Page 48 of No Kind of Hero
“I’m sorry,” Beth said, “but I think our dinner is about to arrive.” No way was she leaving Evan here by himself. Noway.
“Oh, come on,” Candy said, taking her arm and picking up Beth’s lacy cropped cardigan, which had been hanging over the arm of her chair. “Keep me company.”
Short of making a scene, there was no way out. “I’ll be right back,” Beth told Evan. If Candy hadn’t had her arm in a death grip, she swore she’d have kissed him goodbye. The blood was roaring in her head in a way it never did. Not ever. Except now.
Candy dropped her arm once they were inside the restaurant and led the way through the swinging door of the two-stall ladies’ room, then went to the mirror, pulled out her purse, and made a face as she restored her hair to brunette perfection. “Do you think men know that we don’treallyneed to go, that it’s just an excuse?”
“I’m pretty sure they do,” Beth said. “That was fairly obvious.”
Candy’s blue eyes widened a fraction in the mirror, and Beth knew why. Beth had only stopped calling her “Mrs. Farnsworth” ten years ago.
Well, tough. If you were going to drag a woman away from the best date she’d had in nine years, you deserved what you got.
“I can see you think I’m interfering,” Candy said after a moment. “And it isn’t my business who you see while you’re visiting. That isn’t why I brought you in here.”
“Oh?” Beth crossed her arms.Defensive posture,she immediately realized, and on the thought’s heels came the next one.Damn straight.
“Honey,” Candy said, turning from the mirror, “you need a slip with that dress. I wouldn’t say it to anybody I didn’t love as well as you. When the light’s behind you . . .” She laughed. “Well. You can see everything. I’m sure you just didn’t realize, but it’s really not appropriate. That’s why I sneaked a little bit and brought your sweater for you. I can’t do anything about the lower half except tell you not to stand up, but at least this will help up top.”
She offered the sweater, and Beth took it, but she didn’t put it on. “Thanks for thinking of me,” she said. “But actually, I’m aware of how I look.”
That stopped Candy for a minute. “All right,” she finally said. “Time for the tough talk. We’ve all had our moments on the wild side. I won’t tell you how much I’ve worried about Melody, just like your mom worries about you. And I know girls now do cut loose and have a fling now and then, and I won’t say anything at all about that. You’re careful in Portland. I know that, because your mom’s told me so. Well, be careful here, too. It’s just too easy to get a reputation. I’ll tell you a little secret. That’s what they make Mexico for.”
Beth couldn’t be rude. Except it seemed that she could, because the words coming out of her mouth were, “Or what? I’ll get a reputation like—oh, say . . . Dakota’s?”
“Of course not.” Another laugh. “You couldn’t. Just a teeny bit of care, that’s all, with how you look, and who you . . .”
Beth didn’t wait for it. “Dakota seems to be doing all right,” she said. “Maybe you should look at it another way. Maybe I’m moving up in the world. If Dakota becomes Mrs. Blake Orbison—which I can’t imagine, because even if she marries Blake, I’ll bet she stays ‘Dakota Savage’ all the way—I’ll be in the best seat, won’t I, snuggling up in public to Evan like I am? Dakota’s best friend? Her partner? He’s doing a high-end job right now painting the theater downtown for . . .” She wished she remembered the Viking’s name. “A big Portland Devils star.Bigstar.” She hoped the Viking didn’t turn out to be on the practice team or whatever you called it. “Evan’s doing an over-the-top job for him that’s going to knock this town’s socks off. I’d say he’s running in the best circles, and that he’s doing fine. So maybe it’s all part of my clever plan.”
“I’ve upset you,” Candy said, “and that isn’t what I meant to do at all. I was thinking of your parents, too, to tell you the truth. I know you don’t want to embarrass them, especially after what happened before and how much it upset your mother. But I probably jumped in too fast. I hope you’re thinking, that’s all. I hope you’re not burning any bridges. And,” she said with a smile, “Ireallyhope you’ll wear that sweater. It’s a small town, honey, and this is a public place.”
Beth didn’t put it on. “The problem is,” she told Candy, “Iwantto burn my bridges. I want to burn themdown.”
Beth came out of the building looking nothing like herself. Or maybe looking like that New Beth. Chin up, shoulders back, her sweater swinging from her hand and sparks practically flying from her eyes. It must have been her heels, though, that changed her walk. Despite her fire, or maybe because of it, there was a sway to her hips he hadn’t seen before, and he liked it.
And that dress. That dress was some serious sexy. It wasn’t any kind of low-cut deal, and that soft yellow sure was pretty, but it didn’t have any sleeves, and it fit her plenty tight enough through the top all the way down to her waist, while the unfastened buttons at the bottom of the swirling skirt showed a good four inches of peekaboo thigh with every step she took. And thoseshoes.Those shoes were giving him bad ideas.
And, he discovered as he watched her move, there was no way she was wearing a bra under there. That was about when he realized that he could see right through her skirt, too. She passed in front of the lights illuminating the back of the restaurant, and there her legs were, showing through the gauzy material absolutely all the way up to the top. Like she was wearing just about nothing at all.
Oh,hell.
He stood up when she came over, partly because he did have the occasional attack of manners and partly because he wanted to touch her. She tossed all that hair, and he put a hand semi-casually on the small of her back, felt her lean into him the tiniest bit, and asked, “Did she stage an intervention?”
“Ha!” That surprised bark of laughter again. That was different, too.
He grinned. “Did I get it right?”
She sat down beside him, picked up her wine glass, tossed off a fair amount of it, and said, “Don’t get me started.”
“I’m not good enough for you, huh? Yeah, well, screw ’em.”
“That’s right.” She reached for the wine bottle in its pewter bucket, but he got it first and refilled her glass. He had a feeling she was about to surprise him again, and he couldn’t wait. The waitress showed up and delivered their dinners, and Beth thanked her, picked up her fork . . . and didn’t start eating.
“What?” Evan asked her when the waitress had left. “Got some nice trout there,” he prompted.
“I know,” she said. “You should go on and eat. What I want to know is,why?Why aren’t you good enough?”
“Don’t have to wear one of those . . . crown things to be a princess,” he said, waiting fairly patiently for her to start eating. He wanted his steak, but he wanted whatever this was, too.
