Southern Gentlemen: John Rip PetersonBilly Ray Wainwright Page 7

  If Anna had known the other couple invited to Sally Jo’s barbecue was King and Patty, she’d never have accepted the invitation for herself, much less Rip.

  The contrast between him and Rip was striking. King was going to seed, his hair thinning, his body thickening, the lines of his face becoming fleshy and without definition, while Rip was as fit as ever, and conceded only a few lines and the bolder stamp of his features to maturity. King appeared full of his own importance, which only served to point up Rip’s quiet confidence.

  Their old schoolmate had as good as insulted Rip with his crass comment. Now he had the nerve to sit there smiling while he waited to see what Rip would do about it.

  Rip laughed, saying easily, “Sports were never a big deal for me. I doubt I’d have lasted long.”

  Did he know, Anna wondered, that King had not made the grade in professional football. If so, his answer was a neat return for King’s dig while still keeping the gathering civilized. From the way King was turning red, however, it looked as if he might upset Sally Jo’s party. Anna wasn’t averse to running interference.

  Her gaze steady on the blond man’s face, she asked, “Real money, King? I wonder just how you define that?”

  “Lots of athletes walk away with several million,” he said with barely a glance in her direction, as if he resented Anna joining what had been, until that moment, a strictly male discussion.

  “Limp away, you mean,” she returned in dry disparagement. “Rip, on the other hand, realized that kind of profit from his company in California without a single bone broken.”

  A stunned look appeared on King’s face. Swinging to face Rip he demanded, “That right? You pocketed millions?”

  “I’d rather not talk money, if you don’t mind,” Rip said with a flashing glance in Anna’s direction. “Bad manners, you know.”

  Was it a rebuke, or was he laughing at her for rushing to his defense? She didn’t know. Still, she tried to send the subject in a different direction. “High school seems so long ago, doesn’t it?”

  “Longer for some than others, I’d imagine,” King answered, “depending on how they spent the time.”

  “If you’re talking about me,” Rip said, his gaze level, “then you’re right.”

  Sally Jo, petite, vivacious and a nervous type, jumped up from where she sat next to Anna. Her voice edgy, she said, “I think I’d better go check on the meat Why don’t you freshen everyone’s drinks, Billy.”

  “I’ll do that,” her husband said heartily. “Another long one for you, Rip?”

  Rip declined with thanks. Anna accepted more ice, but that was all. King and Patty, a buxom blonde who helped Mother Nature with artful streaks, allowed themselves to be persuaded, which seemed to be a relief to Billy Holmes as it gave him something to do.

  They were seated on the patio—a free-form stretch of concrete with an incised design of concentric shell-like circles resembling some of Europe’s cobblestone squares. The open space was set with large pots of ferns and impatiens, while a glossy-leafed gardenia nearby sent its fragrance drifting on the warm evening air, competing with the rich aroma of grilling ribs and sausage. At the opposite end, a glass-topped table was set with brightly colored dinnerware and linens, and Italian pottery bowls held citronella candles that had been lit to keep flies and mosquitoes at bay.

  A green swath of lawn swept from the patio down to the lake’s edge where a gazebo sat out over the water. The soft breeze off the water stirred the somnolent air, cooling it a few degrees. The surface of the lake rippled, reflecting the last salmon-gold light of the setting sun with the look of hammered copper.

  The lake lay on the edge of town, in an area that had once been a swampy wilderness of duckweed, cattails and willows. Developers had moved in some ten years before, draining the swamp, shrinking the lake and creating housing with high price tags because of the water view. The town had slowly taken in the area until it had completely lost its wild aspect and become another manicured community development with all the personality and excitement of a millpond.

  Patty Beecroft, shaking the ice in her drink to chill it, said, “I hear you’re going to redo Blest, Rip. That’s a mighty big project for a bachelor.”

  “Which is why I called in expert help,” he said, and smiled at Anna.

  “Oh, I see. That makes sense.”

  “Sounds to me as if you’ll need every dollar you earned,” King said sourly. “How’d you do it, anyway? Steal a computer chip copyright, or something?”

  “King!” his wife exclaimed in horror.

  “Now hold on here.” That came at the same time from Billy, who stood in front of the portable minibar with a highball in his hand. A tall man with a hangdog face and knobby knees exposed by walking shorts, he’d always seemed to Anna an odd match for Sally Jo.

  The suggestion indicated plainly that King had been aware of the source of Rip’s success, if not his method of achieving it. It also showed that he was spoiling for a fight. That Rip realized this was plain from the stiffness of his shoulders and the deliberate way he faced him.

  “If you have a problem with me being here,” he said quietly to King, “then you’d better spit it out.”

  The other man sat forward in his chair, a pugnacious twist to his face. “My problem is with you being anywhere within a hundred miles. Tom was a friend of mine.”

  “He was my friend, too.”

  “But he’s gone because of you.”

  “Now, King…” Billy began.

  Rip ignored his host. “That’s a guess,” he said in hard tones. “No one knows where he went, Or why.”

  “We can be pretty sure, though, about who was behind it.”

  “King!” Patty cried. A flush mantled her face that had nothing to do with the drink in her hand.

