Whispers and Lies. Diane Pershing
with herself for overreacting, she shook off his grip, making him drop his hands to his side. In the fading light of day, she could see that he’d shaved, was wearing cargo pants, a loud Hawaiian shirt and brown sandals. He was dressed for the heat of July in upstate New York. Heck, he could have been wearing a prison uniform and he still would have looked mouthwateringly splendid.
She wished she’d thought to wash her face, brush back her hair or put on some lipstick. She felt dreary and unkempt, a kind of bone-weariness that sat on her shoulders like an anvil. She rotated her neck, which was way too tight; her nerves were really on edge. Before she turned her attention back to Will, she darted a quick look at her surroundings.
Nope. No one ducking suddenly into an alleyway, no strange cars containing men in dark suits and shades staring at her from behind tinted windows.
Was she slowly going nuts? Having some sort of posttraumatic reaction to her mother’s passing?
She shook her head, hoping it would unscramble her brains back to where they belonged, then returned her gaze to Will. “So here you are again. That’s two times in one day. Coincidence?”
“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve come to buy you dinner.”
Despite herself, Lou chuckled. “You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t like the word no, were you?”
“Hey, you have to eat, right? So do I. Come on, Lou. Give it up.” He had an I-dare-you twinkle in his eye, and she felt her defenses evaporating under the onslaught of so much charisma.
And why did she have the defenses up, anyway? What was the matter with her? She’d been thinking about the man all day, hadn’t she? Why was she holding on so tightly to keeping him at arm’s length? Even so, she gave it one last shot. “I’m not at my best, Will. I look awful. I’m tired. I was planning on picking up a salad and just going home.”
“You look fine. I have an urge for Lady Jamaica’s barbecue and a whole side of pork ribs. I don’t like to eat alone. It’s two blocks away. Come with me,” he coaxed.
He grinned, that sensational crooked grin of his, and just like that, she was a goner. Just as she’d been fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years ago. Caught up in the spell of Will Jamison’s smile.
He offered her his arm, an endearingly courtly gesture, and she indulged in one more moment of indecision. Then muttering, “Oh, what the hell,” she took his arm and allowed herself to be led off down the street.
As usual, Lady Jamaica’s Place was packed and overly loud with conversation and island music. Mouthwatering smells of garlic and exotic spices filled the air of the high-ceilinged, barnlike restaurant. Once she and Will were seated, Lou gazed around the room and noticed people noticing them. Despite herself, a tiny thrill coursed through her—oh, how her youthful self had yearned for this, to be seen with Will, to be thought of as special enough to be seen with Will.
Back then, as now, she’d been friends with his sister Nancy, and when she was at the Jamison house, she would watch him surreptitiously, waiting for him to talk to her, to say hello at least. But he and his friends, all the other cool school jocks, steamrolled their way through the house, sweatshirts damp from shooting hoops in the backyard, horsing around, telling dumb jokes, raiding the refrigerator, creating mile-high sandwiches.
And never, never, ever noticing her, no matter what he’d said earlier. She’d been a nothing. A short, chubby, red-haired, freckled nobody. Not anymore.
Lou had been raised by a hardworking single mother, had learned to make do with very little money and had an affinity for animals. She got decent enough grades to get into vet school, but had never been a real brain. She did have a sharp sense of humor, but not around Will, never around Will. No, whenever she’d been in the vicinity of her secret crush, she’d been dry-mouthed and tongue-tied. The witty, smart little remarks she’d come up with in her head would always manage to get lost, strangled to a premature death in the back of her throat before they could escape. And she would blush.
And now here she was, out to dinner with Will Jamison. In public. Because he had insisted. Despite her setting all kinds of barriers in place, he’d pushed through and insisted.
And again she had to wonder why, even as she cursed her suspicious mind. But really, Will Jamison, attracted to her? It was the word he had used—attracted. But she was so definitely not his type, which tended toward tall, blond and sophisticated; Nancy occasionally ran pictures in the Courier of Will at various D.C. functions, and that was the type of woman always on his arm. Lou was none of those adjectives.
Oh, sure, she knew she wasn’t unappealing and had a somewhat offbeat charm. She was reputed to be “fun.” And yes, there had been men attracted to her over the years—she’d even married one. But she was under no illusions about herself. Lou was ordinary. And she simply did not belong in the same equation with Will Jamison.
Then why had he insisted on taking her out? Was she some kind of charity case? Oh, no. Had Nancy told her brother how sad Lou had been since Mom had died, and had he decided to give the little lady a thrill? Or maybe he was doing a piece on animal rescuers or female veterinarians and wanted her to help him?
Or maybe he really was attracted to her, and she was allowing painful ghosts to infect her mind and run her life for her. Wow, what a concept.
When the waiter, one of Lady Jamaica’s several tall, ebony-skinned sons, appeared at their table, Lou ordered a vodka martini. After Will had ordered a beer, he said, “A martini, huh? Pretty fancy for a ribs-and-corn dinner.”
“It’s a tradition,” she told him. “One a night, and never more than one. It started with Mom about ten years ago. Our own little cocktail hour, a kind of letting-down time after a stressful day. And I’ve kept it up.”
“Traditions are good things,” he said, nodding.
“Unless they’re stupid things.”
“Agreed. Like fraternity hazings.”
“And shooting guns in the air on the Fourth of July.”
“Although fireworks on the same day are good things.”
“Agreed.”
As they grinned at each other, Lou felt herself relaxing, just a bit, and was grateful for the respite. When the drinks arrived, Will raised his glass. “Let’s make a toast.”
“To what?”
“Good traditions and old friends.”
She clinked his glass with hers, but her brief feeling of lightheartedness lessened. He was still playing that “old friends” tune. She could curse her suspicious mind all she wanted, but something in his attitude felt off somehow.
She took a sip of her drink and let it warm her blood. Okay, enough. She was a grown-up now, she told herself, not a foolish schoolgirl, and could handle all kinds of situations, including dinner with Will Jamison. And so they fell into chatting about Nancy’s upcoming marriage to her childhood sweetheart, Bob Weiss. How the town had changed, what had happened to people they both knew. Will was easy to be with, Lou thought. He listened, seemed to be deeply interested in whatever she said.
And, of course, there was that mesmerizing face of his. Eyes that were jade green under heavyish brows and lids, and eyelashes thicker than was fair; a long, thin nose, generous mouth, and just the slightest indentation in the middle of a square, rugged chin. She watched his expression change with each new topic—surprise, amusement, a hint of sadness when he learned of the high school principal’s death, all of it registered on his striking features…and made her stupid heart thump just a little harder.
When their meals came—two huge plates of ribs, corn, coleslaw, beans and garlic bread, hot and spicy and mouthwateringly delicious—Lou was grateful to have something else to concentrate on other than Will Jamison. While he dug in eagerly, she took a bite of one of the ribs and chewed slowly, hoping she’d be able to eat a decent amount tonight.
After