Lindsay smiled. Since that Monday afternoon conversation with Hassie, the winter doldrums had all but vanished. “It was a terrific suggestion.”
“It was,” Hassie agreed, “and I take full credit.” She paused, then asked tentatively, “Gage is coming, right?”
“I…I haven’t asked him yet.”
“I’ve got Leta’s refill on her blood pressure medication. You could always drive that out to her and, while you’re there, casually mention to Gage that you need another chaperon.”
“I could,” Lindsay said, more than willing to participate in a bit of minor subterfuge.
She left for the farm soon afterward. The afternoon was cold and crisp and, as she drove, Lindsay lost sense of time and distance. All that gave her perspective were fence lines and telephone poles. Out here, away from town, Lindsay felt a peace, a stillness. There was a beauty in this white emptiness that she was only beginning to appreciate.
When she arrived at the farm, Leta greeted her as if it’d been months since they’d last spoken. Trying not to be obvious, Lindsay looked around for Gage.
“He’s working in the barn,” Leta told her with a knowing smile. “I’m sure he’d like to talk to you.”
Lindsay wasn’t convinced of that, but sought him out anyway. When she walked into the barn, she saw him bent over the tractor, tinkering with the engine, his hands greasy and a pink rag tucked in his hip pocket. He couldn’t have been more different from Monte. This was a man who used his hands, a man who knew the meaning of hard work. Real work. She hadn’t known him long, and yet she’d seen his soul. She’d read his heart. She’d heard him speak of lying in a field with his eyes closed, listening to the grass sigh. Felt his love for the land as he scooped up the dry earth and let the wind carry it. They shared a bond, the secret of their grandparents’ love and the daughter that love had created. They shared other things, too, not as easily defined.
And that shattering attraction between them…
She must have watched him for at least a minute before he became aware of her presence.
Gage glanced over his shoulder and their eyes met. “Lindsay.” The way he spoke her name was soft and yearning, and she saw the longing in his eyes before he could disguise it. He looked away, straightened, then set aside the wrench. He pulled out the rag and wiped his hands clean.
“I dropped off your mother’s blood pressure medication,” she said, turning to point back at the house.
“I heard about the dance.”
She remained just inside the barn, uncertain. “I came to ask a favor,” she finally said.
He nodded.
“I could use an extra chaperon.”
“Just let me know what time and I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.” With a quick smile, Lindsay started to turn away.
“Lindsay.” He walked toward her, and when he reached her, he sighed. “I—”
“Shh.” Lindsay touched her finger to his lips. “You don’t need to say it,” she whispered.
He frowned. “What?”
“You want to tell me you missed me—I know because I feel the same way. But you’re not sure how to say it.”
“You’re wrong. I do know how to say it.” He settled his mouth over hers. His kiss was tender and as smooth as velvet.
“Oh, Gage,” she whispered, her hands on his face, loving the feel of his skin against her fingertips.
“I’m filthy,” he moaned. “I don’t dare touch you.”
“I dare…”
His mouth trembled when she kissed him with all the pent-up longing of these past few weeks. He groaned as she deepened the kiss, parting her lips. Her arms went around him then, but he kept his hands at his sides to avoid smearing engine grease on her coat. Lindsay wouldn’t have cared if he had.
They kissed again and she closed her eyes as hard as she could, wanting to block out the immutable reality of their differences. When she opened them again, Gage had backed her against the barn door and his upper body was pressed against hers, his mouth exploring the side of her throat.
“We’re crazy,” he whispered huskily. “This is crazy.”
“Then so be it. Just don’t stop.”
“I don’t think I could if I wanted to, only I’ve got to wash my hands. This is torture.”
He lifted his head to pull away, but Lindsay wouldn’t let him. “Torture, you say?” She released a slow, sexy laugh. “I like the sound of that.” Wrapping her fingers around the metal clasps of his coveralls, she dragged him back to her. Before he could protest, she’d covered his mouth with her own, kissing him with an open-mouthed aggression that left him groaning.
