the world it mattered.

“I mean, what
specific
school, Miss
Diamond? I can’t seem to place your accent. And that fashion
statement...” She stared pointedly at Belinda’s rhinestone-studded
pantyhose, though how she could see through her weighted-down
eyelashes was a mystery to Belinda. Then the woman gave a false
laugh. “I’m a W girl, myself.”

“Lois, will you please excuse us?” Reeve took
Belinda’s elbow with the intention of rescuing her, she guessed.
Well, she was in no mood to be rescued.

“Why, Lois,” Belinda said in her best drawl.
“Didn’t old Reevey-boy tell you? I went to the school of hard
knocks.”

Lois’s mouth dropped open, and as far as
Belinda could tell it was still hanging open when Reeve drew her
back through the crowd.

“Are you mad at me?” she said.

“No.”

“Then why are you scowling?”

“I’m not scowling.”

“Your face would frighten old ladies into
heart attacks.”

“So would that fake accent you used with
Lois.”

“She asked for it.”

“Reevey-boy?”

Belinda’s face flushed hot, but she wasn’t
about to back down—boss or no boss. “I do not intend to apologize,”
she said softly. “You can fire me.”

“Fire you?” He stopped dead in his tracks and
grasped her shoulders, oblivious to the crowd swirling around them.
“Fire
you?”

Her chin came up proudly. “That’s what I
said.” She was shaking so hard inside she thought she might break
into a hundred pieces in the middle of the concert hall. Sometimes
life simply wasn’t fair. All she had ever wanted was little house
to call her own, and what did she end up with? Loving the wrong man
and losing her job by insulting his friends.

“Do you think so little of me that you
believe I’d fire you because of Lois Mease?” A muscle jumped in the
side of his tight jaw.

Hope sprang to life in Belinda. “No, I think
you are...” She paused, thinking of all the things he
was—wonderful, magnificent, handsome, generous, sexy. Of course,
she couldn’t say those things to him. Not now. Probably not ever.
She looked him straight in the eye. “You are a very fine man.”

“Good. I think you are a very fine woman, and
I have no intention of firing you.” He released her shoulders,
tucked her hand into his arm, and escorted her back to their seats.
“Let’s enjoy the ballet and forget about Lois.”

“She’s a hard woman to forget with all that
funny-looking streaked-up hair cut like a man’s and all that rouge
that looked like it had been put on with a hoe. I could have said a
thing or two about her fashion statement, but I didn’t.”

Reeve chuckled. “I think you gave her what
she deserved with one succinct statement, Belinda. Though I’m not
fond of being called Reevey.”

“I thought it was cute. Makes you sound like
some kind of machine used to trim the grass.”

The lights dimmed and the curtain rose.
Belinda and Reeve sat side by side, watching the ballet, thinking
their separate thoughts.

After the final curtain call, they made their
way back through the crowd, outside and into Reeve’s car. Once they
were inside the rick cocoon of leather and darkness, cruising down
the street in silence, Reeve launched into the subject that had
been very much on his mind. In his characteristic manner, he got
right to the heart of the matter.

“Belinda, for the past two days I’ve been
planning a project that is very exciting to me.”

“Good. Tell me about it.” She was feeling
expansive now that she had survived the threat to her job. In her
present mood, she also believed she could handle her ill-fated
love.

“I have already lined up all the people
necessary to do the job—tutors, an elocution coach, a
finishing-school expert.”

“Well, that sounds ambitious... all those
people.” She shifted in her seat so she could see his face better
in the dim light. “Now, if you’ll just tell me what this project
is, maybe I can offer an opinion. I have one on just about
everything.”

Reeve laughed. “That’s the reason I decided
on this project, Belinda. You are such a remarkable woman—and you
have so much potential.”

Belinda went very still.
She had so much
potential.
Her heart hammered in her chest so hard she thought
she wouldn’t be able to get her breath.

“I’m the project?” she whispered.

Reeve was so caught up in his plans he didn’t
notice her turmoil.

“Just think, Belinda. With the right tutoring
you can be one of the most outstanding women in the city, even in
the state.”

“The ballet tonight—that was all part of the
project?” Her visions of romance vanished like wisps of smoke in a
strong wind.

Something in her voice made Reeve glance her
way. Her face was white and stricken, as if a light had been
snuffed out somewhere inside her. His hands tightened on the wheel
and he silently cursed himself. In his usual bulldog method, he had
plowed ahead with his project, never stopping to think how Belinda
might view it.

“Of course the ballet was not a part of the
project.” That was a half-truth, but maybe it would help rectify
his terrible mistake. “I wanted you to see the ballet, and I needed
a companion.”

“Why didn’t you take Quincy? I’ll bet she’d
love it. She might even have more
potential
than I
do.”

She shifted as far from him as possible,
hugging the door as if she were trying to disappear into the
leather.

“I’m sorry. I’ve handled this badly.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You think I
have potential, and I guess I ought to be flattered. Some of my
bosses have thought I was too independent and sassy to have
potential.”

“This is not about my being the boss and you
being the employee.” He stared straight ahead, trying to keep the
anger out of his voice and failing miserably.

“Then maybe you’ll tell me what it is about.
See, since I need a tutor and an elocution coach and a
finishing-school expert, I’m having a hard time figuring this thing
out. Maybe I need a brain transplant, too. Do you know any good
surgeons?”