  Rip set his long-necked beer on a side table. “Then you know more than I do. It makes me wonder why you didn’t stop him, didn’t help him when he got into drugs.”

  “No one could.” King breathed harder through his nose while his face turned a darker shade of red.

  “Exactly. Anyway, I did my time and now I’m starting over, if people in Montrose will let me.”

  “You started over in California. You should have stayed there.” The words were more rude than belligerent.

  “This is my home, the place I intend to spend the rest of my days. Whether you like it or not.”

  Sally Jo came hurrying up then, her dark hair on end and her piquant face crumpled as if she were going to cry. Looking from one man to the other, she said, “Dinner’s ready.”

  For an instant it appeared that King might decline to share a table with Rip, then he got to his feet and moved to help his wife out of her chair. Anna rose and took Rip’s arm, and they all moved toward the feast laid out for them.

  It was the most uncomfortable meal Anna had endured in some time. She barely tasted the succulent spareribs or the German potato salad, the molasses-baked beans or the poppy seed coleslaw. The dessert of fresh peach sorbet was delectable, but wasted since she could barely manage three bites. All her concentration was on helping Sally Jo keep the small talk flowing while making small asides to keep Rip apprised of who they were talking about, or what new development in town was involved.

  At one point, Sally Jo brought up Little League ball, which was in full swing. Her son was on a winning team, it appeared, and his grandmother had taken him and his sister to a fast-food place that evening to celebrate his recent home run. In the middle of the general congratulations, King said to Rip, “You never played Little League, did you?”

  “Couldn’t afford it,” Rip answered as he pushed his half-full sorbet dish aside.

  “I thought Tom’s old man bought you a uniform.”

  Rip sighed as he looked up finally. “My dad made me take it back. He didn’t like the idea of accepting charity.”

  “That didn’t keep him from sponging drinks at every dive for miles around, though, did it?”

  Anna had h
ad enough. “What is it with you, King?” she asked, her voice sharp. “What are you trying to prove?”

  “Nothing…except I don’t intend to suck up to anybody for the sake of a few cheap murals and a rat-infested firetrap of an old house. It takes more than fistfuls of money to make a man acceptable in this town.”

  “What does it take, then, tell me that?” she demanded. “Incredible discourtesy and a fine opinion of yourself? Total lack of concern for how other people feel, including your hostess? Where do you get off, appointing yourself as mouthpiece for people here?”

  “It’s better than turning into some other kind of piece for a jailbird!”

  Rip surged to his feet. He dropped his napkin on the table and braced his hands on either side of it as he leaned toward King. “Listen to me, because I don’t intend to repeat myself. You can say anything you like about me and it will make no difference. I’ve heard it all before from business competitors and yellow journalists far better at name-calling and innuendo than you’ll ever be. But say a single word more about the lady with me, and I’ll knock your teeth out and shove them down your throat one by one. Have you got that?”

  King licked his lips, running his tongue over his teeth. He glanced around at the set faces of the others. Finally, he ducked his head in a stiff nod.

  “Good.” Rip turned to Sally Jo. “My apologies for ruining your barbecue. That wasn’t my intention. Perhaps you’ll let me make it up to you once Blest is ready for company.”

  “We’re the ones who are sorry that you had to be insulted in our house,” she said with a glance at her husband. “Aren’t we, Billy?”

  “That we are,” he mumbled, though he was clearly uncomfortable at being caught in the middle of the blowup.

  “No problem,” Rip said as he straightened. “It wasn’t your fault.” Turning toward Anna, he lifted a brow.

  She was already on her feet. Her appreciation for his self-control and innate dignity could not have been greater. Where he had learned it, she didn’t know, but it made the other men look puny and ineffectual by contrast.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  Sally Jo went with them to the front drive where Rip’s BMW was parked. “Please,” she said, putting her hand on Rip’s arm, “don’t think everyone in Montrose is like King, because they aren’t. I didn’t know he would…well, anyway, I’m going to tell people you’re as nice a person as I’ve met in a long time, and they should let what’s past stay in the past.”

  “I couldn’t ask for more,” he said with a slow smile. Turning away, he moved around to help Anna into the car, then he got in and drove away.

  Anna leaned back in her seat with a long sigh. “That wasn’t one of my better ideas.”

  “Don’t you start apologizing,” Rip said shortly. “King always was a minor pain in the backside. It’s no surprise he’s turned into a major one.”

  “If I’d known he was going to be there—”

  “Let it go. Just forget it. Please.”

  It was a relief to comply. They were both quiet while Rip negotiated the narrow and twisting road that followed the shoreline of the lake. Then abruptly he slowed and took a sharp turn. A few seconds later, he pulled up at a public boat dock, parking within a few feet of where the surrounding woods came down to the water’s edge.

  The wide, blacktop parking area was deserted, lighted only by a series of mercury lamps around the outer edges. Its concrete boat ramp slanted down toward the water, fading into the, darkness. Beyond the circle of light, the lake shone placid and unchanging, gilded with the light of the rising moon.

  Rip got out of the car and walked toward the boat ramp to stand staring out over the water with his hands thrust into his pockets. After a moment, Anna opened her door and followed him. He seemed to pay no attention to her, didn’t turn as she came closer. He spoke in quiet tones as she stopped beside him.