“Lindsay, please…”
“Do you want to show me your hayloft?” she teased, not nearly as in control as she led him to believe.
The sound of footsteps alerted them both that someone was entering the barn. They broke apart an instant before Kevin strolled in.
The boy stopped midstride and, embarrassed, glanced from one to the other. “I didn’t mean—I…”
“Don’t worry, you didn’t interrupt anything.” Gage’s eyes found hers as if to say more’s the pity.
“I saw Miss Snyder’s car and—”
“It’s all right, Kevin. I came to ask your brother if he wouldn’t mind chaperoning the dance.”
“Oh.”
“Do you have any objection to my being there?” Gage asked.
“No, sure, that’s fine by me. I, uh, guess I’ll be heading back to the house, then.”
“Good idea,” Gage said.
Kevin paused at the door. “Mom asked me to tell you it won’t be long until dinner and Lindsay’s invited if she wants to stay.”
“Tell Mom to put an extra plate at the table. We’ll be inside in a few minutes.”
Kevin nodded, looking distinctly relieved to make his escape. As soon as he was gone, Lindsay sagged against the side of the barn.
“Before we go inside, there’s something I need to ask you,” Gage said.
“Anything.” She straightened away from the wall, her hands clasped behind her. She knew that the tenderness and the passion that had passed between them was gone.
“Did you find her?”
Lindsay knew who he meant. “Not yet. But I’ve decided to hire an on-line search company that specializes in cases like this. I’ll look on my own, too, on the Internet. If I do find her, I’m not even sure I’ll contact her. I want to give it more thought.”
Gage nodded.
She gave a slight shrug. “Despite what you said, though, I can’t help feeling she’d want to know about her birth parents. If she doesn’t, I’ll make no further effort to get in touch with her.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that simple. Once she knows, she can’t go back to not knowing. You will have changed her life, Lindsay. And think about this—what if no one ever told her she was adopted?” He raised his hands in defeat. “Never mind, we’ve been through all that. I’d hoped you’d have a change of heart, but I can see you haven’t.”
“Can’t you understand?”
“No.” He gazed down at his hands. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
Rachel knew before Heath arrived at the dance that he’d volunteered to be a chaperon. She also knew why. He’d never hidden his intentions. He wanted her to be his lover.
The knowledge didn’t boost her self-esteem or flatter her ego. In fact, his interest had quite the opposite effect. Oh, she’d briefly been excited by his attention, but she’d done a lot of thinking since the night of their dinner date, and realized a relationship between them couldn’t possibly work. They’d been drawn together by their shared losses. But that was all they had in common. Heath was rich and worldly, and she was neither. The physical attraction they shared would wane in time and there would be nothing but regrets. Her marriage had been solid and strong; she knew that physical love was only one small facet of a relationship. She had a son to raise and an example to set. Plain and simply p
ut, she wasn’t interested in what Heath had to offer.
Heath, however, saw her attitude as a challenge and refused to give up.
Saturday, the night of the dance, Rachel stood in her pizza kitchen with Sarah Stern, who was taking over for her later in the evening. As soon as the high-school kids finished dinner at Buffalo Bob’s, they were coming to Rachel’s empty restaurant for the dance. At midnight she’d serve pizza, and then the kids would head home.
For two days, groups of teens had been in and out, decorating the large room that had once been her parents’ restaurant. Balloons, crepe paper and big red hearts filled every nook and cranny.
“Are you about done there?” Sarah asked, while Rachel put the finishing touches on a pepperoni pizza.
“Soon.”
“The kids’ll be here any time.”
“I know, I know.”
“Heath, too.”
As if Rachel needed reminding. Her friend was fond of stating the obvious. “Did Calla like her dress?” she asked, in an attempt to change the subject.
Sarah crossed her long legs and sighed. “I think she must have. She wore it.”
“You talked her out of wearing the vest you made?”