Belinda was past caring about her job. There
would always be other jobs. Her pride had been deeply wounded.
Every word Reeve said confirmed what she had always known: they
were from two different worlds. And it hurt like the devil to think
he believed she had to be reshaped before she was even worthy to
work
in his world, let alone love.

She clenched her hands into fists, fighting
to hold back the tears. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Crying
should be private, especially since she would be crying over an
impossible love.

“Belinda—”

“So fire me.”

“If you say that one more time—’’

He clamped his jaws together tightly and
drove with a single-minded vengeance. Belinda sat on her side of
the car in blistering silence.

By the time they reached his neighborhood,
Reeve had calmed down enough to be rational.

“Belinda, look. Please forget the whole
thing. Forget the project. Forget everything I said. You’re an
excellent nanny, and I appreciate you just the way you are.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t dare look at him. She
didn’t want to see a lie on his face. It was better for her if she
pretended he was telling the truth. She wanted to salvage some of
her pride.

He parked the car and they walked stiffly
toward the front door, side by side but not touching. Belinda
wondered why she had ever believed they would exchange a good-night
kiss. Maybe she needed that tutor, after all. Maybe she needed
six
tutors.

Inside the door, she turned to face him, her
hands folded in front of her, the way a good obedient employee
should.

“Thank you for taking me to the ballet,
Reeve. Good night.”

Reeve thought of a dozen things he should
say, but he didn’t quite know how to say them. In the end he
settled for a simple good-night.

He watched her walk up the staircase. Twice
he almost called her back. He had hurt her terribly, wounded her
pride, probably shaken her self-esteem. If only he had explained
his intent. If only he hadn’t called her a project. If only he had
asked
if she was interested in being made over.

Slowly he followed her up the staircase, far
enough behind so she wouldn’t notice, thinking all the while that
two of the saddest words in the English language were
if
only.

Belinda made it to her bedroom before the
tears started. She closed the door softly, resisting the urge to
slam it. When she was upset, she loved to slam things and throw
things. But this wasn’t her house; it wasn’t her door.

She stalked across the room, tears streaming
down her cheeks, and kicked the love seat. That made her toe hurt
just enough to give her a reason to cry. She wanted a reason to cry
besides the real one. She didn’t even want to think about all her
real reasons for crying.

She was so upset she didn’t even want to
email her friends.

She stripped off her clothes and stalked
toward the bathroom with Reeve’s words echoing in her mind:
You
have so much potential.
She clamped her hands over her ears to
shut them out, but she still kept hearing them.

“What’s the use?” She uncovered her ears and
let herself replay their conversation in the car while she drew a
tub of water. Of course, she’d had one bath already this evening,
but she’d always believed the best therapy in the world was a good
hot bath.

When the water was almost up to the rim, she
stepped into the tub and sank so low the water lapped her chin. Her
hair was getting wet, but she didn’t care. What did a wet head
matter when the man she loved thought she needed remaking?

She scrubbed hard at her face, removing all
trace of tears. She didn’t want to cry over Reeve Lawrence. She
hadn’t cried over Charlie Crocket and she hadn’t cried over Matt
Hankins. But she hadn’t been in love with them, either.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head on the
cold porcelain rim of the tub.

“Be sensible, Belinda,” she told herself.

Oh, Lordy, she had been anything except
sensible tonight. She had let her feelings take charge of her
brain, and then she had let her tongue run wild. That was the thing
about her—she’d always had a habit of saying what she thought. She
decided it was a good thing she’d spent most of her life moving
around the country, for she probably wouldn’t have been able to
stay put, the way she let her tongue run away with her.

Tomorrow she might as well start looking for
another job, no matter what Reeve had said. Working for him after
all the things she’d said would be impossible.

She looked around the bathroom and sighed.
All this had been hers. And she’d thrown it away in a temper
tantrum. Well, not exactly a temper tantrum. But she had been
mad.

She closed her eyes, and gradually the hot
water worked its magic. She began to see Reeve in a new light. He
was
a wonderful man, a man who wanted only the best for
his family. And tonight, she had been included in his family—sort
of—and he had offered her the best.

Love had blinded her. Love and pride as big
as Kansas.

“Belinda Stubaker, you’ve been an idiot.”

She rose from the water and toweled herself
dry. Then she rummaged in the closet till she found her snazzy pink
rayon nightgown, slashed low in the back and front, and her
matching pink robe. They still had the tags hanging on them. She
had found them at an after-Christmas sale two years ago and had
bought them for her trousseau, though at the time she didn’t even
have a man, let alone an engagement ring. She believed in planning
ahead. Now, of course, since she had given up on the idea of
marrying—especially since she couldn’t have the man she wanted—she
thought she might as well put on her trousseau gown and enjoy it. A
broken heart is easier to deal with when you look your best.

Belinda sat down in front of the vanity and
began to brush her hair. Tomorrow morning she would apologize to
Reeve, then she would ask him to drive her to Main Street and let
her off.

She ran the brush through her hair, thinking
of all the things she would miss: Quincy and the children, this
house, this bedroom, but most of all, Reeve.

There was a soft knock at her door. She
thought she must be hearing things. Nobody ever came to her bedroom
door this time of night. The knock sounded again.

“Belinda?”

Oh, Lordy.
She laid the brush
carefully aside and hurried to the door.

“Reeve?” she asked, her hand on the
doorknob.

“I’m sorry to bother you so late. May I come
in?”

“Into my bedroom?”

“If you aren’t dressed...”

She jerked open the door. “I’m dressed.”