  “This used to be the swimming hole.”

  She made a sound of agreement. “They dredged it out and built the ramp maybe five years ago.”

  “Seems a shame.”

  “A beach was left over there.” She nodded toward the manufactured stretch of sand farther along from where they stood.

  He made no answer for long moments, then he said, “I want to thank you for speaking up for me back there.”

  She shrugged a little without answering.

  “Tom used to do the same thing,” he went on. “He got into fistfights more than once from fighting my battles.”

  “You did the same.”

  “He carried me all the way to his house on his back once when I sprained my ankle. It wasn’t easy, since I was bigger.”

  “I know.” Rip had been so pale when she saw him that for a terrifying instant she’d thought he was dead. “I also recall the time you waded in when Tom and I were in the middle of a brawl with a bunch of bullies over school lunch money.”

  “You jumped in to help him. I couldn’t let you get hurt.”

  She’d suspected that was it, but hadn’t known until now, so many years later. Her Galahad in torn jeans. He’d gotten a cracked rib, Tom had sported a shiner for a week and she’d been the proud owner of a split lip, but they had kept their lunch money.

  “I was grounded for a month over that little fracas because my mother thought girls shouldn’t fight. What it taught me was that girls shouldn’t get caught at it.”

  He laughed, a pained sound. “We used to come to the lake to clean up before going to your house.”

  “Among other things,” she said, allowing her voice to relax into amusement. They’d also gone swimming, cavorting in the water like puppies, or matching movements and strokes like a precision team as they pretended to be a school of fish numbering three. Then there had been the other times, before she turned into a young lady and become much too aware of the differences between herself and her two best friends, Rip and Tom.

  “You’re thinking about our swimming parties? I’d have worn trunks if I’d had any.”

  “You set a style in your blue jean shorts haggled off with a knife, just as you did with your Levi’s and white T-shirts when everyone else was wearing designer names on their backsides. But that isn’t exactly what was on my mind.” She sent him a quick, amused glance.

  “What? You going in starkers, all by yourself?” He turned his head, a corner of his mouth tipped in a grin, but his gaze was so steady she could see the moonlight off the water reflected in the dark surfaces of his eyes.

  “You saw me?”

  “Watched you as long as I dared, then stood guard so nobody else could get a peek.”

  “You didn’t!” the breeze off the dark lake lifted her hair, so she could feel its coolness on her hot face.

  “You have a mole, just here.”

  He reached out to touch her rib cage beneath her right breast, putting his fingertip unerringly on the small spot he mentioned. She drew a quick, startled breath.

  “I have a good memory,” he said dryly, before he took his hand away and pushed it into his pants pocket. “Anyway, don’t sound so shocked. You did the same thing.”

  She had. The thrill of it was one of her most vivid memories. If she closed her eyes, she could still see him like some young god, cleaving the water with strong, sure strokes while sunlight glistened on his dark head and along the muscled length of his arms and shoulders. Her vision of what a man should look like had been forever shaped by his taut, hard grace, the clean, powerful lines of his chest and thighs, the length and shape of him.

  He would have filled out more now, she was sure, gaining strength and brawn. Becoming bolder. Harder.

  She dragged her thoughts back under control. With a quick, wondering shake of her head, she said, “You knew all the time and never said a word. I don’t know how you can still think I’m any kind of lady.”

  “Well,” he drawled, “you were quiet enough about it.”

  “That’s supposed to be the difference,” she asked with a slow grin, “A lady doesn�
�t make noise about…things?”

  “So I figured. Or a gentleman. I’m good at learning by example, see.”

  His smile wiped the strain from his features, took the stiffness from his voice. Anna felt her heart lift at that evidence that he was no longer brooding on the evening just past. In an effort to keep thoughts of it at bay, she said, “My mother wouldn’t agree with you. She heard Tom teasing me about seeing you, you know. That time, I had to stay in my room for two solid days. It was weeks before I heard the end of it.”

  “She cured you of the habit, did she? I wondered why you suddenly stopped.”

  “She made me feel wicked, if that’s what you mean, but I don’t know about the rest. Being contrary in all things, I think she may have just made wet, naked men irresistible for me.”

  He laughed, a soft chuckle deep in his throat. “Now why is it, do you suppose, that I have this sudden urge to go swimming.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “We’re two grown people. There’s nothing to keep us from it.” The words were edged with laughter, yet backed by equal parts of daring and persuasion.

  She tilted her head, watching him closely. “You don’t mean it.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “We’d get caught. It’s crazy.”

  “So be crazy for a change.”

  “We—we couldn’t.” The protest in her voice was no longer as strong.

  “Why not?” he asked simply.

  The temptation was incredibly strong. Just thinking of it made her skin feel parched and in need of the wet caress of sun-warmed water, made her heart lurch into a faster, more primitive rhythm. Longing began in the center of her stomach and spread outward in a tingling tide. It would be like returning to the past, to a more basic, better time when her affection for the man at her side had been as strong and deep as that for her brother, an immutable part of her life that she’d thought would never change.