“It took some persuasive arguments,” Sarah muttered. She shook her head. “She wouldn’t even open it Christmas Day, and when she did finally unwrap her gifts, she put it on and hasn’t taken it off since.”
Rachel laughed, enjoying the retelling of the story. Calla was certainly a handful and she hoped that when Mark entered his teenage years she’d have as much patience with him as Sarah did with Calla.
“Are you and Dennis stopping by later on?” Rachel asked, knowing that several other parents had told Lindsay they intended to visit at some point during the evening. She dipped her hands into the large bowl of grated cheese, scooped it up and sprinkled it over the pizza’s surface.
“Dennis?” Sarah’s laugh was answer enough. “He’s got two left feet. Besides, Calla would have a hissy fit if Dennis showed up with me. She doesn’t want me there, let alone Dennis.”
Rachel didn’t envy her friend. “Calla’s still having trouble accepting him, I take it?”
“I’m afraid so.” Sarah gathered her arms around her middle, as if warding off a chill.
“Give her time,” Rachel suggested. Finished now with the pizza, she placed it on the wire rack of the pizza oven and pushed the button. Ten minutes later the pizza would slide out the other end, perfect and ready to eat.
“Where are you planning to change your clothes?” Sarah asked, glancing around.
“Actually,” Rachel said, wiping her hands down the front of her white apron. “I was thinking of skipping out. Lindsay’s got more than enough chaperons.”
Slowly Sarah shook her head. “Sorry, I won’t let you do that.”
“Sarah, how can you dictate to me when you won’t be there yourself?”
“But I have a good reason. This dance is for Calla, not for me.” She pointed directly at Rachel. “You, on the other hand, are acting like a coward.”
“Oh, please. All I’m doing is avoiding another needless confrontation with Heath Quantrill.”
“At least you’re honest enough to admit it.”
“Of course I’m honest. Why shouldn’t I be?”
“In my humble opinion, you should give him another chance.”
“Why? He’s looking for one thing and I’m looking for another.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Sarah wasn’t going to let up on this, and Rachel realized that she’d actually wanted someone to persuade her. “Now go change,” Sarah ordered. “As soon as the pizza’s ready I’ll deliver it to Dad and then I’ll be back.”
“Oh, all right.”
In spite of what she’d said to Sarah, she really didn’t mind; in truth, she’d been looking forward to it. Her dress, on loan from Hassie, hung in the restroom around the corner from the kitchen. The 1950s gown was a full-length full-skirted black dress with a scoop neck and long sleeves. It had the elegance of simplicity.
By the time Rachel had finished with her hair, pulling one side up and pinning it back, Sarah was waiting with the pizza in her hand, about to walk out the door. Her smile said she approved.
“The kids are here.”
Rachel could hear a wild song from some rock group she didn’t recognize. The kids had sorted through Buffalo Bob’s collection of CDs and brought along some of their own.
“How’s it going?” She knew the dance portion of the evening had given Lindsay some worry. Never having attended a school dance before, the kids were likely to feel awkward. Lindsay had wanted suggestions for icebreakers, but Rachel didn’t have any.
“At this point,” Sarah said with a soft laugh, “all they’re doing is staring at one another.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Get out there,” Sarah said. “By the way, you look gorgeous. I almost feel sorry for Heath.”
“Heath, nothing.”
“Don’t be so hard-nosed. Everyone’s entitled to one mistake.”
Rachel knew she shouldn’t have told Sarah what had happened on their dinner date. But at the time, she’d needed someone to share her indignation and outrage.
When she finally did step out of the kitchen, she saw that her friend’s assessment of the dance was accurate. The boys, with Heath and Gage, stood on one side of the room and the girls, dressed in their fancy formal gowns, stood on the other, joined by Lindsay and Hassie.
The boys stared down at their shoes. The girls gazed hopefully, dreamily, at the boys, hoping one of them would find the courage to cross the great chasm.
Eventually one of them did, and to her dismay, Heath Quantrill headed directly toward her.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked, and confidently held out his hand. The song was a lovely slow number, Neil Young’s Harvest Moon.
Everyone watched and waited. The girls gazed upon her with wide-eyed envy and the boys marveled at Heath’s bravery. Rachel knew she dare not refuse.
With her heart in her throat, she reluctantly placed her hand in Heath’s. Together they stepped toward the middle of the freshly polished floor, beneath the crepe paper streamers. A large cut-out of Cupid with his arrow aimed directly at them glowed silver in the dimmed lights.
Heath slipped his arm around her waist and she laid her hand on his shoulder. She held herself as stiffly as she could, unyielding against his gentle pressure. She refused to meet his eyes.
“Relax,” he whispered. “We have an audience.”
“I don’t enjoy being the center of attention,” she returned from between clenched teeth.
Thankfully they weren’t the only ones on the floor for long. Within a few moments, Kevin Betts joined them with Jessica Mayer. Soon after that, one of the Loomis twins—Larry, Rachel guessed—asked Calla Snyder to dance.
Sarah had designed and sewn Calla’s dress—and it was stunning. The girl, whose normal wardrobe consisted of combat boots, black denim jeans and plaid flannel shirts, was transformed into a young beauty. Rachel wasn’t the only one who noticed, either. Both of the Loomis twins buzzed around her, and Calla fairly glowed with all the attention. Some girls wore dresses that had been in their families for years, gowns their mothers or grandmothers had worn. Some were fancy, others not. There had been a lot of old trunks opened and closets cleaned in the time before the dance, and a lot of lending and sharing had taken place.
Stan Muller, the youngest of the boys, asked Amanda Jensen to dance. Amanda was a year older and a full foot taller. The difference didn’t appear to bother Stan, and Amanda smiled down on him with adoring eyes.
“See, it’s not so bad, is it?” Heath whispered as another song began.
Without her being aware of it, he’d brought her closer into his arms as their bodies swayed rhythmically to the mellow sounds of the seventies hit, Close to You. His jaw rested against her temple, creating a comfortable intimacy that lulled her into closing her eyes. Had he attemp
ted conversation, she wouldn’t have felt that way. But his silence and the music had accomplished what words could never have achieved.
When this second dance ended, she dropped her arms and backed away.
“I made a mistake rushing you, Rachel,” he told her, holding on to her hand, tugging her to the side of the room as a new song started playing. Something fast and raucous. “Give me another chance.”
His words were full of sincerity; so were his eyes. She hesitated, unsure even now that it would be wise. But Heath refused to release her hand until he had his answer.
“All right,” she said. If he hadn’t looked so damn earnest, she would have refused. If this was a ploy, Rachel promised herself, Heath Quantrill would rue the day.
Without another word, she turned and walked back to her kitchen.
The dance was over, and everyone had left for home except Lindsay and Gage. He surveyed the room; the balloons that hadn’t been broken clung to the ceiling. Pink, red and white crepe paper, twisted into streamers, sagged pitifully, dangling down so far they nearly touched the floor.
“You want to clean up now?” he asked. Lindsay looked as wilted as the streamers. She’d worked hard to put this evening together and now that it was over, she seemed ready to collapse.
“Not tonight, Gage. I’m too tired.” Lindsay sat with her feet propped up on a chair. Her shoes had disappeared hours earlier and every now and then she leaned forward to massage her nylon-covered toes.
“Too tired,” she repeated, her lashes fluttering open only long enough to glance at him. “And my feet hurt.”
He chuckled to himself. “Let me walk you home.”
“That would be nice.”
He put his arm about her waist and helped her off the chair.
“One more dance first,” she whispered, sliding her arms around his neck and gazing up at him.
“I thought your feet hurt.”
“Not anymore.”
“Buffalo Bob already picked up his stereo equipment.”
“But I hear music. Don’t you?”
“Are you sure no one spiked the punch bowl?” he teased.